Bridget Jones’ Diary (2001)

Director: Sharon Maguire

Cast: Renée Zellweger, Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, Gemma Jones

Have I Seen it Before: Yes? It’s a favorite of my wife, and we’ve been together for long enough that I would have had to have watched in its entirety, right? And yet, can I be sure?

Did I Like It: It is difficult to dislike a movie like this. Zellweger is far more convincing and charming as the quintessential British everywoman than she has any right to be. Firth is at the purest point of his Firthyness muttering his way through every interaction. It was probably desperately needed for Grant to occasionally no longer be portrayed as a lovable handsome man, when in reality he is far more believable as—to bother a term—complete and utter wanker.

But let’s get to my Big Thought for this movie. For my money, Bridget Jones’ Diary is the Rocky IV (1985) of romantic comedies.

Wait. Don’t go. Let me finish.

While both the boxing movie and the romantic comedy are certainly prone to the montage to help their stories, let me ask you a question. Were one to take the montages out of either movie and let their stories play out not with characters looking wistful or forthright on their own, but instead with scenes where the characters actually interact and speak with each other (or at all), how long would the film actually end up running?

My guess is about 45 minutes.

I’m not even sure that’s a problem, necessarily. I’m a sucker for a silent movies, and I’m sure whichever conglomerate go to press the soundtrack album for those films made a mint. I just can’t help but wonder if ultimately there just wasn’t enough movie there, thus the padding. There are worse crimes for a movie, one supposes.

I didn’t expect at the outset of this review that it would double as review for both Bridget Jones Diary and Rocky IV, but here we are. The temptation to now re-watch Rocky IV and just republish the review is almost too much to bear.

Empire Records (1995)

Director: Allan Moyle

Cast: Anthony LaPaglia, Maxwell Caulfield, Liv Tyler, Renée Zellweger

Have I Seen It Before?: For a movie that made just over $300,000 at the box office during its original theatrical run, it sure has a regular run in my house. I’ve also noticed that Rex Manning Day is like the only holiday people born in the 80s can agree on?

Yes, I’ve seen it. With unusual frequency.

Did I like it?: It is, without any irony, my wife’s favorite movie. Like, better than everything else. I know. That’s enough to recommend it, and apparently enough for me to watch it multiple times.

It is not my favorite movie, however. It’s not my favorite grungy-day-in-the-retail-life-with-a-curated-soundtrack film from the mid-90s. A movie like Clerks (1994), for all of its flaws and the irritation it brought to humanity, had an authentic youth-oriented voice*, whereas nearly second of this film’s runtime seems orchestrated to get us kids to buy a soundtrack album that doesn’t even have the common decency to have the Jimi Hendrix version of “Hey Joe.” The whole film is a mishmash of storylines, many of which never reach their conclusion. Even “Saved by the Bell” concluded their character’s addiction to uppers before moving on with other things. I’m not sure where many of the characters might be if they were revisited 25 years later, but I’d be willing to go out on a limb that both the record store is long since gone, and Corey Mason crashed real hard sometime in 1996.

It is, however, my favorite grungy-day-in-the-retail-life-with-a-curated-soundtrack movie from 1995 that is riding the coattails of Clerks. Sorry, Mallrats (1995). Also, every time I see the scene where Mark (Ethan Embry) imagines he both joins and then is maimed by the members of GWAR makes me laugh every time. Also, upon watching the end credits this time, it doesn’t seem like there was nearly as many entries in the soundtrack from the Warner Catalogue as I once thought. Maybe it isn’t 90 minutes of corporate synergy?

*A term that could only be written by someone who is at least in their late thirties. We’re all Joe now, aren’t we?