The film is barely five minutes old and already she has skydived from a plane smack-dab into a pigsty, where TV cameras are on hand to catch her soggy-bottom moment. I wonder how many other Hollywood actresses would submit themselves to this quivering-jelly look, or indeed to the gauntlet of humiliations that Bridget stumbles through. Her flat-footed waddle and tendency to scrunch up her eyes when she smiles are rather endearing, and the rubicund glow on her cheeks retains a kind of Alpine wholesomeness. Talking of which, Renée Zellweger as Bridget looks as if she's had second helpings of everything for the past six months, though she handles the extra poundage if not with grace then certainly with professionalism. The team behind Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason has considered this, and the answer goes: look, we've had a hit with it once - we'll muddle through a second helping. "What comes after the happily ever after"? is the way they put it, though the question could also be couched: "What is the point of Bridget Jones when she's no longer a singleton?"
This would seem to make everything in our heroine's world tickety-boo, but it gives the film-makers a problem. But the most significant change between the first Bridget Jones movie and this sequel is not an absence but a presence, specifically in Bridget's bedroom: lying by her side is Mark Darcy, the saturnine gent who's become in the six weeks of their courtship "a total sex god". The famous diary seems to have disappeared, along with the chardonnay and the calorie counting.
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