In 2001, Colin Firth officially surgically implanted himself into the hearts of American women with his portrayal of Helen Fielding’s character creation (very much a creation in that a girl will never find a man as simultaneously brooding and sympathetic), Mark Darcy. With his reindeer jumper and terse manner of speech aimed at Bridget Jones (Renee Zellweger), female viewers were both instantly smitten and repulsed by this dark yet somehow charming miasma.
Though he had made his imprint on the silver screen of the U.S. with 90s performances in Circle of Friends and The English Patient, it wasn’t until the early 00s that he gave us the one-two punch of Mark Darcy and Lord Henry Dashwood (the latter of which came soon after Bridget Jones’ Diary in 2003’s What A Girl Wants) that he was a bona fine success as a mainstream import. A matinee idol, if you will.
However, what appears to make a matinee idol of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century is a man not all that spectacular in looks, but rather, spectacular in being a socially inept, passive aggressive dick. And this is what Firth embodies in both characters, one a romantic interest and one also a father–except, creepily, each signifying the stern patriarch in any event. For Bridget, part of Mark’s allure and off-puttingness stems from the fact that he is the scolding father she never got, instead saddled with a bumbling, insecure buffoon (Jim Broadbent) who seems to know just as little about holding onto a romantic relationship as she does.
And then there is seventeen-year-old Daphne (Amanda Bynes) in What A Girl Wants, who has waited her entire life to have that “missing piece” of her tell her what to do, to give her some direction. So it is that, against her mother, Libby’s (Kelly Preston), long-time conditioning against ever bothering to meet him, she flees to London, where he works as a prominent figure in the House of Lords. So prominent, indeed, that he has lately made headlines for giving up his hereditary seat and choosing instead to run for candidacy based on a democratic vote alone. How very Mark Darcy in nobility. In truth, Mark Darcy’s human rights barrister job description is very much akin to Lord Dashwood’s, and his associated public servant desire to always do the moral and upstanding thing–which somehow translated into sacrificing his own heart’s desire to be with free-spirited Libby (who he married, technically, in a Bedouin wedding ceremony in Morocco, where they first met in a meet-cute that is rehashed on a regular basis by Libby to Daphne for almost added salt in both parties’ wounds).
Of course, in typical rom-com non-plausible caricature of an antagonist subterfuge, there is an outside force at play in helping to keep Libby and Henry apart: Alistair Payne (Jonathan Pryce, taking a political tumble in terms of going from playing Juan Peron to a middling British advisor). As the father to a Glynnis Payne (Anna Chancellor), a woman equally as social climbing as Alistair, the two work in conjunction with one another to steer Henry according to their own personal objectives. It sounds a lot like Natasha (Embeth Davidtz) in Bridget Jones’ Diary, manipulative in her crusade to lock Mark down eventually and after enough time working as colleagues, clucking to Bridget’s co-worker, Perpetua (Felicity Montagu), “Just give me time. Give me time.”
Similarly, Glynnis’ daughter, Clarissa (Christina Cole), feels the same way about getting her debutante hooks into Armistead Stuart (Ben Scholfield) by summer’s end. Unfortunately for her, the “exotic” American Daphne arrives to ruin her already lacking hold over Armistead and Henry. Being that, for some reason, Amanda Bynes favored movies with a strategic plot point centered around a debutante ball (see also: She’s The Man) in the 00s, it’s, of course, to be expected that her stodgy British brethren expects her to participate in a ball in order to make good on the respectability of the Dashwood name. While, at first, she feels comfortable enough to be “as she is” in front of Henry and his ilk, he soon makes it clear that, essentially, she needs to shape up or ship out. Again, Daphne is serving as a foil to a younger version of Bridget in this respect–for Bridget, too, fell for the trap of believing that Mark was accepting of her just as she was before he ended up turning his back on her when her behavior became “too” embarrassing.
Maybe this is why Libby rightly says to Daphne at the outset of the movie, “Getting to know someone because they share the same DNA as you isn’t the answer.” Likewise, getting to know a guy just because he has led you into the false sense of believing that he could truly welcome you into his life without attempting to alter you in some undercutting and insidious way is not the answer either. And yet, both Bridget and Daphne fall prey to the trap solely because Colin Firth “protagonists” are so skilled at making a girl want to please him.
That Daphne is willing to travel across an ocean to do just that is highlighted from the moment she rides into London on a bus with an ad that reads, “You never forget your first time” (it was just one of several Virgin Atlantic plugs). It, in some disturbing way, smacks of an allusion to an Electra complex. Daphne, naturally, pluckily enters the city with a grin on her face to the tune of “London Calling” (probably not what The Clash had in mind when they wrote of decay and destruction at every turn), immediately encountering a musician/reception boy at a hostel, Ian (Oliver James). The two hit it off, but Daphne quickly becomes distracted by Henry’s presence on the TV. Bridget, too, gets riveted every time Mark makes televised statements filled with benevolence for the little people. It’s this rare sight of his “teddy bear inside” persona that gets both women to forget all the times he’s disappointed and/or made her feel too freakish to live in Britain.
In contrast to the warmth and oversharing nature of Bridget, supposedly an Englishwoman who should be accordingly cold and staid, Henry’s mother, Lady Dashwood (Eileen Atkins), explains to Daphne, “I’m British. We only show affection to dogs and horses.” This problem undeniably also plagues Mark and Henry in their constant inner struggle to convey sentimentality of any kind that isn’t somehow tinged with harshness.
Even when Henry feels somewhat forced to invite her to the Royal Dress Show (as a display of recognition), one of the first in a series of events centered around the debutante goings-on of the summer, he can’t help but roll his eyes at Daphne’s frivolousness when she responds, “Dress show? Is it like a fashion show? I mean Gwyneth and Madonna always go to those things…do you think they’d be there?” Similarly, when Bridget takes her cooking instructions literally for her birthday dinner by incorporating a string into the recipe, Mark is entertained by the result, sure, but ultimately still sees her as too zany and daffy to actually date without far more consideration of the ramifications–as opposed to just simply following his heart, which clearly seems to be telling him he should fuck her right away the way Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant) would.
Instead, Mark and Henry prefer to dole out their affections and signs of approval like bread crumbs or dangled carrots to their love interest and daughter, respectively. To see how much masochism they’re willing to endure in order to really earn his love. Most of these affirmations come in the form of very maudlin compliments that make audiences cringe and swoon in equal measure.
The cheesy aphorisms aren’t left solely to Mark and Henry, though, with Ian or Daniel chiming in now and again with such gems as, “Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you’re born to stand out?” and “Come on Bridget, we belong together–you, me, poor little skirt. If I can’t make it with you then I can’t make it with anyone.”
And so, both Daphne and Bridget do, stand out and make it without their Colin Firth-played condescender until he finally comes crawling back to them once he realizes life just isn’t as interesting without some uncouth bitch fucking it up. Which is the very thing about each one that makes Henry and Mark love and loathe the most important women in their lives at the same time. Oh to be a sympathetic misogynist must be the most emotionally renting thing in the world. And no one knows how to exhibit it better than Firth.
