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New diary, same old Bridget. Oh, and waddaya know - same old two-dimensional characters, same old jokes and same old cheesy lines. Yup, it appears that poor old accident prone Bridget has come down with a nasty case of sequelitis. The symptoms? An irrepressible urge to repeat the best bits of her last film coupled with a chronic refusal to string them together with any semblance of plot.

Oh, how we chortle/cringe as our hapless heroine falls flat on her face from a ski lift, slips in an undignified fashion from the roof of her boyfriend's kitchen (yes, really) or totters around in an overly tight dress and vice like pants. Oh, how we guffaw/turn away in embarrassment as she puts her size fives in it again and again and again. And oh, how we do genuinely sympathise with her as she balances her crazy mother, hopeless father, hideous friends (a real case of 'who needs enemies' in Bridget's case) and sleazy ex-boss with a frankly unbearable stick of a boyfriend.

Whilst Bridget Jones's Diary kept its silliness in check by adhering to the plot of Pride and Prejudice, The Edge of Reason has no such stabilising influence. I suppose if you were really desperate you could say it has echoes of Persuasion (confused spinster heroine dumps worthy hero for no very good reason, spends much time regretting it, enjoys dalliance with clearly unsuitable bounder then gets back together with hero) but that would be clutching at straws.

My main problem with the film (aside from the recycled jokes and lack of plot, that is) is the fact that the worthy hero (Mark Darcy, aka the menopausal ladies' gentleman of choice, Colin Firth) is simply unbearable. I mean, are we honestly supposed to believe that scatty, effervescent, charming Bridget has found her Mr Right in this uptight, humourless Victorian dad of a lawyer? No wonder she dumps him (after much enforced hilarity that only serves to underline how heinously mismatched they are) and heads off into the Thai sunset with everyone's favourite cad, Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant). Tanned and twinkling, smooth as an Innocent smoothie but nowhere near as pure, Grant yet again proves that he's so much better when he's bad - I'd pick him over bloody Mr Darcy any day.

Ah well, it's a painless enough way of filling a couple of hours (although an hour and a half would have been better) and it does have its moments: the obligatory replay of the Firth/Grant nancy fight is still hilarious and the scenes in the Thai women's jail are like a girly version of Decline and Fall, as Bridget's plucky head girl good humour sees her conducting the female junkies and whores in a tuneless version of 'Like A Virgin'.

Fluffy, frivolous and considerably more flimsy than its heroine's pants, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason is the film equivalent of a Milky Way bar - sweet enough at the time, but ultimately deeply unsatisfying.