Many of the elements that make up a typical Jane Austen story are found in the Netflix series Bridgerton. It’s set in 19th century England and revolves around an upper-class family named Bridgerton. The series is based on the books of Julia Quinn, who authored the nine books of the Bridgerton series, published between 2000 and 2013. She’s famous for creating anachronistic heroines who tend to be too modern for their eras.
For this novel series, Quinn created a parallel universe—an England where racial equality is the most prominent characteristic. In her London’s Regency era, nobility isn’t exclusive to Caucasians. Anglo-Africans can also be granted aristocratic titles. The explanation: George III wrote this law, his wife Charlotte was part African, and this makes him as liberal as the current King Charles. (The story of George III and Charlotte is told in the spin-off series Queen Charlotte.)
But in typical Jane Austen fashion, the Bridgerton matriarch is preoccupied with finding a suitable spouse for her daughters. Having the proper breeding, heritage, and attractive looks makes it easier for one to snag a duke. It would be the end of the world for them if they didn’t. So it’s imperative for the young ladies to make a strong impression upon their presentation to the queen. The girl’s stock is given a considerable boost if she makes a positive impact on the queen and her aristocratic “board of judges.”
A lavish production, Bridgerton even has Julie Andrews serving as narrator. She amusingly does it in the way a gossip/high society columnist would. Much of the cast is competent, but the standout is Adjoah Ando. She plays an indomitable mover and shaker of the upper class. She’s Bridgerton’s answer to Downton Abbey’s Maggie Smith. Ms. Ando makes her co-stars seem like peasants.
Female viewers will probably swoon over the handsome Simon Basset, who plays the most eligible bachelor in the show. Basset, however, plays a duke who’s intent on remaining single—at least during the show’s first season. He thus chooses to project an aloof public persona. Ingratiating or romantic he isn’t. It’s easier to imagine him as the next James Bond. The producers of the Bond movies should seriously consider him.
While the rest of the cast do well in their roles, they fail to make us empathize with their characters. They come off as arrogant, unsympathetic, and more like gossip girls in period costumes. We have no one to root for here. We’re even left hoping these women end up as spinsters living in poverty. Better yet, they make us wish the French Revolution had extended across the English Channel.
The dialogue has wit, but somehow the actors don’t deliver it as effectively as they should. In the long run, each actor seems like to be merely doing his aristocratic schtick. We’re also often left disappointed by a build-up that leads to an uneventful scene. For instance, when our Bridgerton matriarch is summoned by the queen, the household goes into a flurry of excitement. Yet when she finally comes face to face with Her Majesty, nothing memorable occurs.
But what distinguishes the show is the fact that many of the characters are originally written as black. This isn’t about a cast composed of marginalized actors taking on familiar characters who happen to be Caucasian. It’s not like Little Orphan Annie being played by a black child actress. Actually, fairy tales and most musicals make the ideal material for a diverse cast. Realism and historical accuracy are less important in those two genres. Disney’s remake of Rogers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella is an excellent example. Singer Brandy was a perfect fit for the magical glass slippers, and Paolo Montalban was charming as the prince. (Snow White, however, is subject to debate, as her name requires an actress to have skin as white as snow.)
In Bridgerton, seeing black actors act with a stiff upper lip offers a unique viewing experience. However, the novelty wears off after the third episode. That’s when we the viewers become color-blind. Yet the show isn’t as progressive as one might think. Racial equality is the only asset it has going for it. The rest of the prejudices of 19th century British aristocrats remain intact. Body-shaming, ageism, sexism, and discrimination of certain creeds, the lower classes, opera singers and single mothers, thrive in Julia Quinn’s alternate universe.
This makes us want to ask the author: Just what’s the point of all this? Her treatise on racial equality becomes moot as it merely provides another race—and a lot more people—with the chance to discriminate against the rest of the marginalized population.
It would be more intriguing to see a similar show set in the American South during the same period. Anyone for black cotton plantation owners rubbing elbows with Scarlett O’Hara in the barbecue party in Tara? Whether or not an American Civil War could occur in this parallel universe should make an interesting presupposition.
