TW: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS DISCUSSIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT AND CONSENT.
I still can’t make up my mind about Bridgerton (2020). But that’s a bad way to start a review.
On the one hand it’s good fun – at most points, the show doesn’t take itself too seriously and leans into the comedy and drama that comes with combining regency romance with Gossip Girl. And it contains some of the most polarising sex scenes I’ve ever seen.
Bridgerton took the world by storm on Christmas Day just a few weeks ago, with viewers taking to TikTok to create hilarious parody videos and praise the show for its representation. Whilst it must be acknowledged that this representation is not perfect – there is a glaring lack of non-black POC in the cast and colourism remains an issue – it was refreshing to see representation that doesn’t come at the cost of having to provide endless context and justification for the existence of people who are not straight, white, and cisgender. That was until it wasn’t refreshing anymore.
Bridgerton raises many important questions about informed consent
What seems to be most striking about Bridgerton is the overall steaminess of it. Already, the internet is populated with videos of the Duke with the spoon and articles are popping up everywhere about where the more sexual scenes impress and disappoint. It’s disappointing to see how readily we brush off the marital rape scene between the Duke and Daphne Bridgerton. It doesn’t matter if they’re married, or that she is a woman – she continues to have sex with him despite the fact that he asks her to stop.
“we should worry about the lessons it teaches about sex and consent today”
In fact, Bridgerton raises many important questions about informed consent. Can someone truly consent to sex if they actually know what it is? There’s a power imbalance between Daphne and the Duke that goes beyond patriarchal and societal values. It’s not until after the infamous Wildest Dreams montage that Daphne has to sit down and ask her handmaid how babies are made. Because Bridgerton is a historical drama, we can’t spend much time worrying about what sex education looked like back then, but we should worry about the lessons it teaches about sex and consent today (including how anyone could enjoy lying down on a marble staircase to do the deed, or how the Duke somehow manages to last about a minute at a time or the fact that it seems to defend the pull-out method).
Timelines and continuity are questionable
Bridgerton’s purpose, at first, seems to be harmless fun. The representation is not questioned or highlighted: it is simply there, unquestionable. That is, until a jarring conversation between the Duke and Lady Danbury, where she informs him how lucky they are that King George fell in love with Queen Charlotte and that led to them being allowed to have rights. This therefore raises questions about timelines – Danbury has clearly grown up as a member of the ruling class and is the same age as Charlotte, if not older. The Duke’s father, too, was clearly nobility for a very long time prior to the King and Queen meeting (for generations, in fact). So, clearly, black people in the universe of Bridgerton have always been integrated into high society. And that’s before we consider the sickly implications of bowing and scraping before the King and thanking him for giving black people rights they should already have. Gross.
“Somebody, please, get this man some therapy.”
My recommendation is that you actually shouldn’t pay much attention to the main couple – as far as romances go, I found Daphne and the Duke pretty boring. Those of us that grew up on the internet are familiar with the ‘we’re in a fake relationship’ trope and their witty banter is one of the few times Daphne actually grows a personality, but once they realise they do actually like each other, it seems ridiculous that the Duke continues to cause problems. Somebody, please, get this man some therapy.
Their arguments with one another are wispy at best. Most of the time I couldn’t even remember why they were still arguing. In the grand scheme of things, life isn’t so bad for the Duke and Daphne and I found it a little disturbing that ten minutes into her honeymoon, Daphne is suddenly desperate for a baby (despite still being a child herself… and one who, once again, has to ask her handmaid how babies are actually made). Her mother has failed her and her many sisters: I don’t care if you think she’s an icon because she gets drunk in one episode and lectures her eldest son, Anthony, on how he can’t just go around sleeping with opera singers.
Also, I hate Daphne’s fringe. There. I said it. It’s really stupid looking.
Supporting characters are the real stars
Anthony Bridgerton, his younger sister Eloise, and the intrigue surrounding Marina and her baby are far more interesting – watching Jonathan Bailey angst across the screen in ridiculous sideburns was the highlight of my day. And, Nicola Coughlan is heart-breaking as Penelope Featherington. I feel she doesn’t get enough credit. Her friendship with Eloise (Claudia Jessie), who steals every scene she is in, every expression a Picasso painting of budding feminism, is adorable. Penelope is a fascinating character. Without giving too much away, she is a young woman intelligent enough to understand what’s going on around her with terrifying clarity, while important information is withheld from her, leading to epic consequences when she finally begins to act on her feelings.
In future seasons, of which there could be eight, I hope Bridgerton elaborates on some of the threads its started to pull on and that it addresses where it has so far been lacking. Though, if I have to mentally prepare myself for eight seasons of over-wrought, heterosexual drama, I may have to bow out.
Maddy Raven
Featured image courtesy of Mike Smith on Unsplash. Image license can be found here. No changes were made the the image.