It was never supposed to be just another "costume drama." When CBC and Netflix teamed up to bring Anne of Green Gables back to the screen in 2017, the world expected a cozy, tea-sipping stroll through the rolling hills of Prince Edward Island. We've had those before. Kevin Sullivan’s 1985 masterpiece practically owns the "cozy" market, and Megan Follows is, for many, the definitive Anne Shirley.
But then came Anne with an E.
If you walked into this show expecting the soft-focus, amber-hued nostalgia of the 1908 Lucy Maud Montgomery novel, you probably felt a bit of a shock. It's grittier. Honestly, it’s a lot darker than the source material ever dared to be. While the Netflix Anne of Green Gables adaptation keeps the core DNA—the red hair, the puff sleeves, the accidental raspberry cordial intoxication—it chooses to look directly at the trauma that a child like Anne would actually carry.
It’s about PTSD. It’s about the visceral reality of being an "orphan" in a world that viewed parentless children as free labor. And yet, despite the mud and the scars, it managed to become one of the most fiercely defended shows in streaming history.
The Bold Shift from Page to Screen
Moira Walley-Beckett, the showrunner, didn't come from a background of period romances. She came from Breaking Bad. That tells you everything you need to know about the pacing and the psychological weight of this version. She took the subtext of Montgomery's writing and made it the text. In the books, Anne mentions her "trials" in various foster homes with a sort of whimsical detachment, but the Netflix series shows us the flashbacks. We see the screaming, the belt buckles, and the cold isolation of the asylum.
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Some purists hated it. They called it "grimdark" Anne.
I get that. But if you look at the statistics of child welfare in late 19th-century Canada, Walley-Beckett’s version is arguably more "accurate" to the time than the book itself. Montgomery was writing a commercial novel for a specific audience; the show is writing for a modern audience that understands trauma. Amybeth McNulty, who played Anne, was a casting miracle. She didn't look like a Hollywood starlet in a wig. She looked like a spindly, sun-damaged, hyper-intelligent girl who survived by building a fortress of big words around her heart.
The chemistry between McNulty and the elder Cuthberts—played by the late, incredible R.H. Thomson and Geraldine James—is what grounds the whole thing. Marilla isn't just a stern woman who learns to laugh; she’s a woman who has suppressed her own life so thoroughly that Anne’s presence is practically an allergic reaction at first. Matthew, meanwhile, becomes the quiet soul of the show. His struggle with social anxiety and his quiet, steadfast devotion to this "mistake" from the orphanage is enough to break anyone.
Why Fans Fought So Hard for a Season 4
You can't talk about the Netflix Anne of Green Gables without talking about the cancellation. It’s the elephant in the room. In 2019, after three seasons, the show was axed. The reason? A breakdown in the partnership between the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) and Netflix. Catherine Tait, the CEO of CBC, famously compared Netflix to an "imperialist" power, suggesting that the partnership was no longer serving the interests of Canadian content.
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The fans didn't care about corporate politics.
They bought billboards. They rented space in Times Square. Over 1.5 million people signed a Change.org petition to save the show. Why? Because Season 3 ended on a cliffhanger that felt like a beginning, not an end. We finally saw Anne and Gilbert Blythe (played by Lucas Jade Zumann) realize their feelings. We saw Anne headed to Queens College. We saw the introduction of Ka'kwet, a Mi'kmaq girl whose storyline highlighted the horrific reality of the Canadian residential school system—a storyline that was left devastatingly unresolved.
That’s the nuance this show brought. It wasn't just about white girls in flowery hats. It tackled the displacement of Indigenous people, the struggles of the Black community in "The Bog" (a real historical settlement in Charlottetown), and queer identity through the character of Aunt Josephine Barry. It was a 21st-century lens on a 19th-century world.
The Gilbert Blythe Effect
Let's be real: any Anne of Green Gables adaptation lives or dies by its Gilbert. Lucas Jade Zumann brought a specific kind of "sensitive-intellectual" energy to the role that differed from the classic "charming-rogue" Gilbert of the 80s. This Gilbert was grieving. He was working the farm alone after his father died. He was traveling to find himself.
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The "will-they-won't-they" was stretched out to an almost agonizing degree. In the Netflix version, their rivalry isn't just about a slate over the head; it’s a slow-burn intellectual competition. They push each other to be better. When they finally share that kiss in the Season 3 finale, it felt earned because we had seen them survive literal fires, schoolhouse scandals, and the terrifying prospect of growing up.
Practical Insights for the Modern Viewer
If you are coming to this show for the first time, or rewatching it in 2026, here is the best way to approach it. Don't compare it to the book minute-by-minute. You’ll just get frustrated that Anne doesn't go to the picnic in the exact way you imagined.
- Watch for the Cinematography: Bobby Shore’s work on this show is elite. They used natural light whenever possible. The result is a Prince Edward Island that feels tactile—you can almost smell the damp earth and the salt air.
- Pay Attention to the Costuming: The clothes in this show are "lived-in." Anne’s dresses are often slightly too short or frayed, reflecting her status. When she finally gets her puffed sleeves, the emotional payoff is massive because the show has established how much she lacks.
- Listen to the Score: The opening theme, "Ahead by a Century" by The Tragically Hip, is a brilliant nod to Canadian rock royalty and sets the tone: this is a story about the future crashing into the past.
The show's legacy isn't just about the plot. It’s about how it made people feel seen. It took a character who was "too much"—too loud, too emotional, too weird—and told the audience that those traits are exactly what makes her powerful. In a world of filtered perfection, Anne Shirley’s messy, impulsive, imaginative spirit is a lighthouse.
To get the most out of the experience, watch the 1985 version first for the nostalgia, then dive into the Netflix series to see the "why" behind the characters. If you're interested in the historical accuracy of the Mi'kmaq storyline or the history of The Bog, look into the works of PEI historians like Jim Hornby. The show used these real-world elements to ground the fiction in a way that makes the stakes feel incredibly high.
While we likely won't ever get a Season 4—the actors have aged out and the sets are long gone—the three seasons we have are a complete masterclass in how to modernize a classic without losing its soul. It remains a testament to the fact that even a hundred years later, we still need Anne Shirley to remind us that there is "scope for imagination" even in the darkest corners of life.
Next Steps for Enthusiasts:
Start by exploring the "Anne of Green Gables" original manuscript at the Confederation Centre of the Arts website to see the edits Montgomery made herself. If you've finished the show, read The Blue Castle or Emily of New Moon—Montgomery’s other works offer a similarly sharp, sometimes darker look at Edwardian life that aligns perfectly with the tone of the Netflix adaptation. For those interested in the filming locations, most of the show was actually shot in Ontario, but the PEI tourism boards have mapped out the "Spirit of Anne" trails that inspired the original landscapes.