Saw Bridget Jones's Diary last night. Audience liked it, I must admit, but for me it was nasty and obnoxious. The fact that she's cynical is automatically inferred to mean she's funny. In the first five minutes she's put down her mother for serving pickles on toothpicks as hors d'oeuvre, a potential boyfriend for wearing a funny reindeer sweater at a Christmas party, and a gay man simply because women have some unquestionable God-given right to do so. The unintentional irony is that, for all Bridget's self-alleged independence, the picture's central, driving purpose is to attach her to a wealthy, influential man, at which point her story will end -- in marriage. Ultimately nothing better than a throwback to most of the Julie Andrews musicals (My Fair Lady, Cinderella, Sound of Music, Thoroughly Modern Millie) of ancient times -- minus the songs. The other irony is, even Julie's material has grown beyond such a shallow self-image for modern women.
Snowflakes at the end looked fake in close-ups.
Snowflakes at the end looked fake in close-ups.