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Downton Abbey: A Journey to the Highlands (2012)
"We've done our duty. Downton is safe."
Depressing, distressing, disheartening, disappointing, and a little dull . . . if you didn't see the 2012 Downton Abbey Christmas Special on Christmas Day then give thanks because it would have snuffed out what holiday cheer you might have been feeling, snuffed it out just as surely as Matthew Crawley's life was snuffed out at the very moment of his greatest joy and minutes before the episode itself slammed to a close.
In all fairness, writer Julian Fellowes was up against some serious hurdles, not to mention the awkwardness of a British Christmas special, which is apparently just a longer series episode that may or may not have anything to do with Christmas—this one takes place in September. It must be difficult to film in Britain in the winter, making seasonal stories hard to produce (recall the green trees and lawns, ineptly camouflaged with fog, of Downton's otherwise superb 2011 Christmas special). Moreover, the Downton Christmas specials are not so much "specials" as lengthy finales to the finale. If you miss them, then you've missed vital plot developments; they are not extra.
Such confusion aside, Fellowes faced a daunting challenge: the departure of his leading man, Dan Stevens, whose portrayal of Matthew Crawley has been central to Downton's plot. In many ways, the main story has always been his, the story of a middle-class lawyer chosen by fate to be the heir of a great aristocratic dynasty. Moreover, Matthew has always thoroughly embodied the show's central theme, the clash of traditional upper-class values with the more progressive values of the twentieth century. Even worse than Stevens' departure was the fact that every informed viewer already knew he was planning to leave. How and when Matthew would be dispatched offered the only hint of suspense in the Christmas special. Sudden illness was out, since his one-time fiancé already went that way. It had to be an explosion or a crash, perhaps a gun backfiring while deerstalking, perhaps a train derailment. As it turns out, it would be a car crash. Among the final scenes of this holiday treat is a shot of Matthew's head, eyes wide open, lying bloody in a ravine by the road from the hospital where he has just held his newborn son.
Until that horrifying moment, there is little more of interest than the old Crawley gang in new surroundings, a romantic castle in the highlands of Scotland. The setting does not disappoint, especially the magnificent countryside (the interiors are also beautiful—Downtown Abbey, but with weapons, bagpipes, and antlers). The visit itself is not a lot of fun. Cousin "Shrimpy," Marquess of Flintshire, and his grumpy frump of a wife bicker constantly; their daughter Rose (yes, that Rose!) struggles to break free of their constraints; a posting to India hangs over their heads; the estate is in financial collapse. It's really hard to care; we don't know these people. The gillies' ball is fun, but mostly it's just another servants' ball, this time with Scottish reels and a wildly whirling, very drunk Mr. Molesley.
There is more fun for those left at Downton, where (almost) everyone visits the local fair. Mrs. Patmore attracts a "fancy man," though he turns out to be nothing more than a portly womanizer with an eye for good cooking. Doctor Clarkson has his eye on Isobel and his mind on marriage (which could have made for an interesting plot development but goes absolutely nowhere). Mrs. Hughes dispenses sage advice when needed. Mr. Carson cares for baby Sybil while everyone is out for the day, a scene that makes it easy to forgive his occasional pomposity. While trying to protect his beloved Jimmy, Thomas takes a severe beating from village thugs. Tom Branson, still grieving, uncertain and lonely, suffers misdirection at the hands of a cheeky new housemaid. Amongst the few joys of this Christmas special is a good long look at Allen Leech bare-chested (thank you, Father Christmas). In fact, if you like handsome young men and if you're moved by their physical and emotional suffering, then this really is the episode for you: Thomas bruised and battered, Branson sobbing his heart out, Matthew bloody on the ground. Merry Christmas.
Viewers cannot help but feel trepidation as Downton travels on from here. If the rapid change of the first part of the last century is to continue as a central theme, then who will now become the embodiments of progress? Two of the more progressive characters, Sybil and Matthew, lie in premature graves. Isobel can carry the torch, but she's an old lady. Branson hasn't yet regained his confidence (Violet speaks of him as if he were a house-trained dog). Cora's hint of American spunk might come to the fore, and Edith might continue to assert herself, but there's not much else on which to pin hope for the future. Mary remains something of an enigma. The series, though always a confection rather than a main meal, has to be about more than Mr. Carson fretting over the fish knives, the Dowager Countess making snobbish wisecracks, and a growing population of ghosts floating about the place. The Christmas episode's unwelcome gift has been to leave us in doubt about the future of the series. Downton has an heir, born at last into Lord Grantham's direct line, but everything else is uncertain. Where do we go from here?
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.8 (2012)
"Let's give it a go and see what the future brings."
The question: is this, the season three finale of Downton Abbey, actually the season three finale, or will there be, come December 25, an episode that is the actual season finale? British television is admittedly first-rate, but British television programming has something of Lewis Carroll about it. Whatever it is, episode eight moves past the oddities of episode seven and has many of the grace notes that made season one and the Christmas episode of season two so pleasurable. If we are to have another Christmas treat, and if it includes Shirley MacLaine, and if it's as good as the last time around, then season three may end up being the best overall, so far.
Lady Rose is the only jarring note. It's rarely a good idea to introduce a new character near the end of something, but, nonetheless, here comes Rose Somebody's-Distant-Relation. Who she is, what she's doing, and where she's going is anybody's guess. Looking a bit like a demented Bo Peep, she does give us entry into the inferno (Matthew references Dante in describing it) of a Jazz Age London nightclub, complete with black trumpet player, gyrating flappers, and a man that looks vaguely like the old Prince of Wales. It's a nice bit of twenties local color, but that's all it is.
Violet's meddling in Isobel's household comes up good, albeit through a series of accidents. As it turns out, a very nice lady has answered Violet's employment ad regarding Ethel. This very nice lady happens to live near Ethel's son's grandparents, a situation fraught with possibility and anxiety. At Violet's instigation, Grandmother Blimp arrives just in time to announce that everything will work out fine (she'll deal with Grandfather Blimp, no worries). Violet is vindicated (through sheer luck), and Isobel is out a housekeeper-cook. Perhaps Mrs. Patmore can teach Mr. Molesley—since he can't play cricket or do much of anything else.
Poor Edith's editor and love interest turns out to be married to a woman locked away in a madhouse (what else). It's becoming a running joke—a good one, mind you—that any man Edith shows an interest in will be peculiar and disastrous. We still don't know why Anthony Strallan bolted from the marriage chapel—perhaps he'll make a surprise appearance in the Christmas episode, like he did last year, and reveal all. In other news of the Downton sisters, Mary and Matthew have had the plumbing fixed (quick, secret operation for Mary, no fuss) and Downton's future is that much closer to security.
Tom Branson was most articulate again, finally making Robert understand that interlopers such as himself and Matthew only want to use their particular skills to make the place a success. Of course, what finally turns the tide is Tom's reluctant agreement to play in the local cricket match, with which Robert is rather obsessed. Allen Leech is talented and handsome, and Tom's character is a pleasure—beautiful, eloquent, sensitive, oh my! Hugh Bonneville continues to bring depth to Robert, especially when he takes over the situation with Thomas. It's good to see Robert take charge of something and have it work out well. He is good with the servants, one must admit. (He's still not good with finance, mentioning as a possible investment for Downton the fraudulent scheme of the now infamous Charles Ponzi.)
Miss O'Brien's machinations come to a satisfyingly abrupt halt with the whispered mention by Mr. Bates of a certain bar of soap from season one. With that bit of intimidation he saves rival Thomas from the fate of Oscar Wilde. Several people, including Mrs. Hughes and Lord Grantham, deserve praise for the intelligent way they react to Thomas's predicament and the now-official acknowledgment of his homosexuality. There will be those who scoff at Robert's ease of understanding, but, in all fairness, it has always been the prudish middle classes that have had the most problems with sexuality, whatever its manifestation. The upper class has almost always been more flexible. Thomas's revelation to Bates, saying he envies the fact that Bates' and Anna's love is openly celebrated, will evoke feelings recognizable to anyone who has been unfairly and arbitrarily denied the right to love as nature intended them to love. It's one of the best moments in the series. Every gay man will know it acutely. The fear that writer Julian Fellowes was not handling the Thomas character with finesse disappeared completely. Nicely done, Mr. Fellowes.
We end with a quintessentially English event, the summer cricket match between village and house. The women are pale and lovely in cream-colored frocks. The men are pale and overweight (not Tom, Thomas, or Matthew, of course) in their cream-colored knit jumpers. Nothing much happens. Tea is served. Delightful.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.7 (2012)
"Welcome back, Mr. Bates! I've waited a long time to say that!"
Episode 7 of season three is not as weird as the "maimed-imposter-heir-returns episode" of season two, but there is strangeness enough. Perhaps because it follows on tragedy and tragedy's dénouement, or perhaps because it is meant to be the lull before the grand finale, the episode does not entirely satisfy. Parts of it are quite frustrating.
Mr. Bates is finally released from prison, removed from bondage in a chauffeur-driven limousine, which seems over the top even for an employer as indulgent as Lord Grantham. For the remainder of the episode, he and Anna wander around with nothing whatsoever to do (Lord Grantham tells him to read some books). No one thought ahead to the fact that Robert would end up with two valets, Bates and Thomas. Anna uncharacteristically wants Thomas sacked, even though as valet he has been blameless. In an establishment where meticulous organization and planning are givens, the whole thing seems ridiculous. It also seems ridiculous that Anna, who showed sympathy towards Thomas recently, should speak in this selfish way.
Equally ridiculous are developments surrounding the downstairs romance mess, especially Thomas's lust for Jimmy. Misled by O'Brien, he sneaks into Jimmy's room in the night and tries to kiss him. Right on cue, all hell breaks loose, and the ensuing fear and tension downstairs becomes impossible for any of the servants to ignore. It's disappointing that Julian Fellowes resorts to the stereotype of the menacing, predatory gay male who throws himself on unsuspecting heterosexuals. Thomas is not a nice person, but he is enormously complex and there could be so much more happening with his character than this threadbare stereotyping. As for the lower servants' lusts and desires, the whole thing has become like a bunch of boring teenagers in school, and it's time for someone downstairs with some sense (Mrs. Hughes, where are you?) to shout ENOUGH!
Also ridiculous is the appearance of Tom Branson's brother, portrayed as a total caricature of a loutish, working-class boor. Is this meant to remind us that the only working-class folk who can behave with good manners are those loyal to the Downton estate or in service to it? Tom does look grand by comparison, but, my goodness, Fellowes is painting with a broad brush. Tom also shines when he eloquently tells Robert, now balking not just at Catholicism generally but also at the fact that he might have to attend a Catholic ceremony, just how much it would have meant to Sybil for her father to be at the christening of her child. It brings a tear to the eye. Tom's not perfect, but he proves that class has nothing to do with caste.
Not ridiculous, both Matthew and Edith are still fighting their way into the modern world. He is the new broom sweeping clean the nineteenth-century dust of estate mismanagement, and she is the spinster broom sweeping her way into the (for Downton) shocking world of a weekly newspaper column. Her editor is clearly a potential love interest, and it's worth noting that he has a bit of Anthony Strallan in his facial features and expressions! Robert continues to resist all, his worst moments coming at breakfast, where the etiquette of the day places him at the table alone with Edith, Matthew, and Tom and where, each morning, some grating bit of news or point of view invariably reaches his ear.
Very ridiculous, and very disappointing, is the revelation that Violet's solidarity with the Downton women and with housemaid-turned-whore-turned-housekeeper Ethel, really was just a chance to exert momentary power over her son and get more pudding into her mouth. She connives behind the scenes to remove Ethel from Isobel's household. Everyone (well, maybe not Isobel) concludes it's for the best, and the whole thing reeks of the upper class manipulating the lives of those below them because they know what's good for the lower orders better than they know it themselves. Even if the dowager countess is right, her means and her manner do not justify her end. Violet is increasingly portrayed as an aristocratic sage who can see farther than everyone else. This is not who she is, at least not as Fellowes has developed her character thus far: she is the acerbic old grandmother whose bark is worse than her bite and who proves unexpectedly resilient and flexible, while maintaining an outward and extravagant allegiance to tradition. It was refreshing last week to see her step out of her usual conformity, but this week she becomes more of a stock character. Shirley MacLaine, wherever you are, get back to Downton Abbey and fast!
Special Recycling Award for Julian Fellowes: "I prefer the American stars; I think they've got more oomph," says housemaid Elsie in the film Gosford Park. "I like the American actors; they've got more you-know-what," says kitchen maid Ivy from season three of Downton Abbey.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.6 (2012)
"Grief makes one so terribly tired."
Reconciliation and release. Episode six provides some catharsis after the trauma of last week, and there is much to commend the episode, including outstanding and witty dialogue in several key scenes (mostly around dining tables) and the resolution (though somewhat abruptly) of two conflicts—Cora vs. Robert and Bates vs. the judicial system. The nuanced illumination of Cora and Robert, in particular, make it slightly better than a typical "middle episode."
Cora continues to direct her grief at Robert by blaming him for Sybil's death, blame that lands right where it should. Robert is not a bad man, but he is exasperating in his inability to grasp the new world that will engulf him, as he has been warned by his formidable mother-in-law (Shirley MacLaine), if he does not change along with it. It is already engulfing him. Change comes hard to a man who has never had to change before, and that we feel sympathy for Robert, who is enduring his own kind of hell, is testament to Julian Fellowes's skillful writing and Hugh Bonneville's splendid acting.
Others will not allow themselves to be taken down by Lord Grantham's antiquated world-view. Matthew is ever determined to make the estate an economic success and is making a convert of Mary and maybe of Tom, who, we discover, knows a bit about the rural life (will Tom and baby Sybil being staying, we hope). No one—save for the odd bleached vicar—will stand for Robert's religious prejudices, even the oft-prejudiced dowager herself. Most of all, and rather hilariously, comes a showdown between Robert and the Downton women (ALL of them), when they refuse Robert's order to leave Isobel's luncheon because it was prepared by former-prostitute Ethel! Even Violet will not bow to convention ("It seems a pity to miss such a good pudding."). The battle of the sexes is fought downstairs too, with both Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore standing up to the haughty Mr. Carson regarding the same matter ("Do I look like a frolicker?" Mrs. Patmore counters when he intimates of her frolicking with prostitutes).
The lower servants' romantic infatuations intensify, with Thomas becoming dangerously free in massaging the ostensibly heterosexual Jimmy's neck. Miss O'Brien seems poised to strike at her one-time ally (watch out, Thomas, we don't need anybody else in prison)! Daisy is offered a place on her father-in-law's prosperous farm, which would bring her independence and freedom from a life of servitude, presumably baking cakes and putting up preserves for profit instead of for the titled gentry.
Two major plot lines are wrapped up, though their ends seem a bit sudden. Mr. Bates is exonerated by way of quick thinking and violent threats. It appears we will be shed of the repetitive, monochromatic prison scenes (in all fairness, one supposes prisons—especially 1920s prisons—to be repetitive and monochromatic places). Most suddenly, Cora and Robert reconcile after Violet pressures Dr. Clarkson into saying Sybil probably would have died no matter what. It's obvious he's being coerced, but Cora buys it, and a tearful, forgiving embrace with Robert ensues. Cora can't possibly believe the lie, but anger is exhausting and Cora is exhausted (a weariness adeptly played by Elizabeth McGovern). Maybe Violet has given her the escape route she needed.
One of the pleasures of Downton is watching people pull together in the face of trouble. If nothing else, we now know that neither tradition, nor propriety, nor sham morality will force sensible people to abandon a good charlotte russe, a fact that speaks well of the future. The beloved Lady Sybil may be gone, but there are a whole lot of survivors at Downton Abbey.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.5 (2012)
"The sweetest spirit under this roof is gone, and I'm weeping myself."
Death has visited Downton Abbey before. Handsome Turkish diplomats, wounded soldier-footmen, and selfless fiancées have met their ends in Downton's lavish bedchambers. We have watched hard scenes before, most recently Sir Anthony's abandonment of Lady Edith at the altar and housemaid Ethel's abandonment of her little boy to his execrable grandparents. We have worried before, over the health of Mrs. Hughes and the fate of Mr. Bates. But nothing, absolutely nothing, has prepared us for the unexpected, utterly heartrending death of much-loved Lady Sybil, the event that overshadows all other developments in episode five.
As with real grief, those mundane developments do not seem important now: the tangled web of lust amongst footmen and kitchen maids, Edith's incipient career as a newspaper columnist, the departure of the sanctimonious Mrs. Bird and her replacement by Ethel in Isobel's household, even Anna's discovery of evidence that may finally secure her husband's release. None of it matters. The most beautiful, the most unconventional, the most progressive, the most generous, the most soft-spoken, and the most courageous of the Crawley daughters has died, her life taken at a moment which should have been joyous: the birth of her and Tom's baby.
To make a horrible turn of events even more horrible, her death was preventable. Dr. Clarkson, the local doctor, long a family retainer, suspects trouble and does all he can to advocate for a caesarian delivery in the village hospital. Robert overrules him, claiming that Clarkson has been wrong too many times before. The earl has brought in a posh physician from London, for no other apparent reason than to add a certain cachet to the proceedings, much as he brought in the Archbishop of Canterbury, in place of the local vicar, to wed Mary and Matthew. Dr. Clarkson, it should be noted, has been right more often than wrong in dealing with Downton's illnesses and injuries, erring significantly only in the instance of Matthew's paralysis. His advice is ignored. Aristocratic snobbery wins the day. Sybil dies, leaving behind an inconsolable family that includes not least her devastated husband and her newly born daughter.
The deathbed scene is magnificently written and acted, played in a manner that transcends the conventional and less realistic deathbed scenes we have witnessed earlier in the series. Sybil (the beautiful and talented Jessica Brown Findlay—oh, how you will be missed) does not go gently into that good night, nor does her distraught family allow her to; they beg, fight, plead for her life. It is a frantic, panicked moment, one where events take control of the participants, a scene of total helplessness in the face of fate. The agonies of Tom and Cora go beyond terror and despair, and we, as viewers, are made to feel every gut-wrenching convulsion along with them. It is nearly unbearable.
Grief throws all Downton off its course. We watch characters we have come to know and care about deal in varied ways with the shock and sadness that we, as viewers, are also feeling. Edith tries to draw closer to Mary, whose response is startlingly cold. Matthew carries on with business, causing Mary offense. Thomas breaks into tears and, for a moment, we understand that a man we usually don't like, is, like all of us, a human being and, moreover, a human being who every day of his life must face an incredible burden of loneliness and hurt. We see Cora begin to draw into herself, relegating Robert to sleep in his dressing room and blaming him for the tragedy. The blame is not misplaced. Robert has become a disappointment, a hidebound incompetent, a man trapped by the conservatism of his own thinking. What in him once seemed honorable now seems passively destructive.
Most of all, we see Maggie Smith as Violet, the Dowager Countess of Grantham. Clad in deep black mourning, she enters Downton, aged, weary, leaning on her stick. She speaks to Carson, steadies herself, walks away from the camera, across the grand hall, an embodiment of sorrow, and on her shoulders she carries the grief that we also feel. Then she pauses, lifts her veil, straightens herself, and enters the drawing room to face what she must, as she always has. Life goes on, changing and changeless, at Downton Abbey.
Coda: ITV and the cast and crew of Downton are to be commended for the complete silence that concealed Sybil's death, the leaking of which would have constituted the greatest spoiler of our age. The problem now is, for reasons that have never been made clear and that would doubtless make absolutely no sense whatsoever if they were revealed, PBS in the United States has chosen not to broadcast season three until January 2013! Can anyone seriously think that, three months from now, every American viewer will not have learned that Lady Sybil dies in childbirth? How on earth does anyone expect this spoiler not to ruin the viewing experience for the American audience? In a time of instantaneous communication, there is no excuse for this situation. Whoever's greed or incompetence is to blame, it is regretful and shameful.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.4 (2012)
"We all live in a harsh world. But at least I know I do."
Episode three of the third season brought us the hard-to-watch jilting of Lady Edith at the alter, and episode four continues the theme of pathos by giving us yet more harsh situations, including one scene almost too heartbreaking to endure.
The Anna and Bates storyline is now dragging on like, well, a prison sentence. Corrupt penitentiary politics has stopped their periodic visits, and neither one knows why they have not received letters from the other. Thinking her husband wants her free to move on without him, Anna is especially despondent. Mrs. Hughes, ever the font of good sense, assures her that, whatever might have caused the halt in communication, Mr. Bates surely counts her still as his beloved. It ends well, and the letters are restored, though poor Mr. Bates appears no closer to release than at the start of the season.
Robert, Lord Grantham, is becoming decidedly less lovable—and less dependable, if it's possible to be less dependable after losing the family fortune once already. He makes what, to modern ears, is a shockingly stark anti-Catholic remark (though admittedly in character for an aristocrat of his era), and, here we go again, there are hints that the business affairs of Downton are as disordered as ever. Matthew—a corporate lawyer, remember—is quietly going through the ledgers and not liking what he sees. It is great fun on the part of writer Julian Fellowes to have him confess his worries not to Robert or to Mary but to Violet (Maggie Smith), who is fierce in defending her family and her ancestral estate (let's face it—Violet is just plain fierce). She won't stand for any nonsense, even from her own son. As the two of them confront financial malfeasance, Matthew can bring the brains and the pretty eyes, and the dowager countess can bring the passion and the witty asides: a perfect team.
While Lady Edith fills the long hours writing incendiary letters to the Times and Lady Mary sits around waiting for the dressing gong, Lady Sybil is outsmarting the Irish authorities and fleeing the country in the wake of her revolutionary husband! High drama commences. The rotund Archbishop of York has no sooner started to chow down in the Downton dining room when, rain pouring in the darkness, a knock on the door brings both Tom Branson and news that he has fled Ireland after being associated with rather violent revolutionary activities. (I almost expected, with the rain and the knock and all, to see Miss Roberts from long-ago "Upstairs Downstairs," standing there clutching Lady Marjorie's jewel box!) Do we put our sympathies on the side of Tom and the revolutionaries, who, their violent methods notwithstanding, fight for equality and independence, or do we place them on the side of Robert, who reveres private property, notwithstanding the fact that he perpetually mismanages his own? Well, there is more to life than fat cigars and tawny port, after all. On the other hand, the authorities have all but assured that Tom and Sybil will have to remain close to Downton in future episodes.
The hardest development of episode four, and the hardest of the entire series to date, involves former housemaid Ethel and the efforts of Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Crawley to help her (the under-appreciated Penelope Wilton as Isobel Crawley is especially good in these scenes). We meet Ethel's cherubic, sweet little boy, whom we have not seen since he was a baby, and we, sadly, are reintroduced to the parents of the deceased army officer who impregnated Ethel some years back. The wife is a cowed, dithering sort, and the mustachioed husband is a bullying British blimp. It's not good. It's not good at all, and it will break your heart. The only potential salvation to be had is the look on the face of Mrs. Crawley when the dust finally settles. Does our tireless reformer have a plan? Let's hope so.
Episode four throws it all at us, in greater or lesser amounts: lost letters, nighttime escapes, smoking toasters, cooked books, a lugubrious old archbishop, a sprightly new footman, and pure, unadulterated heartbreak. Onward we go, as enthralled by the inhabitants of Downton Abbey as ever we were.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.3 (2012)
"You are welcome here for as long as you want to stay."
Shirley MacLaine has returned to America and taken with her some of the energy that characterized the first two episodes of season three. There are no rousing moments in the third installment to pull the Crawley clan together in the face of drugged cocktails or thwarted dinner parties, but there is nonetheless considerable drama (and, alas, some melodrama).
Some story lines have stalled or receded. Bates languishes in prison with a conniving enemy of a cellmate, while Anna doggedly pursues evidence that will free him. She's not coming up with much—if anything, the evidence may be pointing the other way. The reforming Isobel is teaching whores to sew, but hasn't yet managed to connect with disgraced maid Ethel (and doesn't seem to be making much progress with the whores either). Tom and the pregnant Sybil, having returned for Edith's wedding, remain in the background.
Lady's maid O'Brien and valet Thomas continue plotting to ruin each other, this time using the unaware and hapless Mr. Molesley. Mrs. Hughes, unsure if the lump in her breast is malignant, finds herself in that most hellish of circumstances, waiting to receive bad news. Mr. Carson finally understands something is wrong, and his sleuthing to find a few answers is both wily and also quite touching. It's becoming increasingly clear that he cares for Mrs. Hughes in a way that goes beyond their professional relationship. His singing of "Dashing Away With a Smoothing Iron," while he gaily polishes silver upon learning she is well, brings a smile.
As to the melodrama . . . Matthew continues to hold onto his ground and his windfall. Unfortunately, we're given little time to ponder whether he's a man of honor making a principled stand or whether he's just being a jerk. Swiftly a letter arrives, written by dead- finance' Lavinia Swire's now also dead tea-planting relation in India. This letter is a response to a letter she had written on her deathbed explaining that she wants Matthew and Mary to be happy. So pleased was the tea-planting relation that he put Matthew in his will and now Matthew is rich enough to save Downton, and, more importantly, free to do so with a clear conscience, since the whole thing has been blessed by the deceased tea planter and the angelic Miss Swire (who previously made similar wishes known via a Ouija board). Matthew is skeptical (well, duh), but it turns out kitchen maid Daisy remembers posting the letter! Matthew accedes. Downton is saved! (Be warned, this is all wrapped up so quickly that you'll miss it if you go to make a sandwich.)
As to the drama . . . Lady Edith's wedding day has arrived. To the continued disapproval of grandmother Violet (Maggie Smith), the least stunning of the Crawley girls is about to marry Sir Anthony Strallan: gentle, kind, deadly dull, mildly crippled, an older gentleman, and Edith loves him desperately. At least, her mother notes, she'll be rich and near to Downton. You take what you can get . . . or not, as the case may be. At the very last moment, the congregation assembled and the words "Dearly Beloved we are gathered" barely out of the vicar's mouth, Anthony declares he cannot go through with it. It is truly painful to watch. Robert and the vicar, with Edith standing aghast before them, try talking sense to the groom. But Violet is on her feet. "No," she exhorts. "Let him go. Let him go." Maggie Smith plays the scene so brilliantly that in one brief moment you realize she knows something. She's been against the union from the start, often irrationally so (after all, he does have status and wealth, which are of the utmost importance to her—she should be overjoyed). We cheered when maternal Grandmother Levinson (MacLaine) championed Edith, but admittedly it was the boldness of her thinking, not necessarily its depth, that drew admiration. Maybe Violet does have some insight, borne of her long history in the county. Maybe her opposition to the wedding was not just meanness-on-autopilot. What secrets lurk in the closet of Sir Anthony? From what has Edith been saved? Did he poison his first wife? Does he howl at the full moon? Does he wear a green carnation on midnight walks through the streets of London?
Finally, one somewhat disconnected scene deserves attention. As it turns out, Lord Grantham owns many properties, including a grand old manor house where the family picnics in an effort to acclimate themselves to reduced circumstances. (As Branson points out, to most people this house would be considered a fairy castle.) Cora calls it "Downton Place," and it really is charming, an archetypal English country house nestled in an archetypal English landscape. The Crawleys won't be going there, it appears (unless Lavinia speaks from the grave again and changes her mind), but it is in many ways a more appealing structure than the beautiful but overpowering neo-Gothic pile of Downton Abbey (played by Highclere Castle). It seems a shame for such a lovely house to stand empty. Maybe Tom and Sybil will move in, or perhaps it can become Edith's home, where she wanders the lonely halls in the style of Miss Havisham. If nothing else, it could always become a sewing school for whores.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.2 (2012)
"They've come for a party. We're going to give them a party."
The momentum established in episode one of Downton's third season continues to pick up steam in episode two, as the estate's future seems more uncertain than ever and woes aplenty are suffered upstairs and down.
Robert, Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) is a good and honorable man, but most assuredly not a man of business, and his estate, without a massive injection of cash, is destined to be lost. Matthew, heir to an unexpected fortune but himself a man of honor, believes that he must forgo the money, even though it might be Downton's salvation. Thus, the ever- beautiful Lady Mary, she of the subtle barb and the alabaster skin (Michelle Dockery), connives with her Grandmamma Violet, the Dowager Countess, she of the none-too-subtle barb and the wrinkled skin (Maggie Smith), to convince Cora's American mother to use the vast Levinson fortune in aide of Downton yet a second time. They make nice over tea and cakes. They slip comments about the importance of such estates into their conversation. Most of all, they plan an extravagant dinner party as a means of overwhelming the rich old heiress with the unbridled splendor of the whole thing. No scheme could be more naive or more mistaken. Feathers sprouting, emeralds dripping, opinions flowing, Martha Levinson (the monumental Shirley MacLaine) is not so easily taken in. Nor will Cora go along, stating that her family is not responsible for Downton's troubles, that they shouldn't have to keep bailing it out, and that there is absolutely nothing wrong with downsizing and living more sensibly.
To complicate matters, everything about the planned dinner falls apart. Sartorial mishaps and conspiracies force both Matthew and Robert to wear black tie and dinner jackets instead of white tie and tails (Robert says he feels like a Chicago bootlegger). Worst of all, the kitchen stove breaks down—no surprise to Daisy, who has been warning them all week, to no avail, that something is wrong. With the prospect of no food, the denizens of Downton stand thwarted and befuddled. Should they just give up and send everyone home? Martha Levinson to the rescue, if not with money, then at least with quick thinking! She orders cold meats, fruit, cheese, salads, whatever, to be laid out in the dining room, where guests will help themselves to a buffet dinner and then take their plates wherever they would like in the house to enjoy an indoor picnic. Isobel and Cora declare their support, Violet her horror, and the fun begins. Downstairs, everyone pitches in to help the kitchen staff, housemaids slicing and valets chopping. Upstairs, the guests are faced with something new and strange, a world turned upside down, and, behold, they end up enjoying themselves (one old bat declares she feels like one of those bright young people one reads about in newspapers)! The night ends with Martha serenading the guests, especially the unhappy Violet, with a saucy rendition of "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." Revolution has taken Downton!
All is not picnics in the drawing room, however, and the most important of the episode's subplots involves housekeeper Mrs. Hughes's discovery of a lump in her breast. Supportive, if not always saying exactly the right things in the right way, Mrs. Patmore stands by her as she begins the medical tests that will determine if she has cancer. Mrs. Hughes, as footman William once pointed out, is the true heart of the house; her loss would be unbearable. Mr. Bates is still in prison, roughing up his cell mate to remind him that he's bunking with a murderer (what did he really mean by that, we wonder). Always energetic Isobel, in full Eleanor Roosevelt mode, is out doing charitable work, this time for wayward women, which brings her into contact with former Downton maid Ethel, now walking the streets for her survival. Thomas is still scheming, but this time O'Brien is scheming right back at him (it's like watching Hitler turn on Stalin)!
And then there is the storyline that all good Romantics must love best, the burgeoning love of Lady Edith and Sir Anthony, the frustrated, plain sister and the one-armed, older gentleman. One grandmother, Violet, tried to wreck the whole thing (is she just contrary for the sake of being contrary?), but another grandmother, Martha, came to the rescue, saying bluntly and poignantly to Robert, "Your daughter is sad and lonely." It is as if she had said, "What is wrong with you people? Why are you so determined to remain stuck? Do you want to be unhappy?" In any event, every indication points to a third wedding (with the oddest assortment of brothers-in-law in the annals of storytelling).
Julian Fellowes and Downton Abbey have been criticized for sugar coating the upstairs/downstairs world of the English social structure, which was in many ways not very nice. There is some truth in that criticism, but who, after all, really wants to watch week after week a completely realistic depiction of people living and working in drudgery? What is apparent, and was also apparent in Gosford Park (and you have absolutely no business watching Downton Abbey if you have not seen Gosford Park), is that, though Fellowes comes from the world of the aristocracy and though he understands it and has some sympathy for it, he's not really, in the end, on their side. He seems to have much more admiration for the characters who are aiding progress, or who are at least willing to go along with it. They are the future, and it would appear that season three belongs to them.
Downton Abbey: Episode #3.1 (2012)
"If we're mad enough to take on the Crawley girls, we have to stick together."
Hard must have been the hearts that did not rejoice when the snowflakes fell from the night sky and Matthew Crawley at last dropped to his knee and proposed to Lady Mary in the final episode of Downton Abbey's second season, an episode that marked a return to the superb storytelling we had come to expect from Julian Fellowes and that had, to our mild disappointment, sometimes gone awry during the turmoil of the First World War. Now Downton is back for a third season, and the return to form is very much in evidence.
The Edwardian era is fading, and it feels as if we are finally entering the recognizable world of the twentieth century. We've seen it coming with the arrival of the telephone and electric lights, with the upset applecart of a war that made nurses of ladies and nursing homes of manor houses. We've seen it in the ideals of middle-class progressives Isobel and Matthew, not to mention freethinking Lady Sybil and revolutionary Tom Branson. In episode one Lady Mary, a pragmatist herself as her fiancé points out, is poised to marry Matthew, and Sybil and Tom are beginning their life together, venturing through uncharted territory within the tradition-bound landscape of Downton. The world has changed, and the forward-thinking moderns have taken center stage. They are joined by the delightfully outspoken Martha Levinson, Cora's wealthy American mother, whose Gilded-Age brashness was bound to irritate at least one old aristocrat. Watching Shirley MacLaine as Martha, all furs, waved hair, and plumed headpiece, sweep theatrically into the forecourt of Downton is to suddenly know that the rules of the game have changed. The century of the Brits would soon be over, the century of the Americans about to begin.
How the various characters accept change is one of the chief pleasures of Downton Abbey. Most challenged it seems is Robert, Earl of Grantham, who, despite his innate good sense, struggles quietly against progress (along with his acerbic mother and his lovable butler, both doomed to live, it seems, in a perpetual state of frustrated nostalgia). That Lord Grantham is also facing financial ruin adds a straw to the camel's back. That his one-time chauffeur is now his son-in-law does not help. But Robert will change, will slowly realize that the values he holds can expand and extend without suffering dilution. It's a pleasure to watch the subtlety with which Hugh Bonneville portrays him.
In fact, much of the conflict of the first episode centers not, as we might have expected, on Martha's arrival or on Mary and Matthew's upcoming nuptials (though there is drama to be found circling both events), but on the elevated status of Tom Branson, sympathetically portrayed by the talented and cuddly Allen Leech. A former servant now sits as an equal at the dinner table of an earl. The modern world has, indeed, arrived and it is compelling. Matthew responds in a way that makes us admire him all the more. "Bravo, well said!" his mother exclaims as he rises to the occasion in support of Tom. The burgeoning friendship between these brothers-in-law should prove a future pleasure to watch. Sir Anthony Strallan, awkward but decent, also comes unexpectedly to Tom's defense. Housekeeper Mrs. Hughes, played with steady understatement by Phyllis Logan, expresses sympathy for Tom, something not found amongst most of his former colleagues, the servants being, as Isobel once pointed out, even more conservative than their employers.
Other questions loom. Will Sir Anthony and Lady Edith find happiness together? (We hope so.) Will American wealth once again rescue the Old World, or will it be Matthew in the form of an inheritance from the unexpected Mr. Pillbox or Mr. Pumpkin—as Mary variously refers to him? (We hope he's sufficiently dead in the jungles of India.) And what of Mr. Bates' and his steadfast Anna, the perpetually thwarted downstairs lovers? Does she have a plan, and will they be reunited when he is finally exonerated? (We hope she does and he is and they are.)
Downton Abbey is a soap opera, a lavish costume-drama serial for moderately intelligent, historically minded, wistfully nostalgic souls who like their entertainment free of cynicism (and who don't mind a well-appointed drawing room when one presents itself). It's a soap opera in the same way that Dickens' novels are: first-rate story-telling, filled with twists and turns that keep us longing for the next episode and caring about the characters. Downton has its moments of villainy, but it's mostly about good people dealing with the unexpected choices and often hard turns that life throws at them: Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, Robert and Cora, Mary and Matthew, Anna and Bates, Edith and Sir Anthony, Tom and Sybil, Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, the unexpectedly resilient dowager countess (an unparalleled Maggie Smith), and, yes, even the scheming O'Brien and Thomas. That damask covers the walls and tea is poured in the library and newspapers are ironed each morning are all the more reason to fall back into your chair and lose yourself in this luscious bit of escapism. To echo Mrs. Crawley, bravo, well done!