Like many millennial women, I’ve seen Bridget Jones’ Diary an embarrassing number of times. I had not, however, seen the film for many years, until I recently rewatched it in anticipation of its 25th anniversary.
My 2026 reaction to seeing Renée Zellweger’s 2001 Bridget drown the sorrows of her bumbling 30-something singleness in endless booze and loveless hook-ups? Wow, what an innocent time. No, I obviously don’t mean “innocent” in the sense of “pure” or “devoid of vice.” I mean something even deeper than that.
