Bridget Jones's Baby review ★★★★★

"All by my self..." goes the soundtrack. The camera pans over a magazine strewn London flat to the solitary figure of Bridget Jones, on her sofa, in her pyjamas... again.

We've been here before with Bridget. Many years ago now, a decidedly younger, fatter Bridget sat on a similar sofa getting sloshed on vodka and deciding not to be eaten by alsatians. That was, of course, when she was at her best.

A couple of years after that, she went to Thailand in Bridget Jones Edge of Reason and got into some nonsense involving drugs. And now here she is again, older, slimmer and disappointingly more hopeless than ever. And yet, by some miracle that is Renée Zellweger's acting, almost as funny -- thank heavens.

Anyone who is a fan of Helen Fielding's books will know that in the third literary instalment of Bridget Jones, our hero is supposed to be a single mum of two who has buried her beloved husband Mr Darcy. But it's as though Universal Studios read the novel, decided it was no good and chucked the whole thing out the window. Bridget Jones's Baby has absolutely no resemblance to that at all.

In this adaptation of Jones' later years, Bridge is a 40-something year old woman with a shrivelling womb, whose mother has gone from fussing about Mr Darcy and his wife of a "cruel race", to pleading with Bridget to get something cooking in her oven, with or without a man to provide the unbaked goods. Although, when her daughter does indeed get knocked-up, and her mother freaks out and nearly disowns her.

The problem is (as you'll know if you've seen the trailer) Bridget doesn't know who the baby's father is. Is it Jack (Patrick Dempsey) the hunky techy millionaire she met at a festival, stumbled into a tent with, and then shagged? Or is it lovely, dependable, busy and successful Mark Darcy (Colin Firth) that we know and love?

But then, few things make sense in this film. Men constantly appear at the right time and in right place by total coincidence. The tech lord appears to have become a millionaire with a terrible dating website born of 90s graphics. Everyone has an iPhone, so it appears to be the 21st century, but no one has Uber or Tinder or any of the other normal things we use. Worst of all, it is inconceivable that a woman so utterly unable to hold the basic fabric of her day-to-day life together would manage to have a "high-powered job" a "nice flat" and two exceptionally attractive (and rich) men fighting over her ovaries.

It is refreshing to see a rom-com where the actors and characters are over the age of 26 and screwing up the kind of life decisions that normally fall into the 'lived happily ever after' category; such as babies and careers. But the plot isn't tight and Bridget is too hopeless to be believable or indeed likeable -- although God knows Renée does her best.