'Bridget Jones' Diary' fails to reveal juicy new secrets

CAUTION: Reviewer disappointed by new popular film adaption of Helen Fielding's novel, "Bridget Jones' Diary," starring two seriously hunky British men and one patently adorable American actress.

Despite the obvious advantages of a film starring two such smoldering flames as Hugh Grant and Colin Firth — one of whom has made his career out of stuttering, and the other has a great debt to pay Jane Austen — the movie "Bridget Jones' Diary" fails to capitalize upon its most powerful advantage — the witty and irreverent novel it is based on. Certainly, the film remains irreverent. Its moments of humor range from Renee Zellweger's plumpened-for-the-role derriere zooming toward a camera — repeated several times in case the full humor of that shot did not become immediately apparent — to Zellweger sporting tiger-striped panties as she runs in the snow to catch up with her beloved.

These scenes establish that Zellweger is perhaps the best sport in film history, gaining 20 pounds for the part and committing every clumsy faux pas known to woman in her role as the 32-year-old "Singleton," Bridget Jones.

However, all of the slapstick moments in the film fail to capture the other half of the novel's success — its wit. "Bridget Jones' Diary" is simply a funny novel. Funny not simply because Bridget embodies the klutz inside all of us, but rather because Fielding's wit communicates Bridget's heartbreak, her insecurities and her vivacity better than this film that tries to avoid intricacies of dialogue in favor of in-your-face — literally when one considers Zellweger's buttocks — physical comedy.

Some moments in the film are indeed priceless. The running voice-over in the first scene captures some of the sarcastic flair that makes this British Bridget as fascinating and funny as any of the single gals on HBO's popular series "Sex and the City."

Speaking of Bridget's famous nationality — the source of great controversy among Fielding-o-philes who felt that casting an American actress as their adored heroine was a sacrilege not to be endured — Zellweger does an impeccable job of the English accent, never stumbling for a moment and capturing in her crisp cadences the Austenian undertones of the novel and the movie. The voice-over is however used to lesser effect later in the movie, as the love plot overtakes and overwhelms Bridget's meditations on the daily humiliations of 30-something single life.

Perhaps the most powerful moment in the movie comes before any of the romances in the film are realized. After being insulted at a New Year's Day party, the famous Turkey Curry Buffet readers will recognize from the novel, Bridget crawls back wounded into her safest shelter, her apartment.

With a bottle of wine and FM radio to shield her from the slings and arrows of outrageous social insult, Bridget begins to sing along, gradually becoming increasingly dramatic, until she flings her pajama-clad arms out in full Celine Dion diva style. The incredibly convincing unselfconscious honesty of Zellweger in such a moment is worth the entire two hours of the movie.

While Zellweger's performance never stumbles, the screenplay certainly does, and the phenomenal efforts of the entire cast to overcome the thin script must be applauded. Hugh Grant as Zellweger's slimy but sexy boss Daniel Cleaver plays a parody of himself, with his dangling locks and dry dialogue delivery, and he is indeed priceless. When Grant falls into a lake proclaiming "I'm the king of the world!" even the most cynical of moviegoers must admit amusement. Firth also excels, as Zellweger's true Mr. Right, or should I say Mr. Darcy, in a quite self-conscious reference to Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice," the BBC film adaptation that Firth starred in as, you guessed it, Mr. Darcy. Firth as the hunky and earnest barrister Mark Darcy plays his series of stricken stares to stoically handsome perfection.

Unfortunately, the film refuses to let the absolute perfection of its three actors elevate the movie into anything more than an average romantic comedy. While "Bridget Jones' Diary" could have been the British "When Ha.rry Met Sally," it veers away from witty dialogue and character development, leaving the characters of Bridget's friends, Jude (Shirley Henderson), Shazzer (Sally Phillips), and Tom (James Callis), so central to the novel, largely unexplored.

Instead, the movie embraces the simplest love story it can deliver, punching up the minor conflict between Daniel and Darcy from the novel by introducing a bizarre, clearly intended to be comic, 15-minute fight scene. Grant's deadpan response to Firth's challenge — "Shall I bring my dueling pistols or my sword?" — reveals the ridiculousness at its core. Sadly, the culmination of the romantic storyline is equally ridiculous, and while this reviewer longed to feel carried away by the inevitable happily-ever-after conclusion to the film, no swelling symphonic music could disguise the snickers of the true Singletons who would, instead of going to see this movie, surely go out and get a drink with the girls.