SERIES REVIEW – Netflix’s latest literary adaptation isn’t just rich in flavor and romantic heat – it’s also a piercing, timely exploration of how elites manage to survive seismic political change.

First, American creators reimagined British period dramas. Now, British writers are giving Italian heritage a glossy, global spin. Back in 2020, Shonda Rhimes transformed 19th-century England into a steamy playground of scandal and string quartet pop covers with her smash-hit Bridgerton. In 2024, screenwriters Benji Walters and Richard Warlow (The Serpent), along with director Tom Shankland (SAS Rogue Heroes), are collaborating with Netflix to put their own seductive stamp on a beloved Italian classic.

British writers take on Italian grandeur

And it’s easy to see the appeal. The Leopard – based on Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa’s legendary 1860s novel set in Sicily – has all the right ingredients: visual splendor, sensual drama, emotional chaos, and lots of food you wish you could taste. But this sultry series isn’t just about pretty faces and lavish table settings. Beneath the billowing skirts and intense love triangles lies a sharp, layered story about a crumbling aristocracy forced to confront its own extinction.

Our titular leopard is Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, named for the feline on the family’s coat of arms. Played with commanding restraint by Kim Rossi Stuart (the cast is entirely Italian, with subtitles), Fabrizio finds himself reluctantly adapting to the chaos after Garibaldi’s redshirts storm Sicily in the name of unification, toppling the Bourbon regime (no, not the cookie). The Prince is, unsurprisingly, appalled by revolution – terrified for his family’s security and the slow erosion of his power. His nephew Tancredi, though, has no such illusions. He throws his lot in with the rebels, not just for the thrill, but because he understands where history is headed. “If we want things to stay the same,” he tells his bewildered uncle, “everything has to change.”

Decay, dignity, and adaptation

The Leopard is ultimately a reflection on aging and the vanishing of a world. Fabrizio slowly realizes that both his influence and his way of life are slipping into irrelevance. Regime change doesn’t erase the nobility overnight – but it forces them to learn a new game, one that involves compromise with the rising middle class and the newly powerful military brass. Once the embodiment of male entitlement and aristocratic arrogance, Fabrizio thinks nothing of dragging his priest to visit his mistress (his excuse for adultery? He’s never seen his wife’s bellybutton). But soon, he’s reduced to flattering a puffed-up colonel just to gain access to his country estate. The fall of the mighty has always made for compelling drama, and here it’s delivered with a strangely beautiful blend of irony and melancholy.

Meanwhile, that same estate plays host to a quieter battle – a romantic one. Tancredi has been gently courting Concetta, Fabrizio’s daughter, who clearly adores him. But she’s quickly overshadowed by Angelica (played by Deva Cassel, daughter of Monica Bellucci and Vincent Cassel), the ambitious and striking daughter of the town’s new-money mayor, who seems custom-built to conquer Tancredi’s heart.

Visconti’s legacy, revisited

Before this sleek six-episode Netflix production, The Leopard was a cinematic monument: a nearly three-hour epic released in 1963, starring Burt Lancaster, based on the novel that had been published posthumously just five years earlier. On paper, the similarities are plentiful – many scenes and lines remain intact. But while Rossi Stuart’s Prince is more emotionally reserved and less overtly cruel than Lancaster’s, Saul Nanni’s Tancredi delivers an unexpectedly magnetic presence that holds up even against Alain Delon’s iconic turn. This new cast brings a key advantage: they’re actually Italian. By contrast, the original film featured Lancaster speaking English and Delon speaking French – both later dubbed into Italian, creating a bizarre linguistic patchwork.

Still, Visconti’s version had something that this new series doesn’t fully recapture: a haunting, baroque intensity. A gothic undercurrent ran through every scene, from religious fervor to familial tension, all simmering beneath the polished surfaces. The film’s visual grandeur – from Palermo’s war-torn streets to its famously drawn-out 45-minute ballroom sequence – was nothing short of breathtaking. The new version, while certainly polished, lacks that same fevered atmosphere. It’s visually attractive, but doesn’t quite ascend to the realm of true cinematic art.

A timeless story, newly accessible

What this adaptation does deliver is clarity and accessibility. It never panders, but it opens the door wider to a broader audience. The central themes – of power, change, legacy, and survival – remain intact and just as resonant. Where does evolution end and erasure begin? When does strategic compromise turn into surrender? The Leopard may dazzle you with its beauty, but it earns its place with thoughtful storytelling and a sharp eye for historical pattern.

-Gergely Herpai „BadSector”-