Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy

The last time I checked in with Bridget Jones, she was finally getting her "happily ever after" in a rain-slicked christening scene that felt like a definitive closing bracket. But here we are in 2025, and cinema’s most relatable disaster magnet is back. I watched this while nursing a slightly cold cup of Earl Grey and wearing socks with a hole in the toe—which, honestly, felt like the only appropriate way to commune with the spirit of Bridget.

In Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy, the "happily ever after" has been rudely interrupted by the one thing rom-coms usually ignore: reality. Mark Darcy is gone. It’s a bold, almost sacrilegious move to kill off the man who liked her "just as she is," but it forces the franchise to do something legacy sequels rarely manage—it grows up. Renée Zellweger slips back into the accent and the awkwardness as if she never left, but there’s a new, soulful weariness behind the eyes. She’s not just counting units of alcohol and cigarettes anymore; she’s counting the days since she lost the love of her life while trying to figure out why her son is obsessed with Minecraft.

The Return of the Ultimate Cad

Let’s address the elephant in the room: the return of Daniel Cleaver. After skipping the third installment (save for a newspaper clipping), Hugh Grant is back, and he is glorious. He’s leaning into his "silver fox" era with a delicious, self-aware rot. Daniel Cleaver is the human equivalent of a cigarette you know will give you a cough but you light it anyway. His chemistry with Zellweger hasn't aged a day; they still spark off each other with that mix of genuine affection and mutual destruction that made the 2001 original a classic.

But Daniel isn’t the main event this time. Bridget is navigating the terrifying wilderness of the apps. Watching a 50-something widow try to decode a "thirst trap" is comedy gold, primarily because the film doesn't treat her like a dinosaur. It treats the modern dating world like the absurd circus it actually is. Enter Leo Woodall as Roxster, the significantly younger man who provides the "lust" portion of the program. Woodall, fresh off his breakout in The White Lotus, brings a puppyish, unpretentious energy that makes the age-gap romance feel sweet rather than predatory. Then there’s Chiwetel Ejiofor as Mr. Walliker, the stern but soulful science teacher. Ejiofor brings a gravity to the film that balances the slapstick, reminding us that this is, at its heart, a drama about moving on.

A Legacy Sequel with a Pulse

Director Michael Morris (who did wonders with the intimate drama To Leslie) avoids the glossy, over-saturated look of many modern streaming comedies. There’s a groundedness here. The London we see isn't just a postcard; it's a place where people get stuck in traffic and deal with damp flats. The screenplay, co-written by Dan Mazer and Abi Morgan, manages to retain the "Fielding-isms" of the books while acknowledging that the world has shifted.

The film tackles the "Boy Mom" energy with surprising sincerity. Bridget’s relationship with her children provides the emotional spine of the movie, shifting it away from the "who will she choose?" trope into something more profound: "who is she now?" Jim Broadbent and Gemma Jones return as Bridget’s parents, and their scenes are a masterclass in understated British sentimentality. They represent the bridge to the past, while the kids and the new lovers represent a messy, uncertain future. Watching Bridget try to explain a "situationship" to her mother is a specific kind of generational torture that I found painfully accurate.

Navigating the Content-Crammed Present

Releasing a Bridget Jones film in 2025 is a risky proposition. We are currently drowning in "legacy sequels" that exist solely to harvest nostalgia. However, Mad About the Boy justifies its existence by being genuinely funny. The physical comedy—a staple of the franchise—is still top-tier. Whether Bridget is getting stuck in a tree (yes, really) or misinterpreting a text message, the timing is impeccable.

It also engages with the contemporary moment without feeling like a "fellow kids" meme. The way social media is integrated into the plot feels organic to how a person of Bridget's generation would actually experience it—as a confusing, slightly addictive, and often humiliating tool for connection. The film doesn't shy away from the loneliness of the digital age, which gives the comedy a much-needed edge. This isn't just a comfort-watch; it's a survival guide for the perpetually overwhelmed.

There’s a specific kind of bravery in taking a beloved character and putting them through the wringer of grief. It’s a drama that wears a rom-com’s coat. While the film occasionally leans a bit too hard into the "wacky friend group" tropes (the "Urban Family" are back, though their schtick is wearing slightly thin), the central journey is incredibly moving. It’s about the fact that life doesn't stop when the credits roll on your first marriage. You have to keep starting new chapters, even if you’re doing it with smeared mascara and a broken heart.

Ultimately, this is a film that knows its audience has grown up alongside its protagonist. It’s messy, occasionally sentimental, and frequently hilarious. Renée Zellweger proves once again that Bridget Jones is her definitive role, bringing a vulnerability to the character that makes the third-act resolutions feel earned rather than forced. It’s a lovely, bittersweet reminder that being "mad about the boy" is fine, but being sane about yourself is the real victory. If you’ve ever felt like a functional adult who is secretly three toddlers in a trench coat, this one is for you.

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