Netflix snaps up sex-filled period drama with impressive 97% Rotten Tomatoes score - and it makes Bridgerton look tame
Harlots, originally released in 2017 and previously broadcast by now-defunct channel ITV Encore and BBC Two, details the booming sex industry of 18th century London.
The bawdy show follows feuding madams Margaret Wells (Samantha Morton) and Lydia Quigley (Lesley Manville) and the prostitutes who live in their brothels.
All three series of the highly-rated programme, set in Georgian England in the 1760s, are now available to stream on Netflix, as of July 1.
And its scandalous sex scenes outstrip even those of the streamer's period romp Bridgerton, known for its steamy moments and irresistible romances.
The first episode of Harlots, for instance, sees Margaret sell her daughter's virginity to pay a fine after a night-watchmen's raid - and opens with a compilation of the 'Harlots' having sex with customers.
Harlots boasts a star-studded cast, with Jessica Brown Findlay (Downton Abbey) as a prostitute, Hugh Skinner (Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again) as an aspiring MP who uses her services and Liv Tyler (Lord of the Rings) as an aristocrat.
The programme was originally released on the ITV Encore channel, which was created in 2014 to show the channel's original drama, before its closure in 2018.
Meanwhile, the series - influenced by 1700s prostitution guidebook Harris's List Of Covent Garden Ladies - was broadcast to American viewers via Hulu.
The BBC acquired its UK broadcasting rights in 2020, which saw the show receive renewed attention.
Actress Lesley said at the time, Radio Times reports: 'Yes! I hadn't thought of that, I hadn't thought of that at all.
'We finished season three and I think we all thought that was it. You know, there might be [a series renewal]! Let's start writing the letters now.
'I'd always be interested - obviously I'd be interested, I had nothing but a pleasurable time doing all three series, and it was one of those blissful jobs, so I'd definitely [give] that a lot of consideration but it's certainly not something that's been talked about.
'Maybe you could start a campaign.'
But her plans are foiled when Lydia (pictured) orchestrates a raid of the area with the help of Florence Scanwell (Dorothy Atkinson) - a religious zealot who opposes sex work and becomes her pawn
She said she felt it had been 'hidden away' in programming schedules upon its original release - so she was 'delighted' it was coming to the BBC at the time.
Viewers were quick to take to X to comment on the risque show in 2020, when it was shown on BBC Two.
One wrote: 'This started off with a bang in every sense of the word.'
A second added: 'Spanking, nipples and bare bottoms so far on #harlots.'
The programme starts with Margaret's daughter Lucy (Eloise Smyth) reading out reviews of the brothel's residents.
Viewers are soon introduced to Nancy Birch (Kate Fleetwood) - a longtime friend and neighbour of Margaret who specialises in domination.
They also meet sex workers Betsey Fletcher (Alexa Davies), Fanny Lambert (Bronwyn James) and Emily Lacey (Holli Dempsey).
The latter deserted Margaret to work for rival Lydia - but soon found her stay in the elite brothel nowhere near as luxurious as she once imagined.
Prostitute Emily Lacey (Holli Dempsey, pictured) deserted Margaret to work for rival Lydia - but soon found her stay in the elite brothel nowhere near as luxurious as she once imagined
Margaret makes clear her ambitions to move to the more upmarket Greek Street in Soho.
But her plans are foiled when Lydia orchestrates a raid of the area with the help of Florence Scanwell (Dorothy Atkinson) - a religious zealot who opposes sex work and becomes her pawn.
The raid leaves Margaret with a £100 court fine - which she pays off by selling her youngest daughter's virginity.
She sets up a plan to sell to the highest bidder, after previously refusing one of the brothel's client's offers of £50 to have sex with her daughter.
Meanwhile, Margaret's oldest daughter Charlotte (Downton's Jessica) has a reputation as the city's most coveted courtesan.
She is expected by Sir George Howard (Mamma Mia's Hugh) to sign a contract so he would formally become her 'keeper'.
By becoming her keeper, George would pay for her lavish lifestyle in return for Charlotte having sex with nobody else and legally becoming his property.
In one amusing scene, he gifts her a pineapple, which he believes to be the finest luxury available - and later dons her clothes as he waits for her to return home.
But in a fit of jealousy, after discovering she had not been 'living like a nun' as promised, he successfully bids for Lucy's virginity.
While the pair then do not have sex, he forces Lucy to say otherwise.
Viewers were captivated by Hugh's character when the programme was aired on BBC Two in 2020 and laughed at the funny gesture of gifting a pineapple.
'No one wants a man who thinks she's a pineapple', wrote one, while a second joked: '"You are the pineapple of Great Britain." Imagine interrupting sex to say that.'
A third commented: 'Just what every woman wants, a pineapple.'
Some made comments on perceived inaccuracies in the show, saying it is not historically correct for the sex workers to have 'perfect hair and teeth'.
The fourth instalment of the much-loved Netflix series (pictured) will return to screens in 2026 and as of May, 'Netflix has shared a huge update on the show's future'
It comes hot on the heels of the success of Bridgerton for Netflix, with series five and six of the period drama now reportedly confirmed.
The fourth instalment of the much-loved Netflix series will return to screens in 2026 and as of May, 'Netflix has shared a huge update on the show's future'.
According to The Sun, Netflix has bagged a multi-million pound investment to make series five and six.
A TV insider told the publication: 'After introducing the controversial gender swap at the end of series three which saw Michael Stirling switched to Michaela, there is a chance execs could skip ahead to Francesca's story.
'They certainly weren't afraid to dabble with Julia Quinn's timeline by swapping the order of Colin and Benedict's tales.'
The comment was in reference to the introduction of Michaela Stirling (Masali Baduza), the cousin of Francesca Bridgerton's new husband John Stirling (Victor Alli), at the end of the last series.
Michaela, based on a character in the original Bridgerton books called Michael, leaves Francesca speechless - opening up a new romantic prospect for her, despite her recent marriage.
MailOnline contacted Netflix for comment about this at the time.
Series four, meanwhile, will centre on the love story of Luke Thompson's character Benedict Bridgerton and a new leading lady Sophie Baek, played by Yerin Ha.
Harlots is available to stream on Netflix.
The guide to London's sex workers that inspired Harlots
By Hallie Rubenhold for The Mail On Sunday
Harlot was inspired by the real people and events depicted in Hallie Rubenhold's book, The Covent Garden Ladies, which details the story behind one of history's most notorious publications, The Harris's List Of Covent Garden Ladies.
At the beginning of Harlots, there is a flurry of excitement as the latest edition of The Harris's List, a guide to the capital's sex workers, arrives from the bookseller.
All of the 'ladies of pleasure' are eager to hear what has been written about them, anxious that whatever is said will make or break their careers in the sex trade. Scenes like this would have unfolded every Christmas between 1757 and 1795 when the guide rolled off the presses.
The Lists were more than just a dry catalogue of names and addresses, but a wittily written chronicle of London's sex trade. Each edition contained information about the women who worked in it, providing details of their ages, physical appearance and sexual specialities as well as stories about these women's lives.
The thousands of women from all walks of life who featured in its pages include the likes of Miss Noble who was known for her 'skill in the reviving the dead' with her tongue of 'double charm', or Miss West 'who can pick her gallant's pocket very coolly' while in the act. Miss Love of 14 George Street is celebrated for her 'dark complexion'.
The lists are filled with others who led lives as actresses, servants, shopkeepers, nursemaids and even a number who were married women. They ran the gamut in terms of age and appearance, from those described as 'true beauties' to others referred to as 'veterans in the field of Venus'. Not all were confined to brothels.
The Harris's List show that women often shared accommodation with other sex workers or lodged with ordinary families, such as green grocers and cabinet makers. Although Covent Garden was the centre of sin, filled with theatres, taverns, coffee houses and bath houses, there was no designated red-light district, and women lived in virtually every neighbourhood, from Fitzrovia to Mayfair, from Holborn to the City.
The Harris's List cost two shillings and sixpence, which pushed it far out of range of the ordinary working man. Those women who appeared on it catered almost exclusively to middle-class men and above, but the sex trade catered to every strata of society, from the Prince to the dock worker.
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The Independent
17 minutes ago
- The Independent
The Maccabees on reuniting: ‘There were years when it was like a stranger messaging'
I n a dank rehearsal room in New Cross, bathed in an eerie green light that clings to the walls like moss, The Maccabees are easing back into each other's orbit. A headline appearance at All Points East is still months away. Nearest me is their guitarist Felix White, dressed all in black. 'Any requests?' he asks me. Soon the air is thick with nostalgia. Guitars twitch and flicker. Drums roar. Then in comes the choirboy vocal, clear yet quivering, as if frontman Orlando Weeks is on the verge of an apology: 'Mum said no/ To Disneyland,' he sings. 'And Dad loves the Church. Hallelujah.' It's the first time I've heard 'Lego', from their 2007 debut album, since the south London band bowed out eight years ago. But here are all the early Maccabees hallmarks: staccato riffs, adolescent romance, tenderness wrapped inside tension. Back then, in the harried sprawl of mid-Noughties UK indie – a scene of skinny jeans, dirty dance floors and MySpace pages – they briefly seemed to be just another charming, successful young band, writing cool, funny songs about wave machines and toothpaste. Yet they were always headed somewhere else, evolving, their sound increasingly adventurous on their way to a Mercury Prize nomination, an Ivor Novello award, a No 1 record and a headline performance at Latitude. Then it stopped. Seemingly out of nowhere, in August 2016, the group announced they were to be no more, save for a series of farewell celebration shows at Alexandra Palace the following year. 'We are very proud to be able to go out on our own terms, at our creative peak,' a statement read. 'There have been no fallings out.' Fans were bereft. In the years since, details of the split have remained hazy: by all accounts, it was not so much a blow-up as a simmering of fractures and differences. The pieces didn't fit together any more. While Weeks told The Independent in 2020 that the band 'just ran out of steam', blaming the creative frustrations of working as a group, it's clear a cooling-off period was needed. 'With Orlando,' says Hugo White, a guitarist in the band like his older brother Felix, 'there were a few years we didn't speak. You'd send one text maybe in six months.' They had been together their entire adult lives. 'I was 16 when I started the band,' Hugo notes. 'I was 30 when we split up.' Keeping five people together at that age 'locked into a diary that's scheduled for the next year, all intertwined in [each other's] lives', is difficult, he says. 'And I think that kind of broke in a way.' At that point, the five of them all agree, the idea of ever getting the band back together seemed inconceivable. 'It felt final,' says Weeks, who has now released three excellent solo records. 'Extremely final,' Felix jumps in, amid laughter. 'We needed it to be like that in order to move on,' says Hugo. 'It couldn't linger around.' Felix White during The Maccabees' set at the 2009 Isle of Wight Festival (Getty) We're 10 minutes in, and the group dynamic of The Maccabees is already unmistakable – a familial rhythm of in-jokes, unspoken cues and roles that feel shaped over years. If Weeks is the reluctant frontman, softly spoken and meditative, Felix is the band's ebullient cheerleader. Brooding opposite him is Hugo, with a jaw as sharp as his humour, cracking a number of close-to-the-bone barbs about the breakup. Drummer Sam Doyle and bassist Rupert Jarvis are here, too, quieter, more enigmatic. Though the mood is celebratory, there's no doubt the split was a difficult pill to swallow. 'It was so weird because you've made such a commitment to each other from a young age,' Hugo later tells me. 'So the idea that someone wants to make music outside of that group, with other people – it's almost like a betrayal... Even though it isn't.' For Felix, the way it ended, just as The Maccabees had finally earned their place at indie's top table, was, by his own past admission, 'heartbreaking'. 'We were mid-thirties and there was a real sense of saying goodbye to a part of your life,' he told us last year. The Maccabees wasn't the only breakup Felix was going through. At the same time as those bittersweet Alexandra Palace shows, he was also parting from his girlfriend Florence Welch, of Florence + the Machine. There was so much change in the air, Felix says, that it was difficult to navigate. 'Lots of endings happening in lots of different versions of life.' But then change has always been reflected in The Maccabees' music. Just as they became more expansive sonically, with gauzy guitar textures and swirling atmospherics reminiscent of Arcade Fire, so their lyrics matured. Gone were the chewed-up Lego pieces, replaced by introspection and songs concerned with the vicissitudes of ageing. Enjoy unlimited access to 100 million ad-free songs and podcasts with Amazon Music Sign up now for a 30-day free trial. Terms apply. Try for free ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent. Enjoy unlimited access to 100 million ad-free songs and podcasts with Amazon Music Sign up now for a 30-day free trial. Terms apply. Try for free ADVERTISEMENT. If you sign up to this service we will earn commission. This revenue helps to fund journalism across The Independent. Orlando Weeks performs during the band's 2013 Isle of Wight set (Getty) On a personal level, growing up with The Maccabees, all of us more or less the same age, I've always felt a strange sense of ownership over them, as if they are my band, a soundtrack to my coming of age. I was 20, still flinging myself across sticky, student dance floors in torn Levi's, when a mutual friend played them to me just before the release of debut album Colour It In. Then, two years later, nursing a broken heart, I found myself near Felix in the crowd as Blur played the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury. 'I fell in love to your first album,' I told him. There were other encounters, too, running the gamut from cringe to extremely cringe. Backstage at the Isle of Wight Festival in 2011, introduced to Hugo by a PR, I careened into fanboy overdrive, explaining more than once that 'your band changed my life'. Professionally speaking, I couldn't be trusted to be objective, either: I spent years wearing down a late, great music editor who refused to let me write about them. Eventually, she caved, and I reviewed them at Brixton Academy, not knowing it would be one of their last shows. (Headline: 'Is it time The Maccabees headlined Glastonbury?') Of course, they're not just my band. Recently, at a stag do in the Scottish Highlands, I derived immeasurable joy from watching the groom-to-be insist on playing four vintage Maccabees songs back-to-back at 3am, those time-capsule choruses still a bottomless font of bonhomie. To me, in an era of swaggering, hyper-macho indie landfill, with bands such as Razorlight and The Rifles, their music always stood apart, shimmering with warmth and depth. Evidently, Danny Boyle thinks so too. For a pivotal scene in his film Steve Jobs , he turned to the sweeping, crepuscular tones of 'Grew Up at Midnight', lifted from the band's critically acclaimed 2012 record Given to the Wild. 'We thought that was going to make us f***ing massive in America,' says Felix. 'They used the whole song at the end and we were like, 'Oh my God, we're going to America, people…'' He pauses… 'F***ing nothing. If anything, we were smaller after the film came out.' The Maccabees at the NME Awards in 2016, shortly before their split (AFP/Getty) Be that as it may, there's no downplaying the magnitude of those farewell shows, which felt part celebration, part elegy. I was there and can attest to just how emotional they were. 'There was a real sense when those last Maccabee shows happened that everyone had been, was a particular age, and it became sort of symbolic for saying goodbye to a certain part of your life – sort of early thirties,' says Felix. 'That idea of real adulthood was upon everyone, that you're definitively ending a stage of your life – and it felt like it was inside all of the rooms when we played those shows. It felt like everyone was pouring their own collective sense of goodbye into it, whatever that might be – relationships, being young, people that couldn't be there, all that kind of stuff. So it felt very heavy.' For a while, it seemed that Felix would not look back as he set off on new paths. He launched Yala! Records, wrote the cricket-themed memoir It's Always Summer Somewhere and started a cricketing podcast called Tailenders with radio host Greg James and England's all-time leading wicket-taker Jimmy Anderson. But as time passed, he realised, 'you do get to a point where you're like, actually, life doesn't last forever. If we want to do this, it could be a really beautiful thing.' There was a recognition that it would likely feel that way for their fans, too, who had felt the poignancy of their parting, and had since perhaps been doing a lot of the things that the band had been doing, like starting families and spending more time at home. 'As a Maccabee through the ages, I think you can really hear that in the music: you can hear that we're 19, you can hear that we're 24 and so on. And the gigs used to feel like that, like when we were first playing, and there used to be people hanging from the ceiling and shoes flying everywhere and all that kind of thing. And then, as we got older, it changed into something more introspective.' As we got older, it changed into something more introspective Felix White Cut to Glastonbury this year and there The Maccabees are, headlining the Park Stage, with a comeback set that weaves all those elements together. Yes, there's introspection, but also that frenetic energy; if there'd been a ceiling, you can be sure people would have hung from it – perhaps without their shoes. 'We never thought we'd be playing these songs again to anybody,' Felix said to the crowd. So how come they are, I ask? The catalyst, Hugo says, was his wedding to the author and poet Laura Dockhill in lockdown. After hiring out a pub in Battersea, he invited Weeks on the condition, he jokes, that he would sing. 'And just for the after party,' Felix chimes in, laughing. 'It's not an open invite!' And so, for the first time since Alexandra Palace, all five of them were in the same room. Their friends Jack Peñate, Jamie T, Florence Welch and Adele all performed that night. Crucially, so, too, did The Maccabees. Reuniting, says Weeks, 'didn't feel forced, because after the end of something like The Maccabees, to coordinate a meeting felt sort of contrived. Then, suddenly, there was this event that was a very obviously uncomplicated reason to all be together.' After Covid, he explains, there were tentative conversations about a reunion. Slowly, the pieces aligned. The White brothers' new band 86TVs were forced to pause their plans after Stereophonics called back their drummer, Jamie Morrison, for a tour. 'So, suddenly, there was this fallow year for them,' Weeks continues, 'and I had finished my stuff with [his 2024 album] Loja. So it was just a natural hiatus there. If there hadn't been an All Points East that felt so good, then it might easily have just drifted and not happened. But it just felt very uncomplicated again.' The boys are back in town: The Maccabees at Glastonbury 2025 (Jill Furmanovsky) Certainly, their Glastonbury set had a natural ease and coherence. 'The thing that I was really noticing was that me, Land [Orlando] and Hugo all used to do this thing where we'd all move at the same time, like unintentionally choreographed,' says Felix, when I meet him and his brother again a few weeks after the festival. 'You'd do two steps forward, stand still, three steps back, and you feel everyone do it at the same time. Like, weird, telepathic, synchronised. And here we were doing it again.' Falling unconsciously into step with one another without even speaking, he says, was 'so weird... even beyond the playing, like it was in your body somewhere'. Beforehand, though, 'I was f***ing nervous,' says Felix. 'And the TV thing really does heighten the whole experience.' 'You can't really get a more high-pressure scenario,' agrees Hugo. They'd been calm in the days leading up to it, but that changed on the day, explains his brother. 'Land had this thing in his head where he was saying randomly, sporadically, with no context, how nervous he was out of 10. So you'd be having a chat, and he'd suddenly go 'seven', and then half an hour later, it'd be 'six', and then 'nine'.' Nerves aside, the band were thrilled with how it went. 'I didn't come down from it for days,' says Felix. The set was capped by an appearance from Welch, now back with Felix, for a rendition of her galloping 2008 hit 'Dog Days Are Over'. 'It was a rehash of what we did together at the wedding,' says Hugo. 'As soon as she sings in a room, it changes. She has that thing where she changes the atmosphere in the inner space, and it's really rare.' The whole process was very different from the classic rock cliché of 'putting the band back together' – rebuilding relationships took time. 'We'd meet up with our kids on the South Bank,' says Hugo. 'Stuff that is so far from how we would have spent every day. After a year of not speaking or whatever, you know, you go for a coffee and walk for an hour. Hugo White: 'Florence has that thing where she changes the atmosphere in the inner space, and it's really rare' (Getty) 'Obviously, it's different now,' he adds, 'because Land lives in Lisbon, but things are just back to how they were. And there were years where it was like a stranger messaging you.' Of course, there have been seismic shifts in the musical landscape since The Maccabees formed in 2004 over a love of The Clash and the BBC series Old Grey Whistle Test, which featured punchy, angular performances by the likes of Dr Feelgood and XTC ('You can see why it looked fun to play fast,' says Felix). These days, the industry is 'less focused on bands', says Hugo. 'People are creating these things on computers. Because it's cheaper, it's easier. It doesn't require the same effort as five individuals that connect in a certain way to be able to create something.' Jarvis agrees. 'It's so much more expensive to just be a new band. Back when we first started, we'd chuck in a fiver each to go and spend four hours rehearsing, [but] that doesn't get you anywhere nowadays,' he says. 'I feel very sorry for the new bands because of that, and there's a lot less new bands. You really notice that – there are fewer venues, fewer nights out, fewer things going on for bands to form a scene.' As the fashions of the scene that spawned The Maccabees in the indie sleaze era made a comeback, Weeks saw his past life through a new lens. 'We must be far enough away from that moment to look back at those pictures with a kind of giddiness,' he says. 'The colours and the weird asymmetrical haircuts and plimsoles and acrylic Perspex dangly little earrings and all of those things that, at the time, didn't feel nearly as cool as looking back at photos of The Clash. But we're far enough away from it now that it owns its identity.' The tribalism of the era, when you could tell which aisle of HMV a person would head to just by their hairstyle, holds a romantic pull for the band. 'There was still so much DIY-ness about it all,' says Weeks. 'There was more of a look, a cohesiveness of aesthetic.' Felix recalls being at a metal bar in Camden recently, 'and they've all got a look. That made me feel really nostalgic and jealous thinking, oh, I can't remember being in a place where everyone's got this code that makes them all sort of connected.' Felix White (far left): 'We spent two and a half years in full-on mania making 'Marks to Prove It'' (Jill Furmanovsky) Though the average fan's taste may seem more diverse than ever, Hugo wonders if something was lost in the transition to pick-and-mix fandom in the streaming era. 'You used to buy one album and listen to that until you got another album. [Nowadays] you don't have to listen to one album.' He stops himself and laughs. 'Do they even listen to an album? You just dart between songs like social media, scrolling through things.' The Maccabees seem conflicted about social media generally – especially its demands for self-promotion. 'When Marks to Prove It came out in 2015,' Felix recalls, 'we had a long conversation about whether we should even put on the Instagram that the album's out. We spent two and a half years in full-on mania making this record and it was generally like, is it naff to say the album is out today?' 'When you think what kids like the young artists now are expected to do, it's just, like, mind-blowing in comparison to how things worked for us,' Hugo says. 'We were so fortunate to be able to make stuff as a group of people and not be in this constantly competitive environment.' 'Just being not part of promotion,' Weeks marvels. 'Yeah, it was always someone else in control,' says Doyle. 'Deliver the artwork and they would promote it by getting posters up or whatever it was,' adds Hugo. I'd love to have seen Nick Drake's Instagram. Imagine him asking people to swipe up and share Felix White The sort of 'savviness' that self-promotion requires was not what set them on their way, notes Weeks, picking out current bands he likes – Divorce, Caroline, and Black Country, New Road – who have 'accidental alchemy' but also manage to be engaging on Instagram, without having to lay bare their 'private, inner workings'. 'I'd love to have seen Nick Drake's Instagram,' says Felix, laughing. 'Imagine him asking people to swipe up and share.' It's clear that as they prepare to play All Points East, headlining a bill that includes Irish sensation CMAT and indie stalwarts Bombay Bicycle Club, laughter and good vibes have returned to The Maccabees. 'Everyone's in a good headspace and connecting with each other, and that's allowed it to be stronger,' notes Hugo. Which raises the question: will there be more music from The Maccabees in their forties? 'Do you think that means we would make better music or worse music?' asks Felix. It'll be a different stage of life, for better or worse, I reply. 'It'll be slower,' laughs Hugo. 'There's a good feeling about it,' Felix says, with a wry smile. 'It's tempting…' The Maccabees headline All Points East on 24 August in Victoria Park; last tickets are available here . Reissues of their albums 'Colour It In' and 'Given To The Wild' are released on limited edition vinyl on 22 August. You can pre-order here
BBC News
17 minutes ago
- BBC News
East of England news quiz of the week 26 July
From an otter in an odd place to an inspiring Ed Sheeran, how much East of England news can you remember from the past seven days?
The Guardian
17 minutes ago
- The Guardian
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