Harmony Gibson
Some may argue that there’s a misconception when criticizing novel to film adaptations: that you can’t compare the two because they’re two separate mediums, or that people falsely believe that films are less demanding on the imagination than books are. I’m here to combat that. It’s obvious that it takes more effort and imagination to consume a story through text than through visuals. Unless the ending or the visuals are ambiguous, novels are the way to go if you want to exercise that part of your brain that can picture a scene with just a few lines of description and a quiet room. One show in particular that has had me mulling this over recently is Netflix’s adaptation of Julia Quinn’s Bridgerton series: a series of novels that follow a distinguished, high society family in 1800s London and focuses on each individual family member’s romance with each installment.
One might not have much to say about the Bridgerton franchise, and I must admit, I have my qualms about the show. I’m not an avid romance reader but I do love a historical drama, and if there’s a bit of romance sprinkled in I don’t suppose I’m adverse enough to the genre to reject it entirely. However, the newest season has been quite a draw; with its friends-to-lovers romance and the reveal of the story’s biggest mystery, and I admit, I found myself caught up in the whirlwind excitement of it all.
I recently indulged in the latest season of Bridgerton, and after doing so, I read the novel its season was based on, Romancing Mister Bridgerton, simply to be with the characters a little longer. A strange sequence—most of the time I consume the adaptation after the original. But I have to say, I was surprised. I found the novel to be far more intriguing than the show, and in fact, much cleverer, and even enjoyable. Just one example in which I found this to be the case was the dialogue alone-- the characters are wittier and more realistically written in the novel than in the show. The dynamics between them are extremely well conveyed through this dialogue and banter, and they each have distinct voices that help to express the dynamics between them, something sorely missing in the Netflix series. Another thing I found the novel to do better was plot progression. I found that, although formulaic, it was easy to tell who the main characters of each novel were. In its Netflix adaptation, it often becomes convoluted and muddy with side characters that aren't relevant to the central conflict and forced additional side conflicts that don’t flow very well or feel natural. I also genuinely believed the romance better when hearing the inner monologues of the characters in the novel and feeling the emotions of the characters through their actions, which weren't as well conveyed in the show, if at all, at times. The novel was well written, well-paced, and genuinely a fun read. It never deviated from the point, and everything was “for the plot,” nothing ever happened that didn’t cleverly appear later on in the story or become a device to explore the characters and the story further.
Given the differences between the show and the novel, the two almost aren't comparable at all. Aside from the names of the characters and very simple relations with one another, the show deviates so much, even tonally, from the novels that they seem to be entirely different stories. And the liberties the writers of the show have taken in order to make it into a Netflix original makes the two exceedingly easy to separate as well—and not simply because they are told through differing mediums. The show has opulent visuals, and beautiful, if not historically accurate, set design and wardrobe. It has some lovely monologues and great actors who really add originality to the characters, if not staying true to the novel’s depiction. It does its best to add a modern flair, to reach audiences the genre typically wouldn’t reach, and to be as accessible as possible, which is commendable—but in many ways, also to its detriment. Don’t get me wrong— there are genuinely enjoyable moments that are entirely a product of the cast, writers and crew and their additions to Julia Quinn’s universe. However, the lack of focus, the random additional spin offs and side character who don’t add to the central conflict or storylines—in unison with the tiptoeing around historical realism while disregarding accuracy to the times—can be very jarring and almost enough to lose the audience. Regardless of it all, it’s become a phenomenon. It’s set the stage for up-and-coming similar projects, and for the historical drama genre in general.
The question is, Is that a good thing?
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