It is impossible to watch Little Big Lies without feeling a massive, uncomfortable weight whenever Bonnie Carlson walks into a frame. Zoe Kravitz plays her with this ethereal, quiet grace that somehow makes the surrounding chaos of Monterey look even louder. But honestly? The show did her dirty. While everyone else was busy screaming in kitchens or plotting social coups, Bonnie was the one holding the actual, physical burden of the show's biggest secret. She was the one who pushed Perry.
She's the moral compass of a group that doesn't really have a north. She’s the yoga-teaching, organic-smoothie-making "other" in a sea of high-strung blonde privilege. And yet, for most of the first season, she’s treated like a background character. A catalyst. A plot device in a Lululemon tank top.
People forget that Bonnie Carlson wasn't just a witness to the abuse. She was a victim of a different kind of violence long before she ever met the Monterey Five. If you really look at the trajectory of her character—especially how it diverges from Liane Moriarty’s original novel—you start to see the cracks in how we treat "strong" women on screen.
The Massive Change From Book to Screen
In the book, Bonnie’s background is much clearer. We find out pretty early on that her father was abusive. That context is vital. It explains why her body reacted before her brain did at the trivia night. It wasn't just a random act of heroism; it was a visceral, post-traumatic response to seeing a man hurt a woman.
The show, though? It kept us in the dark for a long time.
Season one focused on the mystery: Who died? Who did it? Season two tried to retroactively fix the lack of Bonnie's backstory by bringing in her mother, Elizabeth, played by Crystal Fox. It was heavy. It was dark. It showed us that Bonnie’s "zen" persona was actually a survival mechanism. She wasn't just peaceful; she was repressed. She spent her whole life trying to be the opposite of the anger she grew up with.
That shift changes everything about how you view her relationship with Nathan. Think about it. Nathan is Ed’s foil. He’s loud, he’s a bit of a peacock, and he’s constantly trying to prove he’s the "better" man. Bonnie didn’t marry him because they were a perfect match; she married him because he was "safe" compared to the ghosts of her past. Or at least, she thought he was.
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Why the "Monterey Five" Dynamic Failed Bonnie
There is a specific kind of isolation that happens when you are the only person of color in a wealthy, white social circle. Bonnie Carlson lives this every day.
When the "push" happens, the women bond. They become the Monterey Five. But Bonnie is never truly in the circle. She’s the one carrying the guilt while Madeline is worried about her marriage and Celeste is drowning in grief and relief. Bonnie is the only one who seems genuinely haunted by the literal life-or-death stakes of what happened on those stairs.
She stops talking. She retreats.
The others treat her like a problem to be solved or a secret to be kept, rather than a friend who is shattering. You can see it in the way they look at her. They need her to stay quiet so they stay safe. It’s a selfish kind of sisterhood.
The Physicality of the Role
Zoe Kravitz doesn't get enough credit for the physical acting here. In season two, Bonnie’s posture changes. She looks smaller. Her clothes—usually flowing and free—start to look like they’re wearing her.
There’s this scene at the hospital where she’s just sitting by her mother’s bed. No dialogue. Just her face. You can see the resentment and the love fighting for space. It’s some of the best acting in the series because it’s so restrained. She isn't throwing iPads or screaming in the street. She’s imploding.
The Problem With the Ending
The ending of season two sees the women walking into the police station together. It’s framed as this big moment of solidarity. A "we’re in this together" beat.
But is it?
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Bonnie is the one who wanted to confess from the start. She’s the one who couldn't live with the lie. By waiting as long as they did, the other women essentially forced Bonnie to live in a state of psychological torture for months. If they had just told the truth—that it was self-defense and defense of others—things might have been different.
Instead, they made her a liar. They stripped away the very thing that made her Bonnie: her integrity.
Practical Takeaways for Fans of the Series
If you're re-watching Little Big Lies or just diving into the discourse, there are a few ways to really appreciate the depth of Bonnie’s character that often gets glossed over:
- Watch the background. In season one, pay attention to Bonnie whenever Perry is in the room. Even before the finale, her body language changes. She senses him long before the others realize what he is.
- Read the book. Seriously. If you felt like the "mother backstory" in season two felt a bit rushed or disconnected, Liane Moriarty’s novel provides the internal monologue that the show struggles to translate.
- Acknowledge the racial subtext. You can't separate Bonnie’s experience from her identity. The way she is policed—both by the actual police and her "friends"—is deeply rooted in the fact that she is a Black woman in a space that expects her to be the "calm" one.
- Focus on the sound design. The show uses music to signal Bonnie's state of mind. When her world is stable, the music is soul and R&B. When she’s spiraling, the soundscape becomes jagged and uncomfortable.
Bonnie Carlson was never just a yoga teacher who got caught up in a mess. She was a woman who had been fighting her way out of a cycle of violence since she was a child. The tragedy of Little Big Lies isn't just Perry’s death; it’s the fact that in order to save her friends, Bonnie had to lose herself.
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Next time you watch, look past the Monterey mansions and the high-end wine. Look at Bonnie. She’s the only one who actually paid the price.
To understand the full impact of the show's themes, compare Bonnie’s confession journey to Celeste’s legal battle. It highlights the difference between seeking justice and seeking peace. Pay close attention to the final shots of the series; they tell a very different story about who is actually "free."