One thing Bridgerton has unquestionably mastered is the depiction of sex. This season, women’s pleasure once again takes centre stage with several conversations about orgasms, or “pinnacles” and several references to past steamy scenes, including last season’s infamous carriage exchange.
Sex is everywhere. It spills out of every image, from every surface. The glistening chandeliers, colourful flower arrangements, lights and decoration all contribute to the horny mise-en-scene. The combination of framing, lighting, colour, performance and production design combine to create a sexy vibe.
Within such excess, small gestures take on a new erotic significance – a gentle kiss on the wrist, a touch of fingertips, a glance across the room. All of this contributes to a feminine model of desire that is multi-orgasmic, expanding pleasure across the screen rather than containing it to an individual sex scene. The fourth season of Bridgerton does not disappoint on this front.
This season’s central romance is inspired by the Cinderella trope, where class and social division are the main obstacles for the lovers. It raises a timely discussion of power, particularly pertinent to depictions of sex in a post #MeToo era.
A Cinderella story
This season focuses on the second eldest son, Benedict Bridgerton (Luke Thompson), and is so far adapted quite closely from Julia Quinn’s third Bridgerton novel An Offer from a Gentleman. Benedict is a self-proclaimed “lover of pleasure, a free spirit, untrammelled by mere convention”.
Pursuing a career as an artist, Benedict has come to be known as a bohemian of sorts. His queerness and ventures into non-monogamy are outside understandings of permissible relationships within Regency society. And, although it’s time for this rake to settle down, Benedict stays true to his rebellious nature.
Meeting at a masked ball, Benedict instantly falls for a charming and mysterious woman in silver. But when the clock strikes 12, she flees without revealing her identity, leaving behind only a satin glove and the traces of a passionate kiss that leaves them both in a state of perpetual yearning. And so, the “prince’s” quest for his mysterious maiden begins.
While Benedict is left love struck and confused, the mystery woman rushes home to assume her true identity as a maid. Despite the familiar setup, Sophie Baek (Yerin Ha) is wonderfully defiant and outspoken, aligning with a more modern tradition of Cinderellas that reject the original character’s subservience and passivity.
A glimpse below stairs
For the first time Bridgerton shows us the well-oiled machine of the servants’ quarters to which Sophie belongs. This season attempts a social critique of the class structures that, until this point, has remained peripheral.
From baking and cleaning to arranging secret sexual rendezvous for their employers, servants are seen as crucial to the opulent world we have experienced so far. So crucial, in fact, that when one house poaches a handful of vital servants, they set off what gossipmonger Lady Whistledown calls “the maid wars”. These poaching leave the ton (fashionable high society of Regency-era England) aflutter, with some houses poaching in turn and others becoming more appreciative of their labour.
This upstairs-downstairs glimpse contextualises the obstacles that this season’s couple face and the power dynamics that are at play.
When they meet again, unmasked, Benedict doesn’t recognise Sophie. Despite his loyalty to his mystery lady and the fact of Sophie being a maid, he falls in love anew – leaving him in a predicament.
“We must marry according to class, but we do not always love that way,” Benedict’s friend Will Mondrich tells him. Previously, his siblings Anthony and Eloise found themselves unsuccessful in their pursuit of relationships outside of their class. This is not a hopeful precedent for Benedict.
However, desire is hard to ignore and as their feelings grow hotter, the threat of scandal looms large. With the family reputation at stake and sisters still to wed, reality leaves him with no other option at the end of part one than to pop the critical question: “Will you be my mistress?”
Mistresses were women who had arrangements with wealthy and upper-class men, offering their sexual and social services in exchange for financial benefits and comfort. Despite potential privileges, these women were excluded from polite society and could never hope to legitimise their relationship through marriage, leaving them at the mercy of their “protector”.
A very indecent proposal indeed.
It also, sadly, brings things full circle. When Benedict re-meets Sophie, she is defending another maid from unwanted advances from their master. Her act of denial and defiance ends with both of their dismissals. Although Benedict saves her, securing her a job in his family home, and his advances are (somewhat) wanted, he ultimately puts her in a similar position.
The sexual encounter between the pair takes place on the staircase that separates the upstairs from downstairs, reminding us of the class conflict that is an obstacle to the longevity and legitimacy of their relationship.
Although Sophie is undeniably into Benedict, the wise housekeeper Mrs Crabtree warns Benedict that their difference in social station means that Sophie doesn’t really have the freedom to say no to him.
Benedict does not heed this warning and pushes on with his proposal, despite Sophie’s explicit statements about not wanting to risk the best job she’s ever had. With this proposal, his class power means he has everything to gain, and Sophie everything to lose. At the end of part one, Sophie is back where she started: the desires of a rich man threatening her stable employment and safety.
Although we see her reject Benedict’s offer, with part two still to come, Sophie is faced with the harsh reality of the limited options available to a woman of her stature when it comes to love. The question remains as to how the show will resolve this tension, and whether Sophie’s identity as an illegitimate heiress may be the secret ingredient to this Cinderella’s happy ending.
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Polina Zelmanova receives funding from the Arts and Humanities Research Council to support the research undertaken as part of her PhD.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
