Bridgerton, the first ever Shondaland series on Netflix, answers a question you never thought to ask. What if Jane Austen wrote Gossip Girl? It also fills a void in the market for all of you who loved Pride and Prejudice but were left unsatisfied by its utter lack of horniness.
The Regency-era romance, based on the best-selling series of novels by Julia Quinn, is a pastel explosion of pomp and opulence, with a healthy amount of raunchy rumpy pumpy throughout. Without the otherwise prudish shackles of network television, Bridgerton leans into the kind of overt sexuality that is often absent in these sorts of period pieces. If you were wondering what kind of nasty Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy got up to behind closed doors, then this is the series for you.
Now, all of this sex isn’t a bad thing. The women in these sorts of romances, while often drawn as independent and liberated, are rarely portrayed as having any sexual agency. And where Bridgerton truly shines is in how it opens up the genre in whole new ways.
The story here centres around the eldest Bridgerton daughter, Daphne (Phoebe Dynevor), who has just made her formal debut into London’s upper-crust marriage market. She is the very paragon of a period romance protagonist. Smart. Self-assured. Determined. She is a modern woman in every way. Except for the small issue of being the eldest daughter, which means her sole purpose in life is to marry well in order to ensure her family’s future.
The problem, however, is that all of her suitors are the most terrible bores. Daphne knows what she needs to do, but she also wants to be left to her own devices in order to do it.
Enter the Duke (Regé-Jean Page), who is both stereotypically standoffish and blisteringly beautiful. The both of them can’t stand each other but decide that at the only way to get society off they collective backs is to pretend to fall in love. Yes, that old doozy. When has that plan ever failed?
Romantic hijinks ensue, and their story is bolstered by the antics of at least a dozen other characters, all of whom are either compulsively shirtless or dressed to the nines in jaw-dropping gowns. There are society balls where they play clever orchestral versions of Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next.” There are haughty operas. There are secret cousins and family rivalries. There is enough drawing room drama to keep even the most ardent Janeite invested.
But wait, there’s more. An added mystery in the form of an anonymous gossip columnist, Lady Whistledown (voiced by none other than the legendary Julie Andrews), who scandalously lays out their turmoil and tomfoolery for all of London to gawk at.
None of this is ever too much or too confusing to follow. Showrunner Chris Van Dusen manages to keep every one of these plates spinning in clever and inventive ways. A narrative dexterity he no doubt acquired over his many years working on the Byzantine character dramas that are Grey’s Anatomy, Private Practice, and Scandal.
In fact, Bridgerton is so pacey that it barely gives you any time to catch your breath. And even though none of the plot twists are particularly surprising, all of them are meted out with such fizzy glee that you can’t help but get caught up in the proceedings.
Bridgerton‘s subversiveness, however, doesn’t lie in the story that it’s telling but rather in the way Shonda Rhimes and Chris Van Dusen have chosen to tell it. They don’t just adapt Julia Quinn’s work, they adopt it. Featuring a purposefully inclusive cast, the show constantly upends your expectations of what the characters in these romances should look and sound like. The opening sequence of the series, in which a gaggle of white debutantes arrive at the royal court and bow before a Black queen is a powerful, and completely unexpected, moment that doesn’t just shock you out of some preconceived notion of what this is, but also serves to shift your perspective.
Throughout this season, there is nary any mention of this racial mix as being anything out of the ordinary. It’s just the way things are in this alternate reality. It doesn’t matter how this particular society got to this point. It isn’t important why there is a Black queen, or how Black families ended up having titles and generational wealth. It allows for the story to move beyond the usual Upstairs, Downstairs tropes and focus instead on the sudsy romance of it all.
What this also means is that Black actors don’t just have to play Black parts or speak to a specific Black experience. This is, after all, a fantasy, so why not embrace it completely and recreate world in your own image. Not concerning yourself with historical accuracy means you can indulge completely in the kind of fluff that this narrative demands.
Bridgerton is very much everything you’d expect from a Shondaland series. It’s soapy and scandalous. It’s sexy and smart. It may slap you across the face from time to time with its obvious messaging, but then again, subtlety isn’t why you’re watching this.
Bridgerton is a stunningly well crafted piece of entertainment. It is lush. It is expensive. It is pure escapism. It is an unapologetically horny, eight hour respite from reality. God knows it couldn’t have come at a better time.
Bridgerton
Netflix, Season 1, 8 episodes
Showrunner: Chris Van Dusen
Cast: Phoebe Dynevor, Regé-Jean Page, Jonathan Bailey, Nicola Coughlan, Claudia Jessie, Adjoa Andoh, Lorraine Ashbourne, Sabrina Bartlett, Joanna Bobin, Harriet Cains, Bessie Carter, Ruth Gemmell, Florence Hunt, Ben Miller, and Julie Andrews
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