Bridget Jones is back and once again blazing a new path, this time as a widow. In Mad About the Boy, our eternally chaotic but lovable everywoman is navigating single parenthood, dating apps and grief. But unlike most widows in romcoms, she’s not here to wither away in a beige cardigan, politely mourning until society deems it acceptable for her to love again. Instead, she’s in bed with a 29-year-old park ranger named Roxster, proving that healing doesn’t have to be quiet reflection – it can also look like great sex with a younger man.
This is where Bridget breaks the mould. In most romantic comedies, women’s grief is pitched as a problem to be solved. We must undergo a period of deep self-reflection before we are allowed back into the world of desire. We must heal, learn and then – maybe – we can be kissed under some twinkly lights at the end of the movie. Hilary Swank’s character in P.S. I Love You waits for divine permission from her dead husband’s letters before even thinking about dating again, whereas poor Demi Moore in Ghost is emotionally tied to Patrick Swayze for ever, choosing to simulate foreplay with a memory over intimacy with the living.
But Bridget? She swipes right on Roxster before she’s finished crying. She laughs through awkward sex. She’s messy, unpredictable and refuses to follow the script.
And yet, as I watched, I couldn’t help but think: if this were a film about a male widower, none of this would be worth commenting on, only because the big screen mirrors back to us what we are taught in society. After the death of a spouse, men are seen as eligible, while women are seen as wounded. Men’s grief in romcoms is framed as part of their allure. They are given an air of romance, their pain making them more attractive. Sleepless in Seattle opens with Tom Hanks’s character having barely finished the eulogy before women are throwing themselves at him. In Love Actually, Liam Neeson’s character gets a charmingly tragic backstory before he is seamlessly set up with Claudia Schiffer. And who can forget the reason why The Holiday is a firm Christmas favourite among women: Jude Law as “hot single dad” who speaks about his feelings yet barely about his dead wife. His role was not to fumble through self-reinvention but to serve as the dream man who helps a woman believe in love again.
Watching Bridget refuse to play that game felt oddly personal because I’m a widow, too. My husband Greg died of cancer in 2021 when I was 41, leaving me with two small daughters and a huge void. The scene of Bridget dancing and singing with her children in their house – a regular occurrence in ours – was particularly poignant. For me, it is a true depiction of being the solo parent left behind, trying to provide joy for your children despite being engulfed by grief.
Also like Bridget, I have been bombarded with well-meaning but wildly conflicting advice about how I should be grieving while rebuilding my love life: “You’re still young, stay open to love, but don’t rush into anything”, “Focus on yourself first”, “Don’t you want to find someone new?” Grief doesn’t come with a handbook, yet people seem convinced that if you don’t follow a particular timeline – one that is slow, quiet, and palatable – you’re doing it wrong. The idea that a widow could simply want connection, fun or even just good sex without it being framed as either self-destructive or groundbreaking remains strangely radical.
That’s what makes Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy so refreshing. Yes, she grieves. But she also does what so many of us actually do – she makes mistakes, she follows bad advice, she makes dodgy beauty choices. And crucially, she doesn’t wait to be healed before living her life again. Healing is messy and contradictory; sometimes it means sex with a hot younger man simply because you want to.
Of course, the film isn’t perfect. There’s still an element of the classic “widow’s journey” trope, where grief must ultimately lead to reinvention. By the end of the film, Bridget isn’t just dating again – she has discovered new purpose and self-worth. But for all its predictability, Mad About the Boy still feels like a step forward. It dares to show a widow who isn’t waiting for permission to be happy again. It acknowledges that grief isn’t linear. And most importantly, it lets a woman be messy, funny and desirable after loss – without making it feel like a moral dilemma.
Stacey Heale is the author of Now is Not the Time for Flowers: What No One Tells You About Life, Love and Loss. The paperback edition is out in April
