Bridget Jones's Diary

Now here's a plot to make a Marxist-Leninist weep: posh girl meets posh bloke, then realises his posh pal is nicer. The end. And yet this ultra-hyped adaptation of the ultra-successful Helen Fielding novel sends you out with a smile on your face. For a simple reason: where Four Weddings and Notting Hill ask you to feel sympathy for a privileged git who radiates self-love, Bridget Jones (Zellweger) really does seem a hopeless case. Why? Because she's overweight and stays that way - for all Bridget's New Year resolutions, there's no 'ugly duckling blossoms into swan' scenario here. She's also witty, and has a quivery way with her chunky nose and mouth that makes watching her feel refreshingly non-voyeuristic. Like a prodigious toddler, Bridget wears a permanent expression of concentration and it rubs off on us. That Grant is for once supposed to be shallow is another plus. As for Firth, how he manages to make Mr Darcy (aka Mr Right) non-ludicrous is a mystery. In a romantic comedy that runs suspiciously like clockwork, Darcy's embarrassment, like Bridget's body, feels blissfully warm to the touch.