I have been an unabashed, naive lover of romantic comedy for years. Still, I was surprised by how much I learned from numerous interviews of the male lead of the Bridgerton romantic comedy, Rege Jean Page. He has a lot to say about culture, literature, drama, movies—and Bridgerton. So much that I decided a blog was in order. But an analysis, not a review. With the added interview input from Rege, a new video paradigm is both confirmed and enhanced. So, here goes.
First, let’s dispose of the notion from several critics that the Bridgerton series is escapism. Saying a movie is an escape is different than saying it’s escapist. Chris Van Dusen, the writer-producer said the series was a “great escape for the holidays,” not that the series itself is escapist. Calling the series escapist is a sign the critic is either attention seeking or a certified ignoramus. At its core, escapism is the tendency to seek distraction and relief from unpleasant realities, especially by seeking entertainment or engaging in fantasy. Escapist behavior typically involves things like substance abuse, compulsive gambling, reckless driving, or dangerous sports. Generally, they are behaviors that put your health or wellbeing at risk, things you wouldn't normally do, and might regret later. Rather than escapist, in some ways, Bridgerton is, among other things, a social statement. And Rege emphasizes that point.
Romantic comedy, like Bridgerton, is fiction—and all good fiction is rhetorical. Good fiction, like Bridgerton, influences—it persuades and creates. It does things to its audience. The Bridgerton series is a fascinating, and—yes—superb romantic comedy. It’s romantic in the sense that the plot circles around feelings of excitement and mystery in love. It’s comedy in the technical sense: the plot moves along by the wit and wisdom of the characters in the story. In Bridgerton, uniquely, a terrific number of characters move the plot. And it is also fantasy in that it creates images that are on occasion unrealistic or improbable. Images that we might desire in our dreams—what some writers label “magic.” This is the background for Shondaland’s new video paradigm.
By starting out with the notion of fiction, I’m emphasizing my belief that stories have the power to pull people together—or push them apart. Stories can also make relationships possible and even better. The genre of comedy, which Bridgerton is filled with, inevitably forces us to redo our values. Revaluing those underlying assumptions that guide our lives and behaviors, sometimes obviously and other times unconsciously. At least a third of the population is completely unaware of the impact of comedy, unaware of what it’s doing to them. Consequently, when people trust a power person, they can easily put themselves at the mercies of stories, stories that are going to unconsciously impact them. Very clearly, Trump’s stories, even though nutty, crazy and dead wrong, did it to several hundred non-thinking people—largely by mutual osmosis. Fiction can pull readers out of their heads. And we suffered on January 6 as a result.
So, in the following, I’ll analyze Bridgerton and call your attention to a number of important issues in the series, indicating that Shonda Rhimes’ Bridgerton is actually a new video paradigm.
Rege Jean Page
One of the things that caught my eye in the first episode was the fierce intelligence of the male lead, Rege Jean Page. As an exec coach, I’m always assessing the intelligence and abilities of a client. After more than fifty-years of assessing intelligence, these antennae are always up. Of course, a player can just be using the script he was given. But in this instance the actor’s verbal ability, accenting language, inserting verbal commas, subtle nonverbals, pauses, the ability to reflect feelings on the end of his consonants, the slight pause before punching the most important word in a sentence, the language not only with a glance, but evoking communication with his positioning, dance, hands, a simple ice-cream spoon (that hit Twitter and the internet like a bomb) and even a wine glass, all scream a rare dramatic intelligence. He’s Simon Bassett, Duke of Hastings and very much the societal heartthrob. “Darcy as a 21st century fuck-boy” is Page’s immortal description. Such dramatic intelligence focuses attention perfectly on his characterizations, suggesting there must be more to life, reshaping sensibilities and offering triumph over the challenges we inevitably face. His Bridgerton persona is so well developed, not just with his love partner, that what is offered through his dramatic intelligence drives the immense viewership of this Netflix blockbuster...
So, before I got beyond the first episode, I went searching for interviews to confirm my assessment of Rege Jean. Wow! The confirmation was a lot more than expected. Putting the 21st century into a 19th century context and watching the actors take it for granted was initially shocking. Not to be termed “diverse” or creating “color-blindness,” but, said Rege, “representative.” Representative of today’s world. A major revaluing in my thinking, more profound than initially obvious.
In several interviews, Rege Jean Page, this mixed-race son of a Zimbabwean nurse and an English preacher, was upfront about this paradigm shift. He noted insightfully, I think we are at a point where people are ready to see new versions of the world they thought they knew—in all kinds of ways. The social conversation is a point where the world we thought we knew is incomplete. Rather than just a comfortable pair of shoes (in our films), we want it all. More and more people want to join this train. It’s great to include them (non-white) in our stories. We have a long, long and sad history of excluding people in our stories. Of literally painting them out. There’s zero reason not to show them now.
As an aside, Rege’s physicality, demonstrated in both the boxing and sex scenes, supports the director’s personal surprise that he’s also become a sex object. With all that, you can be damned certain that there are plenty of young Caucasian women looking for a mixed-race object of their affections. And it’s just possible that he may be more important to race relations than tearing down the Confederate statues all over the nation. It’s also interesting that Trevor Noah, another mixed-race male (South African and Swiss), is easily the most capable, insightful, sophisticated, intelligent, hilarious and among the most well-paid, late-night hosts in the world. That’s a lot of adjectives, and a sample of two mixed-race men means nothing. But it sure as hell is intriguing!
What Rege, has to say about his character, the Duke of Hastings: He’s tall, dark, mysterious, shadowy, charming, a thoroughly broken, problematic man. He thinks he’s self-sufficient like a lot of men. With strength coming from isolation and pride. He has all the attraction and repulsion that goes with that. A great and glamorous shadow who needs to find himself. . . and learn how to love and be loved. A lot of his character is disabusing himself of these notions. . . from learning that strength comes from vulnerability, that strength comes from releasing pride with his vendetta against his own dead father. That it comes from loving and being loved.
Though Page can spit out the data in milliseconds, his warmth and respect are revealed again and again in joint interviews, situations where many actors would interrupt for the limelight—but Page holds back, rapt in his attention toward the other. Very, very unusual. It says an awful lot, not only about his intelligence, but also about his family and upbringing. This guy has been loved a great deal—and by a very intelligent, supportive family that by their actions gave him the knowledge that we are all community.
The best and most thorough interview is on Square Mile, The wonderful mind of Rege-Jean Page. But if you just want to see two older sophisticated English women quiver and shake in his presence, here are a couple more minutes on Graham Norton.
Phoebe Dynevor
As Daphne Bridgerton, Phoebe Dynevor’s character and chemistry with the Duke are flawless. Pay attention to the casting in plenty of B movies and you quickly realize that casting is often the key to movie’s success or failure. Brit females seem to have a slightly different look than Americans, emphasis on the verb, “seem.” Like Dynevor, they seem to be slightly fragile, a characteristic that is largely absent in American actresses. As Daphne Bridgerton, she consistently plays against her characteristic look of fragility, arguing with and educating the Duke and her brother—along with a right hook to a villainous suitor. It’s not just her acting ability, but her physical appearance that make her indispensable. The very first and second scenes with the Duke in episode one reveal her derogatory, fearless courage. Female power in historical romance is normally absent. That’s why Jane Austen’s Elizabeth is central to her story and from the same time period. Obviously, Daphne’s disrespectful comment takes the Duke by surprise and also captures his interest. Her interaction—throughout the series--moves the plot in such intriguing fashion that you’re forced to keep asking, “what next?” How often does a conflict with a woman capture a man’s interest? She’s never just an even-keeled, beautiful, soapy sex object. You can’t move your eyes--or ears--off her.
Dances
Though I’ve done little dancing, sat on a lot of sidelines, and occasionally gone to the ballet with my wife, I’d never really understood the function of dancing in drama. It was just fun, and sometimes a bit sexy. But in Bridgerton, the extravagant dance scenes play as big a role as the sex. Dancing appears in most of the Bridgerton episodes—and it is just magnificent. But dancing had been off the charts for me for years—until Rege Jean Page explained the importance of dance’s role in Bridgerton and all drama. Rege points out that once you start dancing, you get to be honest. I’d put it more strongly: you can’t keep from being honest. And that’s why dancing is so central to these stories. It’s not frivolous. The dances are the heart and soul of the story. Before I understood that, I was watching the dances to identify the point in which love became real between the two. It was surprisingly obvious in the middle of episode two, where they say one thing and dance another. The dance is where they can’t hide their feelings and there are numerous opportunities. But the dance at the end of episode one and the waltz at the end of episode eight are spectacular statements.
What’s unique about dance is very different than dialog and conversation which are inevitably three-level, what’s said, what’s meant and what’s underground. In business, the third level is usually politics and relationship commitments. Or, as I usually write, text, meaning and sub-text. The majority of people understand there’s a sub-text, but in business it’s difficult for 90% of them to understand the politics and relationships of the third level unless they know a lot about the context and people. But the dance, in contrast, is separate from dialogs and conversation. It’s the dance, the single level where Daphne and the Duke’s feelings are on display—where you learn the most about them just by observing.
Female characterizations
Unusual for historical romances, nearly all the female characterizations are very strong, not just that of Daphne Bridgerton, played by Phoebe Dynevor. Not only the lead, but also her mother, younger sister, the Queen and even Lady Featherington, who is determined to set up advantageous matches for her three daughters. And of course, there’s Julie Andrews, the scandalously, posh Greek Chorus—uh, narrator, who famously reads the role of Lady Whistledown. All these women step aside from the typical historical romance novel, playing very strong roles, easily conflicting on occasions with the Regency society’s male expectations. There are several instances where Vicountess Bridgerton chides her eldest son while recognizing his society-appointed role of family leadership. Her directness is painful for her son, but hilarious for the audience, especially when she points out to him that his best friend, the Duke of Hastings, may be a rake (a man habituated to immoral conduct, especially womanizing), but that she “subscribes to the position that reformed rakes make the very best of husbands.” That’s fabulous scripting.
But it is Lady Danbury (Adjoa Andoh), who, at the center of the action, is portrayed most vividly and distinctly throughout the entire series. Danbury’s basic task is to manage the plot, a task at which she succeeds famously. She has all the characteristics, all the emotions and all the power, power she is not afraid to use. She demands, supports, argues, interprets, invites, pulls together, pushes apart, observes, loves, teaches, laughs. She’s a bit of a cynic, too, but a very lovable one. Of course, she knows everyone—so she is the ultimate politician throughout the play—not the Queen.
My research into stock roles revealed no clear fit for the complexities of Lady Danbury. There’s a reason for that. Danbury is representative of a global, cultural shift and so no stock persona exists. She’s much more complicated and powerful than any of the previous stock personas. She facilitates the entire plot and is necessary for viewers to understand what’s going on in the plot as well as the global culture. The plot, of course, contains mixed races as well as Blacks and Whites. But it won’t work without a facilitator—and that’s Danbury.
From an archetypal perspective, Danbury represents Shonda Rhimes, the executive, producer, director, writer of Bridgerton. The Black Rhimes is facilitating the new world of culture, just as the Black Jim Clyburn facilitated the new world of the Democratic presidency. The basic tension in the play is like the tension in our world—can we (mixed races and whites) actually love and live with each other? Or will apartheid continue its messy past? The answer is revealed in in the mixed-race Danbury who facilitates the new white/black world. Of course, Bridgerton needs a Mitch McConnell, a corrupt, evil politician. He’s in Bridgerton, too, and his name is Lord Berbrooke—just as corrupt and manipulative as McConnell. Danbury stands aside while the Viscountess gets rid of Berbrooke. The Duke and Daphne’s marriage and child eventually confirm our potential for true democracy.
Five issues
There are at least five additional topics that need to be mentioned.
The ruse—deception—does not always appear in romance, but since it surfaced in the first episode and delivers throughout the eight episodes. It immediately directed my thinking to Shakespeare’s works. Bridgerton is set in 1813, during the Regency period, and a couple hundred years after Shakespeare. The ruse is used most conspicuously in Twelfth Night, but throughout Shakespeare’s dramatic works. It governs the relations between the characters, driving the plot and providing the devices that make sense of the action. The years between Shakespeare and the Regency were so very dangerous for the English populace that deception was a familiar behavior. It was so rampant that our recent four-year fiasco would bring laughter to the Brits of that world. Thus, deception in the form of a relational ruse is a familiar dramatic strategy, even though it’s rarely used this way in our movies. The exceptions are those numerous frothy B comedies where a woman takes a man she’s conned into the episode back home, telling everyone he’s her lover or husband.
There’s more than usual sex in the series, but the series is a romance, and . . .the sex is appropriate to the story strategy. I have never read a reviewer who knows how to write about human sexuality affectionately—they always have to build in the pejorative or the illicit. The terms that have been used to describe the Bridgerton sex are “steamy” and “raunchy.” Steamy has no pejoratives in its history, but tends to emphasize the depth of the sex. Raunchy means earthy, which is just fine. But it also means vulgar, of which there’s not an iota in the series. Even the brothel sex was stylized and beautiful, not pornographic. The sex between the Duke and Daphne is wild, sensuous, ecstatic, elegant and wonderful, an incandescent and poetic statement of how rich sex between lovers can become. Most reviewers about sex need a copy of the Song of Solomon--and their obscenely Fundamentalist and ridiculously Catholic language knocked out of their brains. They seem incapable of verbally affirming the joys of our humanity.
The use of soliloquy in the series is absolutely glorious. The most famous, Hamlet’s “to be or not to be,” delivers his interiority in poetry. Technically, a soliloquy is a speech letting the audience know what a lead character is thinking. The speeches in Bridgerton are not quite soliloquys, but almost. They let the other know their true thoughts about a significant matter. Although there are an unusual number of absolutely brilliant speeches, three are especially poignant. The Duke’s pleading before the Queen and his declaration of love in episode five and Daphne’s challenge to the Duke in the rain in episode eight. All three are much more than ordinary speech—and unforgettable.
Writing as a trained musician, I found the music phenomenally creative and absolutely sublime!! That musical genius, Kris Bowers, takes an essentially classical approach, making it modern and still romantic. Bowers uses a string quartet and small chamber orchestra, sometimes with ancient instruments—playing contemporary pop--and occasionally full orchestra with major strings. It’s unique! If you pay close attention, you’ll hear the piano music of Ravel, along with Taylor Swift, Ariana Grande, Billie Eilish and especially for me, Shawn Mendes, all in traditional instruments and formatting. The arrangers fit the music to the character. Hearing the cello in intimate settings, I went crazy with delight.
The costuming, along with the English environment, are spectacular, starting with the shoes and all the way up to the wigging. Costumes are a fabulous part of theatre – they help tell the story, they help actors get into character, and they immediately tell the audience something about what's going on. I always expect that from the women’s costuming in period plays—and Bridgerton dresses the women gorgeously. But it’s difficult to keep your eyes off the highly Byronesque clothes of the men—not just the clothes of the Duke. For the non-literary audience, the poet Lord Byron (1788—1824) was both notorious for his womanizing, many love affairs--and flamboyant dress. The reigning male sex symbol of the early nineteen century. So, aristocrat men of that time, which you’ll see in the Bridgerton characters, wear open collared shirts with cravat, dazzling waistcoats, lavishly embroidered with gold thread in stylized floral motifs, all under a morning coat--a short coat with tails. Reputedly, in addition to his women and clothes, Byron kept a tame bear while a student at Trinity College. Byron was as attractive to his world as Jackie to the twentieth century. By the way, Daniel Craig often dresses in an open collar, cravat, vest and jeans, modernizingly Byronesque.
There’s always a large segment of the population that’s clueless, like ordinary reality. In Bridgerton, with the exception of Penelope, it’s the Featheringtons. Even the clueless family has at least one individual who knows what’s going on. Since the entire globe is watching Bridgerton, I could go on. But I’ll leave it to you.
There’s not a single negative, critical response in this essay. Obviously, I’m completely enamored of the entire series. It’s part of what makes Bridgerton a new paradigm. From an elementary perspective, I’m suggesting that the willingness to put an idealistic perspective of the 21st century into the Regency period is what makes this a paradigm shift. The other issues which I’ve already enumerated, enhanced by flawless casting, support my proposal. The implication of this is that a lot of the movies of this century, including some still to come, are already out of date.
But there’s also a warning. If you read the audience comments about Bridgerton, you’ll see there’s a fair amount of resistance to that new world. That’s to be expected. Change is always fearful to a segment of the population, even when it’s already operative in social reality. For example, note the profound resistance to true, representative democracy among many adults in today’s world. Bridgerton functions as a gift not only to us, but to the world. Admittedly, a strange statement about a romantic comedy.
Shonda Rhimes, Time Magazine, 2/17/2021 "You may dream of him, the one we call the Duke of Hastings. But in reality, Rege Jean Page is finer than fiction and better than any dream. He is that rare actor, one who brings an intensity, an intelligence and a precision to his work, providing endless depth to any scene. His disappearance into character builds a vibrant world for us to enter, making it impossible to imagine any other actor playing the role. Few actors craft their moments so beautifully--or steal our attention so quickly. As evidenced by his performance in Bridgerton, Rege is a singular talent whose prospects are limitless. Today, he may be our duke. By tomorrow... not even I can dream big enough to imagine."