Love Through a Prism – Series Review

Content considerations: Some of the English characters occasionally stereotype Japanese people (not condoned); brief references to “uncivilized” indigenous peoples.

What it’s about: In this historical fiction set in the early 1910s, 20-year-old Lili Ichijoin travels from Japan to England to join the prestigious Saint Thomas Art Academy. But her trip comes with a catch: if she’s not the top student in six months, her mother will force her to return home. Lili’s confident in her abilities—until she meets the tactless but artistically brilliant Kit Church. She’ll have to hone her skills in a hurry if she wants to best this genius.

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Love Through a Prism has a romantic’s heart, for better and (occasionally) for worse. 

This sense of romanticism immediately shines through in the gorgeous background art. Fittingly for a show about artists, there’s a strong sense of place and tone conveyed through the artwork, from the gentle, sweeping blues and greens of pastoral England to the pleasantly crowded roads of London and on to the stately halls of the academy itself.

It’s bright, charming, and made me badly want to visit England again—perhaps for another pint at the based-on-a-real-pub the cast frequents.

In other words, Prism is a highly idealized picture of early-1900s England with nary a smog cloud in the sky. Which makes for some lovely scenery, but becomes less effective when the series turns its attention to the social climate of the period.

Every adult aristocrat we meet has a keen sense of noblesse oblige, routinely prioritizing the interests of the common folk over their personal desires. There’s no mention of the British Empire or colonialism, even though Peter (one of the primary supporting characters) is from New Delhi. The only reference to cultural or racial differences at all comes from a handful of young folks stereotyping Japanese people, but it’s played as annoying individual ignorance rather than harmful systemic prejudice.

Even when the series does turn its attention to cultural norms like class divides, women’s roles, or arranged marriages, it’s treated more as a personal obstacle than a social barricade. Many of the characters’ conflicts revolve around finding a balance between desire and duty, or knowing when to accept responsibility and when to defy unfair expectations. But once our young cast figures out what they want and finds the courage to speak out, the adults and systems in power pretty much always support them.

On the one hand, it’s kind of refreshing to watch historical fiction and not get jump-scared by hateful bigotry and oppression. On the other hand, it feels disingenuous to the time period, especially for a series that presents itself as grounded in reality. This becomes borderline egregious in the final act, when major historical events start to impact the characters only to get glossed over in favor of plot points that feel straight out of an old-school adventure novel.

At a certain point I had to start treating Love Through a Prism more as fantasy than realism—an artist’s rendering, as it were, inspired by history but existing slightly to the left of the real world. The good news is that once I did, the vast majority of my critiques about the series fell away, because Prism absolutely shines as a character-driven, coming-of-age love story.

The show’s romantic heart really works in its favor when building its cast, as everybody is flawed but nobody is a true villain. Every character has the chance to connect, learn, and change for the better, whether they’re a jealous rival, strict relative, or one of the romantic leads.

Lili is an immediately likable, optimistic protagonist with a streak of stubborn ambition and sparking temper. She has her flaws—she’s proud to a fault at times, struggles to express herself in words, and often goes a step too far when rightfully calling people out for poor behavior—but she has a strong sense of justice and is always a delight to watch. I was rooting for her from the second she stepped off that ship.

Our leading man, Kit, took longer to win me over. It helps that his lack of consideration comes from a place of ignorance and isolation rather than malice (you could maybe make the argument that he’s autistic-coded, given his hyper-focus on art and difficulty reading social cues). That said, he’s still routinely self-centered and makes life harder on his friends, often with little remorse. This is especially annoying given that most of his friends are from marginalized groups and all of them have significantly less social power than he does. 

Still, Kit does learn and grow as the series progresses, developing into someone who at least tries to be considerate of others, even if he doesn’t always succeed. I never loved him, but I grew to understand and sympathize with him. More importantly, I understood why Lili liked him, and their bond as artists does lead to some emotionally lovely and aesthetically gorgeous scenes.

Fortunately for Kit, he doesn’t need to be charismatic because the rest of the cast is more than up to the task. The supporting characters are top-to-bottom stellar, to the point where I wish we’d gotten a few more episodes to learn more about them. The female characters are a particular bright spot: Dorothy as the outgoing but surprisingly pragmatic best friend, and Catherine as the adversary whose trope-defying arc may be the highlight of the series.

Love Through a Prism is at its absolute best when it’s about artist friends spending time together, whether they’re joking at the pub, arguing about their craft, or chatting about their past and future dreams. The mixed-gender and racially diverse cast avoid tired cliches and present a variety of ways for people to find fulfillment after graduation, whether they choose to pursue art as a career or a hobby. Simply put, I adored these kids.

I called Love Through a Prism a “love story,” but let’s be clear that there are multiple love stories at play here. Lili’s arc—and Kit’s arc too, come to think of it—are as much about their relationship with their art and their friends as it is about their slow-burn romance with one another. By finding a community where they can belong, they grow as artists and people, rediscovering their love of painting and one another, time and time again.

The final episode (including a wonderful post-credits scene) provides a satisfying payoff to all of these throughlines, leading our characters into a future that’s a bit too rose-colored to succeed as historical realism, but passes as historical fantasy with flying colors. I laughed. I cheered. I yelled at the characters and forgave them. I even teared up a little at the end. Flaws and all, it’s hard not to recommend an experience like that.