On binging 'Bridgerton'
On binging 'Bridgerton'
Thoughts on how the Netflix hit handles love, sex, and #Polin
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It’s a truth universally acknowledged that I seem like the kind of person who would’ve watched Bridgerton before now. I love period pieces. I love romantic dramas. And I love big, zeitgeist-y pop culture shows. Yet there was a certain tacky sheen to the smutty Netflix Regency romance that kept me away.
My Instagram algorithm didn’t know that, however. So for the past few years, I’ve been following the show mostly via Insta reels—as fans praised the structural revamp of season two, cried their eyes out over the Queen Charlotte spinoff, and hyped up Nicola Coughlan as the show’s first plus-sized female lead for season three. All that influencing apparently worked because when the first half of that third season hit Netflix last weekend, I finally broke down and binged the entire series. And while I expected (and, to some degree, got) vapid escapism, the constantly evolving romance series also gave me a surprising amount to chew on as well.
Produced by Shonda Rhimes and based on a series of early 2000s romance novels written by Julia Quinn, Bridgerton became an unexpected cultural sensation when it premiered on Netflix Christmas 2020. With its over-the-top costuming, pop-infused orchestral score, casually diverse casting, and titillating sex scenes, the series offered a horny mid-pandemic escape for an audience trapped in their homes. Millions of viewers fell for the tortured romance between crown jewel debutante Daphne Bridgerton (Phoebe Dynevor) and the brooding Duke of Hastings (Regé-Jean Page). But the show really solidified itself as a series that could last with season two, which handed the reigns over to Daphne’s older brother Anthony (Jonathan Bailey) and his enemies-to-lovers romance with “spinster” Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley)—all while paring back the sex and upping the character development into something much more three-dimensional.
I’ve never seen a jump in quality quite like it, with season two embracing all the nuance and emotional complexity that was lacking from the bolder, bawdier debut season. Though season one had a general “patriarchy bad” throughline, it’s the sort of simplistic period drama that has women railing against the tyranny of corsets in an era in which women didn’t even wear them. Season two, however, leans into themes of responsibility, duty, and family loyalty in a way that feels specific to the period setting but also broadly relatable to modern audiences too. Where Daphne and the Duke were basically hot, dumb jocks connecting on a purely carnal level, Anthony and Kate are two principled, flawed intellectuals whose personalities complement and contrast each other.
Still, while season two is objectively better written, I get why season one has its ardent fans. There’s not just a shift in quality at play between the two seasons, there’s an entire shift in subgenres too. Season two takes its cues from a Jane Austen novel, blending Sense and Sensibility, Emma, and Pride and Prejudice into a slow burn romance about two clever protagonists struggling against the social mores of their time. Season one, meanwhile, embodies a “paperback romance novel” in the most stereotypical sense—all archetypal characters, contrived plot points, and bodice-ripping sex scenes. Where season two mines its sexual tension from within the rigid, repressed rules of the Regency era (its hottest moments are when its leads aren’t kissing), season one subverts its prim and proper setting to imagine the down and dirty reality of what really happened behind closed doors (and on staircases and open lawns, apparently). If that sort of hot and heavy romance is your thing, season one is always going to appeal more.
Given the two very different camps of Bridgerton fans that now exist, it’s been fascinating to watch season three try to figure out how it wants to tell the friends-to-lovers story of long-time supporting players Colin Bridgerton (Luke Newton, playing another of the eight Bridgerton siblings) and his wallflower neighbor Penelope Featherington (Nicola Coughlan). Though the emotional complexities of season two continue here (particularly for Penelope), there’s also a conscious attempt to return to the smuttiness of season one as well, which has been a major selling point on the show’s press tour. But in trying to appeal to everyone, I worry this season runs the risk of selling itself short.
While new showrunner Jess Brownell has described this season as a lighthearted rom-com, I actually wish the show had learned into that concept more and really embraced the idea that each season of Bridgerton has an entirely different tone to match its new set of leads. Because while there’s a bit of rom-com sweetness as Penelope enlists her long-time crush to help her find a husband, it also feels like the season is more interested in bending Colin and Penelope towards the sultry, serious Bridgerton tone, rather than shifting the show to match their original personalities.
Colin, for instance, gets a completely random bad boy makeover to bring him more in line with the swoon-worthy precedent set by the Duke and Anthony. And while Penelope’s self-made glow-up is much more earned, her character arc is shaky at best; she’s somehow both stepping into her confidence and having an emotional breakdown in every episode. While the strength of season two came from how much time it took to lay out its central arc, the show is now back to cramming a whole lot of tropes (and subplots) into a very brief amount of time in order to get to all the lusty stuff quicker. And that leaves too little room for the pleasure of just watching our two leads hang out and be charming together, which is key to making a friends-to-lovers romance work.
I’m invested enough in Colin and Penelope as characters that I still enjoyed watching these first four episodes (and I’m curious to see what we’ll get from the next four that debut in June). But I was hoping for the kind of thoughtful, transformative character work we got for Anthony in season two, and found myself wanting.
Indeed, binging so much Bridgerton in such a short period of time really clarified for me that the number one thing I want from a romance is specific, well-defined characters, which is why a minor love story for the introverted, piano-loving Bridgerton sister Francesca (Hannah Dodd) felt like such a breath of fresh air. Specificity is what elevates a romance from a collection of tropes to a story that’s actually emotionally engaging. And it’s that sense of specificity that I hope the season focuses on in its back half—and not just in its dialogue scenes.
As one of my friends pointed out as I texted her throughout my binge watch, all the sex scenes on Bridgerton tend to have the same brooding, ultra-serious quality to them. (“As if all the characters are going to burst into tears whenever they start fucking each other,” as she put it.) And while the show tries to justify Colin’s brothel-dwelling bad boy revamp as him running away from his true self and “putting up armor,” in retrospect it seems more like a roundabout way for his first sex scene with Penelope to have the same “experienced man ravishes innocent woman” quality that has defined all of Bridgerton’s central couples. Which makes for a sexy enough sequence, sure, but also feels like a missed opportunity to mix things up in a more character-centric way.
The first two seasons presented Colin as the rare aristocratic man who’s as innocent, inexperienced, and hopelessly romantic as the women he’s courting, which seems like a great basis for building a sweet, funny, more rom-com-y moment of intimacy. Instead, we get a steamy carriage-set scene that’s cut and paste from what we’ve seen from the show in the past, with only some sweet post-coital laughter to convey what makes Colin and Penelope’s connection different than the show’s previous central couples. The carriage scene works as a patented “Bridgerton moment,” but it also feels more formulaic than organic.
Of course, the fact that Netflix has only released half the season so far makes it hard to truly judge how well Colin and Penelope’s love story works in totality. Brownell has promised there will be more lighthearted sex scenes that foreground their friends-first dynamic. And it’s possible their arcs will work better when we see them play out in full. But it also feels like Bridgerton is at something of a crossroads over whether it wants to be an actual character-centric dramedy or just a Steamy Sex Show™. Ideally it can be both. But for that, dear reader, we’ll have to wait for June to find out.
Other stuff I’ve worked on lately: I’m reviewing (and really enjoying!) the new season of Doctor Who over on Episodic Medium. I also tweeted my way through my Bridgerton binge, if you want a live-blog experience
Lovely review! And I must say, Colin's bad boy makeover was truly so random and sudden I felt as though it gave me whiplash. However, I find a way to continue loving this show no matter what the missteps.
Love that you came around and agree so much on the superiority of S2 and wanting S3 to be more distinct. It needed more John Hughes Some Kind of Wonderful zaniness.