The Reel Diaries: Bridget Jones' Diary

She must continue the loop so I can continue mine. It’s how this works.

Welcome back to The 90-Minute Movie, the only substack dedicated to the art of short films! I introduced a segment called The Reel Diaries in 2023 as a way for me to combine my love of narrative non-fiction and film. It has been almost a year since my last ‘diary’ entry and I am feeling all kinds of rusty and dusty. BUT I won’t let that hold me back. There was a time when I was writing an essay a week about myself, so I’m sure with a little stretching I won’t hurt myself. If you’re new here and were expecting a movie review, go back and check out my recent work. If you find yourself loving this, go read my Reel Diary pieces on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and White Christmas. And don’t forget to subscribe if you’d like me in your inbox regularly.

Like anyone, I’ve had low days. Days that seem to begin in flame and end in ash. It gets even worse as the shit days stack on top of one another precariously like cairns on a hiking path. There are many therapist and doctor-approved ways of coping with a terrible day. Exercise. A warm bath. Meditation. Some tea. Journaling. And there are even more ways of coping that they do not recommend. Binge Drinking. Sex with an ex. Smoking. Thirty-five Famous Amos cookies for dinner. Calling up someone who wronged you out of the blue. Somewhere between good and bad on the spectrum of self-care is watching a comfort movie.

Based on face value alone, watching a movie again and again until it feels like home isn’t inherently bad. But I think the practice has received some negative press over the years because it is probably one of the most common coping mechanisms Americans have. It’s been made worse by streaming which allows us to watch anything at any time. And ‘anything’ is oftentimes just the same shit we have always watched. We’re isolated and we know it. But it doesn’t stop us from making the same choices every day. Even though I like to think I am part of a cohort (a fancy word marketers use to group us together by basic characteristics and needs) of people who branch out and watch new, original content, I too fall prey to the lure of a classic and comforting movie. The most frequent for me is Bridget Jones’ Diary (2001).

It’s one of the very few movies I can watch once a year and never get bored or sick of. Although not groundbreaking, there is a science as to why we watch our favorite films and television shows repeatedly: it makes us feel safe. Watching the same thing time and time again gives us a sense of control over our daily lives, fulfills emotional needs, and connects us with our past in a positive way. “We know how the episodes end and–more importantly–how we’ll feel when they end,” says a Psychology Today report on the matter. (I think we all know I don’t frequent the pages of Psychology Today but I had to legitimize what I’m writing here with something. It’s the inner liberal arts student in me.) In a chaotic world, the guarantee of an emotional outcome is tantalizing and almost impossible to ignore.

Of course. I didn’t know all this until recently. Up until now, I’ve watched this movie every year at my lowest point because it’s just what I have always done. I have long since admired how Bridget (Renee Zellweger) gets over her break-up with Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant) and commits all her energy to making herself better. Yes, this bettering includes a lot of gym montages and this movie is famously known for 1) its main protagonist being “fat” at 136 pounds and 2) the news articles surrounding Renee Zellweger gaining “so much” weight to play someone “fat”. It’s harmful and dated. This we know.

But tabling that - Bridget sets out to improve herself and I’ve always wanted to be that kind of woman, ever since I saw this movie for the first time when I was about 14 years old. I think for context it’s important to take yourself back to 2001, if you can. Across pop culture, young girls were being fed stronger female characters than in the past but most of them led unattainable lives. With the exception of Erin Brokovich, most of the women were impeccably gorgeous, dressed, and successful. Think Sex and the City, Charlie’s Angels, the women of Friends, and Buffy. Easy to be admired, sure, but hard to see yourself living up to, especially at a time when you’re feeling your most awkward and most terrible.

Bridget Jones always felt like a real person. She still feels like a real person. She says the wrong thing at the wrong time (repeatedly), wears the wrong thing, and is working a job she doesn’t necessarily love. Her behavior is never contrived or trite either. Bridget feels as real to me now as she did 24 years ago. The movie allowed for a bit of girly fantasy as well -- two gorgeous men fighting over you? Dreamy. And while Bridget gets to be her messy self, we boil down our two male leads to tropes of the good guy (Colin Firth) and the bad guy (Hugh Grant) both irresistible in their own ways. Similarly, she has a group of good friends, all different who fulfill different needs for Bridget. They too are real and messy and challenging. I always envisioned my life being very much similar to Bridget’s. Living in a city, going out at night with my cool but dysfunctional friends, and lusting after cute men. Perhaps she’s not the best role model in the long run, but I had her.

I just know someone, somewhere with a film degree is screaming about this movie being too formulaic or something, but the formula works, and I am comforted by it time and time again. The stakes are always low enough, that I can’t get stressed out. There are some movies I watch that still frustrate me and give me anxiety even when I know the ending. Even with my beloved White Christmas, I get pissed off as hell when Betty leaves town without trying to hold Bob accountable for what she thinks he’s done. Sometimes I even fast forward those twenty minutes because I literally cannot stand to sit in that discomfort, even though I know it ends well. Bridget Jones’ Diary isn’t like that and it never will be. That is the comfort I seek.

This is perhaps why I have never seen a Bridget Jones sequel. Never. Not the 2014 skiing (?) one, not the one where she has a baby with someone (?), and especially not the new one that was just released about a boy… who I can only assume is her son (?). I don’t know and I don’t really care to know. I am notoriously known as someone who cannot stand sequels -- there are very, very few that I appreciate-- and despite Bridget Jones being a favorite character of mine, I continue to hold this line. I think part of me is afraid that watching a sequel cause some sort of irreparable disillusionment with the narrative and I will lose its magical comforting powers for good. Bridget Jones can’t have a baby! She needs to try to quit smoking, have a hangover at her parent’s New Year party, and wear the wrong panties while hooking up with her boss. She must continue the loop so I can continue mine. It’s how this works.

I never chose Bridget Jones’ Diary as my comfort movie. If anything, Bridget Jones chose me. Landing into my unsuspecting and impressionable lap, and never leaving. After all of this time, if I am having an absolute shit day, I throw this one on and allow myself to be put together again as Bridget does the same.