Starting over. That's something Bridget Jones decides to do on New Year's Day, as she begins her famous diary on account of a resolution to get herself in order. Now, I'm not a huge fan of this flick, but not because of the reasons you might assume. I have no beef with romantic comedies. And Hugh Grant, in the rascal role that he takes on in this movie (and that he has since excelled at in About a Boy ) is enjoyable. No, I must be honest. I don't like this movie because, well, the book was better. I know. I know. Why the hell would I read this book? I'm a guy, so what am I doing reading the book that kicked off the (incredibly irritating) chick-lit trend? Well, I have a good excuse. I was reviewing this movie, and, since it was the first review I ever wrote, I wanted to be up on the material. So after reading the book, and darn if I didn't fall in love with that muddled singleton. Okay, so that's sort of a thin excuse , but really, the book is pretty solid. Anyway, then the movie comes out and it's over-the-top – kinda like what Bruckheimer would do to a nice little romance. All the goofy humor has been blown into Lucille Ball proportions, and the climax (which is different than the book's ending), and everything's gone to hell.
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