Words: Rachel Currie (she/her)
It is utter catharsis to watch her find freedom from her mundane life of purity and dip her toe into a fantasy-fuelled alternative.
‘Sexual intercourse began
In nineteen sixty-three
(Which was rather late for me) –
Between the end of the Chatterley ban
And the Beatles’ first LP.’
- Philip Larkin’s 1967 poem, Annus Mirabilis:
Residing in a Northern Italian villa during the autumn of his life, DH Lawrence got to work writing a draft of arguably his most controversial work: Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Centred around the affair between aristocrat Constance Chatterley and her gamekeeper, Oliver Mellors, it foregrounds female pleasure in its explicit depictions of sex. Lawrence stated that he wished to make the sex in the novel ‘valid and precious, instead of shameful’. Privately published in 1928, it was banned in several countries, and it wasn’t until 1960 that this ‘gratuitous pornography’ finally came to be published in the UK, when the Obscene Publications Act was finally overturned. On its very first day of publication, 200,000 copies were sold.
The 2022 Netflix adaptation, starring Emma Corrin and Jack O’Connell, was released to raving reviews, stating both its loyalty to the novel and its beautiful meditation on intimacy in a world marked by loneliness and hardship. Once regarded as a radical portrayal of romance, it finds its heart in a modern audience who enjoy the fiery passion between the 2 protagonists. But what is it that draws us to tales of erotic love affairs set in years gone by? Why do we feel connected to characters whose lives are so incomparable to our own?
Commonly termed “bodice rippers”, these works of fiction explore the dichotomy between the historically buttoned-up British aristocracy and the heady sexual desire pulsing just beneath the surface. In Netflix’s fantastically successful Bridgerton, the family’s heir, Anthony, finds himself entranced by his love interest’s exposed thigh as she deftly climbs over a felled tree. Even the slightest reveal of bare skin leaves him at a loss for words. Yet, in the season before, he is shown as a sexually liberated character, having relations with several women across the first 8 episodes. He is a walking paradox, at once clandestine, capable of casual sex, and with a burning desire for his fiancee’s sister – which he is unable to confess aloud.
Perhaps there is something engaging about witnessing intimacy during a time where social order and expectations around marriage and sex were far stricter than in today’s England. The stakes are high, which makes the act of giving in to base desires and illicit romances far more satisfying. This category of fiction plays into a lot of tropes that are popular amongst romance audiences, such as the “slowburn” arc, with gradual building tension portrayed throughout the length of the season/novel/film, only permitted to erupt near its very end. This slow pacing allows for more investment and excitement amongst audiences.
There is also a feminism inherent to the “bodice ripper”. One thing that commonly underlies most examples of this genre is a focus on female pleasure and desire (think The Favourite or Gentleman Jack, both of which cover a lesbian romance). Taking place in a time when women’s rights were scarce and fragile, and female pleasure was not yet even considered, it feels liberating to be witness to affairs that transgressed the boundaries of what women were permitted to do. Trapped in a great, soulless house and a loveless marriage with a man who is unable to provide her with the sexual relationship she yearns for, Lady Chatterley finds solace in her trips to Mellors’ cottage. It is utter catharsis to watch her find freedom from her mundane life of purity and dip her toe into a fantasy-fuelled alternative.
This category of fiction serves a primarily female audience, demonstrating the satisfaction that many feel in enjoying something traditionally deemed a “guilty pleasure” which is, in fact, enjoyed by millions of people. It flourishes despite misogynist dismissals that works of fiction with a sexual centre are not highbrow enough to even be deemed real novels. Instead, it celebrates cliches in the knowledge that it will always serve a hungry audience who find no shame in it. To me, it serves the satisfaction of a professionally-produced fanfiction.
Rather than glossing over the atrocities of misogyny and colonialism, these dramas have challenged stereotypes and expanded representation. Though critics argue it ignores “realism for inclusivity”, I praise the emerging genre as a bold and imaginative reinterpretation that serves to excite our most inherent desires.
Ultimately, sex-fuelled period dramas are impossible to ignore. Well, that much is true for me, at least. My “want to watch” list on Letterboxd is piling up with them as more and more variations of the genre hit mainstream media. The costuming is unequivocally gorgeous, and I love that we can play around with ancestral time periods, reimagining their capacity for excitement in a more restrictive world than today.
