If Edith Wharton knew her final work would inspire the Apple TV+ series The Buccaneers (2023-present), she probably wouldn’t have spent her golden years documenting the Gilded Age.
As the Julian Fellowes dramas Downton Abbey (2010-2015), Belgravia (2020) and The Gilded Age (2022-present) have established, this period refers to the United States in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Due to huge economic growth from the Industrial Revolution, the era manufactured new millionaires eager to flaunt their wares. Since the nouveau riche lacked the prestige of those with inherited wealth (ie: “old money”), they purchased respectability by marrying into Europe’s elite.
More transactional than romantic, British gentlemen gave their American wives aristocratic titles in exchange for capital to maintain their great estates. Consequently, the Gilded Age produced nearly 500 “dollar princesses,” including Cuban-New Yorker Consuelo Montagu, who became the Duchess of Manchester — and the inspiration for Wharton’s novel.
Unfortunately, the author died in 1937 before she could finish the book, which was published in 1938 nonetheless. By 1993, scholar Marion Mainwaring completed the novel based on an outline Wharton left behind. Screenwriter Maggie Wadey also worked on a conclusion for the BBC One miniseries The Buccaneers (1995). But both were criticized for lacking Wharton’s flair for subtlety, irony and realism.
However, these shortcomings are nothing compared to the current bastardization by comedian, actress, and streaming series creator Katherine Jakeways. To say her interpretation takes liberties with the source material is an understatement. Apart from the program’s lavish sets and breathtaking scenery, there’s not a lot that resembles the world Wharton wrote about. Most irksome are the punky pop songs that mimic the Marie Antoinette (2006) soundtrack which has already been copied ad nauseam.
At best, this version of The Buccaneers is escapist entertainment (enhanced in Season 2 with the addition of Leighton Meester and Greg Wise) that may inspire young viewers to pursue the works of Wharton. At worst, its banal translation mistakes the exuberance of youth for obnoxious behavior; misrepresents the nuances of the past; and subverts the writing of the first woman to win a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.
Unsurprisingly, the pandering program modifies the characters to appeal to modern audiences. Contrary to the novel’s third-person narration, the series immediately spoon-feeds viewers via first-person voice-over from Nan St. George (Kristine Frøseth). She tells the audience she “was never supposed to be the main character.” But that’s hard to believe since the plucky, unconventional and overly independent ingénue perfectly fits the heroine archetype.
One of her love interests is the Duke of Tintagel (Guy Remmers). He was called Ushant in the book but goes by Theo on the show. Instead of being a buttoned-up homosexual obsessed with clocks, he’s a shirtless Sunday painter who likes the fairer sex. In the series, his childhood friend is freethinker Guy Thwaite (Matthew Broome). But turning Nan’s two suitors into best buds reduces Guy’s standing since he is supposed to be the heroic alternative to Ushant, erh Theo, not his frenemy.
There’s also the less-than-noble nobleman Lord Seadown (Barney Fishwick). His brother, the aptly-named Dick (Josh Dylan), is a cad though not as bad on screen as he is on the page. Meanwhile, his sister Honoria (Kate Winslet’s daughter Mia Threapleton) is a lesbian. On the show, she has a love affair with a character who, in the novel, was already married and living in Chicago by then.
Laura Testvalley (Simone Kirby) is no longer a central figure in the story or Nan’s governess and mentor. Judging by Kirby’s Irish brogue, she’s no longer English either. The social climbing Mrs. St. George (Christina Hendricks) has also gone through a transformation from print to screen. A newly-added subplot has softened her into a less complex caregiver who secretly adopted Nan at birth. At least her daughter Jinny (Imogen Waterhouse) retains most of her published persona.
Norwegian-Somali import Alisha Boe portrays Conchita Closson, who apparently hails from Brazil. She’s supposed to be the exotic one, yet the Elmsworth sisters (Aubri Ibrag and Josie Totah) seem just as foreign since they look and sound like they came from the future. Despite being a fine actress, Ibrag possesses a Kylie Jenner beauty that screams Instagram influencer while Totah converses in Gen Z speak, mispronouncing Manhattan as “Man-ha-in.”
Although Conchita’s heritage is integrated into the narrative, the Elmsworth’s ethnicity (Ibrag is Dagestani-Australian and Totah is a trans American with Palestinian-Lebanese roots) is never addressed. The same goes for the diverse supporting players and background extras who unconvincingly make up the upper echelon of 1870.
Back then, high society discriminated against almost everyone. Instead of sipping champagne at posh balls as the series depicts, Black Americans were facing racial segregation and “White” immigrants (from rosy-complected Irish to olive-skinned Italians) of Roman Catholic, Jewish and Eastern Orthodox faith were encountering widespread prejudice. Not only does the show overlook these facts, it misses an opportunity to draw parallels between today’s mass migration and working class wealth gaps and those of the Gilded Age.
To be fair, the longer the anachronistic series goes on and the further it gets away from Wharton’s creation, the better it gets. Since Jakeways made so many revisions to the characters and plot, it would have been more honorable if she just launched her own original soap opera rather than ripping the book’s premise and Wharton’s name off. Initially The Buccaneers title was meant to compare its free-spirited protagonists to swashbucklers on a booty-seeking quest but considering this show’s brand appropriation, the title could apply to literary piracy instead.