Let’s be honest: you probably already know how you feel about a third film on Bridget Jones, writer Helen Fielding’s 1990s newspaper column sensation about a klutzy, lovelorn Londoner that became a 2001 smash hit and made an Oscar-nominated star out of Texas’s own Renée Zellweger. The love triangle plot, comic pratfalls, cheeky sexual banter, chocolate box depiction of London and its surrounding countryside, relentless karaoke jukebox soundtrack… they’re all back in spades. You can’t get less gritty or working class than a fluffy Working Title (UK producers of Notting Hill, Love, Actually, etc) romcom, but that’s hardly the point. This is escapism, pure and simple. Whether you gratefully escape to or from it, is largely pre-determined.
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