The One Where Adulting Finally Catches Up to Her
Bridget Jones is back, folks! And much like a late-night text from your ex, you’re not entirely sure if you wanted this—but now that it’s here, you can’t look away. Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy marks the fourth entry in a franchise that has spanned decades, three love triangles, and at least one very questionable attempt at singing "All By Myself." But instead of delivering another round of tipsy misadventures and diary confessions, this installment goes full Eat, Pray, Mourn, as our dear Bridget wades through grief, middle age, and—because the universe has a sense of humor—dating apps.
Let’s start with the obvious: Renée Zellweger is still effortlessly charming. If this franchise had to be revived (again), at least they got the one thing right that actually matters—Bridget herself. This time around, however, she’s not being tossed between Hugh Grant and Colin Firth like a British rom-com tennis ball. Instead, she’s navigating widowhood, motherhood, and the attention of two new suitors—Roxster (Leo Woodall), a young heartthrob seemingly here to fulfill the franchise’s token bad decision quota, and Mr. Wallaker (Chiwetel Ejiofor ), the age-appropriate, brooding intellectual option who might as well come with a flashing sign that says "PICK THIS ONE, BRIDGET."
Oh, and in case you somehow missed the emotionally gut-punching marketing: Mark Darcy is dead. Which means that, instead of starting on her usual note of "oops, I made a fool of myself again," this Bridget begins in full-on widowed heroine mode, balancing single motherhood with the crushing weight of loss. It’s an incredibly bold move for what was once a straight-up comedy franchise, and to the film’s credit, it leans into the emotion with sincerity.
But here’s the issue—while it’s undeniably heartfelt, it’s also missing the chaotic, self-deprecating magic that made Bridget Jones a cultural touchstone. The humor, once razor-sharp, now feels like it’s been run through the wash too many times—faded, stretched, and barely holding together. Yes, there are some genuinely funny moments (Bridget isn’t completely humorless, thank God), but the film often mistakes sentimentality for depth. Instead of drunken voicemail disasters or ill-advised bunny costumes, we get wistful reflections and soft-focus longing.
Speaking of nostalgia, the specter of the original trilogy looms over every scene. While the filmmakers are clearly aware they need to justify this sequel’s existence, they don’t quite succeed in making it feel essential. Sure, it’s a pleasure to revisit Bridget’s world, but much like finding your childhood diary and realizing oh God, was I really this embarrassing?, it’s hard to shake the feeling that some things should be left in the past.
As for the new love interests, Woodall’s Roxster is so one-dimensional he might as well have been copy-pasted from a dating app profile. Meanwhile, Ejiofor’s Mr. Wallaker is magnetic, but the film doesn’t give us enough time to properly invest in his dynamic with Bridget. There’s just something missing—an absence of chemistry, or maybe just the fact that no one will ever fill the Darcy-shaped hole in this franchise’s heart.
Visually, the film retains its warm, cozy aesthetic, and director Michael Morris does a solid job of capturing Bridget’s world with that familiar lived-in charm. The problem is that the script, despite being penned by Bridget Jones creator Helen Fielding, never quite recaptures the effortless wit of its predecessors. Instead, it feels like a calculated attempt at mature storytelling—which, unfortunately, translates to less fun.
Now, don’t get me wrong—Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy is perfectly watchable. It’s just not the film that needed to exist. It’s like running into an old friend and realizing they’ve changed so much, you’re not quite sure if you even like them anymore. If you’re here for nostalgia, you’ll probably find enough warm moments to make it worthwhile. But if you’re hoping for the laugh-out-loud, wildly chaotic Bridget of old? Well, let’s just say you might be mad about the movie rather than mad about the boy. So what is my final rating of this film. 3 out of 5 Bryans. Because this Bridget is like a glass of lukewarm chardonnay—comforting, a little bittersweet, but not nearly as intoxicating as you hoped.
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