Apparently, English filmmakers have not gotten their fill of this topic. “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” which stars Texan Renée Zellweger, is a British production that borrows heavily from other UK film comedies as “Four Weddings And A Funeral” and “Notting Hill.” Those films depended on wry, observational humor and the presence of Hugh Grant for their box office success. Fortunately, those elements are present here as well.

Bridget Jones (Renee Zellweger) works as a publicist in a London publishing house and appears, on the surface, to be quite content. She has a crush on her boss, Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant) and participates in a support group of wacky single friends, the kind you only find on TV sitcoms. Every holiday season, Bridget gets depressed because her parents throw their annual Christmas party, during which her relatives always remind her about the absence of a man in her life.

Bridget is frustrated herself about being a “singleton” in a world of “smug marrieds.” She vows to change things by writing a diary chronicling the ups and downs in her social life and see if there are any patterns that emerge. Her first passage in her journal is “At moments such as these one has a choice: to either give up and accept spinsterhood or not...I chose not…and vodka” (Bridget does like to hit the bottle every now and then.)

Eventually, two men do enter Bridget’s life. Her boss, the suave Daniel Cleaver, sends flirtatious e-mails and sweeps Bridget off her feet. Cleaver, however, is a playboy who cannot change his ways. The other man in Bridget’s life is attorney Mark Darcy (Lyle Lovett lookalike Colin Firth), who comes off as an anally retentive sort whose face would crack in pieces if he ever were to smile. Darcy is not glib and dashing the way Cleaver is, but his heart is in the right place.

“Bridget Jones’s Diary” is, for the most part, a very pleasant film that takes chances. For the first time I can remember, Hugh Grant plays a rake instead of his usual flummoxed hero role. Renee Zellweger, who has made a career of playing kewpie doll-voiced leading ladies, has a very credible British accent and acts mature. In a refreshing minor plot bit, it is Bridget’s mom, not her good-natured dad, who has a mid-life crisis by having an extramarital affair. For once, men get a break.

“Bridget Jones’s Diary” does, however, have its flaws. The excessive cursing – and ridiculously unnecessary usage of the word “fuck” – detracts from the overall feeling of the film. Perhaps in a bout of temporary amnesia, the screenwriters inadvertently thought they were writing for “The Sopranos.” In a scene towards the film’s end,, Bridget’s rivals, Mark and Daniel, who apparently have a history between them, get into a wrestling match in the street. It climaxes with both men throwing each other through a plate-glass restaurant window. That kind of nonsense would fit in better on a World Wrestling Federation pay-per-view event than it does in this light comedic film.

As was the case with both “Four Weddings And a Funeral” and “Notting Hill,” the film’s eclectic soundtrack enhances the mood of “Bridget Jones’s Diary.” Among the chestnuts here are Aretha Franklin’s “Respect,” Celine Dion’s “All By Myself,” Van Morrison’s “Someone Like You,” Julie London’s “Fly Me To The Moon,” Perry Como’s “Magic Moments,” The Pretenders’ “Don’ Get Me Wrong,” Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman,” and Andy Williams’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You.”