Review
Culture
Film & TV
6 min read

When a wallflower blossoms

Unpicking Bridgerton’s complex coding.

Bex is a freelance journalist and consultant who writes about culture, the church, and both government and governance.

A young lady in Regency dress, holds a fan while looking around a garden.
Lady Penelope Featherington, played by Nicola Coughlan.
Shondaland.

Dearest gentle reader, are there any among us who do not love that most marvellous of transformations, a makeover? Something about a new dress, a new hairstyle, even a new lipstick, somehow has the power to make you feel full of potential. Maybe today will be different. Maybe today I won’t stand on the sidelines.  Maybe today, I will be different. A lipstick isn’t going to dramatically change how you look of course – the power is in how it makes you feel.  But what do you do when how you feel inside seems so different to how you behave on the outside? When you know that you can be witty, and funny, and charming, but somehow what comes out is shy silence, or worse, utter waffle?  

And so, in series three of Bridgerton, the hugely popular Netflix show from Shondaland that brings together regency romance, pop-anthem string covers, colourblind casting and some very modern sensibilities – we see Penelope Featherington, to-date the wallflower of the show, step out from the shadows. She has given herself the most modern of regency style transformations. Her clear instructions to the modiste about her new colour-scheme, her hair, how she wants to present, brook no argument.  And she pulls it off with aplomb – the gasps as she descends the inevitable staircase, looking stunning as the strings belt out a-b-c-d-e-f-u, are gratifying. It is hard not to be thrilled for her at the response elicited – the garish citrus florals are gone, and in their place is a new, soft, romantic look, complete with Rita Hayworth hair. She is owning it, finally full of confidence, and it’s fabulous. Our fan-favourite sidekick has become a compelling heroine in her own right.   

This third series is full of romance, but also relationships.  It is only in figuring out who we are, that we can best relate to others. 

But this isn’t the end. This story is just getting started. She might look fabulous, but as Pen tries to launch herself at the town's marriage mart (third time lucky?!) she anxiously fluffs it on an epic scale. And she knows it. Flinging herself onto her bed, she throws down her fan in despair; ‘deep inside, I know I can be clever and amusing but somehow my character gets lost between my heart and sometimes I find myself saying the wrong thing, or more likely, nothing at all’ she explains subsequently. Her work is thriving – as gossip columnist Whistledown she is the talk of the town, making money, with a pen that gives her a power she never dreamed possible as she shares all of Mayfair’s secrets. But her personal life is a mess. On paper she is nailing it; in person she is a disaster.    

Charm school isn’t a new concept in a romcom, but nonetheless upon Pen pouring her heart out to long-time crush Colin Bridgerton, he decides to offer a My Fair Lady approach, promising that he has picked up plenty of tips in Paris that he can share. This won’t go exactly according to plan, and the judgement of the town comes down on poor Penelope again, but this series she isn’t going to retreat in shame or fear; the Whistledown in her isn’t prepared to let her go back to just being an accepting wallflower. This series the colours are brighter, the wigs are that much higher, the ballgowns are even more brilliant, and this time, Pen is going to get herself a husband, despite the assumptions and agendas of her truly awful family. And we are here for it - 3.6 million UK-based viewers watched the season 3 premier within a week of release, outperforming the season 2 opener. 'Polin', as fans have named the burgeoning romance between Pen and the newly-buffed up Mr Bridgerton, is perfect for binging.  

If the first series of Bridgerton was all about the steamy sex, the second series seemed like it was all about longing and yearning for what couldn’t be, then this third series is full of romance, but also relationships. It is only in figuring out who we are, that we can best relate to others. That might be with potential partners, as Pen rejoices as she finally pulls off a successful interlude with a suitor she concedes – ‘I was feeling so low, in fact it somehow allowed me to stop caring so much about how I was perceived and … I was simply myself’.   

God knows us inside and out.  He can discern our thoughts from far further away than across a crowded ballroom. 

Being confident in who we are is appealing, even in the Bridgerton world, and Lord Debling (her paramour of the moment) acknowledges ‘I want to be with someone who knows who they are and embraces their own peculiarity as I do’.  This isn’t purely about who we are on the outside, or on image, but about identity.  And how we make that identity authentic, even when we act differently depending on who we are with. Nicola Coughlan who plays Penelope calls this code switching and notes Pen is ‘code switching a little more than most people do’ as she juggles her public role as a debutante with her private role as Whistledown.  Maybe we aren’t exactly the same at work as we are with friends, or with our grandma as we are with our partner, but does this make each aspect less authentic? 

We may try to choose which aspects we present to our peers or even our partners, but none of those different parts of us can be hidden from God. Terrifying though this might sometimes seem, because as humans we are prone to anxiety and awkward mistakes, God knows us inside and out.  He can discern our thoughts from far further away than across a crowded ballroom, and yet he knows how many hairs are on our head (however high it is styled!) – and yet he loves us so much.  He already knows the parts of ourselves that we chose to show, and those we try to hide from the rest of the world.  As author Philip Yancey wrote ‘There is nothing we can do to make God love us more and there is nothing we can do to make God love us less.’  

People, however, are easier to keep secrets from.  Pen is still hiding the secret of her alter ego from almost all her friends and family.  It’s a secret that has already ruined her relationship with BFF Eloise.  Showrunner Jess Brownell has described the will they/won’t they of the wreckage of their friendship as the ‘secondary love story of the season’ noting that like any relationship, friendships just aren’t linear.  Nor do all relationships develop in the same way – this series we have seen Mama Bridgerton have her own meet-cute to a Sia soundtrack, and Francesca Bridgerton has herself a very reserved romance incorporating silence and sheet music.  This has led to discussions online about whether Fran’s character is on the autistic spectrum due to her introvert nature and rich internal world.  Love can come in all shapes and sizes here in the Bridgerton universe – literally as well as figuratively.  This reality has room for everyone.  But it remains to be seen if Pen and Colin can have a future in a world where both her identities are revealed; he has sworn to ruin Whistledown…  when he discovers the truth, will he want to marry his former wallflower?   

 

Bridgerton series 3 part 2 will be released on 13 June.     

Article
Community
Culture
Football
Friendship
4 min read

As the season starts, here's why fans go mad for football

The game is part of life, but not all of life

Henry Corbett, a vicar in Liverpool and chaplain to Everton Football Club.  

  

A football stand displays a long banner with text on it.
Everton F.C.

“I hate football,” said the mother of two mad keen footballing children. The clue to the hatred is maybe in the ‘mad keen’. Why do children and adults care so much about football? 

“That Champions League music is so pompous…!” 

“It’s only a football match! They make it too important. If their team loses then they are miserable for the whole weekend.” 

“We can’t plan holidays until the fixtures come out.” 

The money spent, the jobs refused, lost or short-changed, all because of football. A giant banner at a recent Everton home game read “I simply love you more than I love life itself”. 

And there is football manager Bill Shankly wisdom: “Football is not a matter of life and death. It’s more important than that.” At least that was a typical Shankly quip, hyperbole for effect.  

Why do some of us love football so much? 

It often goes back to childhood. Playing with mates, scoring a goal, saving a goal, enjoying the togetherness, the shared aim, the friendships formed. Then there’s that first experience of going to a match. Up the stairs and there before you is a great huge rectangular expanse of green grass. Back in the day, it was maybe not so green, but still way more impressive than your back garden or the local park. Then comes the drama, unscripted, of the game. The sways of emotion, the joy, the frustration, and all experienced as part of a bigger community. When you kick a ball with your mates aged 50, or go to a game aged 80, you are doing something that connects you with your childhood enthusiasm, joy and wonder. 

Then there are the family connections. You may have gone to that first match with your Mum, Dad, Grandad, older brother or sister. When Everton supporters were asked about their feelings at the last Premier League game at Goodison Park, again and again they referenced family members who they had gone to the match with. Some passed away, some no longer able to go, even some whose ashes were buried behind the goal. 

There are the great memories of games seen or even played in. That win from 2-0 down, that last minute goal, the euphoria of a Cup win against the odds. And the memories are shared ones, with family, with friends. Football can write some miserable scripts, 0-0, 0-1, 0-6, but it can also write some wonderful memorable dramas.  

Love for family, for friends, for a team, for players is a deep emotion and when that love is linked to victory or defeat the stakes are raised. 

There is another reason which can touch us all, football-lovers or football-haters. Deep down we all want to be winners in life, not losers. The feeling of victory, not defeat, is such a treasured one. And the win, or loss, is a shared one: we are part of a group together, an identity together. Love for family, for friends, for a team, for players is a deep emotion and when that love is linked to victory or defeat the stakes are raised. In life we want goodness to win over evil, kindness to win over cruelty. The reason every Church shows the symbol of the Cross is because there was the ultimate demonstration of purposeful love, the sacrifice for the sins of the world, down the ages, across the world. When the apostle Paul writes to beleaguered, persecuted Christians facing death at the hands of Emperor Nero, he tells them “We are more than conquerors,” more than winners.  

Football, playing or watching, taps into that deep feeling of victory. “We’re on the march with (manager’s name here!) army…. And we’ll really shake them up when we win the FA Cup…” When my team faced the prospect of relegation I wondered why I was feeling butterflies, and more than butterflies, in my stomach. Why did I care so much about this game of football, and the result at the weekend? Yes, because it affected people’s lives, because it would mean loss of income and job losses at the club if relegation happened. But also, because the feeling of defeat, of failure, would hang over us, and that feeling goes deep, to the pit of the stomach.  

So why do some of us care so much? Because football taps into deep feelings; of family and friendship, joy and elation, togetherness and identity, and that wonderful feeling of victory… or the sorrow of defeat. Those feelings go deep. The problem is that football, unlike the Cross, sometime delivers, but definitely doesn’t always. That’s a reason why the mum of those those two mad-keen football-loving children should try and make sure that her two sons have other interests besides football, another faith beside faith in their team. Football is part of life, but not all of life. I also hope she stops hating what can be a beautiful, enchanting, community-fostering game, with many a helpful story to tell. 

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