As a Sicilian Prince, Don Fabrizio Corbara de Salina (Kim Rossi Stuart) has the occasional societal obligations. Otherwise, he and members of his extended family, living during the Risorgimento, find themselves in trouble. He has to bail out his nephew Tancredi Falconeri (Saul Nanni), in jail, facing death for siding against the then Sicilian King. His daughter Concetta (Benedetta Porcaroli) is in love with Tancredi even if the latter has his eyes on Angelica Sedara. Deva Cassel plays Angelica, and Fabrizio has to deal with her father Calogero (Francesco Colella) shady practices. It’s easy to see Calogero as the villain in this story but both nobles and new money are taking advantage of each other. These two classes are mixing both with their financial and romantic lives, which remind Fabrizio of his own moral failings.

This story doesn’t sound as familiar as the characters’ names – yes, they’re the characters in Lampedusa’s The Leopard. It’s a meaty novel with a lot of subjects. But it’s mostly him fictionalizing a romance while writing about his princely family. The first time that this got an adaptation was thanks to Luchino Visconti. A reminder – he gave us one of the greatest movies of all time. Visconti’s version mostly follows the book beat by beat, and its interpretation of Calogero as a rough diamond is passable. Visconti looks at the story through Fabrizio’s eyes, seeing the new generation with the same optimism of the baby boomers. Decades later, Netflix decides to turn this into a miniseries, and the people who caught this have a decided mix of expectations. The miniseries, under the direction of Tom Shankland, adds, on top of that optimism, with caution, showing old anxieties.

Apologies for bringing up Visconti again. But his version was him at his Sunday best with a mix of Cezanne’s colourful palette. And every time Netflix has a live action anything and it’s lacking when it comes to aesthetics, I am bringing that up every time. This version of The Leopard’s aesthetics aren’t perfect. Interior spaces are sometimes dark and at other times dusty or smoky. Exterior spaces are a mix of deserts, parched valleys, and the occasional oasis, reminding viewers of the Mediterranean. But it’s the oasis – the Salinas’ palace in Donnafugata – and its stereotypical tropical flora. It makes for an interesting aesthetic. The same goes for some of the choices in score. Sicilian folk music that sounds Arabic, or German and Slavic music. All of these remind viewers who are paying attention, that Sicily had many conquerors, just like the northerners in 1860.

Ambivalent reactions are ones I expect when viewers see how The Leopard treats the story and characters with new eyes. Some of the chapters are out of order, and entire episodes are here to flesh out throwaway lines in Lampedusa’s novel. The miniseries is also going to badly beat the love triangle between Angelica, Concetta, and Tancredi like a dead horse. But despite that strange choice in both direction and script, at least both the women have more to do and learning moments. The four main actors also do wonders in expressing the weight of the moral ambiguities that come with changing times. And apologies for bringing up both Lampedusa and Visconti again, but it feels satisfying when this miniseries stays loyal. Like the film, this miniseries celebrates old masculinity, a kind of man who isn’t afraid to dance with a woman who insists.

Watch The Leopard on Netflix.