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Bridget Jones's Baby - A Review

Gareth Cattermole via Getty Images

Twelve years after the second (terrible) offering, Bridget Jones's Baby is a film starring a slim and botoxed Renée Zellweger. Therefore, not the Bridget Jones one is accustomed to.

The opening scene depicts Bridget alone on her birthday, celebrating with a cupcake on the sofa. Queue 'All by Myself' and immediately my expectations of the film plummeted. Personally, the choice of song is far too predictable and a lazy attempt at laughter considering it was the soundtrack to the original 2001 film, and a scene we all know so well.

Bridget is still living in the same flat with the same job at the TV company, and still has the same circle of friends. Despite her makeover, she remains as equally charming and clumsy.

After going to a music festival and sleeping with a mysterious American named Jack, played by Patrick Dempsey (dishy), she goes on to successfully bed Mr Mark (I am so boring) Darcy once more. One might beg the question why, but that's not my problem. Due to the usage of eco-friendly vegan condoms, she falls pregnant and is left unsure as to who is the father of her baby. Feel free to draw similarities to any episode of Jeremy Kyle.

It's a good film, much better than the last one set in Thailand where she spends half the movie in a dodgy women's prison and you're not entirely sure why. It's a silly film, and I say 'silly' because the chances of the two potential fathers of your baby being both hideously wealthy and attractive, and deeply in love with you, paired with an eager desire to be declared the biological father is really quite farfetched if you ask me. But I won't dwell on its level of unfeasibility too much; I want the best for Bridget. She deserves it.

Once again Colin Firth resumes his role as Colin Firth. Something I was expecting, yet still as disappointing as ever. I can only liken his acting to something about as exciting as a tasteless, underwhelming chicken broth. I dread to think what he was paid for achieving such a task. Delivering lines without actually moving your mouth must be quite the challenge.

I'll warn you in advance about the cringe worthy depiction of hipsters with beards and the hashtag references that had me clenching my fists. However, there is one wonderful feature of the film that I'd like to share; Hugh Grant's character has passed away.

I suppose what I'm annoyed about is the fact that once upon a time Bridget was a relatable character; plump and inelegant. Now she's had an upgrade; she's grown proud and confident in her age and I feel she's abandoned us all to carry on our lives as the Marks & Spencer underwear adorning women that we remain to be. I am certain those baggy white granny pants are no longer a wardrobe staple of hers; readily replaced no doubt by dentil-floss-thin lacy black thongs in a remarkably smaller size.

If there is anything to be learnt from this film it would be the following; don't use vegan condoms. And don't get Botox. Your forehead will cease to move therefore rendering all scenes devoid of true emotion, and frown lines.

I would also like to defer you away from Googling any form of interview with Renée Zellweger; hearing her speak in her natural Texan accent is extremely alarming and will leave you in a state of mystification.

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