My Lady Jane review: This show tries annoyingly hard to be edgy

The modern period drama has a visual language that’s instantly recognizable. Gone are the genteel sensibilities and classical soundtracks of historical series past. No, the contemporary period drama has its own set of rules: a bolshy, girlboss heroine, anachronistic needle drops, and modern, often expletive-packed dialogue. Shows like these proudly wear their edginess on their chest, and in doing so totally forget that those proudly proclaiming their coolness are often the most formulaic of the lot.

My Lady Jane, Prime Video’s latest addition to the oeuvre (out June 27), follows in a stream of similar projects from the streamers. Hulu’s The Great, Apple TV+’s Dickinson, and Disney+’s Renegade Nell have all imbued female historical figures maligned by history with this same style, while Disney’s The Buccaneers put a similar twist on Edith Wharton’s unfinished novel of the same name.

In My Lady Jane, written by Gemma Burgess, historical and fictional sources are pulled upon. Lady Jane Grey was a real woman, who spent just nine days on the English throne in 1553 when she was a teenager before she was executed. But the series is also based upon the popular series of historical romance novels about Jane written by Brodi Ashton, Cynthia Hand, and Jodi Meadows. It’s a fun enough romp, but nothing different (or better) than those that preceded it.

In real life, Jane is a historical footnote, a short interlude between more famous kings and an “ultimate damsel in distress.” Well, the posh male voiceover tells us in the opening sequence, “fuck that.” Here, Jane (Emily Bader) is represented as “an intellectual rebel, a bit of a pain the ass, and a political pawn for her ambitious, noble family”.

If all the swearing doesn’t fully assert that this is not your mother’s period drama, the twang of David Bowie’s “Rebel Rebel”—albeit from a pop-punk cover veering towards Kidz Bop territory—will do it. We’re thrown into Jane’s world, where profanities are hurled around by adults and children alike. The aim of shocking the audience is clear, and to the show’s credit, the opening scene involving a gynecological exam shot, filmed in part from inside the patient, is pretty unexpected.

Jane might be a classic beauty, but she’s also a renegade unbefitting the society she’s stuck in. Not timid or subservient, she talks confidently about her desire for knowledge and her own sexual pleasure. Jane’s friends mock her for being a virginal “lady,” but she proudly tells them “that she’s saving myself for myself”. In fact, she has no intention of marrying at all.

Of course, that doesn’t exactly slide in 1553. As the cousin of the ailing King Edward VI (Jordan Peters), Jane must marry, and her mother (Anna Chancellor) has one man in mind: Lord Guildford Dudley (Edward Bluemel). Jane hears whispers about Guildford’s “vile” cavorting and womanizing long before she meets him. When their paths do cross during an illicit encounter at a tavern, the audience and Jane don’t know his identity. They can feel the simmering tension between them, however, a spark that is all but extinguished when Jane is dragged down the aisle and finds Guildford waiting at the altar.

The blood drains from Jane’s face, and hatred sets in. After pretending to consummate their marriage in front of their wedding guests in one of the show’s funniest scenes, the pair clash as they’re reluctantly forced to be man and wife. Yet there are moments of tenderness amongst all the seething and splitting. The enemies-to-lovers plot typical of the genre might be predictable, but the pair have great chemistry, and when a fantasy element is incorporated into the show, things begin to go in unexpected, promising directions.

Nobody would call Jane flat or one-dimensional. It’s just unfortunate that the straight-talking feminist hero is, at this point, an archetype in itself. As a character, Guildford is far more interesting and unpredictable—somewhat frustratingly for a show that declares its feminism quite so loudly—but both Bader and Bluemel give their best performances when they act against one another.

Swirling around them is an ensemble cast of comedy greats like Chancellor, Jim Broadbent, and Rob Brydon. If there’s a stand-out, it’s Chancellor as Jane’s sharp-tongued mother, but Dominic Cooper also makes for an excellent villain as the treacherous Lord Seymour. The inclusion of these comedy legends invokes another recent new-old-hybrid historical drama: Apple TV+’s The Completely Made-Up Adventures Of Dick Turpin. Like My Lady Jane, the show, which starred Noel Fielding as the titular highwayman, also featured a chorus of the U.K.’s greatest comedy talent.

Unfortunately, it’s not a comparison that serves My Lady Jane particularly well. Dick Turpin used the same anachronistic tropes as My Lady Jane, but it was backed up by a sharp script and was, at times, laugh-out-loud funny. Screenwriter Burgess’ script lacks the same bite. Sure, there are plenty of putdowns and unexpected remarks, but they’re just not that clever, and the dialogue is generally clunky.

My Lady Jane is, in many ways, the textbook example of the modern historical drama. But in being so typical, it shows up the key issue with the genre. Shows like these want so badly to be the “cool” one that they’ll do anything to remind you of their edginess. But it all feels very try-hard, and in doing so takes away the unique style that it’s so loudly posturing about. From those swear-filled opening moments onward, My Lady Jane wants you to know how hip and different it is. It’s just a shame that, in a crowded market of dramas like these, this desperate proclamation of individuality makes it more of the same.

My Lady Jane premieres June 27 on Prime Video