BRIDGET JONES’S BABY (Rated R)

A dozen years have passed since the forgettable sequel to “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” and a fair question might be why there is a need for a third installment titled “Bridget Jones’s Baby” if not for a payday?

There’s not a whole lot more to this latest chapter than a romantic guessing-game as to where the lovelorn Bridget, who has an unplanned pregnancy, will cast her future life plans.

Hugh Grant apparently opted out of a return engagement as the caddish Daniel Cleaver, and as a result he no longer has to compete with Colin Firth’s uptight barrister Mark Darcy for the affection of Bridget Jones.

His absence could be to the good, considering that his playboy character would more likely be drawn to exotic European models looking like partially-clothed centerfold candidates for the newly revamped Playboy magazine.

In fact, the filmmakers have some fun with Hugh Grant’s disappearing act, staging a funeral service for him after a plane crash in which no body was found. But many of the bodies attending the funeral could be members of the Swedish Bikini Team.

Fun fact: Emma Thompson, doing double duty as co-author of the screenplay and the role of Dr. Rawlings, is the sole artist thus far to have received an Academy Award for both acting and screenwriting.

Another fun fact: At age 47 and slipping comfortably, it may appear, into middle age, American actress Renee Zellweger, reprising her role as Bridget Jones, is no longer an ingénue by any measure, but still has a lot of spunk for a character celebrating a 43rd birthday.

Writing herself a good part as a snarky obstetrician, Emma Thompson is such an amusing delight for her limited screen time that one wishes she had more to do than lob some nicely timed barbs during prenatal exams with the expectant mother.

It’s left to Colin Firth’s bewigged lawyer to apply some dry wit to the proceedings, which may be the only thing he has going for himself in a competition with American tycoon Jack Qwant (Patrick Dempsey) for the renewed attention of the lovely Miss Jones.

Befitting any romantic comedy, there are some complications to the emerging love triangle. For one, Mark is now married but a divorce from a wife barely seen at all is in the offing.

Meanwhile, as the film opens, Bridget, a top producer of a TV news show, may be a lonely spinster who celebrates her birthday alone with a single candle on a cupcake, but at least she’s not reduced to the cliché of having a cat for a companion.

Bridget’s close friend at the studio is Miranda (Sarah Solemani), who encourages a weekend trip to a music festival with outdoor camping (a British Woodstock without the big name rock bands).

Getting stuck in a mud hole, Bridget is rescued by the gallant Jack Qwant, a billionaire developer of a dating Web site that applies an algorithm to determine the probability of a successful match.

Keep in mind that Jack is dashing, charming, funny and handsome, because after all he is Patrick Dempsey. Contrast him to the haughtiness of Mark, a brainy, clever person who comes across as prickly, and you get a sense there is no real competition between the two men.

In fact, Jack’s algorithm for love arrives at a likely conclusion that, at least from surface appearances, he and Bridget match up 97 percent, so they should be together, whereas Bridget and Mark match up only 8 percent.

Of course, love is not so easily reduced to mathematical equations, and the absence of empirical certainty of a match-up based on science goes a long way to explain how Bridget could have relations with both men during a short window of time.

As it turns out, if the film’s title is not enough of a clue, Bridget ends up pregnant after a tryst with the fun-loving Jack in a one-night stand at the music festival and then shortly thereafter a night of drunken revelry with Bridget winding up in bed with Mark.

You’d think the confusion would be cleared up quickly with a DNA test to determine the father, but this is a romantic comedy in which Bridget is not exactly forthcoming about her predicament, particularly to the two men and her doting parents (Gemma Jones and Jim Broadbent).

We’re treated instead to funny moments at the workplace where Bridget is coping with the annoying hipsters now running the network who insist on vapid news coverage reducing foreign affairs to an Instagram or something equally inane.

But again, some of the best moments belong to the deadpan delivery of Emma Thompson’s obstetrician who insists that Bridget is a “geriatric” mother who should pay more attention to resolving the paternity issue.

Without a doubt, “Bridget Jones’s Baby” is a chick-flick but it is not overbearing and annoying like some of the female-centric shows found on cable television. It actually turned out better and funnier than I initially thought possible.

Tim Riley writes film and television reviews for Lake County News.