Love and Class: A Review of Netflix’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover

You can see why Netflix’s 18+ rated Lady Chatterley’s Lover was once considered scandalous — its source novel by D.H. Lawrence was banned in the UK from 1928 until 1960. Yet this adaptation by Laure de Clermont-Tonnerre offers something far deeper than the controversy that has long surrounded it.

I haven’t yet read the book, but this film has certainly inspired me to do so. It beautifully captures the tensions of post–First World War Britain: the rigid class divisions, the weight of social expectation, and the quiet yearning for emotional and physical freedom.

Although many of the themes in this piece are not ones to be proud of in being English, there is nevertheless a certain pride to be found in our countryside, history, architecture, culture, and language. All beautifully depicted in the Netflix film.

The contrast between the miner’s world and the grandeur of the Wragby estate is striking. The film subtly yet powerfully exposes the inequalities of its time. For example: Mellors versus Sir Clifford; the death of miners set against aristocratic profit. Wragby itself feels almost entombed in its traditions: Connie’s room is filled with portraits of ancestors, while the main hall is lined with taxidermied animals and severed antlers.

Although the sexual scenes are explicit, they nevertheless convey a growing tenderness and an understanding of the lovers’ predicament. Their union feels natural — pure, even — particularly as it unfolds amid the openness of the countryside. The recurring imagery of nature: the yellow and white flowers Connie picks, the lovers’ woodland encounters — all serve as symbols of purity and authenticity.

Connie Chatterley’s costumes are exquisite: delicate, feminine, and quietly expressive — perhaps reflective of her innocence throughout the film. The attention to period detail is superb. The cinematography captures both the grandeur of the English landscape and the confinement of Wragby, creating a visual dialogue between freedom and restraint.

The performances are truly captivating. Emma Corrin is phenomenal as Connie; vulnerable, luminous, and deeply moving, even in her silence. There are echoes of her tragic grace as Diana in The Crown. Yet this role allows her a gentler sort of liberation. Mrs. Bolton’s offers surprising warmth and understanding in a world often devoid of compassion. Even Sir Clifford, portrayed with restraint, emerges as more pitiable than cruel.

Two of my favourite scenes were of Lady Chatterley and her lover dancing out in the rain. The moment truly humanises them, conveying the universal innocence that resides within all humans, regardless of the era or the social norms and rules that surround them. The second is the ending — it could not have been executed more beautifully: tender, understated, and entirely fitting.

In all, Lady Chatterley’s Lover is a wonderful British period drama — more uplifting than one might expect, and far more about love and human connection than about scandal. A story once silenced for its sensuality, now recreated with sensitivity, grace, and emotional depth.

A beautiful film — a pleasure to watch.