
Bridget Jones’s Baby movie review: how to infantilize women
The desperation, the neuroticism, and the idiocy of Bridget Jones continues to be appalling, not appealing. She is not the everywoman she is meant to be.

The desperation, the neuroticism, and the idiocy of Bridget Jones continues to be appalling, not appealing. She is not the everywoman she is meant to be.

A bland electronic babysitter, suitable only for small children still distracted by bright colors, slapstick cartoon animals, and simplistic wordplay.

A sweetly silly trounce of the idea that overgrown frat boys are charming. Shakes up the subgenre in a way remarkably, if perhaps accidentally, feminist.

Should be grim, bitter, and as horrifyingly alluring as Hannibal Lecter. But it’s nothing but a teen-friendly ad for toys, Ts, and other disposable merch.

The Ice Age flicks are the cinematic equivalent of drive-through nuggets of reconstituted chicken slurry served by a bored teenager in a cardboard hat.

Kate McKinnon’s gleefully reckless physicist is brainy comic mayhem, unlike any female character we’ve seen before. And there are more reasons to cheer.

Sends up one-upwomanship, egotistical self-help, and reflexive hedonism with zing. It is a sheer triumph to see two older women being really funny onscreen.

Charming. A cleverly constructed and amusingly rendered fantasy adventure that sings with a sweet, wistful devotion to home, family, and friendship.

Fantasy meandering twists into something more action-oriented, and there’s little magic in it. This is not what we expect from a master cinematic fantasist.

Plays with hierarchies and rivalries of women’s lives that often aren’t seen onscreen, and embraces women as powerful. But it’s just not very funny about it.