The Evolution of Moral Ambiguity in Television

Her collaboration with Christopher Storer—particularly on projects like *Bull* and *Bridgerton* spin-offs—demonstrates a sustained effort to root high-concept plots in psychological realism. - Jacobs cites *The Sopranos* as a pivotal influence, noting its unflinching look at power, guilt, and redemption. But she pushes further, demanding audiences confront not just antagonists, but the societal and emotional forces shaping them.

- Character depth, for Jacobs, begins with vulnerability. She crafts protagonists who are flawed, rationalizing questionable choices not because they’re “good,” but because they’re human. - Her approach often restricts traditional narrative arcs.

“You can’t have a tidy resolution when the characters are this complicated,” she explains. “Life doesn’t clean itself, and neither should TV.”

A defining hallmark of Jacobs’ work is her ability to spotlight women navigating power, trauma, and ambition. Between complex male leads and morally ambiguous antiheroes, she creates space for female protagonists who defy the passive or righteous archetypes common in earlier decades.

Jacobs intentionally writes women whose motivations are layered—driven by ambition, fear, love, or survival—never reduced to plot devices. In *Bridgerton*—a franchise largely shaped by Jacobs’ creative input—characters like Daphne and Eliza Benning embody this ethos. Daphne, for instance, balances intelligence and naivety, ambition and vulnerability, refusing to present femininity as a single narrative.

“I wanted Daphne to feel real—to laugh, to doubt, to lie her way through hard truths,” Jacobs said. “Her journey isn’t about perfection; it’s about choosing herself, again and again.”

Collaborating closely with Christopher Storer, Jacobs has merged structural precision with emotional resonance. Their partnership thrives on a shared belief that storytelling must evolve with cultural shifts, incorporating diverse voices and lived experiences.

Storer’s directorial precision complements Jacobs’ narrative depth, creating a synergy evident in the tonal balance and pacing of their projects.

Under their guidance, productions increasingly reject savior narratives in favor of morally layered journeys. Jacobs rejects the idea that strong female characters must always “win” or “transcend” adversity.

Instead, her stories embrace messiness—characters confront betrayal, grief, and failure, yet retain agency. This realism, Jacobs argues, is what connects viewers across generations. “Audiences don’t want a fantasy,” she notes.

“They want reflection.”

Jacobs’ impact extends beyond her own projects. By championing roles that challenge both actor and audience, she has expanded the creative possibilities for writers and performers alike. Her advocacy for behind-the-scenes diversity—particularly in writing rooms—has helped shift industry norms, fostering stories that feel inclusive and authentic.

In an era where television is a primary cultural force, Gillian Jacobs stands out as a storyteller unafraid to confront complexity. Through Christopher Storer’s collaborative lens, she continues to redefine what serialized drama can be—deep, dangerous, and profoundly human. As the medium evolves, Jacobs’ work reminds us that the most compelling narratives are those that don’t just entertain, but interrogate, challenge, and endure.