Bridgerton Season 2 review: A woke Mills & Boon-like saga that gets somewhat tedious

Simone Ashley as Kate Sharma in 'Bridgerton' Season 2. (Image: Netflix)

The release of Season 1 of Bridgerton on the Christmas of 2020 was fortuitous beyond belief. For quarantined, touch-deprived millions across the world, a 19th-century, race-agnostic, steamy romance and costume drama (based on Julia Quinn’s popular romance novels), was a kind of a panacea, an elixir even. Bridgerton became one of Netflix’s most watched series ever.

As a burlesque involving selfish viscounts, guileful ladies and a central romance between the grouchy duke of colour Simon Basset (Rege-Jean Page) and the delicate yet wilful Daphne Bridgerton (Phoebe Dynevor), Bridgerton Season 1 worked best when not trying to be serious. The creator Chris Van Dusen’s version of 19th-century England swept aside historical accuracy in order to graft contemporary identity politics onto a period piece—making it slightly tangential but not without sass and wit. The romance, and a mysterious society whistleblower and gossip columnist Lady Whistledown (voiced by Julie Andrews) kept the suspense going in this one-of-a-kind Netflix version of a woke Mills & Boon-style saga.

Those who made it till the last episode of Season 1 know who the gossip vigilante was. Well, the rest of the London society Season 2 is set in, including Queen Charlotte (Golda Rosheuvel) with fantastical hair-dos, don’t know. That makes up for some suspense this season, which dropped on Netflix on March 25, also produced by Shonda Rhimes. But the real heroes of Season 2 are the Sharma sisters—Kate (Simone Ashley) and Edwina (Charithra Chandran). Daphne is a peripheral presence, having been victorious in her battle to find sexual and emotional fulfilment with Simon, the love of her life. Rege-Jean Page, a breakout sensation, isn’t in Season 2. The focus shifts to Daphne’s imperious brother Anthony (Jonathan Bailey) and his pursuit of Edwina, a woman groomed to be at the courting seasons of London by her fiercely protective sister Kate. The Bridgerton family’s backstory expands but without much substance or narrative grist, as the relationship between the matriarch Violet (Ruth Gemmell) and Anthony, which was nascent with the promise of development, is explored further.

Queen Charlotte (Golda Rosheuvel) with the fantastical hair-dos. (Image: Netflix)

The couple at the centre, Kate and Anthony, share a similar baggage of familial responsibilities and moral rectitude, which makes them somewhat too heavy on the siblings and the friends around them. Both are first-borns, both place duty before their own desires. How Pride & Prejudice! Kate is adamant about her belief that her sister will have a fulfilling life with Anthony, after which she will move to Bombay to be a governess. Anthony is more Darcy than Kate is Elizabeth—his outward arrogance and callousness a hard cover for his inner softness. The endless exposition of the spark between Anthony and Kate gets somewhat tedious, because of which, given the ahistorical setting, Season 2’s Austenesque moral gaze minus the sweep of an Austen novel’s delicate architecture of Victorian society and manners feels quaint and soppy.

The production is far more grand, with a highly-accented girly aesthetic. The hairdos are more decadent, the jewels, sequins and pearls are far more sparkly and intense and string quartet versions of Miley Cyrus and Alanis Morissette numbers continue to background the action. Madonna’s Material Girl on string quartet works wonderfully well.

The show’s biggest triumph is the Indian heroine. Ashley is a show stealer as the gutsy as well as vulnerable Kate. In 2022, a slow-burn romance between a Viscount and a Miss Sharma whose royal lineage is questionable set in 19th entry Regency-era London is a rip-roaring fantasy—a fantasy that has some truly endearing moments albeit too drawn out and prudish.

Bridgerton Season 2, much more than Season 1, took me right back to my 13-year-old self, reading Mills & Boon books while pretending to finish my homework—which was great, except if I wasn’t reviewing it, I wouldn’t endure eight long episodes of complicated matchmaking and ballroom intrigue and go straight to the inevitable moment between Miss Sharma and her Lord.