Bridget Jones's Diary (film)
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Bridget Jones's Diary is a 2001 film, based on the 1996 book of the same name. It is about the life of a single thirtysomething woman in London.
- Directed by Sharon Maguire. Written by Helen Fielding, Richard Curtis and Andrew Davies.
- It all began on New Years day, in my 32nd year of being single. Once again I found myself on my own and going to my mother's annual turkey curry buffet. Every year she tries to fix me up with some bushy-haired, middle-aged bore, and I feared this year would be no exception.
- My mum, a strange creature from the time when gherkins were still the height of sophistication.
- And that was it. Right there. Right there, that was the moment. I suddenly realised that unless something changed soon I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine... and I'd finally die, fat and alone, and be found three weeks later half-eaten by alsatians. Or I was about to turn into Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction.
- Resolution number one: Obviously will lose twenty pounds. Number two: Equally important, will find nice, sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts. And especially will not fantasise about a particular person who embodies all these things... Unfortunately he just happens to be my boss, editor in chief Daniel Cleaver, and for various slightly unfair reasons relating to this year's Christmas party I suspect he does not fantasize about me.
- Daily call from Jude. Best friend. Head of investment at Brightlings Bank, who spends most of her time trapped in the ladies' room crying over fuckwit boyfriend.
- Shazzer. Journalist. Likes to say "fuck". A lot.
- Tom, 80's pop icon who only wrote one hit record then retired because he found that one record was quite enough to get him laid for the whole of the 90's. Total poof, of course.
- Major dilemma. If actually do, by some terrible chance, end up in flagrante surely these would be most attractive at crucial moment. (holds up thong) However, chances of reaching crucial moment greatly increased by wearing these; scary stomach-holding-in pants very popular with grannies the world over. Tricky. Very tricky.
- (Answering phone) Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs... Mum... hi.
- At times like this, continuing with one's life seems impossible... and eating the entire contents of one's fridge seems inevitable. I have two choices: to give up and accept permanent state of spinsterhood and eventual eating by alsatians, or not. And this time I choose not. I will not be defeated by a bad man and an American stick insect! Instead, I choose vodka. And Chaka Khan.
- (rummaging through her fridge) Where the fuck is the fucking tuna?
(imitating her line on TV) This is Bridget Jones for Sit Up Britain searching for tuna.
- Don't be silly, Bridget. You'll never get a boyfriend if you look like you've wandered out of Auschwitz. ~Mother
- Mother, I do not need a blind date. Particularly not with some verbally incontinent spinster who smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish and dresses like her mother. ~Mark
- I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever's in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences... But the thing is, um, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. ~ Mark
- Now, these are very silly little boots, Jones. And this is a very silly little dress. And, um, these are- fuck me, absolutely enormous pants. ~Daniel
- I can't believe you said what you said you said. ~Jude
- Come the fuck on, Bridget! ~ Tom
- Oh,fuck me, I love Keats. Have you heard this one? 'There was a young woman from Ealing, who had a peculiar feeling, she lay on her back, and opened her crack, and pissed all over the ceiling!'... Oh fuck me! Bollocks!
- Bridget: I'm sorry, I'm not quite fi... [interrupted by seeing Mark]
- Mark: Good afternoon.
- Bridget: Hi! You like me just the way I am...
- Mark: Sorry?
- Bridget: Nothing.
- Bridget: [as Una Alconberry] No Pam. And besides I'm busy, gravy needs sieveing.
- Mark: [as Pamela Jones] Surely not, just stir it, Una.
- Mother: Come on. Why don't we see if Mark fancies a gherkin.
- Bridget: Ding dong! Maybe this was the mysterious Mr. Right I'd been waiting my whole life to meet. (Sees his reindeer jumper) Maybe not.
- Mother: Mark! You remember Bridget. She used to run around your lawn with no clothes on, remember?
- Daniel: (as computer messages) If walking past my office was attempt to demonstrate presence of skirt, can only say that it has failed parlously-- Cleave.
- Bridget: Shut up, please. I am very busy and important. P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in this impertinent manner?
- Daniel: Message Jones. Mortified to have caused offense. Will avoid all non-P.C. overtones in future. Deeply apologetic. P.S. Like your tits in that top.
- Perpetua: Anyone going to introduce me?
- Bridget: Ah, introduce people with thoughtful details. Perpetua, this is Mark Darcy. Mark's a prematurely middle-aged prick with a cruel-raced ex-wife. Perpetua's a fart-arse old bag who spends her time bossing me around... Maybe not.
- Perpetua: Anyone going to introduce me?
- Bridget: Ah, Perpetua. This is Mark Darcy. Mark's a top barrister. He comes from Grafton Underwood. Perpetua's one of my work colleagues.
- Perpetua: Oh, Mark, I know you by reputation of course.
- Mark: (Natasha arrives) Ah, Natasha. This is Bridget Jones. Bridget, this is Natasha. Natasha is a top attorney and specializes in family law. Bridget is in advertising and used to play naked in my paddling pool.
- Richard: So, why do you want to work in television?
- Bridget: I've got to leave my current job because I've shagged my boss.
- Richard: Fair enough. Start on Monday. We'll see how we go. And, incidentally, at 'Sit Up, Britain', no one ever gets sacked for shaggin' the boss. That's a matter of principle.
- Mark: I don't think you're an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements that are ridiculous about you. Your mother's pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever's in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences. I realize that when I met you at the Turkey Curry Buffet I was unforgiveably rude... and wearing a reindeer jumper... that my mother had given me the day before. But the thing is, uhm, what I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, uhm, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you. Very much.
- Bridget: [Bitterly] Apart from the smoking and the drinking and the vulgar mother and the verbal diarrhea...
- Mark: No, I like you very much. Just as you are.
- Bridget: How's it look?
- Mark: Great, it's... blue.
- Bridget: Blue?
- Mark: No, but blue is... good. If you ask me, there isn't enough blue food.
- Mother: The Darcy's Ruby Wedding of course. "What for?" Indeed! Mark will be there. Still divorced *taps nose*
- Bridget: He's also... still deranged. *taps nose*
- Bridget: Wait a minute, nice boys don't kiss like that.
- Mark: Oh, yes, they fucking do.
- It's Monday morning, Bridget has woken up with a headache, a hangover and her boss.
- Uninhibited. Uncensored. Unmarried.
- For anyone who's ever been set up, stood up or felt up.
- Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. – Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. – Aloof. Unavailable. Ice queen. – quite fancy a snog though...
- All women keep score... Only the great ones put it in writing.
- Renée Zellweger — Bridget Jones
- Colin Firth — Mark Darcy
- Hugh Grant — Daniel Cleaver
- Gemma Jones — Bridget's Mother
- Jim Broadbent — Bridget's Father
- Felicity Montagu — Perpetua
- Sally Phillips — Shazzer
- James Callis — Tom
- Paul Brooke — Mr. Fitzherbert
- Celia Imrie — Una Alconbury
- James Faulkner — Uncle Geoffrey