The thing about Bridgerton is that I’m not entirely certain who it’s for. Fans of the books will undoubtedly be disappointed with many (though perhaps not all) of the changes the show makes to the source material, and people who haven’t read the books might not be willing to follow the intrigues of several frankly unlikeable characters. Those familiar with Regency romance as a genre will raise eyebrows at some of the blatant inaccuracies (that’s not a waltz! a gentleman wouldn’t take his family to Vauxhall! any man worth his salt knows how to break off an affair with a mistress!). Those unfamiliar with the genre or the books may want it to be more complicated and deeper than it is. In the end, I’m not sure anyone’s entirely happy.
With all that said, however, I actually … really liked it.
I had quibbles, don’t get me wrong, many of which cannot be divorced from my feelings about the entire series of books in which The Duke and I is one of my least favorite. Therefore, it’s perhaps not a surprise that I didn’t really mind the liberties taken with Daphne and Simon’s relationship — indeed, I think the show improved on it in a few key ways — while my biggest issues centered instead on aspects of the worldbuilding and the characters who take the center stage in later books in the series.
Okay, I’ll just say it. They made some odd choices when it came time to adapt Anthony.
Watching the first few episodes as a fan of Anthony was …. challenging. I did not recognize the man the show presented, whose contradictory behavior and general lack of regard for others resulted in him hurting and disrespecting those around him, including his family, his mother. It’s not that Anthony in the books isn’t a rake or an occasional asshole; it’s that he isn’t an irresponsible, pompous rake who doesn’t know how to break it off with his mistress and who fantasizes about running away to leave all his responsibilities behind. That man — the one who considers taking an opera singer to a family ball — is not the Anthony I remember from the books, and he’s not a particularly likeable man to follow. However, I must give due credit to Jonathan Bailey, who is not only absolutely gorgeous despite his wonky period sideburns, but who carries off the role with enough aplomb and humor that I still found him compelling every time he was on screen. There is a particularly excellent scene late in the season, when Anthony and Simon confront each other regarding their individual failings, and each of them goes straight for the jugular as only your best friends can do. When Simon suggests that Anthony’s deceased father (and object of hero worship) would be ashamed of the man his son had become, his self-loathing and shame are palpable. Once Bailey gets to tackle some of the meatier Anthony material from The Viscount Who Loved Me, I suspect we’re in for great things.
When I voiced my Anthony-related frustrations to my book club, they did helpfully remind me that, as far as the general viewing public is concerned, a rake is a gardening tool. Consequently, if the show’s version of Anthony occasionally veers into caricature of the rake archetype, this is likely done to make sense of one of the key plot elements: Anthony’s objection to Simon’s courtship of his sister. We are meant to understand that Anthony’s over-the-top rakishness and irresponsibility are habits he developed right alongside Simon, and so his mistrust of his friend results from the sense that Simon is no different from him: unserious, afraid to settle down, lustful, and prone to fucking inappropriate women at inappropriate times in inappropriate locations. Anthony’s behavior will also presumably provide context (and contrast) for next season, when his attempt to reform and do his duty by marrying is met with skepticism by the sister of the woman he’s decided would be the perfect bride.
Another adaptation choice that I struggled with was how the show adapted Lady Whistledown — and the decision to reveal Whistledown’s true identity at the end of the season.
The thing is, I think Nicola Coughlan is a perfect Penelope, portraying the character’s deep insecurity, quiet watchfulness, loneliness, and longing with nuance and precision. (In fact, I think the show as a whole is perfectly cast; there’s not one person I disliked in their role, even if they weren’t quite identical to their book counterpart.) In a show where all of the characters seem to have been run through the Gossip Girl filter, Penelope is a breath of fresh air and that most unlikely of things: a reasonable person. However, it is difficult to reconcile that Penelope with the show’s version of Lady Whistledown, who does not merely skewer society and criticize fashion, but who ruins lives, piling cruelty upon cruelty as the season progresses, until, in a move that is wildly uncharacteristic for both Penelope and Whistledown, she reveals Marina’s pregnancy to the world.
I don’t know what to say about this moment except that Penelope would never, and in truth I’m not sure there’s any way for the show to come back from that decision. A friend who hasn’t read the books texted me a few episodes in to tell me she loved Penelope; by the end of the season, her enthusiasm had dimmed with the knowledge that it was Penelope who’d relentlessly derided Daphne and spilled Marina’s biggest secret.
I do have a few other issues, which I won’t get into at length. Some are a result of a mismatch between source material and genre; the Bridgertons series is fairly light, a bit dated, and shows very little interest in class politics or the grungy underbelly of society, but the show wants to be sleek and edgy and occasionally shocking, not to mention its somewhat clumsy attempts to speak, at least a little, to class and race in ways that Quinn’s novels do not provide a solid framework for. There are also some aspects that just felt off. The Bridgerton family dynamic is not quite right, because while it’s clear they’re close, I don’t get the same sense of togetherness and loyalty that I get from the books, the sense that they all know and like each other despite all their differences. I also think Eloise, though highly entertaining, was basically converted into a Regency Jo March.
I think they missed a huge opportunity by not making Benedict gay (or bi) … unless they are? Fingers crossed for next season. The chemistry between him and Henry Granville was off the charts.
Okay, so those are my complaints, but, as I said, I liked the show. So what worked?
A lot.
First, it’s absolutely stunning to watch. The costumes and scenery are sumptuous, and the production design of different iconic Regency locations — a variety of balls, the modiste, the ancestral estate, the gentleman’s club, Vauxhall, the boxing club — was truly a pleasure for someone like me, who has read so many novels and stories that visit these places. It certainly doesn’t hurt that the cast is beautiful, every single one of them, and all of them impeccably dressed (or undressed, as the case may be).
There’s also the music, which follows in the footsteps of The CW’s late lamented Reign by including instrumental arrangements of pop songs, including, among others “thank u, next,” “bad guy,” and — my personal favorite — “Wildest Dreams” by Taylor Swift, which plays over a long montage of Daphne and Simon getting it on in basically every possible location around his giant estate. I have honestly never had more fun in my life.
Several characters who do not appear in the books have been added, and some secondary roles from the books have been beefed up considerably, mostly to great effect. One excellent change is the expanded role of Lady Danbury, who is played brilliantly by Adjoa Andoh (who, just as an aside, is an incredible audiobook narrator; check her out!). Lady Danbury plays a much more maternal role to Simon in the show, and her occasional set downs carry all the more bracing a sting because of it. Perhaps most delightful are the scenes where she and Violet Bridgerton scheme together in the hopes of making a match between Daphne and Simon. I also adored her club for married ladies, which, while far more Sarah MacLean than Julia Quinn in its energy, nevertheless provided a decadent glimpse of a women’s culture that existed beyond balls, the drawing room, and the modiste.
The inclusion of Queen Charlotte might be the strangest innovation of the show, but at times there were real payoffs. In particular, I loved the scene where Simon must convince the queen of his feelings for Daphne so that they can procure a special license, and he delivers a heartfelt speech about friendship that underscores what it is about these two beautiful but uncommunicative people that makes them fall so deeply in love. The queen’s reaction in that moment was the perfect topper. I do ultimately think this character was a touch overused, though once again perfect casting saves her from ever growing wearisome.
Perhaps the only addition that seemed entirely unnecessary was Lord Featherington, whose presence set certain plot wheels in motion, but who never greatly contributed anything to the story — except, perhaps, the occasion for Lady Featherington’s rather magnificent speech in the final episode about marriage without love. Based on that final episode, however, and the apparent search for the Featherington heir, it does seem that his death during the events of the show — rather than well prior to it — will serve some function next season.
As for Marina, whom I’d argue is the most important of the added characters, I found myself going back and forth about her presence as I watched, in large part because as a book reader, it took me a long time to figure out how she fit in, other than to give Penelope and Colin something to do this season. The twist ending of her marriage to Sir Phillip now has me concerned that she’ll be the Marina of To Sir Phillip whose suicide haunts Phillip and his children … but it is my hope that instead, the show might offer us a glimpse into a marriage of convenience turned marriage of love between these two. Eloise can find a different love interest when her time comes. Marina deserves far better than to be fridged.
I admit that I do still think she could’ve been fleshed out a bit more — her background especially is a mere sketch — but even so, within the context of the season as a whole, I eventually found that Marina’s presence not only works but is vital.
That’s because I realized that the show, from the first episode to the last, is deeply concerned with the consequences of women’s ignorance of their own bodies and the societal refusal to talk (with women) about sex.
When Penelope asks Marina how she got pregnant, Marina says, “Love.” Of course she must’ve had sex with Sir George, but what’s important to Marina, what she emphasizes repeatedly, is that she and George loved each other. While it’s never directly stated, one gets the impression that the possibility of pregnancy never came up when she slept with George — just love. Once the consequences of her pregnancy set in, however, Marina realizes that love is not enough to sustain her in a society built on shame and the control of women’s bodies. “Love” is an intangible dream when she faces poverty and ruin, when she is reduced to flesh to be appraised by men who might deign to marry her, when she must lie and scheme to hide the bodily truth of her condition. Eventually she attempts to induce a miscarriage, and when this fails, a (male) doctor sneeringly asks how she could possibly believe tea could end a pregnancy. But, as we see with other characters throughout the show, how is she to know better?
It is quite funny when Eloise bursts into the drawing room of the Bridgerton household demanding how women become pregnant, only to have her mother tell her to shush and her brothers make jokes she doesn’t understand, but within the scope of the show, this scene is a warning, too. And it sets us up for much of the conflict that follows.
Especially when it comes to Daphne.
Daphne’s mother will plot and pray for her wedding but won’t tell her what will happen on her wedding night. Her brother will kill his best friend to defend her honor but gives her no warnings about the realities of sex. Her husband teaches her about masturbation and intercourse and pleasure — but neglects to mention the mechanics of pregnancy.
I do not want to use this post to dissect the controversial scene in which Daphne manipulates Simon so that he ejaculates inside of her (I actually think I might write a separate post devoted to that subject), but I do want to point to the way in which Daphne’s realization about how pregnancy works makes her bitter not only toward Simon but also toward her mother, and, by extension, society as a whole. After she and Simon become estranged, Daphne loses her temper with her mother precisely because she failed to teach her what she needed to know, because convention dictates that sex is unspeakable even for a woman who’s given birth to eight children. Meanwhile, her anger toward Simon does come in part from his unilateral refusal (rather than inability) to have a child, but it is also motivated by a sense of broken trust. She believed that he was the one person who was honest with her, the one who treated her as a whole person, a friend and partner — and still he withheld important information about his capabilities and, more damningly, her body.
After Simon ejaculates inside Daphne, he asks with horror, “What have you done?” Having fled across the room, appearing devastated and defiant all at once, Daphne replies that she’d hoped it was nothing, but Simon’s reaction tells her that she’s wrong. What this reveals is that when Daphne makes a calculated decision to go against Simon’s wishes, her true intent is not to trick Simon into impregnating her, but to prove to herself that he hasn’t been deceiving her. (Simon’s protestation that he assumed Daphne knew how pregnancy works rings false given that a few scenes earlier she felt she needed to ask him if ejaculation hurts; clearly, she is not an expert on the subject of sex.)
Again, this isn’t to say that Daphne doesn’t do anything wrong in this scene; rather, I merely want to emphasize the show’s focus on the ways in which young women being kept in ignorance harms not only those women — endangering their lives, their bodies, their freedoms, as we see in the case of Marina — but also poisons relationships. Sex requires self-knowledge, openness, communication. So does love. Without those things, what is left is uncomfortable, even upsetting. It’s not sustainable. If genre romance is about how to make love overcome obstacles, then it should be no surprise that characters in historical romance must so often contend with the unspeakability of sex and the deliberately maintained ignorance of women — conditions that, if replicated within the relationship, can only lead to broken trust.
As cheesy as it is, it matters that the final scene of Daphne and Simon has them together in the same room as Daphne gives birth. Their “happily ever after” is achieved not solely through Simon’s acceptance of his own worth and the couple’s eventual parenthood, but by the removal of societally-maintained barriers regarding their health and their bodies. Unlike Simon’s father, who kept away from his wife while she birthed his heir, unconcerned and willfully ignorant about the state of her health, Simon is at Daphne’s side the entire time.
So, there you have it. Bridgerton, while imperfect, is enjoyable, sexy, lavish, and perfectly-cast, and it offers an intriguing if incomplete critique of sexual mores that prevent women from knowing themselves and their bodies. I must admit, I am truly eager for the next season (and the iconic bee scene). For the first major non-Austen Regency romance production, Bridgerton does a pretty damn good job, and I hope it opens the door for other romance novel adaptations in the future. (Personally, I’d love to see Sarah MacLean’s Rules of Scoundrels series on screen. Can you imagine the Chase reveal?)
Let me know in the comments how you feel about this season of Bridgerton. If you’ve read the books, what did it get right and where did it miss the mark? And do let me know what romance novel (series) would you like to see adapted to television!