Colin & Renée & Mark & Bridget: The Intertextual Crowd

Madelyn Ritrosky-Winslow

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He's talented Colin Firth. He's smoldering Mr. Darcy. No, he's romantic Mark Darcy. Well, he's gorgeous. Is that Colin or Mark or Mr. Darcy? And is it Colin, real person working as an actor? Or Colin "British Heartthrob" Firth, his star persona, that doppelganger of name actors? How about Renée Zellweger? Is she pudgy Renée or normal Bridget Jones? Curvy? Hefty? Is it Bridget or Renée we're talking about? Renée "Size Does Matter" Zellweger, her Bridget Jones-adjusted star persona? And there's Hugh Grant. He's charming. He's sly. Is that Hugh or Daniel Cleaver? Hugh "Sexy Brit" Grant? Or the real Hugh - but who is that?

Just how many interconnected, overlapping "identities," real and fictional, inhabit the star-character universe of Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), the international box office hit inspired by Helen Fielding's two best-selling Bridget Jones novels? For each of the three stars credited above the title, Renée Zellweger, Colin Firth, and Hugh Grant, we of course have: 1) the real person who is an actor, 2) the star persona of the actor, and 3) his or her character in the Bridget Jones's Diary (BJD) film. In this particular case, we also have: 4) these "same" characters in the Bridget Jones books, already loaded with cross-referencing identities, 5) these characters in their original guise in Fielding's newspaper columns, 6) the Pride and Prejudice characters from the 1995 TV miniseries which inspired Fielding, 7) the original 1813 Pride and Prejudice novel by Jane Austen (also inspirational to Fielding), and 8) the tangled mesh of actor, star image, and two characters (each character also subject to multiple incarnations). For Zellweger, add in Fielding as the self-aware creator of our heroine. And, for Firth, add two more to the list: fictionalized version of the actor as himself in the second Bridget Jones novel, and the conglomeration of self-referential layers whereby Firth as Mr. Darcy in the Pride and Prejudice miniseries inspired the creation of Mark Darcy, who Firth then portrays in BJD - as Fielding put it, the "Colin/Mark/Mr. Darcy mélange" (qtd. in Morrison). '

The overall experience of Bridget Jones's Diary goes well beyond the borders of the film's ostensible storyline, openly inviting viewers to immerse themselves in irony, intertextuality, and self-reflexive fun. Intertextuality is the cross-referencing of other media "texts," including films, TV shows, novels, star images, etc., while self-reflexiveness is conscious reference to itself as a film. In the case of BJD, story, plot points, shot details, characters, actors, star images, publicity, and commentary all work together to totally blur conventional boundaries (such as they are) between actor, character, and star image. The film's casting has been described as a "cunning pretzel of allusive logic" (Schwarzbaum) and "tangled cross-referencing and meta-drama … [to captivate] ardent fans" (Weisz).

As an unusually self-reflexive, intertextual film - especially for a romance - BJD illustrates to a heightened degree a general tendency of contemporary cinema and star images. Films and star turns can reference previous films, TV works, and roles, star images, news, etc.; all manner of publicity and discussion surrounding films creates cross-media references that provide interpretive cues for movie audiences. With now a century of accumulated film texts and a pervasive media environment, many films of the past three decades exploit intertextual angles to one degree or another. At the extreme are films like Mel Brooks's highly self-reflexive, intertextual comedies that are built on references to classic and contemporary cinema. Some films consciously play with their stars' images in small ways, but only the occasional movie overtly foregrounds a star's image to deliberately confound actor with image with character (cf. Being John Malkovich [1999]). Bridget Jones's Diary plays on other media texts, specifically the BBC/A&E miniseries of Pride and Prejudice, Austen's original novel, and Fielding's books. BJD foregrounds the utter entanglement of actor Colin Firth, his image, Mark Darcy, and Mr. Darcy. Also, Renée Zellweger's unusual weight gain for the role of Bridget and Hugh Grant's emergent new screen persona as the rather dastardly Daniel ratchet up further the high degree of star intertextuality that film, publicity, and commentary evoke together. This intertextual conundrum places star spectacle at the service of (heterosexual) female desire and identification - a welcome change from the bulk of mainstream cinema.

Obsession with intertextuality and the resulting identity game was undoubtedly a factor in the film's success at the box office and with critics. It hit number one in both the U.S. and Great Britain, breaking British box office records and taking in $280 million worldwide in its theatrical release - approximately twelve times its reported production cost. Only the occasional romantic comedy manages to garner the attention that it did, which included various nominations and some awards. Very few British films of the last decade and a half feature what Claire Monk calls "new men" and did well at the U.K. box office - fewer still are contemporary romances. In fact, in a move that is highly unusual for romantic comedies, a sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, is being produced with Zellweger, Firth, and Grant reprising their original roles. Re-teaming stars in romantic comedies is not that unusual (cf. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere in Pretty Woman [1990] and Runaway Bride [1999]), re-teaming them in a true sequel is. Four and a half months of principal filming began in October 2003 and wrapped in February 2004; by the time this article appears, it should have passed through theatres, and been released as a DVD.

Press coverage and publicity surrounding production of Edge of Reason pick up right where the first film and its publicity and commentary left off in annihilating apparent boundaries between stars and characters. Numerous photos of on-location filming along with press reports and interviews popped up in a variety of British, American, and Australian magazines, newspapers, and websites from October to February. While promoting their current releases, the stars were often asked about Edge of Reason. A UPI report quotes Colin Firth on the hoopla: "I was told: 'Don't say anything about the film. Don't give anything away.' They don't want you talking about it, and then, every shot that we do is followed frame by frame by the world's paparazzi and broadcast all over the world and it's in the papers the same day that we shot it" ("Firth, Grant"). Although Renée Zellweger was at the February 2004 Berlin Film Festival to promote Cold Mountain (2003), she "was immediately questioned about the Bridget Jones sequel. … [T]here have already been sneaky pictures in the papers but Renée was trying to keep it all under wraps" ("Renée's"). Edge of Reason is a good example of the occasional highly anticipated, high-profile production where early press coverage and publicity provide emergent interpretive contexts that generate further interest. Such productions are rarely romantic comedies. Bridget Jones's Diary and the press coverage and publicity surrounding the making of its sequel, Edge of Reason, make for a fascinating case study of the intertextual play of identity in contemporary film stardom. This article looks more closely at the rampant intertextuality surrounding Colin Firth and his portrayal of Mark Darcy. I also explore the intertextual swirling of the weight issue for Renée Zellweger in her role as Bridget Jones. Analysis of these two stars and their characters comes together with the final kissing scene of BJD and its translated significance in press coverage of the Edge of Reason shoot. Finally, my analysis also considers intertextual issues for Hugh Grant as Daniel Cleaver, especially how he and Firth are positioned together as desirable men for women, through the deliberate confusion of actor, star image, and character by the original film and publicity.

Bridget Jones's Diary was produced by London-based Working Title Films and distributed by Universal, StudioCanal, and Miramax. Both films are based on the best-selling novels of the same names by Helen Fielding (1996 and 1999, U.K.; 1998 and 2000, U.S.). The BJD script was written by executive producer Fielding, Andrew Davies, writer of the 1995 Pride and Prejudice miniseries, and Richard Curtis, writer of romantic comedies like Notting Hill (1999) with Grant and Love Actually (2003) with Grant and Firth. These romantic comedies and others comprise a well-established track record in that genre for Working Title. TV director Sharon Maguire, a friend of Fielding's and the model for Bridget's friend Shazzer, directed her first feature with BJD. (The main differences in the sequel's production team are Beeban Kidron as director, Liza Chasin, a co-producer on the first film, as executive producer, and Adam Brooks as a fourth writer.)

One of the most interesting and, for my analysis, key aspects of BJD's transformation from Fielding's imagination to silver screen is the complex function of actor Colin Firth, who figures prominently in the process. His participation is not that of an ordinary acting job; the groundwork for his unusually self-referential role in the films began in Fielding's newspaper columns-turned-books. In 1995, Firth's portrayal of the enigmatic, taciturn, yet romantic character Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice stimulated Helen Fielding in more ways than one. In the early part of 1995, Fielding had begun a newspaper column for London's Independent, later moving to the Daily Telegraph, that followed through "diary" entries the life of a fictitious single woman in her thirties, Bridget Jones. Fielding was modeling her characters and story on Austen's Pride and Prejudice. In September, the BBC premiered its lavish miniseries with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy. Fielding and millions of others were entranced. The final episode drew a huge audience and the video, amazingly on sale before the final episode's October 29th airing, sold over 50,000 copies in a matter of days ("The Media Week"). Fielding loved the character, but she, like many other women who watched, also developed a hankering for Firth the actor. Thus, from this point on in the columns and most definitely for the books, Bridget's ultimate love interest, Mark Darcy, is based very specifically on Firth's portrayal of Mr. Darcy - that is, Mr. Darcy and Colin Firth, or rather, his public image. His Mr. Darcy "struggles visibly with the power of his passion for Elizabeth. … [and] strongly conveys the heightened emotion and physicality of Darcy. … [making it an] emotionally turbulent representation" (Lane 64). Fielding characterizes Mark Darcy as "a surreal fantasy/reality-blurring romantic figure … , a sort of delicious Colin/Mark/Mr. Darcy mélange" (qtd. in Morrison). She also has Bridget drooling over Colin Firth. Thus, Mark Darcy springs from a fan's fascination with actor Colin Firth as mediated through his star image, the timeless Mr. Darcy character, and Firth-as-Mr. Darcy in a miniseries that was much talked about at the time of its original broadcast in Britain.

A star image or persona is a coalescence of all media images, mentions, appearances, and performances organized around key signifiers for a unique and marketable public identity for a performer. This persona overlaps with the real individual but it is not "really" the private person who is a working professional pursuing creative and career opportunities. For example, unlike the aloof Mr. Darcy, Colin Firth appears to be witty and self-effacing (cf. The Late Late Show, December 11, 2003), these elements - these appearances - also contributing to his overall image. Star personae are never static and continually evolve, for individuals, performances, reception, etc. are all part of the cultural flux. With the three stars here, for instance, the success of Bridget Jones's Diary and the ballyhooed sequel are impacting their images in significant ways. I would argue that the dogged Mr. Darcy persona is finally receding as Mark Darcy moves to the fore in Firth's constellation of roles, raising his star status in the process; that Bridget Jones has become fully entrenched in Renée Zellweger's public persona; and that Hugh Grant's characters now have a dicey edge, moving his on-screen persona away from the sensitive nice-guy, altering his overall star image.

Of the three stars, it is only Firth, by circuitous route through his star image to Mark Darcy, who is found all the way back to the original, popular columns. The columns led to the novels, gaining a far larger international audience. In the first novel, Firth and Grant are mentioned when each is considered a possible topic for the tabloid TV show for which Bridget works. She also ponders a newspaper photo of Firth, watches the original broadcast of Pride and Prejudice, and talks about Mr. Darcy with her friend Jude. Her references clearly highlight the conflation of Firth with Mr. Darcy that the miniseries frenzy set in motion. Bridget writes, "Feel disorientated and worried, for surely Mr. Darcy would never do anything so vain and frivolous as to be an actor and yet Mr. Darcy is an actor. Hmmm. All v. confusing" (Fielding, 1996, 216). (Emphasis in original.) Mr. Darcy and Mark are directly compared by Bridget: "being imaginary," she decided, was definitely "a disadvantage" for Mr. Darcy (215). Hmmm. In reality, of course, Mark is also imaginary, yet the character is based in part on a real person, though more accurately it's that person's star image. And in the second novel, the line between reality and fantasy gets warped further. Firth actually appears as "himself," in reality a fictionalized version of himself or, to be more precise, he enacted his own star persona with Helen Fielding when they together created a hilarious scene of a lusting Bridget Jones interviewing "Colin Firth." Yes, v. confusing. Fielding upped the ante of playful intertextuality and self-referencing when she persuaded him to join in the fun: "Helen … went into Bridget and I did Mr. Darcy" (Firth, qtd. in Rees). This fantasy Firth exists only within the fictional universe of the story, but still maintains an intimate association with the real actor (apart from the scene's creation). We derive meaning for this fictional Firth through our knowledge of the actor's career and his star image. Conversely, Firth's star image was enhanced as a result of this "appearance," and his role in the Bridget Jones films demonstrates unequivocally a direct effect on his career.

Another comic scene from the second novel is when Bridget and her two girlfriends anxiously await Firth's phone call to set up the interview, they step out briefly, and return to his message on the machine. While waiting, they obsessively watch fifteen times the most famous scene from the miniseries. They watch the scene at two other points in the story as well. What are they obsessing over? Firth, as sexually frustrated Mr. Darcy, dives into a pond to douse the fire of his passion, strides away with damp clothes, and gets a discreet yet unmistakably desirous gaze from the woman his character loves, Elizabeth Bennet. Women in the audience fully embraced their identification with Elizabeth here - though audience reaction could hardly be called discreet. This is the famously sexy (or infamous, as Firth might say) so-called wet shirt scene that so many fans, journalists, British pop culture lists, and even later films with Firth continue to reference to this day (cf. Matusik; Love Actually [2003]). His performance, the reception of that performance, and the ensuing publicity functioned as a crystallizing moment in the development of his star image. Since 1984, he had appeared in films, miniseries, and made-for-TV movies, primarily in Britain, but Pride and Prejudice jolted his career and image. The labels "sex symbol" and "Mr. Darcy" became the central signifiers organizing his newly reconfigured persona. Sex appeal was already part of his image, evident from earlier roles in films like Valmont (1989) and The Advocate (1993) where women in the stories are drawn to his characters. But Pride and Prejudice delivered the potent combination of role (passionate, sensitive man slowly revealed), performance (Firth's skill at conveying, often nonverbally and especially with his eyes, the character's emotional turbulence), story (beloved classic romantic comedy), and exposure (huge TV and video audience) to inscribe Firth's image as "sexy Mr. Darcy." This occurred primarily in Britain, to a lesser extent in the U.S. when A&E showed the miniseries in January 1996. Although a BBC/A&E co-production shown on A&E is not mainstream television in the U.S., the cable network nonetheless topped its ratings records ("Cablefax").

Thus, Colin Firth playing Mark Darcy is a deliberate, tongue-in-cheek ruse. If Bridget Jones's Diary was to deliver all of its intended layers of meanings and provide exceptionally pleasurable readings for certain segments of the audience, the part of Mark Darcy could only be played by Firth. While he apparently had reservations about reinforcing the Darcy association, he nonetheless agreed to play the part: "In the end my sense of humour encouraged me to do it. I think it's more amusing if it's me and it's more amusing for me as well. But there are all kinds of self-referential layers that you've got to get through in order to find a character that's playable. You can't walk onto the set saying 'Right, shall I strike a Mr. Darcy pose or shall I try to be Colin Firth?' " (Morrison). Anyone else and the film would lose much of its obsessive intertextuality, reducing it to just another run-of-the-mill romantic comedy. Some of the film's details, which are not in the books, make sly references to the stars in other ways; these bits of self-reflexive referencing are not uncommon in contemporary films. For example, as a human rights lawyer, Mark successfully blocks the extradition of a Kurdish "freedom fighter" who would be executed if sent home. This ties into Colin Firth's active, public support of Amnesty International and the rights of asylum seekers in Britain ("Colin Firth highlights"). And, on a different plane, Daniel's candor with Bridget late in the film ("If I can't make it with you, I can't make it with anyone") reveals a profound loneliness that connects with Hugh Grant's more vulnerable roles like William Thacker in Notting Hill and Edward in Sense and Sensibility (1995). This connection is integral to the notion of star image, and this carry-over of traits from film to film is a long-established practice in entertainment filmmaking.

To participate in BJD's big joke, anyone unfamiliar with the books or miniseries could get the inside scoop through numerous reviews, interviews, and other publicity items. One can see in all this material not only the intertextual context of Pride and Prejudice and Firth as Mr. Darcy but, to varying degrees, the conflation of actor Colin Firth, his star persona, the Mr. Darcy character, and the new one, Mark Darcy. A few examples from the publicity and commentary include: "Colin Firth plays Darcy, as an updated version of what we have come to see as himself - a Jane Austen hero" (Wood). "Filling out the role of lust object Mark Darcy is … you guessed … Colin 'That Mr. Darcy From Out Of Pride And Prejudice' Firth" ("Page-turner"). One reporter claimed to be "uncovering the real Mr. Darcy" in an interview with the actor (Williams).

Miriam Hansen, in her work on Rudolph Valentino, the first male movie star who undeniably attracted the gaze of women as a sex symbol, explains the potential power of a star's presence in a film: "By activating a discourse external to the diegesis [the film's story], the star's presence enhances a centrifugal tendency in the viewer's relation to the film text. The star's performance weakens the diegetic [narrative] spell in favor of a string of spectacular moments that display the essence of the star" (246). Publicity, marketing, commentary, previous films, etc. circulate ideas about a star that come to bear on audience readings of the star's individual films and performances. The intertextual spotlights on "the star's body, background, personality, etc. inspire a rapture with the [filmic] image that takes the viewer beyond the horizons of the [film's] narrative, encouraging a spectacle-driven sensibility that derives pleasure" from star-gazing (Klinger 118). Yet another male movie star who enticed women as a sex symbol, Rock Hudson, inspired Barbara Klinger's ideas about intertextual star spectacle. Stars actually "reach their audiences primarily through their bodies. Photography, and especially the close-up, offers audiences a gaze at the bodies of stars closer and more sustained than the majority of real-life encounters" (Gledhill 210). However, it is usually female bodies that are photographed in ways that unabashedly eroticize the star for the desiring gaze of the audience. "Who looks and who is looked at … are cultural practices involving power relations. …[It] is women's bodies that have become the ultimate sexual spectacle for the pleasure of the male gaze" (Stacey 7–8). Erotic star spectacle almost always means something different when the body is male. "The [erotic] look at the male star is heavily alibied [and] covert" for much of mainstream cinema (MacKinnon 30). Does this still apply when it is a contemporary romance heavily influenced by women in key production positions (Fielding and Maguire) and targeted to a female audience? Kenneth MacKinnon mirrors industry and cultural bias when he ignores the men of women's films in his typology of movie men. Are they not "real" men, representing a legitimate masculinity? Scholars have noted that the men of women's films of the past were "clearly not chosen for their overly 'masculine' qualities. … [Men] in the love story are what women would want them to be, … like themselves, [thus] the thematics of narcissism" (Doane 116). Bridget Jones's Diary suggests something different: while the men do represent (Daniel's cheating notwithstanding) "what women would want them to be," their star images, the film, publicity, and commentary foreground their masculinity as erotic, romantic potential, that is, as highly desirable lovers, and that is what the heroine sees and wants. This is similar, in some ways, to contemporary romance novels for women, which feature highly eroticized men in sexually explicit scenes that convey profound love (Bordo). The Bridget Jones novels do not fall squarely under this literary genre, but there is a clear affinity: female protagonist, eroticized men, semi-explicit sex, Bridget's unambiguous sexual yearnings first for Daniel and then for Mark, and a deep love between Bridget and Mark that is conveyed through emotional and sexual situations. On film, we must search out specific male stars in specific romantic movies targeted to women to find spaces where a more overt erotic look at men is allowed. The Bridget Jones roles and star images of both Hugh Grant and Colin Firth suggest a less alibied, more overt eroticism, often targeted specifically to and appreciated by women. From this perspective, theirs is not only a legitimate but desirable (to women) and perhaps enviable (to men) masculinity. Jackie Stacey points out that Laura Mulvey's seminal work on the "male" gaze of Hollywood cinema begs the question "How might the male body on the screen be the source of erotic pleasure?" (24). In Bridget Jones's Diary, women can find a more overt, intertextually rich example.

Mark Darcy, so entwined with Firth's star persona, is a highly romantic character designed to be the epitome of the sensitive male sex object of women's movies (cf. Lubin; LaPlace). Claire Monk uses the term "new man" to describe male characters of 1990s British cinema who, in movies targeted to women, "promise … a combination of sensitivity, sex appeal and support in household tasks" (158). She notes, however, that these men were few and far between and usually to be found in period dramas (such as Grant's Edward in Sense and Sensibility and, on television, Firth's Darcy in Pride and Prejudice). Thus, Monk argues that this figures the new man as a "fantasy object," removed from contemporary times so that "debates around gender and sexuality" can get "worked through more radically than in mainstream films with contemporary settings" (159). It should be noted that she describes 1990s British cinema in general as resurgently misogynistic. So it is a fascinating and perhaps telling shift that BJD, as well as the Bridget Jones columns and books and Notting Hill (1999), enjoyed tremendous success as contemporary British romance featuring "new men" (and more recently, Love Actually). BJD goes farther than Notting Hill in its depiction of a sexually autonomous, actively desiring woman who pursues two men - the discourse of gender and sexuality handled "more radically." Who better than Grant and Firth to bring British "new man" sexuality from 1990s period dramas into contemporary romances? The "new man" is alive and well in British cinema after all. The recent shift in Grant's characters, beginning with BJD and continuing with About a Boy (2002), Two Weeks Notice (2002), and, reportedly, Edge of Reason, makes his "new man" status a bit less clear - though Love Actually positioned him squarely back within that type. Since the success of BJD, it is Firth who has emerged more clearly as a contemporary British "new man." His contemporary characters, Mark Darcy and those in What a Girl Wants (2003), Hope Springs (2003), and Love Actually, as well as his star persona exemplify, without a doubt, this kind of masculinity.

Although Mark Darcy generally fits the archetype of the "new man" or sensitive male sex object throughout most of BJD, Cara Lane argues that Mark ultimately reveals crucial repressed traits that modify the character by the end: toughness, assertiveness, and intense sexuality finally emerge from and reveal a burning passion that "is bubbling underneath" (Firth, qtd. in Weiner). Firth described his take on the character: "I think he's actually extremely emotional and passionate" (qtd. in "Production Notes" 8). Sharon Maguire sees Mark Darcy as a man who "doesn't express himself well. He's full of repressed sexuality. And that's what's fantastic about the character. Ding dong" (DVD commentary). Interestingly, even Maguire thoroughly entwines Mark Darcy with Colin Firth's star image when she reacts to an almost-kiss in Bridget's apartment: "Oooh, he's so sexy in this scene, isn't he?! He's a tiger under all that stuffy, haughty aloofness - not that I know for sure, but that's what we were going for" (DVD).

Significantly, this passion is revealed in two climactic scenes which heighten Mark's physical, bodily presence: the fight and the final kiss. Additionally, these scenes exist only in the film, reducing intertextual references and thus highlighting Firth's physical presence as Mark. The physicality infuses the character with initially repressed "masculine" traits that ultimately make him very desirable as a romantic leading man - he is willing to fight for Bridget and he's going to be that tiger in the bedroom. These balance his traditionally "feminine" traits of compassion, kitchen skills, and emotional vulnerability (he takes the risky step of telling her how much he likes her) so that he can evolve into Bridget's ideal lover. This "articulation of 'masculine' and 'feminine' positions within one and the same" man helps account for Mark Darcy, Colin Firth, and Hugh Grant as "sources of pleasure … [for] a heterosexual female gaze" (van Zoonen 102). Numerous reviewers note that the film sets up the character of Mark Darcy as "dull." Early on, Bridget suggests this perception when she calls him a "dull bastard." His seemingly passive demeanor and often unsmiling countenance in early scenes, coupled with his awkward first meeting with Bridget and variously revealed "feminine" qualities, partially paint Mark as apparently not excitingly, assertively masculine. I have chosen my words carefully here, for the film consciously mitigates this through Colin Firth's star presence, the film winking at knowing fans in the audience. One journalist gets at this exactly (and hilariously) when she says "Colin … frankly, fouls up the entire opening sequence [because in the reindeer sweater/jumper] he's meant to be unattractive … [but instead] he is attractive at all times. Even in the jumper, he is raw sex in a jumper" (Williams). Another viewer describes Firth's sex appeal as "blatant" (personal communication). From the moment Firth enters the film, his physical presence and star persona denote the character as a force to be reckoned with by Bridget, which has a bearing on the revelation of Mark's passion in physical terms.

The first of the two climactic scenes is the street fight between Daniel and Mark that Mark instigates and wins when he punches out Daniel. Mark finally summons his toughness and assertiveness, calling Daniel to the mat for running off with Mark's then-wife a few years earlier and for Daniel's ingratiating interruption of Bridget's birthday dinner. Though the fight is staged comically, Mark manages to land four powerful punches, including a knock-out blow, and the humor does not obviate the brawl's physicality.

The second is the final scene of the film, the winter wonderland kissing scene. Even more than a Colin Firth-Hugh Grant fight played for laughs, the final kiss sequence has attracted attention as especially provocative. MTV nominated Colin Firth and Renée Zellweger for "Best Screen Kiss" of 2001 (losing to a comical same-sex kiss). Just recently, a Blockbuster poll for "Best Screen Kiss of All Time" landed Zellweger and Firth in the top ten at #8 (Murray). Viewers were wowed: this was a "to die for" kiss with the punch to "knock your socks off;" climaxing a series of interruptions in the film's final five minutes, the kiss was "so great, and so worth the wait" (personal communication). Fans refer to it as "The Kiss" or "That Kiss" (fan websites). It created fans of the film and of the stars. News coverage of the sequel's on-location filming strongly alludes to this kiss.

Aside from teasing fans of Colin Firth or Renée Zellweger, I want to consider this scene because of its resonance with 1) Firth's Pride and Prejudice Mr. Darcy, connecting with Mark's bodily presence, which is utterly entangled with Firth's body and star persona in the film as well as in publicity and commentary about "gorgeous" Colin Firth, who also shares (for the film) essential attributes with Hugh Grant, 2) Bridget's bodily presence, utterly entangled with Zellweger's body and star persona in the film as well as in publicity and commentary about her weight, and 3) the story as a romance, including an emerging interpretive context for the sequel where on-location news coverage showcases Renée and Colin performing Bridget-Mark kisses. The intimate associations of star discourse, erotic spectacle, physical presence, revelation, character development, and generic conventions help us understand the layered meanings for such a scene. Because many of these associations are dynamically activated when Firth and Grant enter the film, I look at their entrances, what they signify about the men, and how they differ from Zellweger's entrance - differences that also structure the climactic kiss sequence.

For the film's final scene, Bridget made a mad dash in the snow after Mark, clad only in exotic panties, tank top, and cardigan, because she mistakenly thought he walked out on her. They finally embrace as Van Morrison's romantic "Someone Like You" comes up. We now get what is arguably the single most eroticized image of Zellweger in the entire film, provoking multiple tangents for character and star. It's a close shot that puts Zellweger's bare left thigh, hip, buttock, and tiger-striped panties just to the right of screen center, highlighted against Mark's dark coat. The camera moves up until we see their faces as they realize they are being watched by two bystanders. The frame cuts to a close-up as - finally - they begin kissing. This and the remaining shots, regardless of which side of the actors the camera is on, generally offer better views of Colin Firth's face. They are mostly angled just off a true side profile two-shot as well as slightly low angle, for very subtle over-the-shoulder framing that places the viewer (certainly the predisposed viewer!) with Renée Zellweger looking at Colin Firth. Zellweger's hair and the tilting of their heads contribute to this effect: her hair or his face tends to obscure a full view of her face. "Point-of-view shots and shot/reverse-shot editing techniques are [often] used to achieve the effect of seeing the female characters as objects of desire through the eyes of the male characters" (Stacey 21). The opposite occurs here. Dissolves from one side of the couple to the other link several shots as their kisses grow more passionate and intimate. Bridget briefly pauses things with "Wait a minute. Nice boys don't kiss like that." Mark responds in an unexpectedly earthy way with "Oh yes they fucking do." Kissing resumed, the final shot has Mark wrapping up Bridget against him under his coat as their lips never part, as Bridget's hands never leave Mark's body, and as he holds her against him the entire time. The camera has slowly craned up and out, and the screen fades to black.

According to Cara Lane, Mark's "Oh yes they fucking do" serves two important overlapping functions. First, for the plot, this line, together with the passionate kissing and the street fight, allows Mark to meet the heroine's romantic "requirements" for her ideal man: "Bridget wants someone who loves her, respects her, is sensitive to her needs, but at the same time is a bit naughty" (the latter evident from her attraction to Daniel) (65). Interestingly, the f-word is not in the line in the script . In the DVD commentary, Sharon Maguire notes the critical function of this swearing for the Mark character: "And so we have a hint that Mark Darcy isn't the polite goody-goody we may have thought him to be. He swears like everyone else. What a cool guy." Second, for wider cultural resonance, "the swearing [that] ends the film … reinvents Darcy as a romantic hero" for our time: he combines "the gentlemanly appearance of Jane Austen's leading man, the passionate emotions of BBC's Darcy, and an added dose of playful rebelliousness" (Lane 65).

What about Mark's physical presence in this final scene? As noted earlier, Lane observes that Mr. Darcy in the miniseries imparts "heightened … physicality." Mark's heightened physicality that emerges in the fighting and kissing scenes can be read as another parallel to the miniseries Mr. Darcy. Each conveys to the audience "the power of his passion" for one woman. However, viewers never see a passionate Mr. Darcy-Elizabeth Bennet kiss in Pride and Prejudice - just one fairly chaste kiss after the wedding to end the miniseries. Bridget Jones's Diary sharpens the sensuality for Mark Darcy by showing, to some extent, passionate physical intimacy with Bridget. Press coverage of the Edge of Reason shoot, along with that novel's storyline, indicates this will intensify in the sequel.

The character's physicality is, of course, performed and embodied by the actor, with sensuous moments contiguous with star spectacle. Lane's analysis centers on the characters; when she discusses "BBC's Mr. Darcy" as well as Mark Darcy's "rebellious" side, she does not invoke Firth's name. Without ironic intent, Lane begins her discussion of the Mr. Darcy character in the miniseries with a line that's actually (for our purposes here) bursting with cross-references: "Mr. Darcy's physical presence makes a strong impression on Bridget" (64). Indeed. There's Mr. Darcy in the miniseries, Mark Darcy in the BJD novels, Mark in the BJD film, Firth in the miniseries, Firth in the BJD novels, and, taken to another level of confusion, Firth in the BJD film (for viewers are aligned with Bridget). The "spectacle-driven sensibility" of star-gazing applies, of course, to all three of the BJD stars. For any given star, this would apply differentially across audiences, ranging from viewers who are more or less unfamiliar with the star to passionate, extremely knowledgeable fans. BJD and already Edge of Reason have extensive publicity and commentary emphasizing very specific interpretive contexts for the three stars - all of which emphasizes the stars as spectacles of one variety or another: Colin Firth's sexy Darcy image (Mr. Darcy for the first film, Mark Darcy for the second), Hugh Grant's wily sexiness, and Renée Zellweger's weight gain. Film, plot, publicity, and commentary feature two "gorgeous" men (the actors' star images entwined with the particular roles they play in this film) vying for a "real" woman whose body and weight are the subject of scrutiny and criticism inside and outside the film. It adds up to a seductive, "happy. … overlap of fantasy and reality" (Marsh). I would argue that this parallel star-character structure, which suffuses the entire BJD experience, encourages star-gazing beyond that of more conventional films and publicity: it is a highly intertextual, self-referencing form of star-gazing that paradoxically includes strong identification with the doubly "real" woman. For the female spectator, the film and its publicity offer a satisfying balance: active identification with Bridget, as embodied by Renée Zellweger, is tied directly to the film's erotic construction of the two men in Bridget's love life, Mark and Daniel, as embodied by Colin Firth and Hugh Grant.

Bridget Jones's Diary uses direct or first-person address in Bridget's voice-over narration. This is often considered disruptive of conventional viewer identification with the protagonist in typical mainstream films, because direct address signals that the story is a presentation. Justine King argues that for women's movies in particular, however, direct address "precludes the possibility of passive spectatorship or spectatorial voyeurism … [while] heighten[ing] our complicity with the female protagonist with whom we share a private joke" that the story is being presented to an audience (227). While women's identification and complicity with our heroine may indeed operate as King suggests, her blanket claim about spectatorial voyeurism does not hold up here. All three stars encourage a spectacle-driven sensibility. Zellweger becomes spectacle through the incessant off-screen focus on her weight gain for the role. The men provide the primary erotic spectacle. One observer even called the film "the average girl's wet dream" (Suematsu). There are two men to one woman (as Bridget would write, v. g. ratio). There is editing and shot composition. The final kiss, as well as earlier almost-kisses, gives us sexy images of both Colin Firth and Renée Zellweger but, as my breakdown of the kiss scene indicates, the film positions him as the ultimate object of desire not only from Bridget's perspective but for women in the audience. As one viewer noted regarding this scene, "All you have to do is look intently at him and before you know it, you're Bridget" (personal communication). For further emphasis, two supporting characters, Perpetua (Bridget's co-worker) and Tom (Bridget's gay friend), remark on the lust-worthiness of Mark/Colin and Daniel/Hugh, respectively. Perpetua exclaims of Mark, "That man is gorgeous!" Tom wonders if Daniel is "cute as ever." Remarks on their physical attractiveness highlight the conflation of star with character, for the character's body is the star's body.

Let's not forget that BJD, unlike most other mainstream women's movies, is even more woman-centered in that the original author/screenwriter/executive producer and the director are women, both of whom unabashedly admire Grant and Firth. On the DVD, Maguire calls Grant "fantastically handsome," and exclaims of Firth, "Oooh, he's so sexy!" Fielding, of course, was inspired by Firth in the first place, and she refers to Grant as "sexy, charming, and delicious" (Reynolds). One viewer relates why she finds these two men very attractive and alike in their sex appeal: neither actor has "that macho thing going on. … The vulnerable, down-to-earth thing really works for me. They're irresistible. … It's certainly a role reversal for [heterosexual men to view women's movies that position] men as the sex objects for a change. … It's about damned time" (personal communication). If we compare how our two male stars enter the film with Zellweger's entrance, there is a clear difference: the men are voyeuristically constructed as erotic spectacle from the start.

The movie's opening frame is a medium-long shot of a bundled-up Zellweger as Bridget Jones, trudging through snow and telling us in voice-over, "It all began on New Year's Day in my thirty-second year of being single." As she approaches her parents' house, she tells us her mother always tries to fix her up with "some bushy-haired, middle-aged bore." Our sympathy is with her already - for the primary audience of women, single or married, younger or older, Bridget is us. The film proceeds to the party inside; it is here that Colin Firth, as Mark Darcy, first appears. Before we ever see his face, we see him in long shot, back to the camera, from Bridget's point of view from across the room. There is even camera movement that mimics Bridget's lean to the right to get an unobstructed view of him. She proclaims in voice-over, "Hooo! Ding dong! Maybe this time Mum had got it right!" We are positioned squarely with Bridget, encouraged to take in Mark with our gaze. When she and Mum walk up to him, we get another titillating moment. As Bridget narrates "Maybe this was the mysterious Mr. Right I'd been waiting my whole life to meet" (accompanied by romantic harp music), Mark turns around in slow motion, at first in medium shot so that we see his arms swing down to his sides, and then in close-up. His head turns toward the camera, his face and eyes moving toward Bridget. Colin Firth is Mark Darcy! Those brown eyes! As fans and other commentators attest, Firth's eyes are a key ingredient of his sex appeal. They clearly figure here. This is one of those "spectacular moments," a star entrance. I would argue it is active spectatorship in the sense that the film wants to direct the viewer's attention in different ways at once, including off the screen to Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice. The sequence also melds viewer with Bridget in her active gaze of desire. Firth, turning in slow motion, eyes moving toward us, makes an entrance that is marked as a revelation. This is a "disruptive" star moment for gazing at Colin Firth. His character, Mark, emerges in the next shot of him when the camera tilts down to show his reindeer sweater, accompanied by Bridget's voice-over of "Maybe not." Viewers have already been clued in to Mark's last name of Darcy, so the viewer familiar with Firth-as-Mr. Darcy-as-Mark then juggles the three-plus identities. The physical identity remains anchored with Firth - a person's body has a physical reality outside of any story and beyond any character. This may even be amplified when the mediating presence of dialogue is not there, as is the case with Firth's and Grant's entrances and (virtually) with the final kissing scene. Firth gets at this notion in an interview for another film, Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003): when dialogue is "not there, then suddenly it's you! You're on!. … [This] gives you the opportunity to own it, in a way" (qtd. in Lee). So, taken together - slow motion movement, revelation of his face, the eyes, no dialogue, the music - we have a spectacular star moment and, subtly foreshadowing what comes later, a heightened physical presence with erotic appeal. These go hand in hand for an actor whose star persona foregrounds a sensuality and sensitivity that attracts women. Firth has quipped, "Boys don't go to my movies" (The Daily Show, November 6, 2003). A humorous website about movie audiences includes this bit of banter: "When you say: 'I don't see how this would appeal to men'. You mean: 'Colin Firth is in this film' " ("The Rich Language").

Hugh Grant's star persona also foregrounds a sexuality targeted for women's consumption through women's movies. Grant's most well-known starring roles prior to BJD feature him as a sensitive nice-guy in Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), Sense and Sensibility (1995), and Notting Hill (1999). A number of commentators note the role change for Grant: as Daniel Cleaver, he's still sexy and charming, but he's not a faithful boyfriend here, hurting Bridget in the process. Grant has said even he was making himself sick with the sameness of his nice-guy roles and was ready for the change ("Behind"). His on-screen persona began shifting "to a certain extent in Bridget Jones's Diary, in one way, you know, going bastard" (Grant in "Spotlight"). It is at the end of his fight with Mark where Daniel is apparently honest with Bridget about trying again to make a relationship with her work. One feels watching this scene that because it is Hugh Grant or, rather, Grant's star persona we're accessing here, Daniel acquires - requires - some added pathos. At least one commentator felt that "naughty Hugh changes his spots, or at least some of them" by the end (Williams). This is reinforced in the postscript sequence in the U.K. version when family and friends relate their reactions to Mark and Bridget getting together. Daniel is seen three times as a pathetic bar patron desperately trying to convey he has found love - while asking the unseen interviewer about Bridget. (In the U.S. version, this is where the "home movie" of Mark and Bridget at the "You were four, I was eight" pool party is shown instead.) On the other hand, Grant's star persona also includes off-screen elements like cynical, irreverent wit and a bit of scandalous off-screen behavior in the mid-1990s. Some reviewers felt compelled to guess that Daniel Cleaver - as opposed to Grant's sensitive movie roles - might be very much like the real Hugh Grant (cf. Smith). Regardless, Sharon Maguire relates on the DVD that Grant "didn't like doing [the pivotal hotel] scene … [because] he had to become the baddie. … He wasn't comfortable playing a nasty liar, and was quite tortured about doing this scene." The difference in the role provoked consideration by reviewers of Grant's star image, his "real" personality, his past roles, and how this one differed. While watching the film, those familiar with Pride and Prejudice can also compare how Cleaver stacks up against Wickham - who is the slimier character? But it's not really a two-way comparison. As Suzanne Ferriss points out, one can conjure up simultaneously Wickham from Austen's novel, Wickham from the miniseries, Cleaver from Fielding's novel, and Cleaver in the film.

As with Firth, Grant's entrance in BJD is voyeuristically constructed. Accompanied by her voice-over, Bridget finishes writing in her diary that she will avoid men with various kinds of "fuckwit" traits. We hear the ding of an elevator; cut to elevator doors opening as Aretha Franklin's rambunctious "Respect" comes up. It's Hugh Grant! Those blue eyes! Like Firth, Grant's face emerges as a revelation, this time from behind elevator doors opened like stage curtains. Like Firth, medium shot becomes close-up, though in this case Grant moves into close-up as he walks toward the camera and then screen right. Like Firth, Grant moves in slow motion. Slow motion is used to set key moments apart, often as important revelations. Bridget's discovery of Lara, Daniel's other girlfriend, and Bridget walking away from Daniel after her realization that she needs "something more extraordinary" are two other slow-motion revelatory moments in the film. And finally, Grant's eye movements in the elevator and as he walks toward the camera draw our attention, just as Firth's eyes did. In Grant's case, he looks screen left, then right, straight ahead, right, left again. Grant's eyes are considered part of his sex appeal. This is another spectacular star moment, a star entrance that focuses attention on the actor playing the part and fuses the spectacle of the star with the spectacle of erotic image. This entrance also plays against Grant's established screen persona, suggesting he is playing a sly character here. Viewers may recall his nice-guy roles as they watch. This subtly foreshadows (again like Firth) what comes later, in this case, the sneaky things Daniel Cleaver will do. As soon as we hear Bridget in voice-over refer to him as her boss, his character begins to emerge as the singular star moment recedes.

Miriam Hansen's observations of Valentino films regarding the eyes, desiring gazes, and gender can be applied to Bridget, Mark, and Daniel. She observes that when Valentino initiates gazing at a woman in his films, it turns out to be true love. However, when a woman initiates the gaze, the film labels that woman a vamp and ultimately dismisses her. She argues that his erotic appeal hinged on his socially permissible and desirable intense masculine gaze at a woman, combined with the sexually charged spectatorial visions of his face and body that the films offer up for female consumption. At first glance, this appears to hold true for Bridget Jones's Diary - it does seem to apply to the desiring looks that both Mark and Daniel repeatedly direct at Bridget, even as they themselves are offered up for female consumption. However, as Firth's and Grant's entrances reveal, they enter the film as objects of Bridget's gazes and desires. In both cases, she levels the first desiring looks. The rest of Grant's entrance scene has him walking down open stairs, stopping at the bottom and turning his head when he and we hear some off-key singing. There is a cut to Bridget singing, looking straight at him. There are also other moments in the film when Bridget looks intently at each of them. The film clearly conveys, through gazes, that the characters' desires are mutual, but we share Bridget's subjectivity and, for the target female audience, her desires. "

The pairing and positioning of Firth and Grant together as the film's, Bridget's, and viewers' objects of desire is a key interpretive strategy in the publicity. In several articles, Helen Fielding provides the female voice for this ogling perspective. One, titled "Bridget Jones's Dates Make Even Her Creator Jealous," goes as follows: "Colin Firth and Hugh Grant, two of Britain's biggest screen pin-ups, are to play the men in the life of Bridget Jones. … Helen Fielding … [said] she was consumed with jealousy that her screen alter-ego would have affairs with the actors. … 'I must admit to jealously violent thoughts towards Bridget since the announcement that she will be canoodling with both of them' … She said Grant was 'hilariously wicked as well as sexy, charming and delicious'. … [while] Colin Firth. … had all the 'suppressed emotion and raw pulsating passion' the character needed" (Reynolds). One journalist devotes an entire article to comparing Firth and Grant as lust objects. Her comparison mixes discussion of their bodies, their star images, and their BJD characters, though always referring to them as Hugh and Colin. She finds herself deliriously confused in an orgasmic quandary: "Hugh or Colin? Hmmm, Colin or Hugh? Well, Colin's so tasty. But Hugh in those glasses, oh God! But then, Colin at the end, oh, oh, oh …" (Williams). We see the mystification of actors with star images with characters - from a perspective that equates these female viewpoints (the speaker in the articles and the target reader/viewer) with Bridget's in the film.

Bridget Jones's Diary promotes identification, intimacy, and complicity with the protagonist, Bridget, at the same time that it promotes a more active spectatorship through the identity game, first-person address, and contemplation of Bridget/Renée's body, perhaps our own, and even related cultural attitudes and media images of women that we and the film seem happy to renounce. As King suggests, perhaps direct address through Bridget's numerous voice-overs encourages both active spectatorship and identification with Bridget, while minimizing erotic voyeurism towards her. There is still, though, the intense media focus on Zellweger's body as well as the character's concern with her outward appearance. The weight issue overwhelms the publicity about Zellweger as Jones, not only blurring the line where character ends and actress begins, but providing a rather notorious interpretive context. Before the film was made, Helen Fielding pointed out that, in the books, we never know "her height. So you never know how much is obsession and paranoia and how much she's really worried about the size of her bottom" (qtd. in Weich). This holds true in a different way for the film: Zellweger's Bridget looks normal (not thin, not fat), the film's "men are never anything but complimentary of Bridget's form," yet female characters criticize and/or exhort her in regard to her physical appearance (Berkland 19).

So, the glare of the spotlight on Renée Zellweger's bottom apparently washes over on to Bridget, at least to some extent. For example, critic Rex Reed calls Zellweger "a huggable human pastry. … [who] scarfed down a few hundred éclairs herself to gain the weight to play [Bridget]" (Reed). Like Reed, commentators invariably assess, usually positively, Bridget and/or Renée in terms of body shape, weight gained, size attained, or food consumed (cf. most reviews of Bridge Jones's Diary). Perhaps these "real" qualities are why some commentary about Zellweger, while she is heavier, exhorts her to keep on the added weight - which also makes her more unique by today's standards yet harkening back to the Hollywood glamour of "voluptuous" stars like Marilyn Monroe and Ava Gardner. Regardless of how that linkage plays out, the feeding fascination continues.

When she was queried for the umpteenth time about "putting on the feed bag again" for Edge of Reason, Zellweger is quoted as follows: It is so "blown out of proportion. … It saddens me. … [There's] speculation about the contractual elements of my experience that just simply were not true. … It just superficializes something that is so much more. … It's silly, the 20 doughnuts a day rumors. … Does she look good? Does she look better Bridget-y or better bony? You know? It's crazy. I don't know if it's sexist. To me, it's just boring. It's interesting to me that it's perceived as some sort of sacrifice. … It's not a sacrifice to get to play Bridget Jones. That's part of the reward" (qtd. in Germain D5). So to indulge in food to gain weight - the opposite of societal dictates for women - is to sacrifice something, which is her culturally sanctioned thinner body of most other times. Even her co-stars are asked incessantly about her weight. On a TV talk show, the first question Colin Firth was asked regarding Edge of Reason, which was currently filming, was whether Renée Zellweger was "packing on the poundage again." He responded, "Well, I have to say, that is the question I get asked most often - how big is Renée's bottom? Do you want it in pounds or kilos? It's a long time since I actually weighed it, but she has achieved very pleasing proportions, I think" (Live with Regis and Kelly, December 8, 2003). One wonders just exactly how gender factors into the weight narratives surrounding a performer who chooses to gain weight to fully embody a particular character. An obvious comparison here would be Robert DeNiro's weight gain for his role as Jake LaMotta in Raging Bull (1980). Yet another intriguing question, especially given Charlize Theron's Oscar for Monster (2003), is how the weight issue plays out for women in comedy versus drama. Comedic performances and films are generally not venerated nor rewarded like dramatic performances and films, but other factors would obviously figure as well, such as the story and character portrayed, the particular star persona involved, and the specific ways in which audience identification is directed. (These questions are raised here simply as "food" for thought.)

Another scholarly take on BJD is that it "manages to fuse the first-person and omniscient points of view [in such a way that] one achievement of the film lies in its cinematic representation of the first-person intimacy of the diary" (Ferriss 5–6). This intimacy is with a character and an actress who are "not the typical, beautiful, thin" women normally seen in mainstream films and other Western media (Berkland 4). Zellweger fits this description in these films and in her public appearances while they are in production. The incredible focus on her weight gain for the role suggests the actress and the character seem "unnatural" in the media universe: a female star chose to gain a noticeable amount of weight - twice - rather than use padding to portray an atypically not-so-thin, not-so-model-beautiful female protagonist who nonetheless lands sexy, romantic Mr. Right. My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002) follows this same formula; perhaps the success of both of these films rests in part on this plot structure and these star-character affiliations. Maguire comments that "a lot of men who were involved in making the film (producers, etc.) … were a little worried that she didn't look very sexy [in some of her outfits, but]. … Renée and I went for something a bit more real" (DVD).

With the pervasive image of the thin body as feminine ideal, many women feel, like Bridget, pressure to conform to the unrealistic body standard (cf. Lanneau; Hesse-Biber). As Mara Berkland argues, Bridget Jones gives women a needed, high-profile, filmic role model that presumably works against these social pressures. "The lank-haired Zellweger picks at her nails and scratches her chin absent-mindedly, while the camera lingers on angles that accentuate her round (dare I say puffy?) visage. … [This is] a celebratory portrayal of the heroine in all her gloriously average imperfection" (Caniglia). Maguire and Zellweger found themselves in an "interesting feminist dilemma" when deciding whether to have Bridget run outside in her underwear (DVD). But when we see Bridget running after Mark in the snow in her panties and, a minute later, that erotic image of her exposed thigh as the very attractive Mark is embracing her, multiple interpretive strands are woven together: Bridget's character grows, for she feels better about herself, unconcerned about reactions to her state of undress and to her body; we get voyeuristic and subversive satisfaction as the camera shows us that Zellweger's thighs are indeed sexy; she attains one of her original goals, a "sensible boyfriend," but one who is sexy, sensitive, passionate, slightly naughty Mr. Right; a humorous touch is added to the romantic climax; and, this foreshadows the "need" for the romantic coat wrap at the very end, where now-covered naked thighs, cloaked embrace, and constant kissing stand in for the sex, ostensibly just around the corner, that the film will not show us.

Martha Nochimson provides insight into how star-gazing may play out somewhat differently when it comes to the pairing of stars in romances with "screen couple chemistry." Since star-gazing shifts attention "away from the logic of the plot, which can go to hell in the process … , the pleasure of the star image is generally assumed to work against meaning in a film. … [But perhaps] the power of the visual reasserted by star chemistry can sometimes work not against meaning but against the reductiveness of the typical mass culture story, particularly when the core of the film deals with intimacy" (Nochimson 8). Using box office success, favorable reviews, two beloved novels (where the Colin Firth-Mark Darcy equation is already implied), the use of photos from this scene and discussion on fan websites, People magazine's inclusion of Zellweger and Firth as two of the "50 most beautiful people" of 2001, MTV's and Blockbuster's "Best Kiss" nods, and intense interest in the making of the sequel as our evidence, we can assume that Colin Firth and Renée Zellweger exhibit "screen couple chemistry."

When we watch Mark and Bridget kissing romantically on the snowy street, Van Morrison crooning "someone exactly like you," we are watching closure to a dramatic, often comic, interpersonal conflict. As Maguire rhapsodizes on the DVD, "At last, the kiss! We've waited an hour and a half for this kiss." The delicate interplay of antagonism and attraction is, of course, the core of romantic comedy as a genre. When screen couples are at their most engaging, "they embody in poetic form the possibility for balance among opposite and contrasting forces as they work through their stories toward closure in a way that satisfies our longing for understanding of the conflicting elements in our lives" (Nochimson 36). The kissing scene, then, is perhaps more than the sum of its parts, generating evocative imagery that is simultaneously sweetly romantic, exhilaratingly sexy, and emotionally encouraging. It symbolizes a desired equilibrium of conflicting forces (from gender, personality, and class differences). For example, one critic called the development of their relationship and the final scene "a meeting of comic minds, with his straight-man countenance drawing out her wackiest work, like Burns and Allen" (Meyer). When Mark walks out of the shop with the new diary, just before they finally kiss, he does not act surprised to see Bridget standing there in the snow in her panties. As she hurriedly apologizes for the old diary entries he saw, he just stands there - giving one sly glance downward. Along the lines of classical Hollywood, this romantic comedy fades to black on the couple's kiss - leaving the rest to our imagination as we ponder the erotic star spectacle and beloved characters attaining poetic closure. While the characters find that "possibility for balance," the stars enact it through a performance of physical intimacy. And the sequence is constructed, of course, to maximize the aura of emotional and sexual chemistry.

All of this apparently does add up to a high titillation factor, because press coverage of on-location filming for Edge of Reason indicates intense interest in what that final kiss supposedly led to (as if we didn't know). Most of this press coverage does not appear to be prearranged publicity. The reporting is creating a specific, well-publicized interpretive context, one that highlights the romance, enacted by two sexy, likable stars, and refers back to the first film's climactic kiss. This positions Zellweger and Firth as the principal romantic couple for Edge of Reason, providing a sneak peak for those unfamiliar with the books as well as encouragement for anxious, devoted fans. This interpretive context is opposed to that of Bridget Jones's Diary where sad singleton finds herself caught in a love triangle with two gorgeous men.

One London newspaper article, written as if we were all hanging on the outcome of that last kiss, boldly headlines "Bridget Jones: A kiss the morning after" and reports: "This is the moment to delight Bridget Jones fans - a morning after kiss from Mark Darcy. These exclusive pictures … show Colin Firth, as Mark Darcy, leaving Bridget's flat after they spent the night together. The scene apparently ends speculation as to whether the pair actually get [sic] together in the second film" (Simpson). This is accompanied by two photos of the loving couple, the larger one a fully embraced kiss. Another newspaper refers to the "Oodles of canoodles. … Renée Zellweger and Colin Firth were locked in yet another embrace yesterday as they filmed a scene" ("Oodles"); we get a different shot of this same kissing scene. From another day of filming, three photos of a different kissing scene in a park appear in a women's magazine, the caption reading, "If you went weak at the knees over the kiss between Renée Zellweger and Colin Firth in the first Bridget Jones movie …" ("Renée and Colin"). Us Weekly features a full-page photo of the stars enacting the "morning after" kiss: "It's all very romantic" (O'Leary and Tung 21). And, to give one more of the numerous examples, Heat magazine devotes a two-page spread to three photos of the park shoot, one a kiss: "It's the romantic reunion we've all been waiting for … nearly three years since their lips locked on screen. … Renée and Colin - otherwise known as Bridget Jones and her boyfriend, dashing barrister Mark Darcy - filmed their passionate scene on Primrose Hill in London and these pictures show that the old chemistry is back with a bang" ("Bridget's love").

After this coverage, a similar, official publicity photo appeared in December, well before filming was done. Along with two comical ones of Zellweger as the hapless Bridget, there is a very romantic shot of Zellweger and Firth in that tender "morning after" kiss. This same romantic publicity shot, along with a few other production photos, was posted on Working Title's website in January. The photo is captioned: "The film unit is causing a stir in the city. There is a mass of media attention and we're drawing a crowd wherever we go, especially today as Colin Firth is back as the dashing Mark Darcy. … There are big smiles on the faces of the crowd. They can't believe they're seeing a romantic moment between Bridget and Mark played out before them" ("Bridget Jones"). Working Title's promotional synopsis for the sequel at the website specifically references the final kiss scene from the first film: "In Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason we find Bridget where we left her - in the arms of gorgeous human rights lawyer Mark Darcy. But what happens after the happy ending?" ("Synopsis"). Wild guess: the equilibrium gets jounced, a new one reached by movie's end?

To paraphrase Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknowledged that movies have, since the days of Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin, used stars to sell those movies. Since those early days, movie and popular interest magazines, advertising, reviews and interviews, and an assortment of publicity angles have proliferated as Western societies have become media cultures. Now every conceivable form of publicity and commentary creates an easily accessible intertextual context for film viewing strategies. For films which are highly anticipated and/or commercially and critically successful, that context intensifies. This is the case for Bridget Jones's Diary and its unusual forthcoming sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. But in addition, BJD delivers dynamic intertextuality through the film itself, dishing out romance, comedy, stars, and relevancy through a prism of self-references. The stars are at the very center of all this "drama," four layers of it to be exact: the film's plot, its meta-drama of intertextual references, the production of both films, and the reception context. For the core audience of women, the stars appear to engage viewers simultaneously in voyeuristic pleasures (the different yet equally attractive men subjected to the female gaze), active spectatorship (viewers accessing the film's self-reflexive star-character identity game, touchstone issues, the protagonist's framing of events, and star spectacle), and strong identification with the real-woman heroine.

The centrifugal forces seem powerful as we contemplate Colin Firth and his self-referential performance as Mark Darcy, which heightens our awareness of his star persona and, specifically, the erotic elements of his persona as he portrays Bridget's destined lover; Renée Zellweger and her "hefty" embodiment of Bridget Jones, which has prompted so much discussion about her body size that the issue is stamped indelibly on her star image; and, Hugh Grant, whose star persona and emergent screen womanizer, Daniel Cleaver, are the ever so sexy competition to Colin/Mark for Bridget's and the female audience's desiring imaginations. This intertextual crowd was clearly "more than nice" for millions of viewers. Edge of Reason's story is based on Fielding's second book, which is modeled loosely in structure on Persuasion, a different Austen novel with different characters. It is unclear at this point how the multi-layered intertextuality of the first film will play out with the sequel. The advance press coverage and publicity suggest that the unabated equation of actors with star images with characters will continue. In Fielding's second book, Colin Firth, Bridget's repeated viewings of his wet shirt scene, and the characters continue the Pride and Prejudice connection. Before production began on the sequel, Firth answered speculation on how he could appear in the film as both "Colin Firth" and Mark Darcy by saying it would not be part of the film (Bamigboye). Regardless, an intertextual web will still surround Edge of Reason, from Fielding's books to the first film to the stars' personae to the emphasis on the actors' physical selves to Austen's novels to the miniseries to Firth as Darcy to the interplay of plot and publicity. We are ready to identify with a "normal" woman and watch two gorgeous men - again.

Madelyn Ritrosky-Winslow received her Ph.D. from Indiana University, Bloomington, where she taught a variety of media studies courses. Her other publications include articles in The Encyclopedia of Television (Horace Newcomb, ed.), Fitzroy Dearborn Publishers (1st ed. 1997, 2nd ed. forthcoming) on "Anthology Drama," "Fireside Theatre," "The Loretta Young Show," "Loretta Young," and "Jane Wyman." She also has presented numerous conference papers throughout the world.