When Bridgerton landed on Netflix in the first December of the pandemic, the Regency-era soap felt like a much-needed (read: horny) respite from the real world. Breakout star Regé-Jean Page’s charisma was off the charts as the Duke of Hastings, as was his chemistry with co-star Phoebe Dynevor as Daphne Bridgerton. So great was the couple’s success, in fact, that fan rage over Page’s planned exit ahead of Season 2 caught even Shonda Rhimes by surprise.
The Viscount Who Loved Me, upon which Bridgerton Season 2 (premiering Friday on Netflix) is based, turns its gaze to Anthony Bridgerton. The eldest brother of the brood, Anthony was forced to grow up too fast after his father’s sudden death by bee sting. In Season 1, we watched his torrid affair with opera singer Siena go up in flames. Now he’s sworn off of love—but two new arrivals in town, the Sharma sisters, test that resolve.
Swapping romantic leads each season means that Bridgerton must woo its audiences over and over again, and this season’s script does its leads no favors. Romance lovers know better than anyone that a good enemies-to-lovers arc can redeem any character, and Jonathan Bailey’s controversial Viscount is no exception. But the delicious froth of last season has curdled into something a little murkier here. Sex scenes are few and far between, and even the hot-and-heavy interludes feel somehow… chaste. At the risk of sounding crass, I must ask: Where did all the butt shots go?
Incoming leads Simone Ashley and Charithra Chandran make the most of what they’re given, even if the writing occasionally feels thin. As big sister Kate Sharma, Sex Education’s Ashley is outspoken, sharp-witted and competitive. Chandran’s Edwina is just as intelligent as her sister but far more agreeable; her voice is like an effervescent song, while Kate’s specializes in silver-tongued rebukes.
Anthony, who is dead set on finding the best possible trophy wife, decides that Edwina seems like the most logical match. Kate is hellbent on giving her sister the space to find true love, so naturally she does not approve. But as Quinn’s readers and any romance fan will recognize instantly, Anthony and Kate’s constant sparring is merely foreplay for a passionate tryst.
If only this season ever delivered the goods! Unfortunately, it never quite delivers.
There’s heat between Ashley and Bailey, but the delicious, simmering tension of Season 1 never comes. Rather than a slow boil, Anthony and Kate’s relationship sputters through all the familiar beats without much rhythm. The crackling arguments, gasping emotional beats, and some admittedly hot glove play are all there, but the spark is not. For two people who have allegedly been dying to rip each other’s clothes off, dread seems to torture these supposedly lusty souls more often than desire. It’s a mood killer!
Also a little limp? The explanation showrunner Chris van Dusen provided for this season’s diminished libido.
“It was never about quantity for us,” van Dusen recently told the Radio Times. “We use these intimate scenes to tell a story and to push the story forward. We’ve never done a sex scene for the sake of doing a sex scene, and I don’t think we ever will.”
Ashley noted that her and Bailey’s characters are both defined by their sense of duty—“so for them to break that wouldn’t have made sense for the characters.”
“And as Chris has said,” she added, “they aren’t performative sex scenes or intimate scenes. They have a meaning behind them and I think it’s very earned when the fireworks happen.”
But isn’t romance as a genre built on the idea that sex is a deep form of communication in its own right? Doesn’t this form flourish precisely because it does not treat sex as something that must be “earned?” Aren’t these boring statements of morality the exact thing last season flouted with its copious, luxuriant ass shots? Bridgerton, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore!
That’s not to say that there’s nothing to recommend this season. Phoebe Dynevor’s occasional appearances as Daphne—now with a baby in tow—are delightful, most of all when she seizes every opportunity to quietly roast her brother. Eloise, now the foremost Bridgerton sister, is as awkwardly amusing as ever as she navigates the debutante dating scene. Benedict is exploring his future in the arts, and there’s some very Austen-ian intrigue going on over at the Featherington’s, where Nicola Coughlan’s Penelope is struggling to keep her cover as the secret town gossip, Lady Whistledown.
In the end, however, Bridgerton Season 2 still feels like a tease. Once a euphoric romp, the series now has the energy of someone who couldn’t bring themselves to say “cocksure” aloud in a writing circle. You hate to see it.
