Review: Netflix’s Bridgerton, Season 2
If Season 1 of Bridgerton was all heat and scandal, Season 2 trades seduction for slow burn—and in doing so, becomes the richer, more emotionally satisfying chapter. With Simon Basset (Regé-Jean Page) gone and Daphne’s story complete, the spotlight shifts to Anthony Bridgerton (Jonathan Bailey), the eldest brother and head of the family, whose quest for a suitable wife collides—gloriously—with the Sharma sisters, newly arrived from India.
At first glance, Season 2 seems to have lost some of its predecessor’s sparkle. There’s less overt eroticism, fewer whispered scandals, and a more restrained tone. But that restraint turns out to be its strength. This is a story of tension and tenderness rather than conquest—a study in what happens when desire meets duty. Anthony, scarred by the trauma of his father’s death, seeks control above all else; Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley), sharp-tongued and fiercely independent, resists every inch of it. Their chemistry is combustible precisely because it simmers rather than explodes.
Bailey and Ashley carry the season with performances that are equal parts wit and ache. Their sparring—infused with Austenian energy—feels more classical than Season 1’s torrid affair but no less intimate. A brush of hands, a shared glance, a caught breath: these small gestures generate more electricity than any bedchamber scene. It’s enemies-to-lovers executed with grace and intelligence, proof that romance needn’t rely on excess to feel alive.
Visually, Bridgerton remains a confection: gilded ballrooms, pastel gardens, and gowns that seem spun from sugar. Yet the tone is darker, the palette richer, mirroring the emotional stakes. The Sharmas’ introduction expands the show’s world—its vision of Regency society now broader and more inclusive, not just in casting but in perspective. Kate and her sister Edwina (Charithra Chandran) bring depth to the narrative, exploring the complexities of family, sacrifice, and colonial displacement with subtlety.
Meanwhile, the ensemble continues to charm. Penelope Featherington’s secret life as Lady Whistledown grows ever riskier; Eloise Bridgerton’s restless intellect pushes her toward social rebellion; and the Featheringtons’ comic chaos provides moments of levity. The balance between romance, satire, and sentiment is more finely tuned this time—proof that the show’s writers have found their rhythm.
Where Season 1 reveled in spectacle, Season 2 matures into something closer to Jane Austen’s emotional realism—filtered, of course, through Shondaland’s lush, inclusive lens. It’s still escapism, but escapism with structure: a fantasy of manners where love is a form of rebellion against expectation. By the time Anthony and Kate finally surrender to their feelings, the payoff feels earned—not just a triumph of attraction, but of vulnerability.
Some viewers may miss the explicit sensuality that made Season 1 a pop-culture phenomenon, but what Bridgerton gains here is depth. It’s about longing rather than gratification, patience rather than spectacle. The show has grown up without losing its heart—or its sense of play.
In short, Bridgerton Season 2 replaces fireworks with candlelight, discovering that what burns slow can burn brighter.
