Bridge... Brijet... Bridjt.. Briget.. how on Earth do you spell this damn name? Oh well, guess I'm illiterate. You know who definitely isn't illiterate? The amazing team of, book-writing, script penning, comedic geniouses that created the razor-sharp and laugh-out-loud movie that may just even be Emily's favourite flick!

Expertly acted, the delightfully witty characters fly of the page and onto the screen to deliver us the endlessly entertaining playboy that is Hugh Grant's Daniel Cleaver, the second coming of Mr. Darcy in Colin Firth's Mark Darcy, and the delightfully relatable everywoman that is Renée Zellweger's Bridget Jones.

Join us for a wonderful movie we all like to call "Bridget Jones's Diary".... because that is it's name...

What, another DOUBLE FEATURE?! What is it about movies from 2004 that makes us itch to watch more than one at a time? Speaking of itching, something tells me a few characters from The Girl Next Door are no strangers to that particularly 'prickly' sensation...

Join us as we watch a walking bag of hormones, morning wood, and teenage naïveté, fumble around in the dark trying to land the insert "shallow-as-a-wading-pool, blonde sex-symbol, manic-pixie-dreamgirl archetype" here—in a movie that throws around more uh... "legacied" f-words than a bunch of high school hockey bros in an uncomfortable locker room.

It’s crass, it’s crude—but damned if it isn’t a magnificent time capsule and exaggerated snapshot of the early-2000s, all-American high school experience.

Oh, and then there’s the other movie, where everything dies at the end… not least of all Ron Howard’s once-ambitious and genuinely promising plans for what had, by all accounts, started off as a really good idea for a compelling film. Woops.

This movie has the same energy as excitedly going to grab some ice cream from the freezer but discovering that the only flavour left in the neopolitan container is strawberry. Or when you go to chow down on that perfect sandwich you made earlier and have been craving all day, only to take a bite and discover that the tomatoes, pickles, and sauces have made the bread all soggy. Or when you entrust the director of National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation to remake a revered French psychological thriller, adored by cinephiles for decades, inspiring the likes of Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho"...

Oh wait a minute - that last one is what happened here.

Want to bungle Sharon Stone's titanic sex-symbol status in the prime of her carrer? This movie does! Want to hand five Oscar nominees a dogshit screenplay with nothing to work with? This movie does! Want to watch a teacher throw a kid into an e-coli infested swimming pool at school? Sure why not!

This movie was...so close. It had it all. The source material, the talent. But in the end, all we got were a few quippy one liners, a weird Catholic-sex thing, and Chazz Palminteri uncomfortably yelling at women in public.

I wanted to like it, but I also wanted to be hit in the head with a garden rake and thrown into a swimming pool.