My honest review of Bridget Jones 4:

Come the f*** on Bridget! When will she finally learn to love herself, just the way she is?

Today, the new Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy hit UK cinemas, just in time for Galentine’s Day… And, if I’m honest, I have mixed feelings.

Don’t get me wrong: a big part of me was smitten by all of its cringey, yet comforting nostalgia. From tiptoe kisses in the snow to (unrealistically) wistful walks through busy London crowds, feat. those iconic red pyjamas, it’s a love letter to the original. (And, yes, I bawled my eyes out at Darcey’s ghost).

At almost 31, I grew up watching this romanticised vision of what adult life in London could be - and now I’m single and practically the same age as Renee Zellweger’s Bridget (32) when it all started. This not only sharpens just how ridiculous so much of that first film was (body shaming, single-bashing, ageism etc), but it also adds another layer of nostalgia for all that is yet to come - from relationships to career milestones - as I stand on the cusp.

And, yikes! It’s scary to see how fast all of this happens: because, damn, it is written all over their faces. Yet, if these characters have changed quite obviously - and understandably - on the outside, what most surprised me was how little they seemed to have actually grown up.

Specifically: lovable, bumbling Bridget. Reader, I wanted more for her! Fast forward 25 years, and she is still very much the butt of the joke: running around, supposedly making a fool of herself, attracting chaos and constantly doubting herself (including her parenting skills). There is that same old narrative that she doesn’t really ever know what she’s doing - a dumbing down - while generally being that person at the party who makes everyone else feel a bit better about themselves.

This was one thing in her 30s, but midlife Bridget deserves way better: this woman has got her shit together! She’s navigating unimaginable loss, while doing a great job BTW raising her two children solo, in addition to nailing her powerhouse career (the big dogs are literally ringing her for current affairs advice and she has a hell of a lot to say about fracking). Not to mention the string of hot, and younger, men chasing her.

So why are we still underestimating Bridget Jones? This might not seem like a big deal, but peddling this kind of messaging can be so disempowering. There is a huge problem of women, especially, not being taught how to own their achievements or celebrate themselves - resulting in a minimising, and gradual chipping away of the self, just so we can be less threatening to others.

Many might argue that this is exactly what makes Bridget’s character so ‘relatable’: that she expresses her anxieties and models imperfection in a way that gives others permission to do so, too.

Indeed, it is for that reason that Gen Z is apparently falling for her in droves, for relief in a social media era of perfection: there are three million posts about her on TikTok - and her creator, Helen Fielding, has said half the audiences at her book signings are of this age.

However, although I’m most definitely all for embracing this imperfect humanness, I think you can be messy and stand in your power - without being put down or mocked for doing so.

My Galentines Date!

Admittedly, there were some hopeful moments of progress for our Bridget: in one throwback scene, she holds up her big knickers to camera before swapping them for lacy thongs, ahead of her date with Leo Woodall’s Roxster. Then, when he goes to kiss her, he asks for her consent - and she makes a point of saying that she isn’t used to this.

And, no wonder: because she’s not the only one who hasn’t quite grown up. Hugh Grant’s Daniel Cleaver appears to be stuck in the 90s, unable to converse with her without shoehorning in a creepy ‘joke’ about her little skirt. There’s another scene where a nurse accuses him of literally stripping off in front of her in the hospital. (TBH I was quite surprised by this in a post Me Too climate). And the worst part is that Bridget just laughs along to it all. I wanted to shake her and say: you’re allowed not to be ok with this!

That’s without the little improved portrayal of single life. To be fair, if you’ve lost the love of your life after years of shitty dating: down that chardonnay! But other scenes, like the ongoing motif of her not being able to do up her own dress (without the help of either her kids or a new romantic interest) felt a little tired, given all of the other ways she’s slaying it.

In the end, it is as if a Mark Darcey body double - don’t worry, no more spoilers - has swooped in to fill the vacuum he has left in her sense of self: to tell her he likes her, very much, just the way she is, and make her believe how ‘magic’ she is. Again.

And, I couldn’t help thinking, when is Bridget finally going to fall in love with herself, exactly as she is - without requiring a man to hold up a mirror of validation?

It’s about time we changed the punchline: bring on the messy, imperfect heroines who also aren’t afraid to big themselves up and own that shit - because, that to me, is the ultimate, grown-up relatability we all need.

Florence Scordoulis is a freelance journalist specialising in LGBTQ+ experiences, women’s lifestyle, travel and interviewing. You can follow her work here.