BRIDGET
|
EXT. LONDON. VIEWS. DAY. It
is snowing. Hushed New Year's morning. Views of London after the night
before. Party stragglers. The fountain in Trafalgar Square has frozen.
Lone pigeons cower under falling snow. EXT.
BRIDGET'S STREET. BRIDGET. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. SKYLIGHT WINDOW. DAY. Framed
through the skylight window, a very messy bed - no human being
decipherable. INT. BRIDGET JONES'S FLAT. BEDROOM. DAY. Strange sounds emerge from the bed - then slowly movement - and at last - the worse for wear - mascara eyes - crazy hair - still in clothes from the night before - Bridget Jones emerges. BRIDGET:
Fuck a duck. As
she crawls out of bed. BRIDGET
V.O.: New Year's Day. Another year gone. O God. Everyone else has mutated
into Smug Marrieds, having children - Plop! Plop! Plop! - left, right and
centre. And I'm still going to bad parties. INT.
NEW YEAR PARTY. NIGHT. Cut
to Bridget at a party drinking a dangerously large shot. Cut
to Bridget being chatted up by a questionable man at the party - while
scooping from an enormous bowl of Guacamole... over his shoulder Sharon
shows dismay and Jude thinks he's gay. Cut
to Bridget, still talking to the handsome man, takes a mighty drag from a
joint - and falling straight behind a couch. The man takes advantage of
the moment to slip away. Cut to Bridget emerging from behind the couch, by Sharon and Tom and Jude - making a 'don't worry - I'm fine' sign - then taking the joint back again casually - having a puff - and there she goes again, down behind the couch. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Cut
to her sitting, present time, on a chair, in a short nightgown. She picks
up a diary, unwraps plastic wrapping. BRIDGET
O.S.: Have made big decision. This year will take total control of my life
and become perfect modern woman. Resolution
Number One - in order to mark triumphant year in which everything stops
being shit and turns out v.g. - will keep a diary. Kick
straight into Sinatra's upbeat version of the Rodgers & Hart classic
'Have You Met Miss Jones?' for the credits. Bridget
cross-legged, writing in new diary. BRIDGET
O.S. (CONT'D) : January 1st. 9 stone 5. Alcohol units - 35
(ouch!) cigarettes 22 (she crossed out the '2' and make it '3' - '32')
calories 5424 - shouldn't have finished that Guacamole. BRIDGET V.O.: Not time in short credit sequence to demonstrate all resolutions - but major ones include... [During this sequence she is seen enacting most of these] will stop smoking, stop drinking... (She stubs out an only just lit cigarette - throws away a glass of wine and then sort of catch-scoops it just in time back into the glass, has a sip - nasty! - so throws it away again.) …a lot. Stop fantasizing about unrealistic men... INT.
BRIDGET'S BATHROOM. INT./EXT. Her
hand slips in and slips a George Clooney calendar off the hook it hangs on
the door. INT.
BRIDGET'S BEDROOM. DAY. BRIDGET
O.S.: ...and, crucial I believe, will always throw yesterday's used pants
in laundry basket... (She pounces on a rogue pair, but we see, as she
turns towards the laundry basket, that she actually has another pair of
pants stuck to the back of her thigh. The phone goes. She walks towards
it.) Will also live own
life without being bullied by people into things I don't want to do. She
answers it. The music stops dead. BRIDGET: Yes, don't worry, Mum, I'll be there. She
hangs up. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Very bad start. She
instantly takes the cigarette out of the ashtray. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. NIGHT. Bridget,
wrapped up for winter, coming downstairs with a big case. She passes a
pleasant 60 year Indian man old, just taking his garbage out - Mr Ramdas. MR
RAMDAS: Happy New Year, Bridget. BRIDGET:
Thanks Mr Ramdas - how's your wife? MR
RAMDAS: Still dead. BRIDGET:
Oh yes, that's right. Sorry. Still sorry. Still, Happy New Year! MR
RAMDAS: Thank you, sweetheart. EXT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. EUSTON ROAD. DAY. Snow
falls on the road towards St. Pancras Station. New Year's Party revellers
are making their way home. Bridget comes into view, bit by bit, through
flurries of snow, carrying her overnight bag. BRIDGET V.O.: All in all, will develop inner poise, and sense of self as mature woman of substance, complete without boyfriend... as best way to obtain boyfriend. And not end up tragic bag lady. Which
is exactly what she looks like. She lights a cigarette - but muddles it
and it drops into the snow. BRIDGET:
Fuck. BRIDGET
V.O.: Doesn't matter; giving up anyway, of course. INT. ENTRANCE TO ST. PANCRAS STATION. DAY. She
walks past a huge poster of a very slim, long-legged model. BRIDGET
V.O.: Will also not be paranoid about being overweight and will learn to
love my thighs as being just the sort of thighs many men enjoy lying
between, especially those alive in 18th century. She stops to give money to a gaunt homeless couple,
and their dog. She walks on... HOMELESS
MAN: What a lovely, caring person. HOMELESS
WOMAN: Yes. Shame about the thighs. HOMELESS
MAN: Yeah, she could lose a stone or two.Thanks, Chubbs! INT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. MAIN CONCOURSE. DAY. Bridget walks on through. STATION
ANNOUNCER V.O.: Western Rail wishes to inform all passengers that there is
actually nothing whatsoever the matter with Bridget Jones thighs... INT. ST. PANCRAS STATION. PLATFORM. DAY. STATION
ANNOUNCER V.O.: Passengers are reminded once again that you do not need to
look like a stick insect to be attractive. Marilyn Monroe is a good
example - and Madonna in the early days - and, of course, that girl who
plays the flatmate in Ally McBeal and Benton's ex-girlfriend in E.R. INT. TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY. Cut
to on the train. BRIDGET is writing in her DIARY in her tight scrawl. BRIDGET:
V. important - will not fall for any more of the following: commitment
phobics, misogynists, megalomaniacs, freeloaders or perverts. (She
looks at male passengers beside her and coming towards her. By the time
she reaches 'pervert', the camera whizzes back to 'misogynist' man.) Will
also become more intelligent by reading excellent books of prize-winning
quality. (She takes out a copy of 'The Famished Road' by Ben Okri. Nods
intelligently as she starts to read - we glimpse a picture of the author
on the back as we do - and instantly her eyelids start to droop.) Though
must be careful not to lose touch with popular culture. She
takes out 'Hello' and devours it. She speaks this line out loud... BRIDGET
(CONT'D): O Fergie, Fergie, Fergie: who told you you looked good in that? Turns
another page - then obviously her concentration drifts a bit... BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Also will not obsess HOPELESSLY about Daniel Cleaver as is
pathetic to have crush on boss in manner of Miss Moneypenny... The
train enters a tunnel. The windows black out. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Ping.
Out of black, the lift doors open. Slo-mo on Daniel Cleaver walking
through office. He is about 35, stylish and indeed gorgeous. BRIDGET (CONT'D): ...although, pretty damn sure that he looked at me in distinctly unprofessional manner at Christmas party. Though might have been amazement at number of flat notes in rendering of Nilsson classic. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. NIGHT. Cut to Bridget screaming into a microphone at Christmas party. Other office characters are there: Perpetua, Daniel's timid secretary, plump Simon from Marketing, Leslie from Design, Dave from Sales. BRIDGET:
'Can't liiiiiiiiiiiive if living is without you - can't liiiiiive... Cut
to slow-mo Daniel Cleaver, in deep conversation with Managing Director, Mr
Fitzherbert, stopping, looking round in an enigmatic manner. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Can't deny it, though - he's absolutely flipping gorgeous... Someone
crosses him, creating momentary blackness which turns back into the black
of the train now suddenly emerging from the tunnel... INT.
TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY. Bridget
stop writing and looks up. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): ...would say 'fucking gorgeous' - but certain Mother will at
some point read diary and therefore the less four letter words the better
- not to mentions of blow-jobs and nobs up back bottom etc. INT./EXT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. FRONT DOOR. DAY. Detached
50's house on the edge of pretty, thatched village. Bridget's taxi pulls
up. She slumps against the front door as the bell rings the tune of a town
hall clock. Her mum opens it. MOTHER:
Oh! There you are, Tigger. For Heavens Sake, where are you been? MUSIC.
BIM BOM by Joao Gilberto - cheesy Bosa Nova music. As
Mother drags Bridget upstairs, Una Alconbury, Mother's best friend, pops
her head around a door. UNA ALCONBURY: (To mother) Doilies, Pam? Hello, Bridget. MOTHER: Third drawer from the top, Una. Under the mini-gherkins. (Triumphant, to Bridget) By the way, the Darcys are here! They've brought Mark with them. He's just back from the U.N., for Heavens Sake. From
Bridget's blank look... MOTHER
(CONT'D): You remember Mark. You used to play in his paddling pool? He's a
barrister. Very well off. BRIDGET: No. I don't remember. MOTHER:
Beetroot cubes and stuffed olives are in the garages fridge. UNA ALCONBURY: Righto Pam. BRIDGET:
And I want you to stop right there - I maybe single, but I will not,
repeat not be reduced to being match-made with the dreadful children of
your awful friends. Mother
just looks at her blankly - and continues. MOTHER:
He's just back from America. Divorced last Christmas. Wife was Japanese.
Very cruel race. Now, what are you going to put on? BRIDGET:
(Indicates what she's wearing - nice modern outfit) This. MOTHER:
Don't be silly, Bridget - you'll never get a boyfriend if you look like
you've wandered out of Auschwitz. Go upstairs. I've
laid out something lovely on your bed. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY. The
guests are mainly Bridget's parents' friends, including Penny
Husbands-Bosworth. But there is a smattering of guests of Bridget's age,
with babies and toddlers. Bridget
enters self-consciously in a horrible, lurid outfit, similar to her
mother's. The whole scene as slightly surreal nature: through Bridget's
eyes we watch this weird world in which she once lived. Three strange,
static relatives - Hamish, Bernard and Shirley, frozen like characters out
of 'Blue Velvet'. BRIDGET:
Hello Hamish... Shirley... Bernard. Then
Geoffrey Alconbury, 60, looms at her side, a Bruce Forsythe shuffle in his
step... GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: Here she is. My li-tle Bridget! Geoffrey
gives her an enthusiastic clumsy kiss, hitching up the waistband of his
trousers. BRIDGET:
Hello, Uncle Geoffrey. GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: Got a drink? No? Come on then, I could do with a fill-up. BRIDGET
O.S.: Uncle Geoffrey... well not really my uncle. Someone who insists I
call him Uncle while he stares at my breasts and ask why I'm not married
yet. He
leads her to the drinks table through the chattering guests. Una Alconbury
has sidled up next to them. GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: So... not married yet, eh, Bridget? How's your love life? DISSOLVE
TO WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY: BRIDGET:
Mind your own business, you horrid, horrid, nosey, shiny old man with an
almost permanent erection. I don't ask you how your marriage is. GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: How's your love life? DISSOLVE
TO WHAT BRIDGET REALLY SAYS: BRIDGET:
Super, thanks Uncle G. GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: Still no fellow, then, eh? I don't know. UNA
ALCONBURY: You career girls. Can't put it off for ever you know. Tick
tock! Tick tock! BRIDGET:
Hello, Dad. Bridget
moves on to join her father, a shy man, who's awkwardly filling drinks,
and has been cornered by a 60 year old woman. BRIDGET'S
DAD: (Face lights up) Hello, Darling. (Bridget's dad introduces the
woman.) Ah, this is... do you know, I'm terribly sorry, I've know you for
forty years and I've completely forgotten your name. PENNY:
It's Penny. BRIDGET'S
DAD: That's right, of course it is. Darling Bridget - this is... sorry,
it's gone again. Penny
gives him a terrible look and walks off. Bridget smiles. BRIDGET'S
DAD: Your mother's trying to fix you up with some divorcee. (Nods in his
direction) WHAT
BRIDGET SEES: a solitary figure by the window, his back to the room, his
head turned in handsome profile, his whole posture indicating haughty
disengagement. This is MARK DARCY. Bridget's reaction shows some interest
- he's a rather romantic looking figure. BRIDGET'S
DAD (CONT'D): Human rights barrister. Pretty nasty beast apparently.
Nearly bit Uncle Geoffrey's head off when he asked for some advice on his
mortgage. Mother
swoops in, thrusting a tray at Bridget, and sweeping her off. MOTHER:
Come on. Why don't you see if Mark fancies a gherkin? Mark
Darcy talks in low, urgent tones to his rather grand looking,
military-type well-born parents. MOTHER
(CONT'D): Mark! Here she is! Mark
turns slowly, revealing a brightly coloured set of reindeer on the front
of his sweater. MOTHER
(CONT'D): You remember Bridget? She used to run round your lawn with no
clothes on. Remember? The
Darcy Parents politely back off, leaving their son, Mark, stranded. Mark
takes his time looking at Bridget. MARK:
No. Not as such. He
says that in a very formal, rather forbidding sort of way, very Mr
Darcyish, in fact. BRIDGET: Can I tempt you with a gherkin? MARK: No, thanks. MOTHER: Bridget works in publishing, don't you Bridget? BRIDGET:
I do... indeed. An awkward silence. Una, sizing up the situation from afar, moves in. UNA ALCONBURY: (To Bridget's mother) Come and look at your gravy, Pam! I think it's going to need sieving. MOTHER:
Of course it doesn't need sieving. Just stir it, Una! Una
shoots Mother a meaningful look, 'Leave them alone'. Mother looks at
Bridget and Mark, then twigs. Mark
clenches his jaw muscles in embarrassment at Mother's vulgarity, as he and
Bridget are left alone. Long pause, conscious of parental stares. MARK: Publishing. Have you read any good books... lately? BRIDGET: Um... The Famished Road, by Ben Okri. MARK: Ah, yes, I read that when it first came out. BRIDGET: All the way through? MARK:
Mmm. Don't you think it's a rather poor conceit?
Bridget
stares at him. BRIDGET:
Erm... Well, not too poor. Actually I'm only on page 3. Dozed off - but
I'm sure the story's really going to kick in on page 4. Is there a tiny glint of amusement in Mark's eye? BRIDGET: You been staying with your parents over New Year? MARK: Yes. You too? BRIDGET:
No. Sorry. I was at a party in London last night, so I fear I'm a bit
hungover. Wish I could be lying with my head in a toilet like all normal
people. She does a little laugh. Inscrutable reaction from Mark. BRIDGET: New Year's Resolution to drink less. And stop smoking. MARK:
Ah. MARK:
Perhaps it's time to... eat then. Mark
walks off. Bridget notices all eyes staring at her, then hurriedly
averted. She walks to the Turkey Curry Buffet. INT. BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY. Mark
is by the buffet, eyeing a turkey drumstick warily. His mother approaches
him. MARK'S
MOTHER: There'd be no harm taking her number. Apparently she lives just
around the corner from you. MARK:
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
looks around to see Bridget. He can't tell whether she has heard or not.
Bridget has heard. She smiles at him as if she hasn't - and helps herself
to a plate of food. BRIDGET:
Yummy. Turkey curry. My favourite. (Then into V.O., still smiling broadly)
Oh God. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Even dumped divorcee wearing reindeer sweater
thinks I'm horrible. Am destined to die alone. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. TOP OF STAIRS. NIGHT. Bridget
sits at the top of the stairs in a pair of pajamas, writing her diary. BRIDGET
O.S.: (In her diary) And be found three weeks later, wearing a shower cap
and half-heaten by Alsathians. Her
mum calls from downstairs. MUM
V.O.: Darling - come on down and join in the post-mortem. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENTS' SITTING. NIGHT. Mum
bustling in and out of the sitting room with a dustbuster. Dad is
engrossed in the cricket on the TV. Mum looks a bit deflated. MUM:
Thought it went very well, didn't you? Dad
grunts. MUM
(CONT'D): I thought we might invite the Alconburys over tomorrow to chew
it over. Dad
grunts again. MUM
(CONT'D): I thought we could make them into a lasagne and eat them. (More
grunt.) Then I thought wecould invite Penny Husbands-Bosworth and have a
sadomasochistic orgy. DAD:
Yes. Very good evening. Lovely turkey curry. Mum
looks at him - deeply. Still shocked by his indifference. INT.
PARENT'S HOUSE. STAIRS. NIGHT. Back
to Bridget surveying this desultory scene, perplexed... BRIDGET
O.S.: V. complex - life grisly because of lack of love, which, when found,
also grisly. EXT. LONDON BRIDGE. DAY. Music:
IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR by Sly and the Family Stone. Great big bridge shot -
hundreds of people, and hundreds of Bridgets, fag in hand, walking across
the river to work. Bridget looks at the world around her, at the others
Bridgets, at the old ladies in housecoats with shopping trollies - at
happy couples holding hands. What will become of her? EXT. BOND STREET. DAY. Bridget
walks to work. And, as Bridget does - she pulls herself together again. BRIDGET
V.O.: Still - not to despair. Am thrusting, modern independent woman, with
good prospects, good job, good brain, and famously nice nipples. Surely
eternal happiness must be round the corner. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Bridget
slinks into the office late. She is wearing a rather cute short skirt.
Perpetua, her Sloany superior, is on the phone. On the desk is a framed
photograph of Perpetua's large, pink, fleshy, hooray boyfriend, beside
countless estate agents details of houses. BRIDGET:
Morning. PERPETUA:
Morning. I need that 'Kafka's Motorbike' release by 11. (Back to the
phone) Describe it to me, Gavin - big dining room - good! - plum ruched
curtains with a floral frieze - very good indeed... BRIDGET:
Right. Bridget
logs on, types 'KAFKA'S MOTORBIKE' heading. She
can glimpse Daniel Cleaver, through the glass wall of his windowed office.
He suddenly looks up, looks straight at her with no expression. She
blushes, looks away, just as Mr Fitzherbert, the Managing Director, passes
her desk. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Happy New Year, Mr Fitzherbert. MR
FITZHERBERT: Happy New Year, Brenda. He
glances at her breasts fondly and then goes into Daniel's office. Closes
the door. The
phone rings. BRIDGET:
Hello. Publicity. JUDE
O.S.: (Sobbing into phone) ...all I asked. I only asked... if he wanted to
come on a mini-break to Paris. INT. JUDE'S OFFICE. DAY. Jude,
investment banker, is in a cubicle, in floods of tears, mascara streaking
her cheeks. BRIDGET
O.S.: Calm down. Breathe deeply. That's right. What's happened? Bridget,
turned away from Perpetua, talking low. JUDE:
He said I was getting too serious and too needy. Am I co... co-dependent? BRIDGET
O.S.: No, you are not. It's not you. You're lovely. It's Vile Richard.
He's just a big nobhead with no nob... INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Breaking
off as she notices that Daniel is standing in front of her desk, with a
manuscript. He must have overheard. BRIDGET:
(Covering up) ...is some people's opinion of Kafka... but they couldn't be
more wrong. This book is a searing vision of the wounds our century has
inflicted on traditional masculinity: positively Vonnegutesque. But tell
you what, I'll send over a review copy on a bike. Not at all. Thank you
for calling Professor Leavis. She
disconnects. DANIEL:
Don't let me interrupt the Stakhanovite flow. Bridget
blushes. INT. JUDE'S OFFICE. DAY. Jude
wipes her tears away and walks out into the main office, full of men in
suits. JUDE: Right - that was Tokyo on the phone - if you gentlemen have the balls for it - I think it's time to kill. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Daniel
has started to walk away. Then stops. DANIEL:
F.R. Leavis. BRIDGET:
Mmmmm-hmm. DANIEL:
Wow. He
seems impressed. He's about to walk off again. DANIEL
(CONT'D): The F.R. Leavis who wrote MASS CIVILISATION AND MINORITY
CULTURE? BRIDGET:
(Unsure, but nods cheerily) Mmmmm-hmm. DANIEL:
The F.R. Leavis who died in 1978? BRIDGET:
(A rather high pitched squeak) Ahm... He
continues on his way. Bridget's face. PERPETUA:
(To phone) Stay right there - I'll be round in 10 minutes. Don't let
anyone else set foot in it. (To Bridget) Bridget, I've got to see a
property. You'll have to do the presentation to that Michael chap. Is that
okay? BRIDGET:
Yes - good. INT.
PRESENTATION ROOM. DAY A
stylish meeting room. At one end stands a slightly flappy Bridget with
some folders and presentational aids. At the other end of the table - Mr
Fitzherbert, Daniel Cleaver, Plump Simon from Marketing, and an author,
Michael, with a beard. MR
FITZHERBERT: Right - fire away, Brenda. BRIDGET:
Right. Well, recently we've been having quite a lot of success with teaser
campaigns to precede actual publication - and we've decided really to go
for that this time. MR
FITZHERBERT: Excellent. The
writer is quite serious. Daniel is unreadable - and cool. BRIDGET:
So - three weeks before publication - this will begin to appear on posters
and in a wide range of magazines. Unveil
a slick graphic board, on it are just the words - 'It's Coming'. Very
Gothic print - and blood seeping from the stone wall it's printed on. Cut
to the 4 presentees - they seem to be concentrating hard. BRIDGET (CONT'D): Then... a week later, we take it a step further... Unveil
the next board: it reads - 'If you liked 'Highway of Blood' and
'Slit-throat Alley', On March 3, You'll be Very Happy And Very Scared.' BRIDGET
(CONT'D): As you can see - still not revealing the name of the book... Cut
to the listeners again - concentrating really hard. Inscrutable - serious. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Then, at last, just two days before publication day, we reveal
the book itself: Reveals
the last board, a horrific bloody image and speaks along with it: BRIDGET
(CONT'D): From the pen of Michael Harper - a new horror classic - The Red
Door'... Cut
back to the other 4... BRIDGET (CONT'D): Which, I suspect you would think was a better campaign if you actually were Michael Harper but the look on your face make me realise that I've made a little mistake and you are in fact Michael Naughton, author of 'Teddy Knows Best' which means that this is not a particulary suitable campaign so if you just give me a minute...
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. OFFICE CORRIDOR. DAY. Bridget
runs and skids frantically along the corridor. INT.
BRIDGET'S OFFICE. PRESENTATION ROOM. DAY. Bridget
is back in exactly the same position as before. BRIDGET:
We'd probably like to start, a couple of weeks before publication, with
something like this... Unveil
a slick graphic board on which are just the words - 'It's Coming'. Print
like gingerbread cookies, held up by balloons, with little teddies all
over the brick wall that forms its background. Maybe quick shot as we cut
off her, of next board 'If you liked 'Teds in Space' and 'Who's a
Naughty Ted', On March 14 You're Going to go Very... Gooey. INT.
RESTAURANT. NIGHT. A
club - as Bridget speaks, a waitress is serving them - 5 boxes of
cigarettes - 3 bottles of wine... BRIDGET
V.O.: Jan 4 - emergency meeting with urban family. Great joy of single
life is replacement of frightful real family with specially chosen group
of friends for rational,... 2
bottles of vodka and lots and lots of crisps and guacamole. BRIDGET
V.O.: ...mature discussion of problems that we all share. Like Prime
Minister choosing Cabinet of Ministers - after ten years of adult life
have selected Tom... pop icon who only wrote one song then retired because
he found one song was quite enough to get him laid for the whole of the
nineties. Total poof, of course. He
is watched - talking on his mobile that matches his shirt. BRIDGET
V.O.: Jude - petite business dynamo - utter genius at all things to do
with banking. Utter bollocks at all things to do with men. Jude,
smoking heavily. BRIDGET
V.O.: And Shazza - great novelist who like to say 'fuck' a lot and can't
be arsed to write first novel - therefore puts energies into giving
incisive advice on all matters personal. SHARON:
Fuck the lot of 'em. Resign tomorrow just to teach them a fucking lesson -
you don't fucking mess with Bridget Jones. BRIDGET:
Good. What do you think Jude? What would you do if one of your assistants
made a harmless little mistake like that? JUDE:
I'd fire you tomorrow. BRIDGET:
Excellent. And Tom - what's the homosexualist viewpoint on this particular
crisis? TOM:
Is that Cleaver chap as cute as ever? BRIDGET:
Absolutely. TOM:
Then I think, as usual, a well-timed blow job is probably the answer. A
stranger suddenly comes up to the table, and addresses Tom... STRANGER:
Aren't you that chap who sung...? Tom
gets this all the time. TOM:
Yes. STRANGER:
What are you up to now? TOM:
I spend my time buying phones that perfectly match my clothes. It's
actually true - his orange mobile phone goes perfectly with his
peach-coloured shirt. STRANGER:
Oh right. Far out. Well, great song. TOM:
(Big smile) Thank you so much. The
Stranger leaves. BRIDGET:
More vodka anyone? ALL:
No, no, no - oh all right, fill her up, etc. BRIDGET:
Now what's this about Vile Richard? JUDE:
Well, yes - I've got a bit of a new situation vis a vis a promised
mini-break. SHARON:
Don't get me started, Jude - don't get me fucking started. JUDE:
We sort of get beck together at Christmas - but then, yesterday... SHARON:
Too late - I'm started - Judith, you know I support every emotional
decision you make 100%, but it's time you realised that Richard is a
cowardly fuckwit who for 11 years has engulfed you in a seething swamp of
EMOTIONAL FUCKWITTAGE... and should be fucking spayed then killed. JUDE:
Right. Right. Good. So do you think I should call him? TOM/SHARON:
No! BRIDGET:
(Simultaneously) Yes. I mean no. BRIDGET
O.S.: As you can see - just like a family - but with much more vodka. At
that moment a very young girl walks past in a distinctive almost
see-through blouse. All of the girls turn to watch her as she goes. They
turn back - and together... THE
THREE GIRLS: Tart. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. A
taxi drives along. We hear conversation inside. TOM/JUDE/SHARON:
(Drunk) Men are all fuckwits, fuckwits, perverts and bastards - and
fuckwits. BRIDGET:
Zackly. Exackly. I have no need of men or job - because I have you, Tom.
And you, Jude and Shazzer. And you, Tom. Night all. The
taxi stop - the door opens - and Bridget falls out spectacularly. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. The
next morning. Bridget taking off her coat as she comes in nervously. A bit
hungover, today wearing another rather delicious short skirt. Perpetua on
phone. PERPETUA:
I'm very excited indeed Gavin: let's move on it - the last thing we want
is some towel-head buying it from under our noses. (Looks up) Morning,
Bridget. I hear it went very well. BRIDGET:
Morning. Bridget
guiltily pretends to start working hard straight away. Suddenly.
MESSAGE PENDING flashes on her computer screen. She is perplexed. She
presses EXE. ON
THE COMPUTER: Message Bridget Jones from Daniel Cleaver... She
gulps - feels firing on its way. It continues... ON
THE COMPUTER: Re: yesterday's presentation... Now
she really is worried. ON
THE COMPUTER: You appeared to have forgotten your skirt. Is skirt off
sick? I thought was made perfectly clear in your contract of employment,
staff are expected to be fully dressed at all times. Bridget
is startled. She looks up and across at Daniel. He is not looking at her. PERPETUA:
(On the phone) The only problem I can see is the kitchen, where frankly
there isn't room to swing a cat - and, as you well know, we have two cats. BRIDGET:
(As she types) Message Mr Cleaver. Am appalled by message. Skirt was
demonstrably neither sick nor absent. Appalled by management's blatantly
size-ist attitude to skirt. Suggest management sick, not skirt. She
pressed SEND, looks shyly at Daniel as he reads the message. He laughs,
turns to look at her. A warm, sexy, mischievous smile. INT.
COMMUNAL CHANGING ROOM. EVENING. MUSIC. 'JUST MY IMAGINATION' by Temptations. Bridget,
Jude and Sharon are trying on clothes. Bridget, wriggling into a skimpy
skirt, is headless as it is caught over her head. BRIDGET:
I'm not flirting with him. But obviously I had to reply because he's my
boss. There are certain types of etiquettewithin a business structure that you transcend at your peril. You
don't want me fired, do you? She
finally frees her head from her skirt. Sharon and Jude have left the
changing room and she's been talking to a total stranger... who tries to
be helpful. NICE
WOMAN: No, no - not at all. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Bridget
is labouring with the art-work for another book - 'Kafka's Motorbike'. She
is actually wearing the shirt we glimpsed on the 'tart' girl in the first
friends scene. Light flashes: message pending. BRIDGET'S
COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Still worried about skirt. And shirt today looking
peaky too; wan, thin. May I please have skirt's address and phone number
so may send flowers? Bridget
reading... DISSOLVE TO INT. WEDDING RECEPTION. DAY. Flowers
everywhere. Bridget as bride, Daniel making speech. Guests include
everyone we've seen, including the smiling author of 'Teddy Knows Best'
plus a celebrity or two, all laughing at Daniel's joke. DANIEL:
And it all began with some very childish e-mailing over Bridget's
non-existent skirt. Guests
laugh. Bridget smiles modestly. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. The
next day. Bridget walks past Daniel's office in short skirt and different
top. He seem deep in concentration. By the time she gets back to her desk,
there is MESSAGE FLASHING. BRIDGET'S
COMPUTER: If walking past office was attempt to demonstrate presence of
skirt, can only say that it has failed parlously. Cleave. BRIDGET:
(Typing on computer) MSG Cleaver. Shut up please. I am very busy and
important. P.S. How dare you sexually harass me in this impertinent
manner? Jones. Daniel
reading screen, laughing then typing. MESSAGE
PENDING on Bridget's screen. ON
THE COMPUTER: MSG Jones. Mortified to have caused offence. Will avoid all
non-PC overtones in future. Deeply apologetic. P.S. Like your tits in that
top. Bridget
reads and laughs - looks up - there, for the first time - at her desk - in
the flesh - is Daniel. DANIEL:
I wondered if the skirt would care for dinner on Friday night? BRIDGET:
Um. Friday? Oh - uhm - I'd love to, but I think I've got... Bridget
reaches for her diary, a 'not to sure' look on her face. DANIEL:
Don't even TRY it, Jones. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT. Triumphant
pop music blaring. In the bathroom. Manic activity. Bridget, through a
haze of condensation, massaging anti-cellulite massage oil, plucking
eyebrows, cleansing, moisturising. BRIDGET
V.O.: Being a woman is like being a farmer: harvesting, weeding,
crop-spaying. I sometimes wonder what would happen if I just let myself
revert to nature - within days would I find myself sporting a full beard
on each shin...? Ow! She
utters short sharp cry as she waxes her bikini line out of shot. The
entryphone goes. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Bridget
jumps out of bathroom... BRIDGET:
Is he out of his mind? He's forty minutes early. She
heads for the door. Looks at herself in the mirror. With her dressing gown
quite louche and her hair up, she look rather divine. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): What the hell - it's a look. She
pick up the entryphone. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Hello. (Beat) Oh. Hello Dad. She
buzzes him in. Very unexpected, this. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Dad
is sitting on the sofa with a mug of tea. Bridget is listening to him.
It's a big shock. BRIDGET'S
DAD: I don't know what's happening at all. Ever since Christmas she's
behaving oddly and then yesterday she cames in at four a.m. When I asked
her where she'd been, she said it was none of my business. Suddenly thirty
years of marriage would appear to count for nothing. BRIDGET:
Dad. Maybe it's a sort of end of life crisis. Dad
stares at her aghast. Is he at the end of his life too? BRIDGET
(CONT'D): I mean not end of life... you know - mid-late life crisis type
of thing. DAD:
And she said... she said... BRIDGET:
What? DAD
:...she said for all I knew clitoris was something in Geoffrey's butterfly
collection. BRIDGET:
Oh dear. DAD:
(Pause...) When someone loves you - it's like having a blanket all round
your heart - and then when it's taken away... The
phone rings. BRIDGET:
(Into phone) Tom, this isn't a good time. (Listens) Okay... okay... I
know. I know. I'll go and look. She
disconnects, gives the phone to Dad, indicates Tom's number in her phone
book... BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Dad, call this number in two minutes. Tom's left his mobile
here, and I think I've thrown it away with the newspapers. She
grabs a coat and exits. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. Bridget
stands on a low wall by three communal dustbins. Her overcoat covers her
bath towel and not much else. She has 2 curlers in the back of her hair.
Suddenly, out of the darkness, Mark Darcy appears, dressed in jogging
clothes... MARK: Hello. BRIDGET: Oh, God. MARK: (Taking her in) Everything okay? BRIDGET: (Pulling her coat tightly) Yup. Super. MARK: What are you doing? BRIDGET: I'm waiting... for the dustbin... to ring. MARK: Have you been waiting long? BRIDGET: Not very long, no. MARK: Do you think it will be ringing soon? BRIDGET:
Yes, I have high hopes of a phone call in the very near future. Pause.
There's the ring of a phone. Mark is startled, as Bridget reaches into one
of the dustbins, struggles to locate the phone. Mark reaches into the
dustbin nearest him, retrieves the phone, answers it... BRIDGET: Thank you. (Into phone) Thanks... No. You're still a very attractive man - should know - I'm your daughter.(To Mark) Thank you for your help. MARK: You're welcome. She heads back into her house, he continues on his way. She turns and looks back at him - he seems to be laughing. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. BRIDGET'S DAD: She says we need some time apart. You know what that means. (He mimes a slit throat) Oh, somebody rang. David? BRIDGET: (Heading out of bathroom) David? BRIDGET'S
DAD: Darren... BRIDGET: Not Daniel. BRIDGET'S DAD: That's it. BRIDGET: What did he say? BRIDGET'S
DAD: He said he had to work tonight. He'll try to call you later. Anyway
look I'd better get back. Mum'll wonder where I've been. If she's home...
herself. Bridget's
face. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Bridget,
on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring. The End titles music to
Frasier is heard on the TV. 'Frasier has left the building'. Later.
Bridget in same outfit. A bit more dishevelled. She
scrambles through her CD collection. Finds 3 CD called 'Only Women Bleed'.
Puts it on and we hear the first 3 seconds of 2 famous, big girl numbers -
like 'You Don't Have to Say You Love Me' by Dusty Springfield, and 'The
Power of Love' by Jennifer Rush - and then it settles on 'All By Myself' -
in spectacularly melodramatic version by Celine Dion. BRIDGET:
(Snootily) Oh God. But,
as it happens - she gets hooked - it plays during this next episode -
sometimes mimed by very passionate Bridget. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. BRIDGET'S DIARY LIES OPEN: Bridget is now playing both drums and piano on the Celine track - shouting at the top of her lungs. BRIDGET:
All by myself!!! I don't want to be -All by myself anymore! INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Bridget
sitting in the same spot, next morning, staring into space, eating muesli
straight out of the packet. The
page in her diary reads 'SATURDAY' plus scrawl. At
the bottom right of screen, Bridget's familiar scrawl writes up on screen.
It's what she's thinking as she's eating. BRIDGET
O.S.: Sat. January 30th. Am fat and hideous. Daniel at this
very moment penetrating Kate Moss's skinnier younger sister. Then
into voice-over. BRIDGET V.O.: Number of bowls of disgusting muesli - 4. Number of times have picked up phone to check it's still working - 144. Am now insane person. Bridget
looks towards the door. DISSOLVE TO INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. The front door is slightly ajar. Something is seen to push it open. It creaks eerily. A dog's nose sniffs - close up. We follow the Dog's point-of-view as it steadicams round Bridget's flat - the kitchen disaster area, and into the sitting room, where it happens upon a slumped figure in a lilac nylon housecoat, face down. It's Bridget thirty years from now. Another Alsatian appears behind the first one.
The
dogs look at Bridget in the present. Bridget stares at the scene. DISSOLVE TO INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. DAY. Bridget
paces the room. She now eats Branston pickle from a jar... Then makes
decisive decision: She
crosses to the phone. BRIDGET:
(Reads aloud in cheery manner) Hi, it's Jones here. I was just wondering
how you are and if you wanted to meet for the skirt-health summit, like
you said. She
plucks up her courage, picks up the phone. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Hi, it's Jones here. I was just wondering how you are and if you
wanted to meet for the skirt-health mummit... like you... Shit a tit...
Summit. Obviously! She
put the phone down, then doubles up cringing. To
her surprise, the phone rings again. Bridget forces herself not to pounce
on it... She turns the music up. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): (As if there's other people with her) ...yeah, get yourself a
glass. Hello? INT. SHARON'S FLAT. PHONE AREA. DAY. Quick
cut to very perplexed Sharon at her end of the phone. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Bridget
slams down the receiver. She goes to slope off towards the bathroom and
then the phone rings again. Bridget forces herself not to pounce on it... BRIDGET:
Deep breath. Deep breath. (Picking up the phone, cool) Hiya... (Face
collapses) Mum? INT. DEPARTMENT STORE. SHOP FLOOR. DAY. MUSIC:
'UP, UP AND AWAY' by The Fifth Dimension. Bridget
walks through the cosmetics department on her way to the coffee shop. She
hears a familiar voice on the PA system. She wanders over towards a crowd. MUM
ON PA SYSTEM: There we go, Madam. Super! Mum
done up to the nines is demonstrating a rubber boiled egg peeler. MUM:
That's it, nice firm grip then and up and down, up and down and off it
comes in your hand! Ooh. Mind the overspray. BRIDGET:
Christ alive. INT. DEPARTMENT STORE. CAFÉ. DAY. Bridget
sits opposite her mother in a booth, still in a state of shock. MOTHER:
I have spent thirty-five years cleaning his house, washing his clothes,
bringing up his children... BRIDGET:
I'm actually your child too. MOTHER:
Well right - and to be honest darling, having children isn't all it's
cracked up to be. Given my chance again, I'm not sure I'd have any... BRIDGET
O.S.: Even own mother wishes had never been born. MOTHER:
But now it's the winter of my life and I haven't actually got anything of
my own. No career, no power, no sex life, no... life at all. I feel like
the grasshopper who sang all summer. I'm like Germaine sodding Gear. BRIDGET:
Greer. MOTHER:
The Invisible Woman. BRIDGET:
Actually, she was the Female Eunuch. MOTHER:
Who was the Invisible Woman? BRIDGET:
I don't know. The wife of the Invisible Man. After
a bit. MOTHER:
Well, whatever - I'm not having it - and I've been talent-spotted. Julian
thinks I've got great potential. BRIDGET:
Who's Julian? MOTHER:
(As if she should know) From the Home Shopping Channel. He comes into the
store to get his colours done. BRIDGET:
Potential for what? MOTHER:
As a demonstrator on his cable show. His assistant. Apparently, it's the
highest rated show on the channel, apart from the one where the fat people
beat up their relatives. Looking
at her watch, getting up. MOTHER
(CONT'D): Listen, I must whizz. How are you, anyway? BRIDGET:
Suicidal. MOTHER:
(Totally casually) Oh dear. Heard from Mark Darcy? BRIDGET:
(Through clenched teeth) Goodbye, Mum. Mother kisses Bridget, and when she walks away it looks as if she is walking on air. In men's underwear she steers towards a deeply solariumed and sleek man, in his forties. This is Julian. The music pipping out is ME AND MRS JONES BY Billie Paul. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. MUSIC: TIRED OF BEING ALONE by Al Green. Bridget
comes in, makes straight for the answering machine, doesn't even bother to
take off her coat. MAGDA
ON ANSWERING MACHINE: Hello Bridge - you won't forget tea on Sunday, will
you - your godchildren are very excited. Well, that's a lie actually - but
I am. BRIDGET
V.O.: Oh God - Smug Marrieds. Obviously lovely best friends with lovely if
incontinent children - but last thing one needs when feeling v. insecure. INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY. Cut
to Magda and Jeremy - sitting next door to each other - something
undeniably smug about them. Magda is a beautiful mother of three, who used
to run with Bridget's urban pack. She's is holding her new baby. Jeremy,
Magda's handsome husband, has a dish towel over his shoulder, a child in
his arms and the Law Gazette by his side. Sound of a third toddler
somewhere... JEREMY:
So, Bridge - how's your love life? BRIDGET:
As I was just telling Magda - disastrous. MAGDA:
I think you should dump him now and wait for a nice guy to come along.
What do you think, Jezzer? JEREMY:
I agree entirely with my gorgeous wife. BRIDGET:
Well, that's all very well for you to say, Mags, but... MAGDA:
(To potty child) No. In the POTTY. The potty. Well put it in Daddy's hand
then. Jeremy
resignedly holds out his hand with a patient smile - we don't see it - but
some disgusting exchange ensues. He looks dangerously at Magda, then both
smile at each other. Bridget watches an ache in her heart about
theirwarmth. Jeremy exits with the turd. MAGDA
(CONT'D): What does he look likes? BRIDGET
O.S.: Fucking gorgeous. MAGDA:
In that case, seduce him, by pretending to be completely disinterested.
Transform into the Ice Queen. Worked for me. I gave you hell, didn't I,
darling? JEREMY:
(Returning) Certainly did. That
lovely optimism of Bridget when a new plan comes along. BRIDGET:
Yes. Okay. Yes. Good. It's definitely worth a try. The opening bars od 'ICE ICE BABY', Vanilla Ice using Queen/Bowie's 'UNDER PRESSURE' begin to play. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. CLOSE
UP: Bridget walks in. She darts a quick look at Daniel's office - he's not
in yet. PERPETUA:
(Icily) Let's just get this clear, Gavin. We have spent over a thousand
pounds on a survey, and now you tell me you have sold the house to someone
else. It is that correct? (Listens) Right - excuse me for being a little
personal - but may your children burn in hell, you shifty, smarmy, lying
bastard... She
slams down the phone. Looks across at Bridget in disbelief. PERPETUA
(CONT'D): We've been gazumped. The
door bursts open. Daniel enters, looking not in the least furtive or
guilty, breezes through... DANIEL:
Morning, everyone. He
leans and whispers as he passes Bridget's desk. DANIEL
(CONT'D): Message pending, Jones. She
turns her head away, disdainfully. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET'S
COMPUTER: Message pending: 6 ON
DANIEL. Looking across at her, willing her to access her e-mail. ON
BRIDGET. Calmly marking up a manuscript, completely ignoring him. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET'S
COMPUTER: Message pending: 14 Daniel
suddenly gets up, walks out of his office, crosses to Bridget. He speaks
in low, urgent tones. DANIEL:
Look, sorry Bridget. I suddenly got called out of town. Left your skirt's
number at home... Bridget's
phone rings. She answers and deliberately turns away from him. BRIDGET:
(Sweet) Excuse me. Publicity. INT. MAGDA'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY. Magda,
child in arms, on phone to Bridget. MAGDA : Aloof... Unavaible... Ice
Queen... Aloof... Unavaible... Ice Queen... INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET:
Thank you so much for your enquiry. (Hangs up and turns to Daniel) You
were saying... But
the phone goes again. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Sorry. Publicity. INT. FIRST RESTAURANT. DAY. Tom
is drinking coffee, talking into another mobile that goes with another
shirt. TOM:
Excellent plan... stony, merciless - Ice Queen. A
stranger sidles up to him. STRANGER
2: Are you that guy who sang 'Painted Lady'? TOM:
Yes I am. Are you that guy who bought it? STRANGER
2: Well, yes - I am! TOM:
Thank you so much.(Into mobile) Ice, ice baby. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Bridget
puts the phone down and tries to hide a smile. She looks down. BRIDGET'S
COMPUTER: (Flashing repeatedly) Message pending: 24. ON
DANIEL: looking across at Bridget hungrily. ON
BRIDGET: she ignores him, carries on typing. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY. It's
the end of the day. Bridget gets into the lift, followed by plump Simon
from marketing. Daniel slips in, then, as the doors begin to close, a
breathless PERPETUA calls out... PERPETUA:
(To Daniel; holding phone) The New York Office for you. A
barely perceptible flicker behind Daniel's eyes. DANIEL:
I'll get back to them. Doors
close. Tense silence. 2 people in a lift wishing the third would bugger
off. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY. The
door opens on Daniel and Bridget and Simon: Simon gets out. Just as the
doors close again - Mr Fitzherbert enters. DANIEL:
Good evening, Kenneth. And
Daniel calmly put his hand, out of view, on Bridget's bottom. She looks at
him. MR
FITZHERBERT: Evening, Daniel. If you've got a moment, I'd like a word
before you leave tonight. DANIEL:
Certainly. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. LOBBY/ELEVATOR. DAY. The
lift lands and opens. Fitzherbert heads out first. DANIEL:
I'll be with you in a second. MR
FITZHERBERT: Excellent. (To Bridget) And Brenda... BRIDGET:
Yes MR
FITZHERBERT: At the 'Kafka's Motorbike' thing - thought it might be fun if
you introduced me before I introduce him - add a lovely sense of occasion. BRIDGET:
Certainly, sir. He
heads off. DANIEL:
All right, Jones, you devil. Busy later? BRIDGET:
In fact I am. DANIEL:
Oh. Shame - I just thought it might be a charitable thing to take your
skirt out for dinner, fatten it up a bit. And maybe you could come, too.
What about tomorrow? BRIDGET:
Sorry, no - it's the launch. She
motions to a standee in the lobby for this Kafka book. We've glimpsed it
in the office before. DANIEL:
Ah, yes, of course - possibly the worst book ever published. BRIDGET:
In the end, that's not the ad line we've gone for. DANIEL:
How about the next day then? BRIDGET:
Let's see, shall we? Goodnight, Daniel. Then,
as she walks away seductively, leaving Daniel dangling... BRIDGET
O.S.: Feb 2 - am sex goddess - perfect in every way. INT.
MOROCCAN RESTAURANT. NIGHT. Modern
Moroccan, glowing candles, low tables, sumptuous cushions for chairs. The
gang's all there... JUDE:
Right. Your whole furure happiness now depends on how you behave on this
one social occasion. BRIDGET:
Right. What should I do? JUDE:
It's all in here. (She has a book) Getting someone to fall in love with
you in science, pure science. First - look gorgeous. EXT.
TUBE STATION. EVENING. START
OF MONTAGE: 'THAT THING' by Lauryn Hill. Bridget
emerges from the Underground and heads towards the party. She looks, well,
gorgeous... Neon signs flash glamourously around her. Now
intercut between: 1. Bridget walking through London on party night. 2.
Bridget at home leading up to the party in days previous. 3. Friends
advice. INT.
MOROCCAN RESTAURANT. NIGHT. JUDE:
Two: then totally ignore Daniel and be fabulous with everyone else. TOM:
Think Tina Brown - think TOTAL Queen of Society. SHARON:
Introduces people with thoughtful details such as, 'Sheila, this is
Daniel. Daniel, this is Sheila. Sheila enjoys horse-riding and comes from
New Zealand. Daniel enjoys publishing and comes...' BRIDGET:
...all over your face? TOM:
Exactly. Then 3 - circulate. Oozing intelligence... INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. She
is reading the book as she hoovers in bra and pants. BRIDGET:
'Lovely to see you, Salmaaan - what do you think about Chechyna', 'Hello,
Melvyn - isn't it terrible about Chechyna.' INT.
MOROCCAN RESTAURANT. NIGHT. BRIDGET:
Have you all read this book then? They
all nod in unison. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): And it works? JUDE:
Of course it doesen't fucking work or we wouldn't be sitting here today -
would we? We'd be changing nappies and snogging husbands. But it's worth a
stab. TOM:
So on to Number 4 - most important... SHARON:
Fucking important. TOM:
...after the party, after you've unwillingly yielded to dinner at the most
expensive restaurant in London, after you've driven him fucking wild with
desire by rubbing your knees against his nob for two and a half hours,
then... ALL
THREE: Don't sleep with him. BRIDGET:
Obviously. An
elderly man suddenly comes up to the table and addresses Tom... ELDERLY
MAN: Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you like this in the middle of your
dinner but... Tom
interrupts - he gets this all time. TOM:
Yes. Painted Lady. It was me. Nine years ago. No current plans to record
anything else. Sorry. ELDERLY
MAN: ... your chairleg is on my wife's coat. TOM:
Of course it is - of course it is. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. DAY. Close
on her, head and sholuders... BRIDGET
V.O.: Major dilemma - if actually do, by some terrible chance, end up in
flagrante, surely these (she holds up tiny pair of knickers) would be most
attractive at crucial moment. However, chance of actually reaching crucial
moment greatly increased by wearing these (camera moves backwards to see
her pulling up sensible stomach-constricting big tight pants) scary
stomach-holding-in-pants, very popular with grannies the world over.
Tricky. Very tricky. EXT.
LONDON STREET. EVENING. Close
up on Bridget's nice tight tummy. Walking proud. Suddenly Bridget sees,
coming towards her - Jeremy - arm-in-arm with a very young woman. They
catch each other's eye. BRIDGET:
Hello, Jeremy. JEREMY:
Oh, hi, Bridget. And
they both keep walking, past each other. Bridget, perplexed. Walks on -
determined not to lose her inner poise. INT.
LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT. Everyone's
here - real, famous writers galore - for the launch of 'KAFKA'S
MOTORBIKE'. The room is dominated by the display: vintage Kawasaki
motorbike, photo of Kafka. The author, looking as miserable as Kafka
himself, stands next to a pile of his books, ignored. Bridget,
overawed, hovers on the outskirts of a small group which actually includes
Salman Rushdie. SALMAN
RUSHDIE: The problem with Martin's definition of the novella is that it
only applies to him... SIMON
FROM MARKETING: That doesn't sound like Martin. Not. Salman
smiles at Bridget, trying to include her. SALMAN
RUSHDIE: I could be wrong. What do you think? He's
staring at Bridget. The group all turn to look at her. Bridget's mind goes
blank. But her tone is that of someone who is actually answering the
question... BRIDGET:
Ahm... Do you know where the toilets are? INT.
LITERARY PARTY. CORRIDOR. NIGHT. Bridget
hits herself hard on the forehead. BRIDGET
O.S.: Very bad start. She
looks up to see Melvyn Bragg glaring at her.
INT.
LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT. Bridget
exits from the toilets. She sees Daniel Cleaver, across the room, talking
to Melvyn Bragg and other celebrities. Cleaver's eyes meet Bridget. He
smiles. Bridget turns coolly the other way, only to find herself face to
face with Mr Fitzherbert, surrounded by several guests. BRIDGET: Really...? Apart from the first three pages, don't you think it's a rather poor conceit. MR
FITZHERBERT: No, as a matter of fact, I think it's a masterpiece. But I'm
sure the author would be interested to hear your views. Mr
Fitzherbert turns to reveal the guest beside him is none other than Ben
Okri. A drinks tray passes, and Bridget seizes the opportunity to spin 180 degrees, only to find herself face to face with Mark Darcy, who, from the look on his face, obviously just overheard Bridget's clanger. She's genuinely surprised to see him there in designer suit, looking handsome. BRIDGET (CONT'D): What are you doing here? MARK:
I've been asking myself the same question. I came with a colleague.
Mark
Darcy stands rigid, clearly hating every minute. BRIDGET:
(Sharp, but not confrontational) Well, very disappointed not to see my
favourite reindeer jumper again, but otherwise well. And you?
At
that moment, the crowds part and Perpetua arrives, still stuffing her face
with canapes... PERPETUA:
Anyone going to introduce me? Bridget
finally has an opportunity to put Jude's book, 'Making Parties Work for
You', into practice. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): ...Mark is a prematurely middle-aged prick with a cruel-raced
ex-wife. Perpetua is the old fart arse bag who spends her time bossing me
around. DISSOLVE TO WHAT BRIDGET REALLY SAYS: BRIDGET (CONT'D): Mark is a top barrister... who comes from Grafton Underwood. (To Mark) Perpetua is one of my work colleagues, and... she's just been gazumped. PERPETUA:
(Obsequiously) Oh, Mark. I know you by reputation, of course.
Bridget looks at him in a new light. She thought he was a nerd. She didn't know he was famous. At
this point, Natasha Glenville arrives. She is sleek and beautiful and not
kind. Mark's very intelligent fellow lawyer. NATASHA:
How odd. Perpetua - how's the house-hunt? Perpetua and Natasha, who has just dismissed Bridget as a zero immediately fall into conversation - two posh peas in a pod. PERPETUA: Fucking disaster. But far more important - that man is gorgeous! NATASHA: Ah yes - Mark. (Conspiratorially - looking at him)
Just give me time, babe. Give me time. Bridget grabs a drink from a passing tray, then looks up at Mark, who has, after all, just made a joke - but Mark Darcy, meanwhile, suddenly falls silent when he sees Daniel Cleaver checking out the room. He sees Mark, staring at him. Disconcerted, he quickly looks away. Bridget
has seen this. She's slightly at a loss now. MARK: You're making a speech? BRIDGET:
Only a tiny one - 'Kafka's Motorbike - greatest book of all time' etc.
Blink and you'll miss it. Bridget
turns to walk in Daniel's direction, only to find he has disappeared, and
there's no-one to talk to. Behind her, Mark watches, perhaps regretting
his remark. INT.
LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT. Cut
on - Bridget on to little stage in the venue. Mr Fitzherbert and the
author next to her. Mr Fitzherbert nudges her to go. There is a microphone
mid-stage. She walks up to and stands at it. BRIDGET:
Ladies and gentlemen... ladies and gentlemen... ladies and gentlemen...
(the mike isn't working. The crowd talks at full volume. She panics a bit
and screams) OI! (Total silence - the whole audience stares at her) Sorry
- the microphone's not working. Ladies and gentlemen - thank you for
coming to the launch of 'Kafka's Motorbike' - the greatest book of our
time. (She looks out - sees a slightly perplexed Salman) Obviously except
for your books, Mr. Rushdie - which are very good too. (She keeps looking
round - now she's in trouble) As are yours, obviously, Mr Barnes and Mr
Amis and Mr Bragg and Nick Hornby and, of course - Mr Okri - particularly
the Famished Road - excellent... conceit... but anyway, ahm - what I mean
is -welcome to the launch of one of the, you know, top 30, anyway best
books of our time... and anyway... here to introduce it properly is... ah
the man we all call... ah Mr Fitzherbert. Thank you. She
stands back. Mr Fitzherbert walks over. MR
FITZHERBERT: Thank you, Brenda. Just switch this on... (He switches on the
mike, easily) Right... INT.
LITERARY PARTY. NIGHT. Cut
to Bridget later - standing in a corner on her own - totally frozen in
horror. Mark, who is talking to Natasha and Ben Okri, sees her... MARK:
(To Natasha) Excuse me... As
he move away, Salman approaches him, full of friendship, and slaps him on
the back. SALMAN:
Mark! MARK:
Ah, yes - Salman - do you know where the toilet is? Salman
a bit thrown - everyone asking him about the toilets today - he points,
and Mark heads on towards Bridget, then stops in his tracks as he sees
Daniel creep up behind her, put his hands on her waist. DANIEL:
Jones. Sod 'em all. It was a brilliant post-modernist masterpiece of
oratorical fireworks. Mark
Darcy, in the background, stops stranded, watching Bridget and Daniel. DANIEL
(CONT'D): You're very sexy, Jones - I'm going to have to take you out to
dinner now, whether you like it or not. He
gives her one of his wonderful girl-melting looks, promising all sort of
delights. INT.
LITERARY PARTY. CORRIDOR. NIGHT. As
Bridget and Daniel exit together, they bump into Darcy. BRIDGET:
Ah, Mark, have you met Daniel? Daniel's a top publishing executive, and
enjoys computer messaging. Mark's a... MARK:
Good night, Bridget. Bridget,
gobsmacked, watches as he walks away. BRIDGET:
That was Mark Darcy. He is SO rude! DANIEL:
Yes, I know who he is. He
turns back to look at him - at exactly the instant Mark does the same
thing. There's something going on here. INT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT. The
two of them dining intimately. BRIDGET:
So where do you stand on the whole situation in Chechyna? DANIEL:
Oh who gives a fuch, Jones? Now, how do you know Arsey Darcy? BRIDGET:
Apparently, I used to play naked in his paddling pool. DANIEL:
I bet you did, you dirty bitch. BRIDGET:
What about you? DANIEL:
We were at Cambridge together. He was a strange chap, always on his own.
Dreadful shoes. Horrid sideburns. I liked him though. We became friends...
(He tails off) BRIDGET:
Ten what...? DANIEL:
Nothing. BRIDGET:
No, really. You don't need to protect him - he's no friend of mine. In
fact I suspect I dislike him intensely. DANIEL:
Well, then years later I made the rather crucial mistake of introducing
him to my fiancée. INT. A HOME SOMEWHERE. DAY. A
mysterious, silent scene - the camera represents the viewpoint of a man
walking up some stairs. It reaches a door - it opens - and then a sense of
confusion - clearly there are two people, naked on the floor of the room -
legs - a naked breast... INT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT. DANIEL:
And I'm not sure I could say, in all honesty, I've ever really forgiven
him. BRIDGET:
(Suddenly she understands everything) Oh... so he's a nasty bastard, as
well as a dull bastard. DANIEL:
I'm afraid so. But don't let him ruin our evening. Have another glass of
wine and tell me more about practicing French-kissing with the other girls
at school. BRIDGET:
It wasn't French kissing. DANIEL:
Who cares - make it up. EXT. PONT DE LA TOUR. NIGHT. Lights
twinkle on the Thames and Tower Bridge. Bridget and Daniel emerge from the
restaurant. A tangible atmosphere. DANIEL:
So, how about a drink at my place. Totally innocent. No funny business.
Just full sex. BRIDGET:
(Smiling and then primly) No - actually I think I'd better get a taxi. But
thank you so much for the lovely dinner. He
lightly brushes the hair from her forehead. Bridget hails a taxi that's
passing... Then Daniel kisses her. Sexual tension everywhere. DANIEL:
Good night then. BRIDGET:
(Slight choke) Yes. Good night. EXT.
LONDON STREET/INT. TAXI. NIGHT. Bridget
is recovering from the kiss, half-regretting that she left... BRIDGET
O.S.: My knickers are made of iron - cast iron. Mmmm... She
turns her head to see if she can surreptitiously look back at Daniel... The
taxi stops at a set of lights. Suddenly the door behind her opens and
Daniel jumps in. DANIEL:
Weren't looking back, were you Jones? INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Daniel
and Bridget snogging. He begins to undress her. DANIEL:
Silly shoes, Jones. Very silly skirt - Christ alive - absolutely enormous
pants. BRIDGET:
(Very fast) Oh Jesus fuck fuck fuck... She
sprints out. EXT. SHAFTESBURY AVENUE. DAY. The
next morning. Bridget walking up Shaftesbury Avenue. On the neon screens
in front of the theatre, we read: NEON
SCREENS: Monday something the somethingth. Nine stone two. Plus 4 x 10
c.c. Cigarettes - 22... all post-coital. Close
up on Bridget, triumphant. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. BEDROOM. NIGHT. The
next evening. Daniel and Bridget have just had sex again. Daniel flops
down beside Bridget. DANIEL:
That was fantastic - and I must must remember... (Touches her cheek
tenderly) to put the car in the Citroen garage. Bridget
go to look outraged, when she realises Daniel is laughing. She laughs too.
A pause. BRIDGET: Daniel? DANIEL: Mmmmm? BRIDGET:
What happens in the office? DANIEL:
Well you see, it's a publishing house, so that means that people write
things for us and we print out all the pages and fasten them together and
make them into a book. Bridget
giggles. BRIDGET:
No. Do you think people will notice? DANIEL:
Notice what? BRIDGET:
Us - working together, sleeping together... DANIEL:
Wait a second Jones, slow down. Remember - we're not exactly in a
long-term relationship yet. It started on Tuesday, now it's Wednesday. BRIDGET:
I know that - I know. It's just... All right. Forget work complication.
But be honest with me. This is a very, very important question. What do
you think of mini-breaks? DANIEL:
Hideous weekends in over-decorated country house hotels full of Corby
trouser presses and ugly maids? BRIDGET:
Yes. DANIEL:
I absolutely love them. BRIDGET:
Hurray. DANIEL:
And let me ask you a very important question. BRIDGET:
Right. DANIEL:
You were talking about the office - and I am concerned about our
relationship in the context of work. It could put pressure on it. Would it
be all right if - and absolutely say 'no' if it worries you - would it be
all right if, let's say, once a week, I asked you not to wear any pants to
work? BRIDGET:
Bad man. Bad man. She
rolls over on to him and they start wrestle. The phone goes. Bridget
answers... BRIDGET:
Bridget Jones - wanton goddess of sex... with a big, bad man between her
thighs. Dad. Hi.
EXT. RAILWAY. DAY. A
hight speed train roars past. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENTS' HOUSE. KITCHEN. EVENING. Dad
is going to pieces in some style, sitting unshaven in his vest at the
kitchen table with a bottle of whisky. The television is on in the
background. Bridget has just arrived with a weekend bag and sat down. She
still has her coat on. DAD:
Take a look at this. Dad
picks up the remote control and flicks through the channels. INT. SHOPPING CHANNEL. SET. DAY. On
TV: a Home Shopping Channel presentation. Mother is assisting the brightly
solariumed individual we glimpsed earlier - Julian. He has a deep,
mellifluous voice, and his immaculately manicured hands hold a minute
ruler to a hideous set of earrings. JULIAN:
...just over a centimeter, and genuine diamante with topaz and
lapislazuli, in a lovely mock gold finish. The exact replica of those worn
at Wimbledon in 1993 by the Duchess of Kent... MOTHER:
And althorough they're very ornate, as befits a member of the Royal
Household, they're also perfect for day wear... JULIAN:
(Nodding meaningfully) Absolutely, Pamela. Bridget
is shell-shocked. BRIDGET:
Well... wait a minute - has Mum actually moved out? DAD:
(He nods) And apparently her and the tangerine tinted buffoon are suddenly
an item. Half our friends have had them round to bloody dinner. Bridget
looks a bit guilty. She didn't convey her suspicions about her mother to
her dad. DAD
(CONT'D): Why, when people abandon their partners, do they think it's
better to pretend there's no one else involved? Do they actually believe
it's less hurtful to imagine they spontaneously decided they couldn't
stand the sight of you anymore? BRIDGET:
Perhaps she's worried that you might, you know, attack him or something. DAD:
Yes, I suppose that's an option - I could slaughter the pair of them with
my Black and Decker bandsaw in a sickening suburban bloodbath. She's even
bringing Jaundiced Julian the jewellery thief to Una Alconbury's Tarts and
Vicars party. That's no the Pam I knew. That's cruel. BRIDGET:
Still - looking on the bright said - it could be a golden opportunity. If
you spend the ENTIRE party flirting with other women, it'll drive Mum wild
with jealousy. DAD:
Will it? Think she'll suddenly see sense and dump the dirtbag? The
phone rings twice, then goes onto answer-phone. Dad goes to answer it... MOTHER: (On answer-phone) Hello, Daddy, it's me-eee! Just making sure you're coping! Don't forget - there's a lot of chicken fricassee in the freezer. BRIDGET:
DON'T PICK IT UP! ...Do you want her back? Dad
nods. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Rule No 1! NEVER call, and NEVER return calls. Aloof...
unavailable. You are the Ice Queen. Dad's
not sure about any of this, especially the 'Queen' bit. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Well - King. That's how I got my man. DAD:
You've got a boyfriend? A real one? Big
smile and a nod. BRIDGET:
I have Father. I have. And he is perfect. EXT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. A
beautiful London day. BRIDGET
V.O.: Whole damn month of April gone in a blur of sex. Having boyfriend is
absolute heaven. Of course, there are one or two little lifestyle
changes... INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Close
on an image of a good-looking HAPPY COUPLE punting down the river, looking
straight out of a Ralph Lauren ad. BRIDGET:
(Reading) Havershott House. The romantic surroundings which inspired John
Keats to write 'The Eve of St Agnes'. Pull
back to reveal Bridget is looking at a mini-break brochure in her flat. BRIDGET:
How does that sound to you? DANIEL:
Perfection. How can anything be so perfect? It restores your faith in God. Curtains
drawn against the sunlight. Empty beer cans, overflowing ashtrays
everywhere. Daniel sits on the sofa watching cricket, with his hand down
Bridget's top, nibbling nuts. On
the screen, an English bowler bowls a perfect leg break. TV
COMMENTATOR: And they said Tufnell had lost his spin. How wrong they were. DANIEL:
(Turns to Bridget) How wrong they were. Bridget's
face. EXT. HAMPSTEAD LADIES POND. DAY. A
pastoal scene: water, trees, women alone, or in groups on the grass. Almost
all topless - except Bridget, Jude and Sharon sit at the perimeter fence
sunbathing in bra and shorts. A Nazi pool attendant is shouting at people
to turn off their mobile phones. JUDE:
So? Go on, how's it going. Make us sick with your sickly tales of love. BRIDGET:
It's really nice. Every weekend we just... SHARON:
What? Fucking what? TOM
O.S.: I bet he makes you stay in. Tom
is banished by pond regulations to the other side of the fence. TOM
(CONT'D): I bet he makes you watch sport on the telly. Jude
and Sharon stare at Bridget. She nods very quickly. At this moment, a girl
comes and lies next to them with no top on her bikini. SHARON:
Chuck him. BRIDGET:
Already? SHARON:
Yup, fucking chuck him. You've had him - move on. BRIDGET:
But I love him. Maybe. (Funny line) JUDE:
Tough titties. TOM:
I bet he eats crisps and puts his hand down your blouse. BRIDGET: He does not! ...eat crisps. He eats peanuts. A
stranger approaches him. MAN:
Are you...? TOM:
Sod off, please. JUDE:
Definitely chuck him. BRIDGET:
But if we're that strict, we'll never get boyfriends at all. SHARON:
Story of my fucking life. BRIDGET:
Well, I think you're wrong. He's handsome and clever and sexy and he
doesn't mind that my tum's a bit squidgy. Just you wait - next weekend
we're going to do something really good. Sharon
snorts. You can hear Tom's laughter. Widen again to show that in a square
now of 15 girls they are the only ones still wearing bras. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Oh hell, let's do it. And
in one split second move, all our three remove their bras and lie back
down again. Cut. EXT. LONDON STREET. DAY. Sunshine,
blue sky, couples walking arm in arm. A small plane overhead trails the
following... BRIDGET'S
DIARY: Saturday May 4. Weight - 8'9 - fat absolutely falling off. Daniel
thrilled - says he's shagging me into shape. Fags 11. Glasses of wine - 6.
France - 15. England - 6. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Curtains
drawn, beer cans, ashtrays. Daniel sits on sofa with Bridget. He's
watching rugby, his hand down her shirt, on her left breast. DANIEL:
Noooo! Tackle him, you great wet tart! Bridget
pouts, removes his hand from her front. Daniel doesn't really notice. DANIEL:
Oh stop acting and get up, you French pillock. BRIDGET:
No. Actually this is not great. DANIEL:
(Not really listening) What? Why? BRIDGET:
It's another lovely sunny day and we've stuck in watching television. (She
grabs the remote control and mutes the sound.) Please talk to me. Daniel
looks puzzled. He moves his mouth as though talking to her and no sound
comes out. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): I'm not joking. I've had enough. DANIEL:
What can I say. I'm a person of wide interests which include among other
things, a number of competitive sports. I'm warning you, don't come
between me and my rugby. BRIDGET:
Or cricket - or darts. Or Dutch Second Division female basketball... DANIEL:
Bette Van Huyten is a genius. BRIDGET:
I just thought we could go away for once, have a mini-break or something. DANIEL: Ah. Ah. Here we go. You wanted a relationship - we have a
relationship. You wanted us to spend Sundays together - we spend Sundays
together. But now it appears we have to go frolicking over hilltops and
shagging in creaky four poster beds. I can't win, can I? No matter how
hard I try, I won't be able keep up with this desperate mystical romantic
agenda of yours, Bridget. (Bridget looking shell-shocked at his outburst.)
I think it's time for this. Daniel
maintaining the tension, dramatically reaches into his pocket, and, like a
referee about to show a red card, produces an envelope from his pocket. BRIDGET:
What is it? DANIEL:
Open it and you'll find out. Bridget
looks first at Daniel, then the envelope, picks it up and opens it. Inside
she find a brochure and reservation for next week-end at Havershott House. She
looks at him guiltily. DANIEL
(CONT'D): Just promise me we don't have to sit and read that frightful
nancy-boy Keats to each other. He
turns up the volume on the telly. DANIEL
(CONT'D): Foul! Filthy, dirty foul! Bridget
hugs him tight. BRIDGET:
Daniel, I love... (She almost tells him she loves him, but stops herself)
...love mini-breaks. But next Sunday is the Tarts and Vicars. I promised
Dad I'd go to support him. Daniel
slips his hand back down her front. DANIEL:
OK, it's not far - we'll go on to the Tarts and Vicars. (She hugs him and
loves him.) 'Tarts and Vicars' - Christ, they're a warped generation. EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. DAY. MUSIC:
'L.O.V.E.' by Al Green. Bridget
skips out of her flat to where Daniel is waiting by his flash convertible,
holding the door for her. Radiant, she greets Daniel with a kiss, gets in
the car. EXT. SUSPENSION BRIDGE. DAY. An
aerial of the car on a suspension bridge swoops into Bridget's face.
Bridget's hair streaming in the wind. The perfect scarf and dark glasses
bridge shot. She tips her head back to feel the wind, at which point, the
glasses fly off her face. And the scarf too. EXT. HOTEL DRIVEWAY. DAY. Bridget
and Daniel head from the car towards the hotel entrance. On the hotel
terrace: a wedding party is in progress. Pictures going on with everyone
posing - lots of bridesmaids in hideous orange dresses. INT. HOTEL RECEPTION. DAY. Bridget
and Daniel go to the reception desk. Bridget has Edward Scissorhands hair. DANIEL:
(To the receptionist) Daniel Cleaver and Bridget Jones. Seems very quiet
here. Are we the only guests? RECEPTIONIST:
We have a wedding this weekend. I believe there are just four of you not
involved. Bridget
hears a voice she recognizes. NATASHA:
I'll do the tea, you ask about the boats. She
turns. It's Mark Darcy and Natasha, returning from a walk outside. Natasha
stays by the door to organize tea with a waiter. BRIDGET:
Oh Jesus. She
is, amongst other things, aware of her hair. MARK:
Well, well. I take it you're also heading for the Alconbury's rockery? BRIDGET:
Yes, that's right. MARK:
I brought Natasha - get a bit of work done - thought I might make it a not
entirely wasted weekend. DANIEL:
How interesting. What a gripping life you lead. (To Bridget) I'll see you
upstairs in a minute. Mark
and Bridget left looking at each other.
EXT. HOTEL LAKE. DAY. On
the lake, in a rowing boat, Mark and Natasha. They look straight out of a
Ralph Laurent catalogue, sensibly clad. NATASHA:
I think the weakness of their case lies in the deposition they made on
August 30th. MARK
TRIES TO LISTEN - WHAT HE SEES: On the other side of the lake, Bridget and
Daniel are in two boats racing. Much laughter and 'Here I come' from
Daniel. Daniel catches her. DANIEL:
I'm boarding you, Bridge. I can't see an alternative. He
steps off his boat as it draws level and as he does so, it tips and he
falls in. Bridget laughs in delight. Back
in Mark's boat. NATASHA:
So childish. MARK:
Yes. INT.
HOTEL. SUITE. EVENING. Chintz,
four-poster. Daniel and Bridget in hotel bathrobes watching snooker with
curtains drawn. His hand is down her front... DANIEL:
No! Noooo! You
great wet pussy! He
reaches for his cigarettes, pocket is empty. BRIDGET:
Do me a favour, Bridge. Go and get me a packet of cigarettes. BRIDGET:
Get them yourself. He
grins, gets off the bed, pulls on his clothes. DANIEL:
Oh, but you're a tough, modern woman. INT.
HOTEL. CORRIDOR. EVENING. As
he walks along the corridor, three bridesmaids in bridesmaids dresses
sprint past him, chased by a man in dressing gown. CHASING
MAN: You're mine, all mine. ONE
BRIDESMAID: But I'm your sister. CHASING
MAN: Even better. She
keeps on running. EXT.
HOTEL. STEPS. EVENING. Daniel comes out, opening the pack of cigarettes, lighting up, inhaling deep... A few wedding guests walk by him. He flicks open his mobile phone. Mark
Darcy is coming up the steps. DANIEL: Oh, just go fuck yourself, Darcy. MARK:
Such a command of the language - the literary world is very lucky to have
you at its helm. Silence.
These two really don't like each other. Mark walks away. As he does, a 14
year old bridesmaid comes up behind Daniel. YOUNG
BRIDESMAID: Excuse me. DANIEL:
Yes? YOUNG
BRIDESMAID: You don't by any chance have any cocaine on you, do you? DANIEL:
No, sorry. YOUNG
BRIDESMAID: That's okay.
She
turns to join an 11 year old usher who emerges from behind a pillar. YOUNG
BRIDESMAID (CONT'D): Nah... INT.
HOTEL. SUITE. NIGHT. Pitch
darkness. BRIDGET:
Daniel. DANIEL:
Yes, Bridget. BRIDGET:
That thing you just did is actually illegal in many countries. DANIEL:
I'm sorry about that. Couldn't help myself. BRIDGET:
In many parts of the world, I could ring down to the front desk and ask
them to call the police and arrest you. DANIEL:
That's the major reason I'm so glad to be living in Britain today. BRIDGET:
I agree. I can never understand why the Prime Minister doesn't mention it
more in speeches. 'Come to Britain, visit Buckingham Palace, see the
Changing of the Guard and do unspeakable things in bed to each other
without having your hands cut off.' DANIEL:
You should write to him about it. BRIDGET:
I intend to... (Pause) Daniel - do you love me? DANIEL:
Shut up or I'll do it again. BRIDGET:
Do you love me? DANIEL:
You asked for it. EXT.
HOTEL. DRIVEWAY. NIGHT. Cut outside the hotel again. Sound of laughter. Maybe the married couple still dancing out in the moonlight. EXT. HOTEL. SUITE. DAY. Next
morning. Bridget slowly wakes from a blissful sleep. Languidly stretches
out to touch Daniel, but finds an empty space in the bed beside her, where
he ought to be. She sits up with a start, fearing the worst... WHAT
SHE SEES: Daniel is sitting in a chair opposite the bed. He is dressed and
he's been waiting for her to wake up. DANIEL:
I have to go back to town. A meeting's come up. BRIDGET:
On a Sunday? DANIEL:
The meeting's first thing tomorrow but I need to work on some figures. BRIDGET:
(Devasted) Now they'll all think I've made you up. (She pleads) We could
just pop in to the party, leave early... Bridget
stares at him. DANIEL:
I really am sorry. I just can't go - I have to head back. Little
pause. BRIDGET:
If you've changed your mind, why don't you just come right out and say
it... He
stares at her. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): BecauseI don't see what could be so important. DANIEL:
Of course you don't! (He gets to his feet.) Because you don't have the
faintest bloody idea of just how much trouble the company is in. (She
stares at him.) The company has been losing money in the UK. This meeting
isn't a case of 'blah, blah, have you heard the one about Salman and the
snake' - it's bottom line stuff. The Americans have flown in, that's how
serious it is. We could all be shut down tomorrow. She
can't speak. BRIDGET:
(Her mumble) I'm sorry... DANIEL:
No - shit - I'm sorry. Sorry I shouted. I'm sorry. Daniel
sight, crosses to her, puts his arm around her. BRIDGET:
Is this because of Mark Darcy? DANIEL:
(Maybe it is) Nah - he's just adds to - no - look. I'll arrange for a car
to collect you from the party, take you back to town. If you have to
travel alone - travel in style. She
allows him to comfort her. DANIEL
(CONT'D): And let's at least meke sure you win the costume competition. EXT. ALCONBURY'S HOUSE. DRIVEWAY. DAY. Daniel
drives up in the convertible, kisses Bridget goodbye. She steps out. She
is now perfect in the bunny outfit. DANIEL:
It's seriously no wonder bunnies have so many children. He
watches as she walks up the driveway. She can feel his eyes on her, gives
him a cute wiggle of her tail. EXT. ALCONBURY'S HOUSE. GARDEN. DAY. Julie
London's 'FLY ME TO THE MOON' is playing on the hi-fi. A buffet is laid
out on the lawn. We recognise many of the guests from the Turkey Curry
Buffet. There is one of the three Blue Velvet relatives, Hamish, who
always seem to stand in exactly the same position. Bridget,
the rabbit, makes an entrance. It is immediately apparent that she is the
only guest wearing fancy-dress. People gawp at her, and for a brief
moment, a kind of hush descendes. UNA
ALCONBURY: Bridget! BRIDGET:
Where are the rest of the Tarts? And Vicars. UNA
ALCONBURY: Oh, dear. Didn't Geoffrey call you? Geoffrey
didn't you telephone Colin and Bridget? GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: (Looming up drunk) How's my little Bridget? (Squeezing her
tail) Parp, parp. UNA
ALCONBURY: (Coldly) Geoffrey! GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: Well, I got one of those ruddy answerphone thinghummies. So,
where's this chap of yours, then? BRIDGET:
He had to work. GEOFFREY
ALCONBURY: Ha! A likely tale. Off they run - weeeeh! Bridget
looks around and sees Mark Darcy and Natasha, both looking immaculate,
standing with Mark's Mum and Dad. They inspect Bridget. BRIDGET:
Oh God. Geoffrey
Alconbury continues to fuss embarrassingly over Bridget in her bunny
costume. NATASHA:
Bizarre, what some men find attractive. MARK:
Yes. (Long beat) Yes. Slapping
Geoffrey Alconbury's hand away from Bridget's tail, Bridget's Mother -
looking like Judith Chalmers and wearing so much Home Shopping Channel
jewellery she glitters like a chandelier - bears down on Bridget, Julian
in tow. MOTHER:
Darling! What on earth are you wearing? You look like a common prostitute. BRIDGET:
That was actually the point. MOTHER:
Say 'Hi' to Julian. BRIDGET:
Hi Julian. JULIAN:
My dear, you and your mother - could be sisters. And what a lovely
bracelet. What I call an all-rounder. The sort of thing you can wear with
anything, to any occasion. And aren't those sapphires a lovely finishing
touch? BRIDGET:
(To mum) Have you spoken to my Dad? MOTHER:
Yes - he's behaving very bizarrely. I think he was actually trying to
flirt with Penny Husbands-Bosworth. Poor thing - she got very frightened.
She's only just had her ovaries done. Bridget
looking a little guilty here... Mum and Julian spot someone and drift
away. As they go... JULIAN: I don't know what you ever saw in him. MOTHER:
Shush. Bad man! EXT. ALCONBURY'S HOUSE. GARDEN. DAY. Bridget
walks towards Una Alconbury standing by the barbecue, helping Mark Darcy
to two plate-fulls. Bridget freezes, turns 180 degrees, but Una has
spotted her... UNA
ALCONBURY: Ah, Bridget, there you are! Don't worry - you're not the only
one. This is Penny. Geoffrey didn't get in touch with her either. It's
the same 'Penny' whose name Bridget's Dad forgot at the Turkey Curry
Buffet. PENNY:
Sorry? UNA
ALCONBURY: I was just saying - Geoffrey didn't contact you, either to tell
you that the Tarts and Vicars concept had got out of the window. PENNY:
Yes, he did. UNA
ALCONBURY: Oh, right. Lovely dress. Very exotic. Penny,
who was definitely worn something a little too fruity for someone of her
age, moves off unhappily. UNA
ALCONBURY: What a shame you couldn't bring your boyfriend, Bridget. What's
his name? David? Darren? Hearing
the name, Mark Darcy turns. MARK:
Daniel Cleaver. UNA
ALCONBURY: Oh, is he a friend of yours, Mark? MARK:
Absolutely not. UNA
ALCONBURY: I hope he's good enough for our little Bridget. She
winks Bridget. MARK:
I think I can say, with total confidence, absolutely not. BRIDGET:
(Flashes) And I'm sure he'd say the same about you given your past
behavior. Mark
looks incredulous, wounded. MARK:
Sorry? BRIDGET:
You know so well what I mean. NATASHA:
(Calling out) Mark! Natasha
sweeps across the lawn. NATASHA
(CONT'D): Your mother was just telling me about how she met your father.
Aren't they lovely. Mark
is taken away, leaving unfinished business with Bridget. Bridget stands
alone. She
notices a swirl of smoke coming from behind one of the topiary hedges. She
looks behind and finds her Father, sitting on an ornamental toad stool,
dressed as a vicar. She approaches him. BRIDGET:
They didn't tell you either. He
shakes his head. DAD:
Though I didn't spend as much as Bernard, thank God. Sitting
alone in a corner is Bernard, the terrible relative, dressed in full
regalia as the Archbishop of Canterbury. Bridget notices that her father's
been crying. BRIDGET: Dad! I'm sorry. DAD:
The way she looked at me... BRIDGET:
But she loves you really. You love each other. This is a temporary glitch. DAD:
Is it? I don't know. I'll tell you how I see it. You meet someone and you
feel some sort of combination of lust and tenderness and call it love, and
then you marry them and find out what they're really like and what you're
really like and either you come to feel a mixture of contempt and loathing
and fear, or, if you're lucky, something more like rueful camaraderie...
and basically you have two choises; to go through the whole caboodle again
with someone else - or you settle for the one you've got, and hope to
trudge together towards the grave with some vestige of dignity. And that
was what I was hoping for, you see, before this. Bit ruddy optimistic it
would seem. BRIDGET:
Let's go. BRIDGET:
Please do. BERNARD:
(To a bush) Come on, Shirley. We're leaving. Shirley,
55, comes out from behind the bush - the most graphic prostitute of them
all. SHIRLEY:
Evening. EXT. DANIEL'S FLAT. STREET. DAY. Bridget
rings on the buzzer. For a long beat, there is no answer. She rings again.
Finally, Daniel looks out of the window. Bridget waves. She sends the car
away. He disappears. DANIEL:
(On entryphone) I'm just on the phone to New York. I'll meet you in the
pub in five minutes. BRIDGET:
Okay. She
turns to walk away, then suddenly stops. Turns back. She looks up at the
window, he's looking out. At Daniel's door, she presses the buzzer again. DANIEL:
(On entryphone) Bridget... BRIDGET:
Daniel, I've had such a horrible day, I'm still dressed up like a big
rabbit. I'd really like to see you. Silence.
Then... DANIEL:
Up you come. The
door is buzzed open. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Daniel
opens the door to Bridget. Papers, spread-sheets spread out everywhere,
evidence that Daniel has been hard at work. DANIEL:
Sorry, I'm really in the thick of it. BRIDGET:
I know. I just wanted to see a friendly face. DANIEL:
Tell you what, why don't you let me finish this, while you go home, have a
long hot bath with lots of shoothing oils in it and I'll call round later
for dinner... Bridget's
face brightens. It's a good idea. Then suddenly, O.S. a SOUND, as if
someone is moving around in the next room. BRIDGET:
Is there somebody here? DANIEL:
Not... as far as I know. Unless a Bosnian family have moved in, without
telling me. Bridget
stares at him. Then, before he can stop her, she strides through to the
bedroom, flings open the closed door. There's no one there. She sits down. BRIDGET:
(Rueful) Sorry. I'm going a bit mad. I'm getting all confused about
everything suddenly. My Mum is dating Roger Moore - my Dad has turned from
my Dad into my, I don't know, son or something - suddenly it's time for me
to take care of my parents. And every time I sit down my tail goes ever so
slightly up my bottom. DANIEL:
Sorry, my little Bun. I hate it when things go up your bottom. But as you
can see - I have got a lot done. In fact, I wouldn't mind another hour. BRIDGET:
Fine - fine. I'll go home and de-bunny. By the way - you know last night
when I said that I loved you - I didn't mean it. I was being ironic. DANIEL:
Of course. She
kisses him tenderly. As she walks to the door, she stops in her tracks. WHAT
SHE SEES: A woman's cardigan, expensive cashmere, carefully draped around
the arms of a chair. DANIEL
(CONT'D): (Holding open the door) Thank you, Madam. Bridget
turns, goes back into the flat, opens the bathroom door. Daniel covers his
face with his hands. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. BATHROOM. DAY. IN
THE BATHROOM: a tall, young blonde, stark naked, perched on the edge of
the bath. Wearing designer specs, perusing a book of spread-sheets. DANIEL:
(Behind Bridget) This is Lara, from the New York office. Lara, this is
Bridget. LARA: (Big phoney smile) Hey, there. They
just stare at each other. LARA
(CONT'D): I thought you said she was thin. EXT. LONDON. STREETS. DAY. A
totally dazed Bridget, walking through the streets. Total silence. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. DAY. She
lets herself into the flat. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. DAY. Bridget
sits in the bath crying. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. Bridget,
on the couch, watching TV. 'Fatal attraction'. GLENN
CLOSE: I'm single and I'm 36. A
few minutes later. Cut
to the film again - Glenn rises from the bathtub with a knife in her hand.
Bridget clicks off the TV using the remote. Pause.
She picks up the phone and dials, starts to talk. Cut round the various
answer machines - in 3 different locations. BRIDGET:
Hello. INT. TOM'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY. Each
flat characterised in miniature round the phone - the ansaphone clicks on. BRIDGET
O.S.: It's Bridget. Jones. Jilted. INT. JUDE'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY. An
answerphone again... BRIDGET
O.S.: As prophesied by wise friends... INT. SHARON'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY. Answerphone
again. BRIDGET
O.S.: Daniel Cleaver turns out to be total (and continue to cut between
the three machines) and utter King of Fuckwittage. Call me. Please. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. She
is looking massively unwilling to go in to work. She finishes a cigarette
and stops by a newsstand to light another one. Buys
a paper for consolation. She opens it up to a big news feature - 'Aging
Working Women - Empty Nests - Barren Wombs.' Oh God.
INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Perpetua,
as usual, is on the phone. PERPETUA:
Good. Good. Good. Good. How much? (Pause) Not good. Bridget
glances over at Daniel's office. The door is closed, but through the glass
you can see that a meeting is in progress. Mr Fitzherbert and Lara are
present. Lara is leaning over Daniel's shoulder, pointing to figures on a
spreadsheet. Daniel is clearly loving it until he catches Bridget's eyes. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Bridget
is typing listlessly. Suddenly Daniel is there. DANIEL:
Bridge, please - we really need to talk. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DANIEL'S OFFICE. DAY. As
Bridget enters Daniel's office, Perpetua looks up knowingly and perhaps
worried for Bridget. She knows something's awry with these two. Bridget
pretends to be totally oblivious to the situation. She has a clipboard on
her knee. BRIDGET:
There's been a good response to the Teddy Knows Best teaser campaign. Had
various local radio bids for author interviews. DANIEL:
Look, Bridge, stop that. I feel so terrible. The thing is - Lara and I -
well, you know... BRIDGET:
No. You'll have to fill me in. DANIEL:
The truth is... we're the same, Bridge, you and I - two people of a
certain age looking for the moment to commit and finding it really hard.
And I think in the end it's got to be something extraordinary, something
which makes us go that extra mile - and, well... I think Lara and being
American and something to do with confidence and being so, well, young,
you know... BRIDGET:
What are you saying, Daniel? DANIEL:
We've become very close. BRIDGET:
But you've only just met her. She flew in yesterday. Then
in slowly dawns on her that this isn't the case. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Oh, Silly Bridget. You haven't only just met her. DANIEL:
No, we got to know each other pretty well when I was in the New York
Office. BRIDGET:
Oh. DANIEL:
Fuck - there's no easy way to say this, but I wanted you to be the first
to know that we're engaged. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Bridget
back at her desk. Frozen. The phone goes. She picks it up, like an
automaton. As in a Rock Hudson/Doris Day movie, the screen may be split
for these phone conversations. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. MARKETING OFFICE. DAY. SIMON FROM MARKETING: Hello, Bridget - it's Simon from Marketing. BRIDGET: Hello, Simon. SIMON FROM MARKETING: I've just heard that Danny boy's engaged - no wonder he's looking so chipper - just wanted to be the first to say 'Congratulations.' Well done, babe, really hit the jackpot. BRIDGET:
Thank you. She
hangs up - the phone goes again. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. SALES OFFICE. DAY. DAVE FROM SALES: Hello, Miss Jones - it's Dave from Sales. Tom's just told me. (Mock Italian) Congratoolationees - who would have thought you'd make it as the Great Cheesess - good on you, sister. BRIDGET:
Thank you, Dave. She hangs up. Phone goes again. Bridget answers. INT.
BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DESIGN OFFICE. DAY. BRIDGET: Before you go any further, Bernie, do you think it might be helpful for me to point out that Daniel's not marrying me - he's marrying some blonde bitch from Brooklyn whose pubic hair is the colour of coal - so you better tell everyone that the next person who rings me I will personally castrate. GREG FROM DESIGN: Oh right. Sorry. Gotta run. BRIDGET:
That's okay. Have a nice day. The
phone goes again. She picks it up and talks straight away. INT. MICHAEL'S FLAT. PHONE. DAY. Half
the screen is now filled with Michael 'Teddies Knows Best'. MICHAEL:
(Hesitantly) Perhaps it's not a good moment. I was just wondering what
sort of response you're getting to the Teddy Knows Best teaser campaing? BRIDGET:
Excellent. Just excellent. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. Bridget,
sitting alone, half way through a bottle of vodka. She rings the friends
again, trying to joke through the despair. BRIDGET:
Hello. Er... Me again... desperate new development... Once
again, we cut round between the machines. ANSWER
MACHINES: Am now in total despair and suddenly see advantage of suicide in
manner of Marilyn Monroe. (Back to Bridget's flat: we see the actions of
the next 4 lines, while her answering machine voice continues.) Will
finish this rather nice bottle of vodka. Then decide which pills to take.
Not to worry about me as vodka is raspberry flavoured and therefore at
moment of death will still be getting recommended daily amount of vitamin
C. Bridget
puts down the receiver and dissolves into tears. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. EVENING. Cut
to a mysterious hand putting a plug in a socket. Place uncertain - but
inside. Bridget
stares at the carpet. She goes to her photo box and begins picking out
photos of her with previous boyfriends. Mysterious
hand leads flex to plug in a second plug into a plug fourway. Bridget
again. Looking at the photos. Tears plopping down her cheeks. The photos
all reveal a pattern. There is a tendency in each one for her to be
happier than the boys are - she's hugging one. She's fooling around on a
beach with another - while the boyfriend in shades looks reserved. She's a
girl who loves her boyfriends. Can't help being herself. Walking
feet drag unrolling red round flex-holding thing along a night-time road. Bridget
again. Extent
of rolling flex thing ends. A plug is put into the red flex thing. And
then a smaller plug is placed into the side of something black. Back
to Bridget. She suddenly hears the sound of a slightly tacky 80s style
synthesizer... it begins to play a tune she doesn't recognize. Then the
song itself starts - beautifully sung, though it has to be said, not
peraphs as impossibly high as the original Eddie Holman version: TOM:
'Hey there Lonely Girl, Lonely Girl, Let me make your broken heart like
new, Hey there Lonely Girl, Don't you know this lonely boy loves you' By
this time Bridget has looked out into the street - and there in the light
cast by a street lamp is Tom. It is his first public performance for a
decade. He wears a sharp black suit. He
then introduces his backing singers. TOM
(CONT'D): I apologize about this bit. Out
of darkness, Jude and Sharon appear and sing, not very tunefully into the
mike... JUDE
AND SHARON: Ever since he broke your heart, You seem so lost, Each time
you pass my way... TOM:
I think that's all we can take of that. (So he takes over again) Oh how I
long to take your hand, And say don't cry, I'll kiss your tears away, your
tears away. By
this time, a crowd is gathering and most of the windows in the street have
been thrown open and people are watching. Tom
whacks his way through the high pitched chorus. And comes to an end.
Bridget is grinning with glee - suddenly someone shouts. TOM'S
FAN: Play 'Painted Lady' TOM:
Never! This
cry is taken up by everyone - 'Painted Lady! Painted Lady!' - and suddenly
camp Tom can't resist the cry of the his so-long-denied public. TOM
(CONT'D): Oh, all right then. And
kicks straight into the famous opening chords of eighties classic 'Painted
Lady', as memorable as those opening bars of 'Tainted Love'. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. It's
now the end of a long drunken night. They've clearly sorted out the world
and are saying good-bye at her door. BRIDGET:
Thank you very much, Tom. That was very nice. TOM:
You're welcome. We're in this together, babes: poofs and single women in
their 30s - together forever. SHARON:
Absolutely. I know we're all psychotic and completely dysfunctional -
especially you Jude - but it's a bit like a family, isn't it? BRIDGET:
Yup. SHARON:
Single and proud of it. JUDE:
Until some dark stranger in a big coat sweeps us off our feet and gets us
out of this bunch of sad losers. SHARON:
Obviously. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. BRIDGET
O.S.: Aug. 16. Weight - who cares. Fat as me. Cigarettes
- lots - hurrah! Vodka
- teensy weensy bit. Everzing sschuperb. Life coulden be better. Ooof. She
tips over. Blackness.
Snoring. Then more blackness. Then birds, then sounds of normal life. Then
a snippet of a song. Then... BRIDGET
O.S. (CONT'D): Fuck. Fuck. More
Blackness. Sound of the Easteders theme tune and lots of other
recognizeable TV theme tunes - American and British. Then sound
accelerates - like the end of Day in the Life of Sergeant Pepper, with
little fragments of stuff. After
the longest black screen in the history of the cinema... BRIDGET
O.S.: October 16. Found diary. Behind sofa. Must be more careful in
future. Cut
to see Bridget pulling the diary out from a crack in the sofa. She then
goes back to watching the television - a trashy game show. BRIDGET V.O.: Have meantime made important decision - in total romantic vacuum, will throw myself into work in manner of Elizabeth I and Hillary Clinton. Have decided to work in television. Always preferred it to books anyway - everyone knows E.R. is great and Ben Okry is a boring arsehole. V. commited. V. optimistic. INT. INTERVIEW BOARD # 1. DAY. INTERVIEWER
V.O.: Why do you want to be in television? BRIDGET:
I'm deeply committed to communicating to the public the up-to-the-moment
in-depth news and political agenda. INTERVIEWER
V.O.: What do you think of Bill Gates? BRIDGET:
Who? INT. GYMNASIUM. DAY. MUSIC.
IT'S A SHAME by Detroit Spinners. Bridget
and Sharon on exercise bicycles, side by side. Bridget is cycling so
slowly, the wheels are barely turning. BRIDGET:
Shaz. Is it because I'm overweight that things never work out? SHARON:
(Deadpan) Yes. Pause
- they both roar with laughter. The first sign of recovery. BRIDGET:
No, but seriously...? SHARON:
Yes. It is. INT. INTERVIEW BOARD # 2. DAY. INTERVIEWER
2 V.O.: Why do you want to be in television? BRIDGET:
I'm passionately committed to communicating with children. They are the
future. INTERVIEWER
2 V.O.: Do you have any children of your own? BRIDGET:
Christ, no - yucch. Oh Sorry. INT.
GYMNASIUM -DAY.: Cut on to 3 hours later. A very hot Bridget is still on
the cycle. It's night-time. She's totally alone in the big room. GYM
PERSON: We're just about to close. BRIDGET:
Fine. Fine. I'm done. She
steps off the machine and collapses, her legs completely defeated by 6
hours cycling. INT.
INTERVIEW BOARD # 3. DAY. RICHARD
FINCH V.O.: Why do you want to be in television? BRIDGET:
Can I be honest with you? RICHARD
FINCH V.O.: Go on then... BRIDGET:
Because I like watching telly and I thought it might be fun and glamourous
and because I've got to leave my current job because I've shagged my boss. Cut
round for the first time to see the interwiever - Richard Finch. Big,
round diamond - a great bully with a great sense of humor. Pause. A set
behind him says 'Sit Up Britain'. RICHARD
FINCH: Fair enough - start on Monday and we'll see how we go... Huge
smile from Bridget - she's on her way. Finch stands and walks away - then
turns back - he has an important point to explain... RICHARD
FINCH: ...and incidentally - at 'Sit Up, Britain' no-one ever gets sacked
for shagging the boss. That's a matter of principle. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. GENERAL OFFICE. DAY. Perpetua
bustles through the office on her way to her own ringing phone. Bridget is
sitting at her desk typing away. She's ignoring MESSAGE PENDING. Daniel
is on the phone, but looking out at Bridget. PERPETUA:
Yes. Yes. Yes. No! I don't believe it! Everyone - stop what you're doing.
Very important announcement! (Dramatic announcement to entire office -
they all look up) We have bought Drayton Gardens. It is ours! Everyone
applauds. Daniel walks past. DANIEL:
My heart, it soars like an eagle. (Under breath to Bridget) Keep up to
date with your e-mail will you, Jones? She
checks the computer. BRIDGET'S
COMPUTER: Your silent hauteur is driving me insane. We need to talk.
Please come into my office. Cleave. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. DANIEL'S OFFICE. DAY. DANIEL:
Bridge, I know it's been difficult for both of us recently... Bridget
remains silent. DANIEL
(CONT'D): It's just that with Lara and I... I got swept away - swept away
by hope I suppose. But - well, the grisly truth is... I'm suddenly not
quite so sure... BRIDGET:
Pardon? DANIEL:
I just wondered - if we might just have - you know - just dinner, perhaps.
Incredibly expensive - to punish me. Or, of course, Kentucky Fried Chicken
- to punish me. What do you think? Pause. Bridget's face. Inscrutable. DANIEL
(CONT'D): Bridget. Can you ever forgive me? He
gets up and closes the door behind her. BRIDGET:
Yes - Daniel I think I can. I'm sorry things are complicated with lovely
Lara - I'm pretty familiar with how perplexing the ups and downs of love
can be. He's
pleased. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): But I think I'll give dinner a miss, because the reason I came
in here was in fact not to rake over our sordid past, but to hand in my
notice. She
hands hin an envelope. Her notice. DANIEL:
Oh... come on, Bridge. I know it's been awkward as arse - but there's no
need to leave. DANIEL:
(Scornfully) Television? BRIDGET:
Yes - and they want me to start straightaway. In fact, I'm leaving in
about... 3 minutes. DANIEL:
Well, now hold it right there, Miss Jones. I hate to inform you but I
think by contract you're expected to give at least six weeks notice. BRIDGET:
I know, but I thought with the company being in so much trouble, you
wouldn't really miss the person who just fannies around with press
releases in a see-through top. Bridget
get up to leave. Daniel is left speechless as she opens the door, to find
Perpetua has been listening. DANIEL:
Bridget... Bridget
spins round, a thunderous look. BRIDGET:
What? Perpetua
moves up next to Bridget. PERPETUA:
I want to hear this, because if she gives one inch I'm going to fire her
bony little bottom anyway for being totally spineless. BRIDGET:
(To Daniel) What? DANIEL:
I just think you should know that there are lots of prospects here for a
talented person... (The marketing department - led by Simon - all four
guys who rang about the engagement - have just turned up for a meeting.)
Just give me a minute Simon... SIMON:
Right-o, Boss Man. DANIEL:
Lots of prospects for a person who perhaps for personal reasons has been
slightly overlooked professionally. Bridget
think for a while. BRIDGET:
Well, thanks, Daniel. That is very good to know. But, if staying here
means working within 10 yards of you, frankly I'd rather have a job wiping
Saddam Hussein's ass. Cut
to Daniel secretary - very happy: Simon and his guys holding in their
amusement - the music is beginning to swell. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): (To Perpetua) Thanks for calling my bottom bony, by the way. PERPETUA:
You're welcome, darling - mine's the size of the house I just bought, so I
should know. Everyone
else is now really loving this. BRIDGET:
Bye everyone. I'll miss all of you - well, quite a lot of you. Everyone
turns to look at Daniel. Bridget marches out of the office to triumphant
music. Cut back to everyone watching Daniel. DANIEL:
Oh just sod off. INT. BRIDGET'S OFFICE. ELEVATOR. DAY. On
the second floor. Mr Fitzherbert is standing there alone. The lift door
opens. There is Bridget - he gets in and stands there nervously. BRIDGET:
I think you should know, sir, that this is my last afternoon. I'm leaving. MR
FITZHERBERT: Oh dear, Brenda - I'm very sorry to hear that. I'll miss you. Pause. BRIDGET:
It's Bridget actually. Bridget Jones... And let's be honest with each
other, Kenneth. It's not me you'll be missing. It's these, isn't it? She
just opens her jacket. He blushes beetroot red. EXT. FIRE STATION. STREET. DAY. Chaos
as an outside broadcast TV crew set up for a live broadcast. Among the
crowds of crew and production staff, we pick out Bridget, standing beside
a uniformed Chief Fireman. INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION GALLERY. DAY. Richard
Finch sits in front of a bank of monitors, with the live images from
Lewisham fed onto one screen. RICHARD:
(Into microphone) OK, everybody, it is Bonfire Night and we are on fire!
We've got live fire station feeds from Newcastle, Swansea, Sheffield, and
Lewisham just poised for tragedy. On
the screens: several presenters around the country, holding microphones,
doing sound-checks. RICHARD
(CONT'D): Bridget Jones. Where is she? Bridget
step forward. BRIDGET:
I'm here, Richard. RICHARD:
Right - put on more make-up. I want you on camera. BRIDGET:
Oh God. Ahm. Oh Jesus. Damn. Unfortunately I've arranged to meet my Mum
and Dad for lunch... RICHARD:
Tough - I've sent Cara to Liverpool, so you're all I've got. I'm thinking
mini-skirt. I'm thinking fireman's helmet. I want you pointing a hose and
I want you sliding down a pole, then go straight into the interview. BRIDGET:
Fine - great - I'll do it. INT. DEPARTMENT STORE. CAFÉ. DAY. Bridget
has just sat down with her Mum and Dad. BRIDGET:
I'm sorry - I've only got two minutes. What's up? BRIDGET'S
DAD: Pam, this isn't the right time. BRIDGET'S
MOTHER: Daddy's right. Let's just have a sandwich. I think I spotted some
nice egg and cress. BRIDGET:
What can wait? What is it? Dad tell me. BRIDGET'S
MOTHER: Well, the truth is, little Pooh, Daddy and I have decided to file
for a divorce. Bridget
shocked, looks at her Dad. The bottom has fallen out of his world, but
he's putting on a brave face. BRIDGET'S
MOTHER (CONT'D):The problem is... Daddy fell in love with someone else. BRIDGET'S
DAD: Now hang on a minute, Pam... BRIDGET'S
MOTHER: When your father and I came together, he loved a very different
Mummy. I've changed and so as he. We don't want the same things anymore. Dad
just shakes his head. BRIDGET:
So what's going to happen? BRIDGET'S
DAD: Your mother's decided to move in with her ghastly ginger gigolo. BRIDGET'S
MOTHER: Daddy! BRIDGET'S
DAD: For God's sake, Pam. My name's Colin. (Mother is rather taken aback
by Dad's new anger.) And
don't try to pin this on me - I love you and always will - you're leaving,
and... that's the end of it. Don't try to fool Bridget, or me... or
yourself that's any other way. Mother
and Father just look at each other. It's a moment of truth - 30 years of
each other, and now this. Then Mum recovers.
BRIDGET:
(Remembering the time) Oh Christ! EXT. FIRE STATION. POLE. DAY. Bridget
is poised at the top of the pole, ready to slide down into shot, where the
Chief Fireman waits for her. A stage manager, holding his ear piece, is
waiting over-excitedly to cue her... STAGE
MANAGER: So, you drop into shot and then interview Chief Fireman Bevan.
Yup. Yup. Go, go, go, go, GO! Bridget
lets go of the pole and starts to slide down. STAGE
MANAGER (CONT'D): (Holding ear-piece) Oh, no! We're going to firefighters
in Newcastle first. Climb back up! Stand by. On you in 30 seconds. INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION GALLERY. DAY. RICHARD:
And thank you Newcastle, and cut to Lewisham and Go! Go, go, go, GO! Oh,
for fuck's... On
the monitor, Bridget is climbing up the pole. RICHARD
(CONT'D): Neville, what the fuck is she doing! She's meant to be sliding
down the fucking pole, not climbing up it. STAGE
MANAGER: Go, go, go, go, go. RICHARD:
Oh, Jesus Christ. Bridget
freezes, panicked, then slides back down the pole, falls over and looks to
camera. BRIDGET:
(Gabbling, horror-struck) Well, that seems to be about all we have time
for in Lewisham. So thank you Chief Officer Bevan. Excellent fire station.
Now, back to the studio.
INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION GALLERY. DAY. Richard
Finch, head in hands, rocking, but when he looks up, he's laughing. INT. DANIEL'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. Daniel
smiles and turns off the TV. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. The
same bit of footage on the telly. Bridget watches it - rewinds it. Watches
it again. BRIDGET
O.S.: Am national laughing stock. Have huge bottom. Am daughter of broken
home. Am useless at all things. She
opens her diary. BRIDGET
V.O.: Oh God - and am having dinner with Magda and Jeremy. The only thing
worse than a smug married couple - lots of Smug Married Couples. INT.
MAGDA'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. EVENING. Bridget
with Magda. In the kitchen - pictures by the kids are blue-tacked
everywhere. MAGDA:
Right. Obviously you know Cosmo and Woney. And this is Hugo and Jane. And
Julia and Michael. Three
smug married couples, all in their pairs. BRIDGET:
Hi. Hello Cosmo. COSMO:
Hey, Bridge - how's your love life? Bridget
flinches and is about to reply when, fortunately, the doorbell goes. MAGDA:
This had better be Jeremy. Magda
opens the door to reveal a man we've never seen before, with a crowd
coming up behind him. ALISTAIR:
Jeremy sent us on ahead. MAGDA:
(Disappointed) Right... Back
in the kitchen - Magda introduces Bridget. MAGDA
(CONT'D): These are Jeremy's partners from chambers - this is Alistair
Frayn, and Henrietta. Natasha Glenville. And this is Mark Darcy. Mark
enters a little late. Bridget is clearly shocked to see him. And he to see
her. BRIDGET:
Hello there. MARK:
Hello. NATASHA:
Not in your bunny girl outfit today? BRIDGET:
No, we bunnies only wear our tails on very special occasions. MAGDA:
Come on, everyone - we might as well eat. God knows when Jeremy's going to
arrive. INT.
MAGDA'S HOUSE. DINING ROOM. NIGHT. Along
the table. Magda, endless couples, boy/girl, boy/girl, boy/girl - and
Bridget. COSMO:
So, Bridge - still going out with that publishing chappie? BRIDGET:
Er... no... no. Bridget
looks embarrassed. Mark Darcy, has overheard this... and is straining to
hear Bridget's reply. COSMO:
You really ought to hurry up and get sprogged up, you know, old girl?
Time's running out. Tick tock. BRIDGET:
Yes... is it one in four marriages that ends in divorce now, or one in
three? MARK:
One in three. At
which moment Jeremy comes in... JEREMY:
Sorry, I'm late, darling, everyone. Work, work, work. (Bridget catches his
eye.) Eat on, eat on. COSMO:
Seriously, though. Office is full of single girls over thirty - fine
physical specimens, but they just can't seem tohold down a chap. WONEY:
(Thin veneer of concern while strocking her pregnant stomach) Yes, why are
there so many unmarried working women these days, Bridget? CUT TO WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY: BRIDGET:
Because I don't want to end up like you, you boring Sloaney milch cow, and
because if I had to cook old Chubby Chop's dinner, then get in the same
bed as him just once, I'd tear off my own head and eat it. WONEY:
What do you think's the reason? WHAT
BRIDGET ACTUALLY SAYS: People
laugh - but there's a gap which Mark Darcy strives to fill. NATASHA:
Quite right. No use just coupling willy-nilly. It's seems to me that a
good marriage is like a well-planned merger. (She seems to glance a little
towards Mark during this.) Both parties bring something to the table, both
negotiate, both make little concessions - and what emerges is more than
the sum of the parts... Mark
Darcy continues. MARK:
Yes - no - you're right, Natasha - but I suppose what I mean is...
(Getting a bit near his emotions) We tend to think we're failures...
unless we rush headlong into marriage. Perhaps if we, you know, waited -
found out what we really wanted... there might not be two lives in
ruins... so often. As we lawyers find. This
brings the conversation to a halt. Alistair, the other partner, hastily
taps his glass and proposes a toast. ALISTAIR:
Jeremy and Magda. Ten years. Well done. Brilliant. COSMO
AND HUGO: Speech! Speech! JEREMY:
Thank you, Alistair, thanks everybody, thanks for coming. Yes. Well. Ten
years. I don't think any of us realise what a major step it is when we do
it - committing your whole life to just one person. He
puts his hand on Magda's, looks at her, soulful. MAGDA:
Yes, it is scary, but you have to take that big risk. She
gently slips her hand aside. MAGDA
(CONT'D): You have to offer yourself up to - to whatever comes or, you
know, what's the point of being in the world? And there are times when you
just think Christ... this was all a terrible, terrible mistake... You
could hear a pin drop in the silence in the room. MAGDA
(CONT'D): Then a child comes into the room, and you feel this great rush
of love just as you're clearing up some sick, or wiping a bottom, or
something, and you think - this extraordinarily beautiful creature, we
made him together, we did that... And you can forgive and forget all the
other things... which aren't quite right... She
sort of stops - and sort of covers his hand again. Bridget knows she
knows. BRIDGET:
(Raising her glass - gently) To Jeremy and Magda (Concentrating on Magda)
my beautiful friend. Thank God you are married - because if you were still
single, nobody would ever give plain girls like me a second glance.
(Pause) Bitch... Pause
- then Magda laughs, as does everyone and the tension is broken. Bridget
knows how to be good friend. INT.
MAGDA'S HOUSE. HALLWAY. NIGHT. Bridget
is getting her coat. Darcy on his way down the stairs approaches her. MARK:
I very much enjoyed your Lewisham Fire Report, by the way. BRIDGET:
(Is he being sneery?) Oh... thanks. MARK:
Yes. Well... so, It didn't work out with Daniel Cleaver? BRIDGET:
(Exasperated) No, it didn't. MARK:
I'm delighted to hear it. BRIDGET:
Look, are you and Cosmo in this together? MARK: I'm sorry... BRIDGET:
I mean, you seem to go out of your way to make me feel like a complete
idiot every time I see you. And actually, you don't need to bother. I
already feel like an idiot all the time anyway - with or without a
fireman's pole. At
that moment the doorbell goes. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): That'll be my taxi. Good night. She
goes to turn away. He touches her arm to stop her. MARK:
(Awkward/stumbling) Look, I'm sorry if I've been... BRIDGET:
What? What? 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
do have a tendency to let what's in your head come out of your mouth
without much consideration of the consequences... BRIDGET:
Please don't forget drinking also. Like a fish. And smoking. Like a
chimney. Mark
winces, as he remembers... MARK:
I realize when I met you at the Turkey Curry Buffet I was unforgivably
rude and wearing a reindeer jumper that my mother gave me the day
before... but the thing is... what I'm trying to say - very inarticulately
- is that in fact, perhaps against appearances and situations - I like you
very much. Pause. BRIDGET:
(Still smarting - not teasing) Apart from the smoking,the drinking, the
vulgar mother and the verbal diarrhoea. MARK:
No. I like you very much just as you are. He
stares at her. She stares back. BRIDGET:
What? The
doorbell rings again and Natasha suddenly pops in. The spell is broken. NATASHA:
Mark. We're really making progress on the case in here... MARK:
Right. Right... must go... because... Bye. He
turns away and heads back to the dinner party, leaving Bridget standing. BRIDGET:
'Just as I am?' INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. Lush
music. Bridget, the girls and Tom are watching the very end of UN HOMME ET
UNE FEMME, where the hero walks down the platform, looking for the
heroine. The whole dialogue might be voice over the French footage. JUDE:
You don't mean Mark Darcy, the human rights lawyer? BRIDGET:
Yes. Do you know him? JUDE:
Only by reputation, which paints him as a God in trousers. SHARON:
I thought you said the chap at the Turkey Curry Buffet was a real geek. BRIDGET:
He was. I mean, his parents are friends of my mum for God's sake! But then
he said he liked me... 'Just as I am'. The final seconds of UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME. He
sees her. She sees him. They kiss. It freezes. The whole background goes
white. Cut back out to the friends - all of whom are staring at Bridget,
who is staring at the screen, unaware of the effect her last line has
caused... BRIDGET
(CONT'D): God, that's good. TOM:
He said he liked you 'Just as you are?' Bridget
nods. For once in her life, Sharon is lost for words. JUDE:Just
as you are? Not thinner - not cleverer - not with slightly bigger breasts
and a slightly smaller nose? Bridget
just shakes her head. SHARON:
Well, fuck me. Pause,
taking in everyone. Her dark stranger may have turned up. TOM:
But this is someone you hate, right? BRIDGET:
Oh yes - of course - that right. Hate him. Phew. But
now she's not so sure. INT. TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION OFFICE. DAY. At
the office - Bridget is sitting trying to look busy. BRIDGET'S
DIARY O.S.: November 9th. Weight - 9st. Cigarettes - 3.
Birthday - 33. Enter
Richard Finch. RICHARD:
OK, Bridget. Try and get it right this time. The verdict on the Aghani
Heaney case is expected today. Get yourself down to the High Court. I want
a hard-headed interview. From
Bridget's utterly blank expression... RICHARD
(CONT'D): You do know the Aghani Heaney case? BRIDGET:
Yes. Of course. Big... important... case... featuring someone called
Aghani Heaney. RICHARD:
Or two people called Kafir Aghani and Eleanor Heaney. BRIDGET:
Of course. That's it. RICHARD:
She's a British Aid Worker. He's a Kurdish Freedom Fighter. The Government
want to extradite him home, where he'll certainly be executed - she's
married to him and they fought to save him for 5. Today's the decision. BRIDGET:
Exciting. RICHARD:
Yes, it is - so what are you waiting for? BRIDGET:
Nothing. I'm off. Watch me. EXT. HIGH COURT. STREET. DAY. 3pm.
Outside the High Court. A huge CROWD of photographers and news hounds.
Among them, Bridget. BRIDGET
O.S.: Am suddenly hard-headed professional journalist. No longer ask what
my job can do for me - remorselessly dedicated to what I can do with my
job for truth and justice. She
opens a pack of fags, and - horror - finds it empty. Bridget looks towards
the Court House door. No sign of activity. Pause. Then... BRIDGET:
(To cameraman) I'm going to nip to the shop for 5 minutes. CAMERAMAN:
Right. You couldn't get me a Milky Way while you're at it? He
rifles in his pocket for change. SOUND
MAN: Oh, love, if your going, I could murder a Twix. BRIDGET:
(Remembering) Twix. Milky Way, right. OTHER
CAMERAMAN: Pack of Polos, please. But not the mints, the fruit ones. Or,
if they don't have those, I'll have Wine Gums, but not the ones in the
packet, the ones from the jar. A
gang is beginning to gather around Bridget. INT. NEWSAGENTS. COUNTER. DAY. In
the shop, an exasperated shopkeeper fiddles with coins as Bridget is
reading from a huge list. BRIDGET:
No, I still need 8p change for the Milky Way, 6p for the Orange Solero,
and I owe you 14p for the Mars Bar and pack of Wheat Crunchies... MALE
VOICE (DARCY): Packet of Marlborough Lights please. Bridget
bristles in irritation, then spins around. BRIDGET:
Excuse me, I haven't finished. She
tails off, make a weird noise. Standing in front of her is Mark Darcy all
dressed up in his barrister outfit. MARK:
Good-afternoon. BRIDGET:
Hello. MARK:
Hi. She
blurts without thinking... BRIDGET:
You like me just the way I am. MARK:
Sorry? BRIDGET:
Nothing. How are you? Having a crafty fag yourself, eh? Mark
is about to explain, but at that moment the cameraman appears in the
shop's doorway followed by the sound man. CAMERAMAN:
Bridget! We've fucked up utterly. Eleanor Heaney's come and gone. BRIDGET:
Oh, God. I'll be sacked. Did the others get interviews? MARK:
Actually, nobody got interviews. BRIDGET:
How do you know? MARK:
Because I WAS defending her - and I told her not to give any interviews.
Look, she's out in my car... Bridget
looks out to see Eleanor Heaney put her head out of the car window, and
shout: ELEANOR:
Actually, make it Silk Cut, will you, Mark?
Bridget
and Mark exchange a glance. MARK:
Look... INT. INN OF COURT. LARGE CHAMBERS. DAY. Eleanor
Heaney and Kafir Aghani giving exclusive interview to Bridget. They are in
a huge empty court-room. He's a beautiful looking Eastern man. Mark Darcy
sits beside them. BRIDGET:
Mr Darcy - you were defending Miss Heaney, you must be delighted. MARK:
Yes - it's a good day for justice. Eleanor is a hero, not a criminal. Her
only crime was to fight for 5 years, in every way she possibly could, to
save the man she loves. To reject their case - now that would have been a
crime. Bridget
is momentarily enraptured by the passion in Darcy's voice, then shakes
herself out of it, turns to the camera... BRIDGET:
Right - well - Eleanor, over to you. Be honest, did you fancy Kafir the
first time that you saw him? INT.
TV COMPANY. PRODUCTION OFFICE -DAY. A
television screen - full frame. Bridget stands beside Richard Finch in the
crowded offices, watching the interview on TV. BRIDGET:
Thank you Eleanor. Thank you Kafir. KAFIR:
Thank you, Miss Jones - a privilege. Bridget
nods, blushes and turns to camera. BRIDGET:
This has been Bridget Jones for 'Sit Up, Britain' - with, let's face it, a
bit of a crush actually now. Good afternoon. Richard
Finch hits the TV. It clicks off. RICHARD:
Bridget Jones. Already a legend. Bridget
looking very pleased with herself. EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. DAY. MUSIC: 'THE WAY YOU DO THE THINGS YOU DO' by Temptations. Bridget
rushing to her flat. With four big colourful cook-books under her arms and
4 bags of groceries. BRIDGET
V.O.: Historic and joyous birthday. Am broadcasting genius. Celebrating by
preparing feast of the century for Shaz, Jude and Tom, in manner of 5 star
cookery wunderkind, with name like Marco or Raymond... (Her stride takes
on a skip.) 7.00 prepare Grand Marnier souffles. 7.10
marinade caper berries for caper berry 'gravy' to go on tuna. 7.20 make
frisee lardon frizzled caruso bollocks thingy. 7.30 remove all pants from
radiators. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT. Bridget
prepares stock for dinner party. BRIDGET:
(Reading from recipe book) ...tie flavour-enhancing leek and celery
together with string. (Out loud) String... string... As
she opens kitchen drawers, rummages in the chaos therein. Finally locates
a ball of festive blue string. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Perfect. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): (Reading from recipe book) Finely slice oranges and grate zest. She
sighs, pick up heap of thirty-six oranges. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT. Everything
seems to be going smoothly until... Bridget's shriek as the food processor
spins out of control, sending mashed potato everywhere. She reaches for
the Grand Marnier, gulps straight from the bottle. BRIDGET:
Okay. Okay. Tuna. Tuna. She
opens the fridge, begins emptying its contents onto the floor. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Where the fuck is the fucking tuna...? (Mimicking interview)
This is Bridget Jones for 'Sit Up, Britain', searching for tuna. (Then,
suddenly remembering) Oh Crikey, Jesus. No. No. 'This is Bridget Jones
remembering where she left the tuna.' The
phone rings. Bridget snatches it. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Hello - Bridget in a genuine crisis - only talk to me if you're
in the middle of a suicide attempt. MUM
V.O.: Hello darling - happy birthday. Just rung for a little chat. BRIDGET:
Mum, I seriously can't talk. I know you're happy it's my birthday. INT.
PHONE/SET. NIGHT. Mum
on phone. Intercut between them. MUM:
Actually - it wasn't that I rang about - you're a bit old for all that
birthday stuff now, aren't you. Bridget's
mortified face. MUM
(CONT'D): I just wanted a bit of a chat... (Bridget can't believe her bad
luck.) thing is, darling - between you and me - I'm not entirely sure that
Julian isn't something of a shit and I thought since dating shits is
rather your area of expertise you might be able to offer some advice. BRIDGET:
Dump him. MUM:
Oh, I can't possibly do that - we're booked into a lovely hotel in St
Kitts for Christmas. BRIDGET:
Then don't dump him and make the best of it. MUM:
Yes - that was rather my plan. And I can't deny, the sex is still full of
surprises - why the other night, quite unexpectedly, I was just dozing off
and I felt this huge thing... BRIDGET:
Bye Mom. She
hangs up. And instantly the entryphone rings. BRIDGET
(CONT'D): Oh God - what time do you call this. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. DOORWAY. NIGHT. Bridget
opens the door. BRIDGET:
Gah. It's
Mark Darcy. He is holding an excellent bottle of white wine. For a long
beat, neither of them says anything. MARK:
The door was open. Mark
is taking in her half-dressed, frazzled appearance, and the fact that
there are strands of mashed potato hanging from her hair. MARK:
I came to congratulate the new face of British current affairs. He
produces a copy of the Evening Standard - then tails off as he notices a
table laid with plates, candles, etc. MARK
(CONT'D): ...I see I've come at a bad time. Pause
as Bridget stares at him. BRIDGET:
It's my birthday, and I've left the sodding tuna on the sodding bus. MARK:
I see. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT. In
the kitchen, Mark is helping to sort the carnage out. He is stirring the
soup. BRIDGET:
How does it look? MARK:
Great. Blue. BRIDGET:
Blue? MARK:
But blue is good. If you ask me, there isn't enough blue food... BRIDGET:
Oh, shit. It must have been the string. MARK:
It's string soup? Bridget
surveys the carnage around here. BRIDGET:
Oh God. They'll be here soon. MARK: Don't worry.I'm
sure they're coming to see you, not... (He glances at the recipe book)
Orange Parfait in Sugar Cages. Here, have a drink. He
find two glasses, pours the wine, and touches glasses with her. MARK
(CONT'D): Happy Birthday. BRIDGET:
Thank you. (Slightly romantic pause) Did I really run round your lawn
naked? MARK:
Yes, you did. You were four - I was eight. BRIDGET:
That's a pretty big age difference. Quite pervy, really. MARK:
Yes. I like to think so. There
is a pause. Odd little intimate moment. BRIDGET:
Oh God. What are we going to do about this bloody dinner? Mark
looks around at the various unappetising dishes. MARK:
Well, you have blue soup to start. You have orange pudding to end. And for
the main course you have... congealed green gunge. BRIDGET:
...caper berry 'gravy' actually. MARK:
Do you have eggs? She
nods. MARK
(CONT'D): (Taking off his jacket) Right. Omelette it is then. With caper
berry 'gravy'. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT. Cut
to Bridget and Mark working together, breaking and beating eggs. MARK:
You wouldn't, by any chance, have any beetroot cubes, would you? Bridget
looks puzzled. MARK
(CONT'D): A mini-gherkin? Stuffed olive? Bridget
catches on and smiles. BRIDGET:
No and besides - I'm busy - the gravy needs sieving. MARK:Surely
not - just stir it, Una. They
smile, familiar in each other's presence. The doorbell goes. Cut
to all three friends are at the door with gifts shouting 'Happy Birthday'.
But when they see Mark, they're a little taken aback. TOM:
Hello. Are you joining us? Mark
looks to Bridget.
BRIDGET:
Ahm, yes - of course. In
a tiny moment one friend manages to pull a face meaning, 'what's going
on?' - Bridget returns with an 'I don't know'. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Mark,
Sharon, Jude and Tom are seated around the table. Everybody stares at the
soup, which is blue - then look at Bridget, who dares them to say a word. EVERYBODY:
Mmmm. Delicious. Yum. They
are policing his attentions to Bridget. Like parents. SHARON:
So - Mark - why did your wife leave you? Tiny
pause - is he going to be sensitive about it? JUDE: And are you dating anyone at the moment? BRIDGET:
(Cutting her off) Come on - eat up! Two whole lovely courses to go. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Cut
to 40 minutes later - they're all eating the chewy orange pudding. SHARON: It reminds me of something - tastes like... JUDE: Marmalade. TOM:
Well done, Bridget. 4 hours of careful cooking... and a feast of blue
soup, omelette and marmalade. That's worth drinking to. (Raising a glass)
To Bridget, who can't cook, but who we love - just as she is... EVERYBODY:
To Bridget. (Cheekily) Just - as - she - is. Close
on Bridget. She is exchanging looks with Mark - he looks back at her -
suddenly there is a chance of happiness... And then suddenly - at exactly
that moment... The
ring of the bell. Everybody looks quizzically at Bridget. She shrugs: I
don't have a clue. JUDE:
I'll go. When
she reappears, she stands in the doorway. BRIDGET:
Who? Jude
steps aside to reveal Daniel, a little bit tiddly, holding a bottle of
Champagne. Mark gets to his feet. DANIEL:
I'm sorry, I can see I'm interrupting. Darcy! What brings you here? Daniel
look at Darcy, then Bridget. DANIEL
(CONT'D): (Putting two and two together) Of course. I should have guessed.
And you must be Sharon. Not at all what I expected. And Jude - I'm told I
should fear you because you are dangerously clever. TOM:
(No loyalty as he sees handsome Daniel) And I'm Tom. So good to meet you
at last. DANIEL:
I just came to... I thought you might be on your own. Bridget
walks off into the kitchen. Daniel follows. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. KITCHEN. NIGHT. Daniel
and Bridget are in there alone. DANIEL:
I've been going crazy. I can't stop thinking about you. And thinking what
a fucking idiot I've been. Christ - is that blue soup? BRIDGET:
Yes. DANIEL:
That Sunday in the country, it was all going so fast. The hotel, that
wedding, meeting your parents... I just panicked. (He seems genuine.) You
know me. I'm a terrible disaster with a posh voice and a bad character.
You're the only one who can save me, Bridge. I need you. Without you,
twenty years from now I'll be in some seedy bar with some seedy blonde. BRIDGET:
What about Lara? DANIEL:
Over. Totally fucking finito. Dumped me when she realized that I hadn't
got over you. Bridget
holds her head... unsure what to believe. DANIEL
(CONT'D): I know you're thinking it's just a sex thing, but I promise you,
every time I see that skimpy little skirt on TV, I just shut my eyes and
listen to all the intelligent things you're saying. I was thrilled that
nice little Kurdish was set free. (Bridget smiles) Bridge... I've missed
you a lot. BRIDGET:
Oh, God... He's
leaning towards her to kiss her. WHAT
BRIDGET SEES: over Daniel's shoulder, Mark, standing in the doorway. MARK:
(Strangled) I'm going now. Goodbye. BRIDGET:
No - please wait... MARK:
No, I don't think I will. DANIEL:
Don't leave on my behalf. I think we're both old enough to put the past
behind, don't you, Darce? Darcy
doesn't say anything. Daniel puts his arm around Bridget. DANIEL
(CONT'D): At least stay for a birthday drink with me and Bridge. On
Mark. MARK:
Goodbye Bridget. He
clatters down the stairway. He doesn't look back. He walks straight out of
the downstairs front door without closing it. Bridget
runs to the window and sees Mark, striding away down the street. She comes
back - they stare at each other - is this the moment all is resolved...
Bridget thinks hard - then... BRIDGET:
Why are you here? There's
a knock on the flat door. Bridget goes to it and opens it: it is Mark. MARK:
(To Daniel) Cleaver. Outside. DANIEL:
Sorry? Outside? (Mark nods.) Should I bring my dueling pistols? Or my
sword? Mark
walks out - Daniel shrugs his shoulders. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. Mark
is waiting. Daniel comes out. MARK:
I should have done this years ago. DANIEL:
Done what? MARK:
This. He
hits Daniel hard in the face - Daniel falls, totally shocked. DANIEL:
Fuck me. That hurt! INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Bridget,
Jude, Sharon and Tom are crowded around the open window. TOM:
Oh my God. Fight! Fight! EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. They
all tear into the street as Daniel gets up. DANIEL:
What the fuck do you think you're doing? MARK:
This. And
he hits him again. DANIEL:
Christ - not again. Tom
races into the Greek restaurant a few doors down the street. The girls all
tear into the street as Daniel gets up. INT.
GREEK RESTAURANT. NIGHT. Tom
bursts inside. TOM:
Quick everyone! Fight! Real fight! EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. The
waiters pour out into the street. Mr Ramdas also there. Daniel struggles
to his feet - hands in the air. DANIEL:
(Hands raised) Okay, okay - I give up - just give me a second here, just
let me get my breath back, okay...? He
sits down on the little wall outside Bridget's flat - then surreptitiously
takes one of the metal dustbin lids and whacks Mark hard. TOM
& WAITER: Cheat! Cheat! Mark,
stunned, buckling at the knees, struggling to remain upright. The fight
goes on dramatically in the background. TOM:
Who's side are we on? SHARON:
Mark's obviously. He never dumped Bridget for some naked American... JUDE:
...and he said he liked her just the way she is. BRIDGET:
But he also knicked Daniel's fiancee - and left him broken-hearted. TOM:
Good point. This is very hard to call. INT.
GREEK RESTAURANT. NIGHT. The
fight near the restaurant. Mark tackles Daniel - they fall into the
restaurant. Daniel falls on to a table - it knocks over someone's salad. DANIEL:
Sorry. They
both get off the floor. Daniel leaps back forward, and whoops Mark in the
stomach. Mark falls back and knocks over a whole table. MARK:
I really am sorry - very sorry. I'll pay. DANIEL:
Had enough, Darcy? MARK:
Not quite, if that's all right by you. He
punches him again. At which moment, two waiters emerge holding a birthday
cake, and move towards a table at the other side of the restauant. WAITERS:
Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you... (Everybody stops - even
Mark and Daniel try to join in.) Happy Birthday dear... schjuju... (As
usual, no-one knows the name of the birthday boy - a 14 year old boy in
suit and tie, there with his parents.) Happy Birthday to you! Everyone
applauds. And then Daniel turns head down and charges Mark - and the two
of them smash right through the window and outside on to the street again. EXT.
GREEK RESTAURANT. STREET. NIGHT. Then Mark lands Daniel a very violent punch. There is a sickening thud as fist hits face. Bridget
reacts. As Daniel lies, unconscious, Bridget runs across to him. She looks
up at Mark, foxed by his alarmingly violent behavior. MARK : (Incredulous) My problem? BRIDGET:
Yes - you give the impression of being all noble and moral and helpful in
the kitchen, but you're just as bad and as mad as the rest of them. BRIDGET: Protect me? MARK:
Yes - but very, very foolish mistake. Forgive me. Close
on Bridget watching as Mark walks. From behind the her, the sound of
mumbling... DANIEL:
...I love you, Jones. BRIDGET:
What? DANIEL:
I love you. Let's go back upstairs. Come on. We belong together. Me,
you... and the poor little skirt. Bridget
takes this in. Once again, it's just the sex, isn't it. BRIDGET:
Right. Right. DANIEL:
(Important, final statement) If I can't make it with you, I can't make it
with anyone. She
looks at him and considers. BRIDGET:
No. That's not a good enough offer for me. I'm not willing to gamble my
whole life on someone who isn't quite sure. And loses fights. At least one
of us is still looking for something much more extraordinary than that. And
she walks away slowly. BRIDGET'S
DIARY O.S.: Down to zero boyfriends. Again. Forever. EXT. GRAFTON UNDERWOOD. HIGH STREEET. DAY. 'Ding,
Dong Merrily on High', sung church singers in Grafton Underwood High
Street, with snow falling around them... It's
a touching Xmas scene. Perfect Little England. BRIDGET
O.S.: December 25th. Weight - 9 st 4 plus 11 mince pies. Alcohol -
incalcuable. Cigarettes - fuck of a lot. All irrelevant. Because am now
going out with... EXT. PARENT'S HOUSE. DOOR. DAY. A
small group of carol singers, one adult and 2 little children are
chirruping expectantly outside the Jones' door. BRIDGET
O.S.: ...Dad. INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. DAY. Inside
Bridget and Dad, curtains drawn against the world, sit in front of two
televisions. They are surrounded by Fray Bentos tins and TV Dinner
cartons. A box of mince-pies sits on Bridget's lap - she has had eleven -
in her hand is the final, twelfth one. An opened bottle of Bayleys at her
side, beside an empty bottle of red. The Val Doonican Show is blasting
out... in competition with the noise of the carol singers. DAD:
Pass the ciggies. Bridget
passes Dad the fags and an overflowing ashtray. Dad
lights up his fag, flicks channels in a distracted fashion... and lands at
the HOME SHOPPING CHANNEL, where Julian, is selling a matching bracelet,
pendant, earring set. Mother sits beside him. INT. SHOPPING CHANNEL. SET. DAY. JULIAN:
This baroque carriage clock is a particular festive favorite of mine, with
its unique feature incorporating the Hallelujah Chorus of Handel's
Messiah, every hour on the hour. It
plays the chorus. JULIAN
(CONT'D): Merry Christmas. Julian
toast Mother. She gives a slightly nervous, slightly unhappy smile to
camera. We sense that all is not well there. Bridget and Dad look at each
other. Dad clicks off the TV. DAD:
I don't understand it - the man has actually turned red now. BRIDGET:
Forget it. We're better off without her. Worse fed - less clean - but
better. Come on - a toast... to singleton wherever they may be. DAD:
To singletons. They
toast - cut round Sharon/Jude/Tom, all of them singletons with their
families. INT. JUDE'S PARENTS' HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY. JUDE'S
DAD: Well, congratulations to Judith - half a million pounds is one hell
of a bonus - more than I earned in my whole career. They
turn to toast Jude. She bursts dramatically into tears. INT. SHARON'S PARENTS' HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY. SHARON'S MUM: How's your love life, darling? SHARON:
Shut it! INT. TOM'S PARENTS' HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY. TOM'S DAD: Shame that Bridget couldn't be here. It must be tough having Christmas without your girlfriend. TOM:
Yes. But I guess this year her Dad just... needs her more. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. SITTING ROOM. NIGHT. Bridget
in her pyjamas. She takes off her Christmas hat and kisses her Dad good
night. AT
THAT MOMENT the key goes in the door. Bridget
and Dad turn to see Mother standing sheepishly in the doorway. Dad turns,
unable to believe his eyes. Mum looks at him. Their eyes meet in an
apologetic, nervous first smile. MOTHER:
I am not coming back with my tail between my legs. My tail is firmly in
the air. If you're expecting a tail between the legs, then I'll just trot
on off again. DAD:
I'll take you however you choose to come. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. STAIRS. NIGHT. LATER.
Bridget is sitting at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas like a child
listening to Mum and Dad in the sitting room... MOTHER:
The thing is, close up he was almost purple - and you're such a lovely
normal color. And he had a filthy temper. And then I realised that I was
making the same sort of decision Bridget always makes - choosing the
flashy chaps, while the nice chaps never get a look in. And although the
jewellery is fabulous, and really very reasonably priced, I thought I
might ask the nice chap if he'd... take me back. Obviously with some
effort on his part to pay a bit more attention to me. I do know what I'm
like sometimes, but it doesn't help that you and Bridget have your lovely
grown-up club of two and always saying 'what's silly old Mummy gone and
done this time.' You know, you used to be mad about me. You couldn't get
enough of me. What do you think? DAD:
(Deep uncertain) I don't know, Pam - I just don't know now. It's been very
hard. MOTHER:
Oh Colin. Pause.
He can no longer hide the fact he's just pretending. Huge smile. The first
time we've seen him happy in the whole story. DAD:
I'm only joking you daft cow. Come on - give us a hug. She
does. DAD
(CONT'D): Pam. Pam. I just don't work without you. There
is a silence. Bridget cranes her neck round the stairs. Mum and Dad are
hugging each other. She's pleased - but worried. INT.
BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. TOP OF THE STAIRS. NIGHT. Bridget
writing the diary. BRIDGET
O.S.: 1 a.m. So that's it I suppose. Compromise all round. That's the
glory of, that's the story of love... INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. KITCHEN. DAY. The
following morning. Bridget comes down the stairs in her nightie, very much
the worse for wear, to find Mother in a large, wide-brimmed hat and Dad
dressed in a suit and tie. It's as if they're going to the Royal Garden
Party. MOTHER:
Get back up those stairs, young lady and get changed. BRIDGET:
(Still half-asleep) What for? MOTHER:
The Darcys' ruby wedding party. What for, indeed. Mark will be there...
He's (taps nose/knowing) still divorced! BRIDGET:
Yes, I know. He's also (taps nose/knowing) still deranged. I'm not going. MOTHER:
Poor Mark. This is always a bad time of year for him. Japanese wife left
him on Christmas Day. Cruel race. BRIDGET:
Yes, I'm not sure it was that way round in fact, Mummy. MOTHER:
Ran off... with his best friend from Cambridge. ON
BRIDGET: she mentally starts to join the dots... INT. A HOME. DAY. The
same scene as before - the camera coming up the stairs - the legs - the
naked people - but this time the camera moves up whips around - and it
shows Darcy - HE was the man coming up the stairs -then cut to the girl,
lipstick-smeared, Japanese - then Daniel - he was the guilty one. MOTHER
(CONT'D): ...total scoundrel, apparently. Best man at his wedding - and
then Christmas Eve, Mark comes home early from work and finds the pair of
them in a most unorthodox position, stark naked, at it like rabbits...
with the telly on, watching football... INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. DAY. Back
on Bridget. Everything has now fitted into place. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. NIGHT. FLASHBACK:
Mark looking his most attractive - hot, bloodied, noble. MARK: Forget it. I thought it might be my job to protect you - but I was clearly mistaken. BRIDGET: Protect me? MARK:
Yes - but very, very foolish mistake. Forgive me.
INT. BRIDGET'S PARENT'S HOUSE. DAY. BRIDGET:
Mum. Dad. Give me five minutes. She
runs upstairs to get changed. And
comes straight down - looking devastating and modern. MUM:
And what do you think you're wearing, young lady? BRIDGET:
I think I'm wearing exactly what I want to wear, old woman. MUM:
Daddy! Do something. EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. PARENT'S CAR. DAY. Bridget
father is driving at a fatherly pace. BRIDGET:
Stop! Stop the car! Father
stops. Bridget gets out. MOTHER:
What is it now? Bridget
opens the door on her father's side. BRIDGET:
Get out. FATHER:
What? BRIDGET:
Too slow. EXT. COUNTRY ROAD. PARENT'S CAR. DAY. The
Jones car just speeding along, Bridget at the wheel. EXT. DARCY HOUSE. DRIVEWAY. DAY. A manor house on the edge of town. Not big enough to be a 'Hall' nor naff enough to be called 'The Willows'. But assured. Comfortable, with a large gate. The kind of place you'd find a retired Major reading his 'Wisden', but not the Prince of Wales, which is how everyone is behaving. INT. DARCY HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY. All
the usual suspects are there: Geoffrey and Una Alconbury. Penny
Husband-Bosworth, all grimacing and giggling awkwardly at one another, as
uniformed caterers waft trays of salmony thingies under their noses.
Geoffrey is already very far gone on the free Champagne. Bridget's
Mum and Dad enter holding hands, lighting the room, quite indecently
satisfied. Mum sees Una and Geoffrey. Big grin. BRIDGET: What? MOTHER:
Don't say 'what', Bridget. Say 'pardon'. Bridget
freezes. Mark approaches. He is beautifully dressed apart from a hideous
Pooh Bear bow-tie. His eyes meet Bridget's. MARK: (Stiffly) I didn't. It must have been my parents. MARK
AND BRIDGET SIMULTANEOUSLY: So... Awkward
pause - and then Natasha approaches. MARK: Does he? Right... NATASHA: Come on - be helpful, Mark. The caterers have totally screwed up - does nothing work outside of London? MARK: I
better... BRIDGET: Listen... I just wanted to say I owe you an apology... about Daniel. He said you ran off with his fiancee. Broke hisheart, he said. MARK: Ah. No. Other way round. My... wife. My... heart. BRIDGET: I'm sorry. And that's why you always behaved so weirdly with him. And why you beat him to a pulp. Quite rightly. Well done. MARK:
Well... BRIDGET:
Look - ahm - could we just pop in here for a second...
They move into a slightly odd private place - under the stairs or something - amongst coats. She talks very fast. BRIDGET (CONT'D): There's something I have to say. You once, unexpectedly, said that you liked me as I was - something no bastard boyfriend has ever done - and I just wanted to say that... well... likewise, you know - you wear stupid things your Mum buys you - tonight's another classic - you're haughty and you always say the wrong thing in every situation and I think you should rethink the length of your sideburns. But you're a nice man and I like you... and, well, whatever - you know my address and if you drop by soon, it would be nice. More than nice. MARK:
(Giving nothing away) Right. Crikey. Long
pause. Neither of them know what to say. Both just about to speak when...
Mark's father hits a glass with a spoon. It's a toast. BRIDGET:
Of course. He walks away. MARK'S
FATHER: Dear friends. 40 years of happy marriage counts for quite a lot in
this day and age and I've been blessed for 40 years with a dear wife and
companion, Geraldine. A toast to her. My wonderful wife, Geraldine. GUESTS:
To Geraldine. MARK'S
FATHER: And we, in turn, have been blessed with our son, Mark. He has
always made us proud - and we couldn't be prouder of him than on this
particular day. Because I'm thrilled to announce that he has just been
invited to be a senior partner in the firm of Abbott & Abbott in New
York. He leaves by Concorde on Tuesday and so - surprise surprise - this
is also a farewell party from him. (Mark looking shy - Bridget very
shaken.) He also, incidentally takes with him his brilliant partner in
law, Natasha - and don't think they'll mind, since we're amongst friends,
if I say that some day this remarkable, clever girl is going to be
something else in law as well. A
real gasp from everyone - that turns into applause, and a bit of shouting.
Cut to very smug Natasha - and very abashed Mark. Before
anyone can take up the toast, a lone voice cuts through. INT. DARCY HOUSE. DINING ROOM. DAY. FANTASY: WHAT BRIDGET WANTS TO SAY: Mark,
Natasha, the Darcys, Bridget's Mum and Dad, the Alconburys go into their
usual fantasy slo-mo. We
then cut back to Bridget - she hasn't said any of this. Through
the cries of 'Mark and Natasha'/'Natasha and Mark', we see Bridget,
thinking about what she has just imagined - what she'd like to say - she
screws up her will for the single most important time in her life, and,
this time for real, starts again: This
time of course everyone really reacts, in real time - everyone turns to
stare: Mark, Natasha, the Darcys, Bridget's Mum and Dad, the Alconburys. Deathly
silence. Bridget turns and makes for the door - and just trips on the
carpet as she goes. Cut
back to Mark and Father - and Natasha - totally perplexed. INT. TRAIN COMPARTMENT. DAY. MONTAGE Bridget
on the train: head leant miserably against the train window - in the style
of Anouck Aimee in the final scene of UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME. In fact, the
haunting strains of the UN HOMME ET UNE FEMME music can be heard. EXT. ST PANCRAS STATION. PLATFORM. DAY. At
St Pancras Station: shot from behind, as in the original film - a man
walks along the platform looking for someone. Bridget gets off the train -
walks towards him - and past him - he hugs a woman behind her and Bridget
simply heads on up to the platform - there is no hero waiting for her. EXT. SKY. DAY. A
Concorde flies through the air - possibly even taxi-ing in to New York
airport. INT./EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. DAY. She
lets herself in. She picks up her diary - crosses out the words 'Bridget
Jones' Diary' and writes 'The Diary of Bridget Jones - Spinster and
Lunatic.' INT. AMERICAN AIRPORT. ARRIVALS. DAY. Mark
and Natasha just emerging having picked up luggage and done customs etc.
She calmly slips her arm through his as they head through. Waiting for
them holding a sign saying Mark and Natasha is a very smartly dressed
young man - clearly a keen junior lawyer from the firm. INT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. DAY. She
looks out the window - it starts to snow. BRIDGET:
Typical. INT. AMERICAN AIRPORT. CORRIDOR. DAY. A
long glass corridor - Bernard is now pushing their luggage. MARK:
Damn. He
stops dead. MARK: Not really, no. Ahm - truth is, John - is it John? BERNARD:
No, Bernard. (Said in the American way - stress on 'ARD.') MARK:
Bernard (In the English way.) BERNARD:
BernARD. MARK: Right - Ber-whatever. Truth is, I've gone and left something... behind. BERNARD: On the luggage carousel? MARK:
No, more... NATASHA: Oh, not on the plane, Mark? MARK: Well, no - more rather - further back - in... ah... in... ah... London, in fact. BERNARD: Oh don't worry about that - we can Fedex anything. MARK:
Well no - actually, this might be hard to Fedex - very, well, no, quite...
heavy. Look, you just head on and I'll... Looks
up to check TV above saying 'Departures.' BERNARD: I'm going to find this hard to explain to Mr Abbott and Mr Abbott. Are you sure about this, Mark? MARK:
Yes. Quite sure. Bye. He
kisses Natasha quickly on the cheek, then turns and simply sprints down
the long glass corridor away from them. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. EVENING. She
is writing in her diary. Her voice speaks calmly over it. BRIDGET
V.O.: The time has at last come to face the truth. Keep thinking of song
by country and western girl with big hair and too much mascara - 'I never
will marry - I'll be no man's wife - I expect to stay single - For the
rest of my life.' The
doorbell goes. Bridget freezes. It rings again. A glimmer of hope goes
through her eyes as she moves towards the door. She
picks up the entryphone. BRIDGET:
Yes? TOM,
SHARON AND JUDE: Hi - it's us. BRIDGET:
(Disappointed, unsurprised) Oh great. Come on up. Cut
to them arriving. TOM:
Have we got the most fantastic surprise for you. BRIDGET:
New Kids on the Block have re-formed? JUDE:
I can't believe you said what you said you said. BRIDGET:
I know. There's goes my invite to next year's Turkey Curry Buffet. TOM:
Well, sod them all - if he didn't just leap over the family heirlooms and
whip you up in his arms, then sod him. JUDE:
Yes - he's clearly the most dreadful cold fish. SHARON:
Exactly - there have been all these bloody hints and stuff, but has he
ever actually stuck his fucking tongue down your fucking throat? BRIDGET:
No. Not once. EXT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. Bridget
is being very quiet in the corridor - while the others flap around outside
and begin to put things in the car. TOM:
This is so romantic. Snow bound for Paris. SHARON:
Hurry up, Bridge, we're freezing our bollocks off out here! The
friends are now all packed tight in the little car. Bridget stands on the
steps. With cold little fingers, she searches in her bag for the keys,
can't find them. She pours the contents of her bag onto the pavement. Tears begin to plop down her cheeks. Suddenly, the camera changes focus and there, on the opposite side of the street - like a stalker, or a ghost - is Mark Darcy, standing beside his car, watching her. Still dressed in exactly the clothes he wore at the airport. TOM:
(Out a wound-down window) Come the fuck on Bridget! Sharon
nudges him in the car - and points - all three of them turn - and see Mark
- he doesn't see them seeing him - he continues to look just at Bridget.
They stare at him open-mouthed. Bridget finds the keys. She
locks the door and turns. And there Mark is. They look at each other. Then
he walks slowly across the street. BRIDGET: What are you doing here? MARK: Looking for you. BRIDGET: What? MARK: Don't say 'what?' Bridget - say 'pardon.' I just wanted to know if you were available for Bar Mitzvahs and christenings as well as Ruby Weddings? Excellent speech. BRIDGET: I'm so, so sorry. (Beat) I thought you were in America. MARK: Well, yes - I was - but then I remembered I'd forgotten something back home. BRIDGET: Which was? MARK: Ahm - I'd forgotten to kiss you goodbye... Do you mind? BRIDGET:
Not really, no. He
moves to kiss her... BRIDGET (CONT'D): So you're not going to America? MARK: No, not. BRIDGET: You're staying here? MARK:
It would seem so. He moves to kiss her again: but just doesn't make it, because there is a tremendous tooting and hooting from the now very fogged up car down the street. And lots of shouting - 'Hooray', 'Hooray', 'That's my girl'. MARK (CONT'D): Friends of yours? BRIDGET:
Never seen them before in my life. He
moves to kiss her again. BRIDGET: Not. MARK: Maybe we should go upstairs for a minute. BRIDGET:
Good idea. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Mark
and Bridget are entering from the snow. She goes out of the room. Mark looks over all the copies of Hello and Red and Cosmopolitan. Then his eyes light upon her diary. She'd been warned! He reaches to pick it up. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT. Bridget
is changing from big pants to little knickers. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. Meanwhile
Mark reads a bit of the diary... we see what he reads - with increasing
horror as he flicks the pages... MARK:
Right. Right. He
closes the diary quietly, and walks out the door. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. BATHROOM. NIGHT. Bridget
is half way through changing. Perhaps now has on her top half only. She
hears the heavy slam of the door. She rushes out, and sure enough... INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT. ...No
one's there. She looks out the window and sees Mark walking away. It is
still snowing. She opens the window and shouts out. He
doesn't hear - or won't hear - as he strides down the street. She looks at
the diary. Reads the words 'utterly hateful boring snob'. INT.
BRIDGET'S FLAT. HALLWAY. NIGHT. She
charges down the stairs. EXT. BRIDGET'S FLAT. STREET. NIGHT. Bridget
in bare feet and legs sprints out into the snow past Mr Ramdas and a
couple of Greek waiters. WAITERS
AND RAMDAS: Good luck, crazy girl. She reaches the main street - turns a corner. EXT. HIGHT STREET. NIGHT. It is snowing. Bridget turns on to the main high street. She can't see Mark. Then up ahead she sees Mark turn the corner. She runs after him. EXT.
STATIONARY SHOP. NIGHT. Bridget
staring wildly around her. Suddenly Mark emerges from the shop, which has
a constant flow of very respectable middle-aged ladies. He looks at the
under-dressed shivering Bridget in the snow. Total
joy - she jumps up on him - arms right around his neck, feet in the air -
and hugs him. And
then they kiss. It lasts a genuine amount of time. They split apart -
Bridget is a little breathless - and confused. BRIDGET: Wait a minute - nice boys don't kiss like that. MARK:
O yes, they do. Both smile - both know the future is full of strange delights. TITLE
MUSIC - THE EXPLOSIVE VERSION OF 'WHEN I MET MISS JONES'. EXT. PARENT'S HOUSE. GARDEN (1960'S). DAY. Home Movie Footage shows Bridget Jones, 4 years old, tormenting Mark Darcy, 8 years old. The setting is Bridget's parents garden - swing, slide, paddling pool - and Bridget is clearly crazy about Mark: hugging him, trying to kiss him, mugging at the camera. Mark seems mortified, constantly trying to get away. In the background their parents, in outrageous 60's clothes. At
the paddling pool, Bridget takes off her clothes and walks back to Mark.
He looks uncomfortable - but then smiles and kisses her. Baby Bridget
radiantly happy - Mark not unhappy. Freeze.
THE
END. |