Some have condemned Bridgerton of failing to confront the serious topic of racial prejudice, and instead depicting a fantasy world where racism doesn’t seem to exist. This is one thing I like about the series—different races and colours of people all mix beautifully in the drawing rooms of Mayfair. It’s quite refreshing that no one bats an eye at interracial couples—it’s not even a topic of conversation. No, it is not race that Bridgerton takes too lightly—it’s sex.
The second part of season three contains a very (very) long scene of premarital sex (it’s so bright—why is it so bright?), and this is not seen as a big deal. Yes, there’s always been sex in Bridgerton, but largely after marriage. In season one, Daphne and Simon had to get married simply because they were caught alone together. Not so in season three. Penelope and Colin get down to business in broad daylight and no one seems to notice that they’ve disappeared together. This clashes with one of the show’s main themes, which is the plight of unmarried women who are stuck at home, unable to exist unchaperoned until they are married. This has been Penelope’s predicament ever since season one—she has no choice but to sit at home with her cruel, overbearing mother, destined to remain a wallflower forever. That’s why she takes to writing Lady Whistledown in the first place, to briefly taste the freedom and power which she is likely never to experience herself.
But Penelope isn’t stuck at home; she’s practically living in Sex and the City, meeting up for rendezvous during the day and writing a gossip column late at night. Season three exposes the unsolvable predicament created by the Bridgerton universe: you can’t replicate the restraint and decorum of the Regency era if your characters are having lots of casual sex. It doesn’t work. If unmarried men and women can meet in secret as lightly as they have afternoon tea, then there is no urgency for young women to find a husband. They may as well carry on as they are. Bridgerton’s more successful season one placed greater consequence on scandal, and as such Lady Whistledown’s revelations had much greater effect. With one column she could ruin a young lady’s prospects forever. Season three part II continues to centre on the great mystery of Lady Whistledown’s true identity which, by episode eight, has become so tedious that the final revelation has little to no effect on the characters. Even the queen, Whistledown’s most dogged detective, doesn’t care by the end. The main conflict of season three was supposed to be Penelope’s inability to fill both roles of devoted wife and public figure with power and influence. By the end she has no trouble in marrying the two. Turns out the emotional stakes are small as well— when they discover her betrayal, Penelope’s mother forgives her, her husband forgives her; everyone forgives her within two episodes.
The one who suffers most in this season is the stuffy yet forlorn Cressida Cowper. Originally Penelope and Eloise’s social nemesis, Cressida befriended Eloise when her friendship with Penelope broke down. Still proud and cutting, yet she sometimes shows just a hint of kindness. In this season Cressida shows us vulnerability too; her father values her only for her potential dowry, and her mother is too emotionally repressed to defend her. Then Eloise drops Cressida like only petty girls can, and the door on Cressida’s inner world is shut again. She’s still in dire straits, threatened with disownment or banishment to rural Wales with a monstrous aunt; but too bad for her. Once Eloise moves on, Cressida gets the axe. Some fans of the series are ‘traumatised’ by its treatment of Cressida: ‘I can’t forgive them,’ says one, (perhaps a touch overdramatic). I kept waiting for her so-called friend Eloise to soften, to help her in some small way, to at least feel bad about it. But all she says is, ‘We can’t be friends anymore.’
Eloise is awful this season. At one time, her sarcastic remarks brought levity to the series; now she just sounds cruel and bitter. And then there’s Benedict: Bridgerton’s embodiment of YOLO. Benedict’s season three story arc goes like this: the passionate but listless second brother searches for the meaning of life, and finds the answer one night when he has a threesome. That’s it. The series openly promotes threesomes as a viable, fulfilling answer for finding lasting love and connection. How does it justify this position? Well, Benedict ‘has an abundance of love to give,’ he tells his lovers, and they nod sagely. This is supposed to move us to reflect that yes, we should be rooting for three horny socialites as much as those searching for true love and commitment. The older woman Benedict has been sleeping with all season eventually admits that she loves him and wants to be exclusive. But no. That would infringe on Benedict’s ‘freedom’, a state that apparently can only be reached by being untethered and not responsible for other people. Does Bridgerton really want us to sympathise with this cad? If so, they should have at least cast a better actor. Benedict (Luke Thompson) can flash his boyish grin as much as he wants; I’m not won over.
Bridgerton’s reputation for steamy sex scenes has gotten the better of it. One can just imagine the producers scratching their heads, trying to come up with the next outrageous bit of nudity which will spark controversy throughout the country (the headlines: ‘Commuters watching Bridgerton on train near children’). The story has suffered; it’s tacked together with coloured ribbon and contrived twists. Might as well just watch soft porn with lace and ruffs.
