‘We all know the story of Henry VIII and his wives,’ My Lady Jane begins. We don’t all know the story of Lady Jane Grey, Henry’s great-niece who became queen briefly before Bloody Mary had her killed. A pawn in the male courtiers’ political game, Jane was called a traitor and died before her eighteenth birthday. To this, Amazon’s new TV series says: ‘Fuck that.’
My Lady Jane tells the poor queen’s story as a teenage girl might envision it: nighttime escapades in dangerous taverns, brushes with the palace guard, raunchy gossip with the maids. If you’re young and restless, there’s much here that might appeal. If you’re a grown woman (and a mother), you might raise an eyebrow. There’s a lot of ‘rumpy-pumpy’, as the narrator calls it. Emily Bader plays Jane, the rebellious young noblewoman who, by all accounts, is ‘a bit of a pain in the ass.’ In the first episode she insults her family’s benefactor, runs away (twice) and scuppers her own wedding by pretending to fall ill with the help of her little sister’s fake blood. The mother is not happy. Jane’s relationship with her mother (Anna Chancellor, poised as ever) mirrors Cinderella’s and her wicked stepmother, if Cinderella was as rude and annoying as a teen in an American sitcom. Mother Frances arranges Jane’s engagement without her consent: (‘You mercenary bitch,’ says Jane). But Jane is far too adventurous to settle down, and far too stubborn to do what her mother says. With the help of her promiscuous handmaid, she scarpers. But Jane’s not very good at escaping and soon she’s back under her mother’s roof, angrier and more desperate than ever. Entirely convinced that she knows best, this Jane joyfully captures the selfish determination of the late teen years. Her insistence that she will make her own way is charming if misguided. She has no clue what she’s in for when she runs away—but then, what teen does?
During her brief dash for freedom, Jane comes across a rugged, bad-boy knife-thrower in a crowded pub and it’s ‘lust at first sight.’ Edward Bluemel plays her heartthrob, Guildford Dudley, whose reputation precedes him. His cocky glances and half-smiles have seduced many ladies of ill-repute (so we’ve heard)—only Jane doesn’t know he’s her fiancé when she meets him, so it’s a bit of a shock when she sees him at the end of the aisle on her wedding day. Much has been made of the steamy chemistry between Bluemel and Bader. They certainly are a pleasure to watch, especially Bader’s sprightly Jane. The cast is full of comic actors enjoying themselves; Rob Brydon with a peal earring as Lord Dudley, Jane’s scheming father-in-law; a heavily-made up Jim Broadbent as Jane’s gouty, lech benefactor; and the delightful Anna Chancellor as mummy dearest. There’s also a foul-mouthed, sarcastic narrator with a posh accent who might make teenagers titter.
Is it enough? I’m not convinced. The barrage of tongue-in-cheek observations begins to wear; and the sex scenes which are meant to be funny begin to feel voyeuristic. I may be getting prudish with age but I certainly wouldn’t want my teenager watching this. Boy is there some raunchy stuff. There’s been some controversy about the show’s age ratings—some saying the 14+ or even 16+ is too low, and I’m tempted to agree. Given that the YA books are aimed at 12+ it’s a bit shocking that the TV series has full-on BDSM and explicit oral sex scenes. But hey, the actors aren’t technically fully naked, so who cares?
Written and produced by a mostly-female team, My Lady Jane is clearly going for female empowerment and independence in a historically restrictive setting. Girl power in girdles. Hence why there are so many naked male butts and comparatively few female ones. Women get their rocks off right and left and men don’t get a look in. Like Bridgerton, My Lady Jane seems to promote casual sex as fun and harmless, even empowering for young women; something about the historical settings seems to give license to this. But unlike the other elements of wish fulfilment in the story, promoting casual sex isn’t necessarily a harmless thing.
Bobbing alongside these Tudors’-level sex scenes, there is also a fantasy subplot involving mythical beings called ‘Ethians’, ie people who can transition at will into a particular animal. The rest of the population are called ‘Verities’, and they tend to view Ethians as sub-humans. Jane is fascinated by this secret caste of citizens and comes face to face with it in unexpected ways. Jane is also cousin to the poorly King Edward (Jordan Peters, adorable) whose royal sister Mary takes an awfully strong interest in what he eats. Could it be she wants him dead? Poison maybe? Surely not. Royal siblings are famously loyal. The royal succession plot which is at the heart of the Queen Jane story wrestles with all the sexy stuff and the Ethian-versus-Verities business in a confused way, and although the fantastical element is a significant plot point it still feels a bit tacked on— also somehow weird alongside all the explicit sex. Props to My Lady Jane for the witty narrator and sparkling cast—the Tudor BDSM I could do without.
