On a childhood trip to the National Gallery, the postcard I bought in the gift shop was of Paul Delaroche’s The Execution of Lady Jane Grey. I was obsessed with this tragic heroine: the 17-year-old unexpectedly named heir to Edward VI and crowned Queen of England for only nine days before she was overthrown by Mary Tudor and beheaded. In Delaroche’s painting, she is guided to the chopping block clad in white and bathed in light – a tragic pawn of powerful men.
Not so in Prime Video’s new tongue-in-cheek drama My Lady Jane. Based on Cynthia Hand’s 2016 young adult novel, the period piece applies a provocative “what if” lens to Jane Grey’s traditionally devastating story. “Damsel in distress?”, the smart-mouthed omniscient unidentified narrator scoffs. “F*ck that!” My inner teenager is punching the air.
My Lady Jane goes all in on a modern YA fantasy of Tudor England. Like Bridgerton before it, this version has diverse casting, queer subplots, and is at pains to emphasise consent when it comes to sex. Rather than a powerless puppet, Jane is a keen herbalist and aspiring independent woman. Unfortunately, misogyny still reigns, and just like in real life, as unsuspecting Jane remains part of a plot to make her queen.
Hitting certain historical beats – Jane does end up on the throne and Mary is not happy about it – the show is anchored by a pair of central performances that deliver exactly what is required. Emily Bader’s spunky Jane and Edward Bluemel as her brooding love interest Guildford Dudley have a zingy love-hate chemistry. While they are entirely too beautiful (and clean) for the period, what is YA for if not providing people to crush on?
In the new anachronistic tradition of Dickinson, The Great and Catherine Called Birdy (and The Princess Bride, A Knight’s Tale and CBBC’s Maid Marian and Her Merry Men before them), My Lady Jane has enormous fun rewriting history. The dialogue is peppered with modern colloquialisms and there is tons of well-executed silliness, like someone playing The Moody Blues’ “Nights in White Satin” on a lute and a running gag about eating exotic animals.
While it doesn’t take itself too seriously, the series always respects its young viewer: everyone is rebelling against their parents and saying the wrong thing in front of the person they fancy, just as teenagers should be. Jane is described as having “the raging horn” and she’s not the only one – this is as lusty as a Sixth Form common room.
The feminist fairy tale doesn’t extend to all women. Mary Tudor is an unhinged dominatrix, but Kate O’Flynn delivers such a demented performance that her villain arc almost steals the show. Though she faces stiff competition for our attention from a dynamite supporting cast including Rob Brydon, Dominic Cooper, and Anna Chancellor.
Because actual Tudor history apparently wasn’t tumultuous enough, there is also a slightly unnecessary supernatural element that also works as a clunky metaphor for being your true self. Instead of a country ruptured along religious fault lines, Jane’s England is divided into Verity (humans) and Ethians (humans who can transform into animals or birds, including Anne Boleyn, of course). That said, the show does a fine job of grounding the fantasy in an era when belief in magic was commonplace.
It might be excessive to add shapeshifting magic into a story that is already a period romp, rom-com and coming of age tale, but in the context of heightened teenage emotions, it works.
My Lady Jane isn’t as subversive as it thinks it is – by now we are well used to sweary, sassy, feminist-lite historical reworkings, soundtracked by covers of Bowie and The Kinks. But my younger self would have devoured every minute of it and my adult self is happily won over by the charm, wit and a giddiness that sweeps you along with gusto. It’s all very extra – but then so is puberty.
‘My Lady Jane’ is streaming on Prime Video.
