Seeing Bridget Jones's Diary was one of those movie experiences that I can't remember without wincing — my friends and I thought it was so funny that we were positively obnoxious from all the laughing. We were sadly without inner poise, but we aren't to blame because the new British comedy was hilarious through the end.

The story is about title character Bridget Jones (played by Renee Zellweger), a thirty something London singleton. Texan-native Zellweger was an ideal choice for the part of the oh-so-lovably-ridiculous Jones. So was Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver, Jones' sexy boss/love interest, and Colin Firth as Mark Darcy, that beautiful aloof barrister whom we all instinctively know (if one can have instincts concerning movies) is destined to be with Jones.

Jones is no chic svelte woman of the city type — her three goals in life are to reduce the circumference of her things, stop smoking and develop inner poise.

It's the inner poise that is most notably lacking. In almost every scene she seems to make some social gaffe and left me cringing in empathy. Jones was an international hit when her diary hit the bookshelves — and the qualities women everywhere related to are as much in evidence in the film as they were in the literary version of Jones's life.

Only this time we get the added pleasure of watching Zellweger, Grant and Firth — and it was a pleasure indeed. I hate to stray so far from Jones's ice queen ideal, but at the risk of sounding overly enthusiastic I have to say this is my new favorite movie.

— Reviewed by Emily Morris