Now, if you’re going to see a rom-com, then you want to see one by cool-kid producer Judd Apatow.

With his films more comedy-heavy than romance-laden Jennifer Aniston syrupy snoozefests, you can be sure of a good chuckle.

You’d have to be as poe-faced as Maria Shriver after discovering her marriage was expendable to not at least find some of his back catalogue hilarious (Anchorman, Forgetting Sarah Marshall and a film that admittedly had only me cracking up in the cinema, Step Brothers).

But I still felt some trepidation about Bridesmaids.

The name, for a start, doesn’t inspire confidence. Plus the plot sounds yawnsomely predictable for a rom-com – a maid of honour bitchily competes with another bridesmaid in the run-up to their friend’s wedding.

What makes it a cut above the rest is co-producer, writer, and star of the show Kristen Wiig, who plays the ‘dishonourable’ maid in question, Annie.

Her snarky bitterness as a failed baker-turned-jewellery-sales assistant is truly comic, as she takes her frustrations out on her loved-up customers.

Also funny are her pitiful ‘encounters’ with cad-tastic Ted (Mad Men’s John Hamm) and her burgeoning romance with an inexplicably Irish Wisconsin cop called Rhodes (rib-tickler Chris O’Dowd of The It Crowd and Gulliver’s Travels fame).

And you’ll be whacked in the chops by Melissa McCarthy, who plays fellow bridesmaid Megan, a full-on nympho.

“I want to climb him like a tree” she drools over a particularly unlikely lust object.

Both McCarthy and Wiig will have you giggling like a gaggle of R-Pattz-obsessed school gals whenever there’s any gross-out scenes, with gags as good as the best lines in Bridesmaids’ comedy twin brother, The Hangover.

They both play endearing characters, as does O’Dowd, whose sweetness left many female members of the audience cooing and billing.

What’s not so funny are her run-ins with her flatmate (Matt Lucas) and the stereotypical bitchiness between her and her revoltingly thin rival, Helen (Rose Byrne) whom I think us women are supposed to envy as the supposed figure of perfection.

And the aptly named Maya Rudolph (don’t mention the nose! Oh dear, the bitchiness is highly contagious) won’t trouble your funny bone that much as the bride, Lillian.

Disappointingly, as is the case with most rom-coms, Bridesmaids fails in the final act.

From fruity comedy it descends into candy floss-laden romantic biliousness and even my favourites, whom I was rooting for throughout, lost a lot of my sympathy in some heavy-handed cringe-fests.

Which is a shame, for the girls might want to have fun but the last scenes are about as tooth-achingly annoying as the ubiquitous person sat next to you chomping popcorn.

Yet despite my misgivings I’m not quite ready to run to the divorce courts just yet over my anticlimax.

Rather, my enduring passion for the film seemed to burn out when I was left feeling like the gal who fails to catch the bridal bouquet and leaves feeling just a little disappointed.