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Dear friends and readers,

Way back in December 2014 I announced the publication of this volume, edited by James Leggott and Julie Ann Taddeo, in which my own essay on “Epistolarity and Masculinity in Davies’s Trollope Adaptations” appeared. I’ve now read the whole of the volume and had a chance to view some of the films I knew nothing about before reading it. In the Foreword, Jerome De Groot makes a strong argument for regarding costume drama as a central export of British TV, and when done as film adaptations of great books, truly fine movies; at the same time he brings up why and how they are dissed continually. I thought a review of its sections and individual essays would be of interest to those who love these mini-series as I do. Since the volume is quite rich (see the Table of Contents), I’ve divided this blog in three parts following the divisions of the collection. This review is of the essays in Part One: Approaches to Costume Drama.

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From Shoulder to Shoulder, a young Sian Phillips played Emmeline Pankhurst

Clare Monk’s “Pageantry and Populism: Democratization and Dissent: The Forgotten 190s,” is on the power, the liberal outlook, and variety of themes and art of the mini-series and costume dramas of the 1970s. She opens with an excellent demonstration (convincing) that the costume drama of the 1970s has been ignored, partly because it had a number of centrally influential highly liberal mini-series, only one of which has appeared on DVD, Days of Hope (it’s upbeat at last). Shoulder to Shoulder a significant contribution to the history of suffragettes and how they were treated is not wiped out but obstacles are still put in the way of re-digitalizing. Monk demonstrates the richness of the 1990s and a type of structure, pattern, cinematography, historiography is a development of the 1970s and lasted until 2003-4 when (alas) Mobil Exxon withdrew its support. She does not say but Eaton tells you that was when the bottom fell out of PBS. She also shows (I’ve know this for years as does anyone with some access to British TV) that only a small number of British mini-series came over to the US, the type that Downton Abbey comes out of.

The second essay by Thomas Bragg, “History’s Drama: Narrative Space in ‘Golden Age’ British TV Drama, also examines the 1970s, as a seminal period of costume drama: the sixties began it, and it was serious because of the simultaneous presence of the play of the week (Wednesday nights) and the reality that the people on the London stage were the same people on the TV in these plays. They began to cross over to the mini-series in the 1980s when British film having collapsed in the movie-houses (due to Hollywood’s popularity) moves into TV (e.g., My Beautiful Laundrette), writers and all.) Bragg’s thesis is not so admiring of the 70s, is a corrective. The 1970s have been credited with going-out-of-doors and several of the famous mini-series are repeatedly said to be photographed on location, out of doors, most famously Poldark. Bragg demonstrates that while the film-makers did indeed go on location and film some sequences there, these are few and far between. The central space remained the studio and built versions of rooms. At the same time though the uses of camera work changed: in the 1967 Forsyte Saga, a filmed stage play, the camera becomes a narrator, moving in and out of spaces; the rooms themselves are highly appointed visual versions of the era (made to seem accurate by specifically elaborate props). A strong use of mirrors, windows, and angles made the viewer aware there was an outside which was redolent of wide open spaces. Bragg argues this is the equivalent of how historical fiction works or had worked since Scott; the important scene within a confined area, carefully described objects and houses from the era, with occasional forays out to descriptive landscapes. This is interesting: how does one give the effect of a past time in a written fiction.

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A scene of the family group in the 1967 Forsyte Sage (early on, Episode 1)

Bragg suggests this way of filming changed again in the 1990s when TV film-makers no longer had to rely on older film techniques to film out of doors but could take their computer equipment, moving cameras, one tied to the waist of the cinematographers. Then he makes the point that in Downton Abbey, the one standing heir to all these older dramas, focuses on the outside. The way the characters are filmed, walking, talking, interacting the effect is that of a group of people say in a courtyard (as in Poldark when Ross when to market they filmed in a courtyard in Ealing Studios) — but the great emphasis is the house, the lands, the dominating wealth. Where in the 1970s Upstairs Downstairs do we see the grand houses, the outsides, the gardens? we don’t. Some film-makers wanted to give the impression of landscape more than others; I’ve been thinking about the 1972 BBC Emma: this would be one much less concerned to make it seems as if the story is filmed in a landscape but I can see how the disposition, way of filming, where arrangement of scenes is that of the 1970s Poldark, and Upstairs Downstairs.

James Leggott’s “‘It’s not clever, it’s not funny, and it’s not period!': Costume Comedy and British TV” makes this an unusual volume. Leggott is a BBC person; he teaches film and TV at Northumbria University and is chief editor (he started it) of the Journal of Popular TV. It’s on a topic I’m not qualified to evaluate: a kind of BBC and (in a way) elite costume drama that rarely comes over to the US: Blackadder was a rare cross-over and it appeared later at night on PBS; I watched maybe one or two. Jim used to like them when he was watching TV. He’d laugh and laugh.

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A remembered moment from Blackadder

Blackadder belongs to a sub-genre of hour-long and mini-series which make fun of serious costume drama; He mentions Upstairs Downstairs Abbey and Lark Pies to Cranchesterford (a mocking title). These types include Monty Python’s Holy Grail, on the one side, and Benny Hill on the other: low humor pretending not to recognize its own salaciousness, boy’s stuff. The Carry On movies come out of this: Carry on Cleo for example (mocking the Cleopatra movie). Leggott covers sitcoms: Brass, Dad’s Army, and others which are anti-war, anti-hierarchy. For those of us who didn’t see the full panoply of the 1970s costume drama we won’t recognize what’s rejected and made fun of. Leggott shows these deconstruct and expose the fallacies and harm; they are often attacked — as “not clever, not funny and anachronistic.” So what? Well, as he proceeds he shows that some viewers begin to believe the history they see in these programs; they really do and instead of getting the parody or critique the original shows ideas are reinforced. And some come out of a reactionary point of view very strongly. Apparently you can find British people who believe in the medieval period they see in these or the 18th century mock-ups. Not so much the Victorian.

Marc Napolitano’s “It is but a glimpse of the world of fashion: British Costume Drama, Dickens and Serialization,” attempts to show that the costume serial drama embraces many of the attributes of soap opera by looking at the techniques of serialization. Napolitano says the incessant reiteration of Dickens’s name as what early films were like because Dickens is so cinematic was an attempt to gain respectability; yes Dickens published in installments but his installments were words. What was influential was not so much the vaunted pictorialism of his texts but their open segmented narratives. Napolitano says Dickens’s novels are open-ended; and what we have in costume dramas from Upstairs Downstairs on is an open-ended story that can keep going. In fact, the continuity and themes are grounded in character and setting not story. They use a limited number of sets while an overarching story narrative which ties the season together. By contrast there are older film adaptations of specific books that no longer how long do have an ending because the books have an ending: Forsyte Saga and Pallisers. By chosing this open-ended structure, the writers and film-makers can respond to audiences and experiment. He’s really describing and defineing a television novel: that we have television novels nowadays. He writes in detail about The Foryste Saga, and Duchess of Duke Street. He mentions in a note Breaking Bad. Vince Gilligan had a general idea where he was going but at any point at the end of a season he could have pulled the curtain down; and he did pay attention to audience response and grew far more daring as he goes along. It’s the daring experiment that makes for the innovation. They dare not do that anywhere near as much on PBS, and we in the US get only a limited range of what goes on on British TV.

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A lesser known moving moment towards the end of Davies’s Bleak House: Sergeant George (Hugo Speers) caring for Sir Leicester (Timothy West)

Benjamin Poore develops Napolitano’s essay further — “Never-ending Stories: the paradise and the Period Drama series.” Beyond an analysis of structure he pointed to features we see after 2005 or so. The lead writer who becomes an executive producer and is the linchpin was in place by the mid-1980s. An emphasis on the workplace which makes the workplace a substitute for family (and not said in the essay remains pro-establishment utterly); source texts which are relatively unknown (like Zola’s novel, Gaskell’s short stories — My Lady Ludlow is narrated by a crippled servant in the book); production practices: the fully built complicated set and precinct (the house or department store and land or streets around it); a “warm bath” atmosphere — everyone kindly, communitarian — the new reassurance factor is strikingly different from the 1970s. He discusses Davies’s Bleak House as a half-way between the older forms and this newer one — alas it did not get enough audience and so now the BBC and ITV people want a “springboard’ rather than a classic book. Poore discusses pragmatic practicalities and how decisions are made based on commercial considerations and audience numbers.

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One of the quieter and feminine of the many epistolary scenes in The Way We Live Now, Georgiana Longestaffe (Anne-Marie Duff) writing to her Jewish lover while she is in the London house of the Melmottes

Mine comes next — “Epistolarity and masculinity in Andrew Davies’s Trollope films. Here rather than summarize or evaluate my own essay, and in order not to interfere with copyright (so I won’t put my essay on the Net), I offer Taddeo and Leggott’s summary of my paper in the volume’s introduction:

Perhaps the most subversive writer to examine, Ellen Moody argues, is Andrew Davies whose two BBC adaptations of Anthony Trollope’s novels, He Knew He Was Right (2004) and The Way We Live Now (2001), offer a liberal feminist interpretation of Victorian domesticity and masculinity. Moody closely analyzes Davies’s televisual techniques of filmic epistolary sequences, montage, flashbacks, and voice-over, critiquing and shedding light on the relationship between the original source texts and their adaptations. Davies not only undercuts the conservatism of these novels while exploiting conservative tendencies in heritage films, but also freely adapts Trollope’s male characters’ psychological experience as they cope with the demands the characters make upon themselves while they attempt to enact sexual ideals of manliness and achieve financial and social success.

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In Small Island, the mentally distressed Uncle Arthur (Karl Johnson) coming upon the Jamaican British solider, Gilbert (David Oyelowo)

The section concludes with Karen Beth Strovas and Scott M. Strovas on “music in the British Serialized Drama,” the first half of whose title is “What are we going to do with Uncle Arthur?” It’s more than an allusion to a music hall song and dance Sarah the servant does in the 1970s Upstairs/downstairs,” but is a trope: in Small Island, there is an aging working class man called Arthur, and the joke his while others around him regard him as a simpleton or treat him like one (as in the older programs; Mr Weston in the 1972 Emma is made into a sort of semi-salacious genial simpleton), Arthur is rather cunning, and more sophisticated in his tolerance and observation than any one gives him credit for. There are few essays on music in film of any usefulness — so few have the technical knowledge and those who do can’t write to make themselves understood and anyway write on classical music and history (musicologists). This pair of people manage to describe pieces of music with concrete words that yet eschew technical language. New terms have evolved: source music for music that the characters in the film are making, and underscore music for the music we hear but the characters do not. The thesis is that music is so important to all film, and even in the 1970s ones where it seems it was not used to provoke emotional response the way it is today. The mini-series used the 1970s Upstairs/Downstairs, the 2003 Forsyte Saga and again Downton Abbey. (Before people cry out against this obsession with DA, the people doing it make their materials available for study. The composers for DA have published material that is usable — the way Fellowes’ scripts and 2 of his companion books are scenarios and of real use.) These three mini-series can be used to analyse others — so here again we have a rare instance of the editors and write managing to produce an essay that those outside costume drama might find useful and general.

The Strovas show that what developed is a use of music beyond the opening and close themes. All three have theme music that begins and ends the show each hour, and is brought back in particular different ways to make emotional and thematic points. In the 1970s music was a tool to define and intensity the class conflicts of upstairs and downstairs — and conflicts were much much stronger, it was a polarization. Eventually upstairs took over when the hero became the son and heir, James as a tragic figure, but not so before that. What happened was a development whereby source material states explicitly some of the themes or underscore but in key scenes the two interact so as to musically enact emotions and thoughts and what’s happened. It is much more developed in Downton Abbey because they are more conscious of what they are doing and have more money than U/D did. DA uses music more psychologically and very effective it is — much more lush, but not drooling because of pace. Those who have watched the 2003 Forsyte Saga will know that operatic music is used a lot; the book and film take advantage of Irene being a piano teacher, musical and the wealth of the family leads to soirees and going to opera. The Strovas analyses the first encounter, sex and rapes scene to show our source and underscore music is used as a counterpoint. Sarah in U/D loves music hall and we see contrasts of her singing and dancing downstairs as the upstairs ones sit composedly. A scene at the close of the 2nd season of DA has Mary and Matthew playing the gramophone with a haunting love song at the time and an underscore that stops and starts as well as allusions to a show that flopped. The 4th season of DA used music a lot: Dame Nellie Melba came and sang Puccini; the black Jazz singer of course sang his songs and there was dancing. In both Forsyte Saga and Downton Abbey when a woman is raped, all music ceases where she is.

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Poldark 1975-76: one of four sets of paratexts that opened and closed the mini-series, each having images epitomizing the actions of the four episoces and accompanied by the same memorable alluring music

Ellen

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In prison, telling of how her stepfather abused her and her mother ignored her distress: Anna (Joanne Froggart) and Bates (Brendan Coyle)

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The Dowager in her mind bidding adieu to any idea of time regained: Violet (Maggie Smith) remembering

Dear friends and readers,

I cannot deny for anyone still emotionally involved with any of these wrenched backward and forward manipulated-for-climax characters, there were still some stirring and/or genuine moments. There is some uncertainty about when and if it will ever end. So to this season’s finale:

For me intense distress over Anna (Joanne Froggart) in prison, humiliated, blamed, her own abused past used against her; some admiration for Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) defying all convention and rank-based demands to visit Anna; the improbable angelic quest of Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) and Mr Moseley to find witnesses to show that Mr Bates (Brendan Coyle) was in York the day his confession claimed he was in London pushing Mr Green (Nigel Harman) in front of a bus (if he went so far as to say that — we don’t know); however unlikely that such a confession would be cast aside, Anna’s release and continued abjection when she returns “home” (she will not go into Downton Abbey by the front door), and, not for the first time, her bleak presence in black during the Christmas festivities, only to be gladdened and rejoiced and taken away to a quiet private space with her beloved at last.

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Rapturous escape

Punishment of servants and largesse on the part of masters and mistresses defined several of the stories brought to a temporary close. In the last two seasons Violet, Lady Grantham (Maggie Smith’s) adherence to duty and not exploiting those beneath her any more than her position demands was continued. She did not permit Spratt (Jeremy Swift) to triumph over Denker (Sue Johnston)’s inability to make a fine soup:

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Delicious soup

Violet was sorely tempted by Prince Kuragin many years ago, actually fled with him, but was pulled from the carriage, by his wife, the princess, and allowed herself to be dragged back not only to duty, but comfort and wealth, and social acceptability. She has reciprocated by paying for the princess to be rescued, giving the princess acceptable clothes and her reluctant husband back. She rises above the princess’s bitter understandable ingratitude.

Princess

It’s an interesting topic: the Dowager’s attempt to do the right thing. I suggest the Dowager has changed over the course of five years — or better aspects of her character have gradually been brought forth. At first she appeared as a kind of dragon lady witch — remember her first appearance, striking in all glittering black.

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She does try to do the right thing, and we have now been given enough of her past to understand her marriage was not super-happy at all; she stayed because it was the right thing to do. Sometimes though these moral “right thing to do” can mislead. When she persuaded the older man to desert Edith at the altar, that was wrong even if it seemed conventional wisdom. She was with Rosamund in trying to remove Marigold from Edith. The “right thing” often violates our deeper emotions and needs — that’s a theme in Anthony Trollope by the way (whom Fellowes claimes to be much influenced by). The perversion of our deepest emotions by being required to follow social rightness — In Trollope’s novel, Lady Anna, the heroine, Lady or Anna Murray refuses to marry the Earl and does the “wrong” thing from everyone else’s point of view; she wins because she’s heir. But other Trollope characters walk away without the big money — in The Warden, Mr Harding for example. The Duchess would have been on Archdeacon Grantly’s side. Phineas Finn walks away to a small salary; he is not made happy and in Raven’s version he does it only because Mary is pregnant. But Trollope does fit in with Fellowes and here (as is not uncommon) if you examine Trollope for real, you find his inferences go another way.

It was certainly a season for older women to be proposed to (a Trollopian theme): Mrs Hughes’s (Phyllis Logan) reply to Mr Carson’s (Jim Carter) is a nearly exact repeat of Mrs Crawley (Penelope Wilton) to Lord Merton (Douglas Reith) and Violet to Prince Kuragin:

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Mrs Hughes: ‘We’re celebrating the fact that I can still get a proposal at my age.’
Mr Carson: ‘And that’s it?’
Mrs Hughes: ‘Of course I’ll marry you, you old booby. I thought you’d never ask.

Where did he get the money? In the original Upstairs Downstairs, Mr Hudson and Mrs Bridges have been saving for their lodging house almost the full five years of the show.

And there were the intelligent conversations between the Dowager and Mrs Crawley once again:

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Otherwise you were invited to enjoy the perversion of natural good feeling, or asked to rejoice in spite, coming comeuppances, abjection, and confronted yet more women who suddenly could put two and two together. The most dismaying was Lady Sinderby (Penny Downie). It was not that she was hiding deep pain; she seemed genuinely puzzled who Diane Clark and little Daniel (HELLO, DANIEL, HIS NAME!) could be?

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I just wish there had been a flicker of recognition and anger in her eyes. I didn’t look but in the script it may say by Diana (Diana or Diane?) Clarke that she expected to be alone with him? I thought she did say that in fleeting passing. The actress the same age as Michelle Dockery, the younger set

(If so, absurd. Jim and I rented a hunting lodge in Sussex one summer. It was once a tryst place for a super rich Duke to have mistress and horses available. We had a large bed with a mirror over it. I kid you not. The building a sort of overgrown hut. I suddenly realize downstairs where younger daughter slept were once servants quarters. This is not marked at all by Landmark Trust who rents such places to people going on holiday in the UK. It was very large down there so lots of servants and grooms as across a yard were old stables — very much marked for our perusal. It was not that easy to get to — as the road is still not marked obviously from a pub, and the bus didn’t go there anymore. Nor were we told which more recent Dukes owned it.)

Rose (Lily James) to the rescue by a series of insistent hypocrisies with all joining in. We were to enjoy Lord Sinderby’s (Aldritch) shame. But what then? everyone conspires together not to help the woman whom he has obviously had a long time affair with, shows no concern for real for or her boy (we don’t learn his name though we do hers, Diana Clark). Meanwhile Lady Sinderby is suddenly unaware of what’s happening, and looks all surprise and bemusement and as ever Atticus (Marcus Bale) notices nothing. There is his half-brother. The character would be great on a slave plantation, surrounded by half-brothers and sisters who were his slaves too; Atticus showed perfect unconcern Beyond yet another women unaware of what’s happening around her (Lady Sinderby); beyond that it’s grating to see how the woman and her child apparently don’t matter, what matters is nothing shall be upset, nor Lord Sinderby embarrassed. Sickening. Yes she looked just fine – but all abasement towards everyone. In a series ostensibly so focused on women, women are dispensable and all children without rich men to keep them.

The worst grating thing was Fellowes’ tendency to when he run out of invented faux obstacles to create tension and climaxes on the back of, he returns to bad servants and we are to rejoice in their comeuppance or downright humiliation. Stowell (Alun Armstrong in the thankless role) was the snobbish butler more willing to hurt others to keep his ego up than his master the arrogant Lord Sinderby needs to:

Stowell

Fellowes made it acceptable by having Stowell mortify our favorite working class turned sop-aristocrat Tom (Allen Leech) and those under him (including Thomas [Rob James-Collier] who got back Big Time with the encouragement of Lady Mary) but who is he? he probably has no money money than Mrs Hughes — in the first season she originally said she was socking it away; now she has a disabled sister she supports (the Tories will like that). We were supposed to enjoy him cringing before others. I have to have been personally hurt directly before I can enjoy that sort of thing. We were also supposed to enjoy how the Dowager finally best Spratt. His spite against Denker is disconnected from her bad behavior in London. These servants are despicable lot, no? both Spratt and Denker are subject to the Dowager — was that supposed to provide our enjoyment?

Despite what we keep hearing about staff cutbacks since the glory days before the war, the Downtown staff never seems overworked (lots of time for self-improvement, museum visiting), except perhaps in the case of Moseley as first footman — and that is treated as comedy–and Moseley’s fault, of course, for trying to get above himself. Who wouldn’t want to be a servant in a great house? My mother-in-law told me it was servitude and discipline from getting up to going to sleep, little money, hardly any time off.

It has been lacklustre season, filled with phony climaxes or dismissals. Mrs Drewe (Emma Lowndes) can’t be fired but she can be erased. This season was at its best when it tried to return to the tone and mood of the first season, but it did not work as in just the way years had gone by, so much pain and melodrama had been put before us. Also its structuring to move to climax after climax this year and not have one-hour long self-enclosed stories destroyed any of the first season’s quietude.

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Canaletto, Alnwick Castle (18th century landscape)

I felt in the last phrase of returning to the Abbey for a singalong at Christmas, they were trying for the quiet naturalness of the first season again. But as is seen from 3/4s of the 90 minutes they cannot — too much water under the bridge and too much expected. So first they have to go away to a super-glamorous place once again. I had thought Alnwick Castle was a testament to Canaletto’s many paintings, the fame of this country house from the Renaissance, deep in Northumberland, but it was apparently Hogwarts they were thinking of — Harry Potter. Whence a very silly YouTube over the preceding week where the characters tried to decide which house each of them would belong to in the school for magic.

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Like parents dropping children off to school

Anibundel remarked that it felt like the cast were hanging around a museum. I noticed only a small segment of the show was filmed in the house. We did see them go into it, through the door, so it was not as with Chatworth in the 1995 P&P where the film-makers were allowed to use only the outside of the house, but only a few rooms were requisitioned. Anibundel said most of the rooms from the Harry Potter films were not there and noted the huge fireplaces (in centuries past to keep the occupants warm). The result was a film experience as absurd as someone wearing an extravagantly overdone dress for a short moment of a day at great expense and trouble. This to impress people fooled by glamour and fame and money. I found the inside of the house gross. As fake as overdone luxury hotels. All gilt, ludicrously over-decorated every inch each wall. Must be awful to sit in — but maybe no one ever really sits in those rooms, much less lie and read a book

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With all this falseness to see this reassertion of how happy everyone is, not just must be, at Christmas, I was gain reminded of what Trollope said he felt like when he was commanded to make a rejoicing Christmas tale.

While I was writing The Way We Live Now, I was called upon by the proprietors of the *Graphic* for a Christmas story. I feel, with regard to literature, somewhat as I suppose an upholsterer and undertaker feels when he is called upon to supply a funeral. He has to supply it, however distasteful it may be. It is his business, and he will starve if he neglect it. So have I felt that, when anything in the shape of a novel was required, I was bound to produce it. Nothing can be more distasteful to me than to have to give a relish of Christmas to what I write. I feel the humbug implied by the nature of the order. A Christmas story, in the proper sense, should be the ebullition of some mind anxious to instil others with a desire for Christmas religious thought or Christmas festivities –, better yet, with Christmas charity. Such was the case with Dickens when he wrote his two first Christmas stories. But since that the things written annually — all of which have been fixed to Christmas like children’s toys to a Christmas tree, have no real savour of Christmas about them. I had done two or three before. Alas! at this very moment I have one to write [said by Julian Thompson to have been “Christmas at Thompson Hall”], which I have promised to supply within three weeks of this time — the picture-makers always required a long interval,–as to which I have in vain been cudgelling my brain for the last month. I can’t send away the order to another shop, but I do not know how I shall ever get the coffin made.

Yes Mr and Mrs Bates hurry off into that dark bare corridor away from the strained singing; there were moments throughout the hour (as I started with) worth the contemplating.

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As for future predictions once again:

Here is a reasonably intelligent review

I have noticed no one has aged much — except naturally. They are all five years older, the daughters dress older; the dress of the servants reflects their changed occupations. I have been glad some of the women are not forced into anorexia: Elizabeth McGovern became that long before this mini-series to make herself viable as a comely older woman. The interviewer said it was to go on until 2010 – I had thought next year would be the last but Fellowes gave another interview which suggested it would drag its coffin on.

So he doesn’t “own” DA anymore and is not the only one to dictate the ending so perhaps it will get worse than ever (more fatuously cheerful with made-up crises easily resolved) or it will darken in ways that Fellowes wouldn’t allow. There’s a general strike coming … My sense is Fellowes made this years’ episodes follow closely on the last because he did not want to show the 1930s in England, the real destruction of some of these enclaves, the proto-nazism and fascism, the growth of socialism for real.

One woman on a Downton fan page called this a “fun” interview. Some people have odd ideas about fun.

Tree

So, out my crystal ball: We have two plot lines: Lord Sinderby has a bastard son and now it’s been brought out into the open the sudden bitterness of Lady Sinderby may actuate her into at least a separation for a while. (Maybe just maybe Atticus will notice his half-brother?) Anna and Bates are not home free. Mary will end up with the insouciant cool racing car driver whom she deserves and if he cannot make her miserable, little George will at least grow up to be a twisted ex-aristocrat; Edith (let us hope) return to London and get a nanny. Daisy and Mrs Patmore and Mr and Mrs Carson are provided for; Baxter and Moseley go off into the sunset for other positions in the same great house, or break free, he goes to teach and she to open a millinery and dress shop. We have been told the ending: Lord Grantham dies of a massive heart attack — it was angina and we see how breathless he is when drunk. Other age away, four widows left with another (Lady Rosamund) coming for visits. They have money to travel, at least Cora is young enough, except perhaps Lady Shackleton not far off in her cold cottage. Lady Anstruthers will not be welcome. But Thomas may stay on as butler at last.

Ellen

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LadySatdinner

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Lady Sinderby (Penny Downie) winning the first round against Lady Flincher (Phoebe Nicholls), with Violet, Lady Grantham (Maggie Smith) alone registering appreciation

Lady Flincher: ‘Tell me, do you find it difficult these days to get staff’
Lady Sinderby: (observant of the Flincher’s desperate state): Not really but then we’re Jewish, so we pay well
Violet, Lady Grantham smiles in enjoyment

Dear friends and readers,

It’s unfair and inaccurate to declare the fifth season of Downton Abbey was so much treading water, even if the experience often felt that way; but if so, it’s fitting that this season’s penultimate episode is Rasselas-like in that we have Resolutions, in which little is resolved. How did Fellowes manage this? By making important not what the principals in each drama said or did, but how what had just happened was brought about by other people enigmaticallyas the curtain went down on all left standing or walking towards Downton Abbey.

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Far shot of nearly (but not) everyone walking back to the Abbey

For example, did you imagine Lady Rose McClaren (Lily James)’s wedding to Atticus Aldritch (Matt Barber) was about hopeful youthful love, or showed how intolerance can be overcome (pace Mrs Hughes’s “Hurrah for intolerance on both sides”), or even about Lord Sinderby’s (Daniel Aldritch) apparent intransigence (a theme of the episode as heard in Violet telling Prince Kuragin “Don’t proclaim your intransigence as if it were a virtue”). No. What happened is Lady Sinderby won, but not just over Lady Flincher who at the last moment said publicly she and Lord Flincher (Peter Egan) are getting a divorce, just what Lord Sinderby said he would not tolerate, as divorce is a degradation, a confession of weakness, failure (he was intensely strong on that), but also over Sinderby himself:

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Lady Sinderby: Thank you, Lady Flintshire. Or may I call you Susan? We are forewarned and so now we will be forearmed.
Lord Sindeby: You can’t mean
Atticus: Father, I beg you …
Lady Sinderby to her husband: Do anything to stop this marriage, anything at all, I will leave you, and then you will have a scandal worthy of the name! (HUSHED CONVERSATION) …

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The camera focused on Lady Sinderby’s intense trembling satisfaction first and returned to shots of her during the ceremony. Mr Carson (Jim Carter) was not the only one to remark on something odd going on. Like others he focused on the lack of a veil: “it was a funny marriage. No proper service, no veil! You’d have thought one of them was divorced.” But that was not it. We have yet to see the 30 year old young woman brought to Alnwick Castle Christmas time with her young boy. She comes because by Thomas (Rob James-Collier, a kind of avenging angel in this latest phase) as a mode of getting Lord Sinderby to dislike his spiteful steward-butler for exposing Lord Sinderby. But how did Thomas know about her? Something wants explanation. Mrs Hughes (Phyllis Logan) says she wishes the young couple “well.”

Anibundel was correct to suggest not the new characters introduced in the first episode of this season, but those on board towards the end are the most intriguing.

Surely it will be said we have a resolution for Mrs Patmore (Lesley Nichol) and the whole of Downton Abbey for closure for World War One. WW1 began the last episode of the first season went on through the second (WW1), and lingered past the third (Mrs Patmore’s nephew killed by the British army for not killing as ordered). The fourth season saw the disappearance of Michael Grigson. This fifth season there was the memorial committee and the widow in the village. Robert, Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonnevile) despite all bumbling, disregard (called “Donk” by his grand-daughter with Lady Mary’s [Michelle Dockery] encouragement), has had a memorial plaque put up for Mrs Patmore’s nephew too. We watched the ceremony of all the characters (but our true heroine, Anna Smith Bates, Joanne Froggart) sitting and standing as group remembering those who died and the war.

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Mrs Patmore is closer to feeling a resolution than the others. But her tie is now to Daisy (Sophie McShera) as we see when she walks back after gazing at the plaque; here is her daily life and future. How it grieved her to think Daisy would be giving her notice in so she could remain in London with all its advantages. She could not stop crying.

Is Daisy going to stay? The farm and her all-wise (better than Fielding’s Allworthy who was not all-seeing too) guiding spirit, Mr Mason (Paul Copley), win out for the moment:

Mrs Patmore: ‘At her age, it’s right she should have a new adventure, isn’t it?’
Mr Mason: ‘Is this true, Daisy?’
Daisy: ‘No, she’s just teasing! At least, I did think about it, but I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere, or not until after I’ve passed my exams.’
Mr Mason: ‘I’m glad. I hate it when people who love each other must be far apart.’

Another beautiful moment occurred when Mr Moseley (Kevin Doyle), Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) and Daisy walked back from the Wallace Collection together.

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I know it’s absurd when Mr Moseley laments that he comes to London and never manages to see anything, as if he were not a full-time servant but a modern tourist; still it’s touching when he quotes an art book and shows he can respond as much to a reproduction (anachronistic again) as the pictures in the gallery. The point is Daisy with her Vanity Fair will not forget. Nor Miss Baxter who however rings in a new form of doubt about the future: “You’re never safe ’til the ring’s on your finger,”

Mr Moseley: ‘Do you want to be safe, Miss Baxter?’
Miss Baxter: ‘I might … ‘

To return to that last walk back to the Abbey after the Memorial ceremonies, Lord Grantham reveals he has guessed that that Marigold is Edith’s (Laura Carmichael) child by Michael Grigson, but is that the end of her story? (or his?). Tom (Allen Leech) tells Lady Edith that she should go back to London to run her publishing business and write; he’s going to take his Sybbie with him to Massachusetts. Why not take Marigold?

Does anyone believe he’s going for sure? Oh he’ll stay until Christmas, and then there are the houses he wants built on the estate. Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) vows to stop him.

The worst is what has happened to Anna and Mr Bates (Brendan Coyle). She has held out against the Inspector Vyer’s (Louis Hilyer) bullying attempt to get her to admit she was raped by Mr Green, advised by Mr Bates to keep their secrets until they must reveal them. The upshot: she is arrested.

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Mr Bates says ominously to Lady Mary on the walk back to the abbey she won’t be convicted. In those words are a threat he’ll confess and prove himself guilty first.

Reversals too. Near the close it’s Mr Carson who tells Mrs Hughes as she reveals her intense anxiety about the Bateses’ future and for once her own:

Mrs Hughes: ‘Sorrow seems to shadow them both and in their wake, it shadows us.’
Mr Carson: ‘Come, Mrs Hughes. This isn’t like you. Take courage for their sake. We must always travel in hope.’

In previous episodes we’ve heard how hope is a treacherous distraction, hurting more when the illusion is done.

But has not Mrs Crawley (Penelope Wilton) made up her mind not to remarry Lord Merton? we saw as she came away from one dinner table the hurt Lord Merton’s sons were able to inflict her on, the tension between Merton and her they could cause. It’s been reinforced by watching what has surrounded Lady Rose’s marriage. But she looks grim coming back to the Abbey. She had expressed surprise at Violet’s disappointment for her in an earlier walking scene between the two of them late one evening as they were off to bed befoe the others

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Mrs Crawley: ‘You’ve changed your tune.’
Dowager: ‘I’ve been reminded recently that one is not given many chances in life and if you miss them, they may not necessarily be repeated… ‘

Mrs Crawley was not been at yet another scene between Kuragin (Rade Serbedzija) and the Dowager where Violet wavered:

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And on this final walk, it seems what is holding Violet back is the existence of the Prince’s wife. Lord Merton’s wife is dead. Yet there they are walking and talking the true companions.

Is there anyone who does not either waver or express doubt about the future or act enigmatically or suddenly change their tune? Miss Denker (Sue Johnston) has it in her to be an unscrupulous lapper-up of alcohol, and we begin to wonder if Spratt (Jeremy Swift) is not right about her, though unable to do anything about her but hide his mistress’s case under the bed to get her into trouble. The Dowager caught that.

Who believes Lord Gillingham (Tom Cullen) will be happy with Mabel Lane Fox (Catherine Steadman) who has returned to her supercilious self, so her thought about her wedding is her preference for the city over the country where there will be less mud, while he carries smoldering with resentment against Lady Mary Crawley.

Beyond “Uncle Thomas” (! he calls himself) rescuing another male footman so generously (in character that; he rescued Jimmy more than once), I found myself feeling for Lady Mary at the close of the episode because Mr Carson observed underneath her aloofness a bleakness. Carson may overrate her, but she is not a fool, and she will miss Tom.

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Carson: ‘Is everything all right, m’lady?’
Lady Mary: ‘I thought I’d sneak away. I don’t think I’ll be missed.’
Carson: “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’
Lady Mary; ‘I feel as if our household is breaking up, Carson, but I suppose that’s what happens. People grow up and move away and things change.’

She showed much feeling when mourning Matthew, unable to turn to someone else. Now she may be left with Edith and (as she jokes) get sent away for murder.

This episode was more Thackeray than Trollope.

Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! Which of us is happy in this world? Which of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied? — come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets for our play is played out.

After all since Lady Sinderby was introduced, she has been my favorite puppet this season.

Ellen

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Violet, Lady Grantham (Maggie Smith) explaining to Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery why the prospect of Isobel Crawley’s (Penelope Wilton) marriage to Lord Merton (Douglas Reith) hurts so

Mary: Granny, I know why you’re finding this difficult.
Dowager: Do you?
Mary: Yes, but you mustn’t give in to it.
Dowager: What? Give in to what?
Mary: Isobel has always been your protege. She looks up to you and you have kept her from harm in return.
Dowager: Have I?
Mary: Yes. So of course it’s difficult that she is to take her place ~ among the leaders of the county.
… you simply have to be bigger than that.
Dowager: Is that what you think of me? That I care about her change of rank?
Mary: Well, you’re not exactly pleased, are you?
Dowager: No. But that is not the reason … If you must know … I have got used to having a companion.
A friend. You know, someone to talk things over with … You have your own lives … Isobel and I had a lot in common. I shall miss her.
Mary: Granny, you’re quite dewy-eyed ….
Dowager: You’ve made me regret my confidence… And for your information I don’t think Isobel has EVER looked up to me.

Dear friends and readers,

Soap operas when they do their work right root their suggestive believable characters into the daily memories and feelings of their viewers. That Fellowes has achieved this may be seen in his continuing audience for a group of stories that he lacks any new material for; one never needed new material for As the World Turns. This week I found my face was wet, the tears had overflowed beyond my eyes over fleeting scenes of decently felt emotion most of us struggle against or want to feel. Some were less tenuously set-up than others. The finest and slowest-fully built up to is above: the Dowager explains to the obtuse Lady Mary that she will miss her friend.

Robert Lord Grantham’s (Hugh Bonneville) close relationship with his dog, Isis, has been before us from the opening credits (much mocked) where we see the dog from the back, presumably walking alongside Robert back to Downton, to the incident where Thomas (Rob James-Collier) ruthlessly locked the dog out in the wet cold wild so he could gain Lord Grantham’s trust by rescuing her, to her just being there, with him. Even that quiet boss-lady, Cora, Lady Grantham, oblivious as she was to the twisting of Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael), her second daughter’s character and pregnancy, and much else seemed to notice the dog’s decline, and opened her bed so the suffering creature need not be alone and feel unloved in her last hours:

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Daisy continues to gain in skills and self-respect from the time we first saw her when the series began and she was making the fires in the house, filthying herself in the cold. She’s now reading Vanity Fair under the tutelage of that thwarted teacher, Mr Moseley (Kevin Doyle). While I wish we didn’t each time have to re-assert the justification for learning for Daisy, and this time it was to enable Fellowes to take potshots at the labor gov’t, I enjoyed the visit to Mr Mason (Paul Copley) engineered by Mrs Patmore (Lesley Nichol) so as to keep Daisy’s spirits up. At his dinner table no one insults anyone. He wouldn’t allow it — all is generosity and decent social thought:

Miss Baxter: Are we all finished? How lovely, Daisy, to have such a beautiful place to come to.
Mr Mason: She’s always welcome is Daisy.
Daisy: I’ve not been here enough lately.
Mr Mason: You’ve been busy I know. With your books. That takes up time.
Daisy: I think I’ll stop it now. So I’ll be able to visit more.
Mr Moseley: Do you think she’s right to give up her studies, Mr Mason?
Mr Mason: I do NOT.
Daisy: Don’t you want to see more of me?
Mr Mason: You know I do. But education is power.

Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) had been startled to find herself invited, and once there, perked up, looked like she had some self-respect, enjoyed herself guiltlessly, and held Mr Moseley’s hand as they comfortably came home after a comfortable meal.

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Things were quite otherwise in the dinner scene closely juxtaposed next. I felt for Isobel as those wretched sons of Merton made themselves obnoxious again (to Edith too).

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I loved Tom Branson for getting up and calling one of them a “bastard.” They did throw a stink bomb at any coming happiness in marriage with them in the Merton house. I don’t know why anyone eats dinner at that place: it is a landmine.

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Of course dinner tables have ever been places where you dramatize social agons, it’s inherently theatrical.

The ball of agon has not left the Bates’s residence either. I did love the scene of Anna (Joanne Froggart) and Mr Bates drinking tea so comfortably at home together.

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Here I just wish Fellowes didn’t think it necessary for me to suspect one of the pair is a murderer. I have realized (from reading one of the Downton Abbey facebook fan pages where they regularly take the most small-minded positions, siding with the worst people) that we are supposed suddenly to suspect Anna. This is surely out of character. What would she feel in a prison? horrified. so humiliated and mortified and filled with inculcated self-hatred she’d wither up with shame.

Alas I’ve covered the fine moments and have now to turn to the absurdities and offensive omissions. I omit the condescension enacted towards the Duchess’s adult servants, Spratt (Jeremy Swift) and Miss Denker (Sue Johnston) as children squabbling. To this is Fellowes driven for material you see. Mrs Drewe gets to have her say to Cora, Lady Grantham, but we are not allowed to see or hear her, and doubt we’ll ever be permitted to develop some sympathetic imaginings for the Drewes at home now.

Implications: When told by Robert that Isis has “cancer,” and Cora replied: “Poor old thing … Oh, how I hate that word,” she for a moment redeemed herself, but like Anibundel whose recap is again worth reading, I cannot grasp how Fellowes expects us to take seriously her indignation at her mother- and sister-in-law, Lady Rosamund Painswick (Samantha Bond) at having not told her what she should not have needed telling to know. She will never forgive them, never trust them for not having informed her her daughter had a baby while away on a suddenly “mysterious” 10 month trip to Switzerland:

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Yet worse there was Edith, since Episode 6 closed, set up at last, running a business she owns (left her by Mr Grigson), a job to do, writing she does well, a place to live, a nanny on the spot, with money to pay her:

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And what does she do? return to the Abbey where she hides from Mary and her maid at the station giving up her baby once again to the conveniently there Mr Drewe (Andrew Scarborough)

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in the library again overridden by Mary (coolly despising Edith’s generous impulses to take “an orphan child”), look like some rabbit or deer staring at headlights lest daddy say no to adopting this strange child until mummy declares it is right. The family obtuseness passes to Edith’s father. There’s more than a hint that Tom (Allen Leech) suspects (he asks her more than once to be open with him about her troubles over many episodes). Mary of course couldn’t be bothered to figure anything out about anyone, least of all Edith. Psychologically for Edith it does fit: she is the bullied, over-sheltered, super-ego driven ugly daughter. I hope she never marries, because surely she’ll end up abused — and we saw in the fourth season that Grigson saw this and refrained.

Is there any more to add? I fear Fellowes enjoys inflicting pain on Edith because he likes Mary’s meanness, identifies, triumphs with it. So more obnoxiousness from Lady Mary supported by the complacent Charles Blake (what ever happened Julian Overdeen as the man who worried about the average person’s housing in Britain): if it was so little trouble for Mary to get rid of Gillingham (Tom Cullen) by a kiss in public of Overdeen, why did we have that scene in the park? Fellowes gives away how he manipulates shallowly to milk scenes.

Lady Rose’s (Lily James) continuing charitable impulses and her hurt and fear she will lose her suitor, the good-natured bright Atticus Aldridge (Matt Barber), are a decent note and rightly rewarded by Lady Sinderby’s (Penny Downe) generous liking of her despite her being a non-Jew; Lady Sinderby and her husband showed real awareness of the prejudice against them, he that he needs to fight to maintain respected space to thrive in, and thus is not eager for a daughter-in-law who will not be Jewish (conversion never mentioned), but their son’s total lack of any consciousness of what it was to be a Jew in England in the 1920s brings us back to the incredible. Someone on a Jewish news on-line page suggested he is modeled on Prince William (Charles’s son); so when he kneels to this princess, far from an intermarriage, we have a simulacrum of revered English royalty:

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(Jim was one of those who wanted to see their huge fortunes taken from them, lamented when again the Queen was no longer to pay taxes.)

I suggest Fellowes is moving time so slowly because he does not want to reach the 1930s. He frequently gives Violet quips which are designed to obscure hard truths, this time it was “My dear, men have no rights.” In the real world of 1924 or so the men were in charge, servants were beginning to flee these places for work for money and freedom. There was a general strike in 1926.

But allow me to end on another of the good moments: Tom leaning over a bridge in the green landscape of the Abbey (one of its attractions for him, one he is at work on as steward in his fine office daily), with his daughter, trying to get her used to the idea they will perhaps leave for another country where he will fit in, be able to maintain his identity (and hers) better:

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Now if we could just get a message to Miss Bunting (the show is a continual fantasizing so why not?) to meet him at the New York docks.

Ellen

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Midpoint — the Dowager (Maggie Smith’s) second walk and talk with Prince Kuragin (Rade Serbedzija), this time in his grey impoverished lodgings

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Closing still — Edith (Laura Carmichael) to a child who either avoids eye-contact, or looks on warily: “I’ll order ice cream, and a glass of Champagne, and we’ll be as jolly as you like.”

Lady Mary has her Hair Bobbed:
Lady Mary: ‘Does this cover it?’
Hairdresser: ‘My Lady is very generous.’
She sails out
Hairdresser to colleagues: ‘At least she can carry it off. Most of them look like bald monkeys.’

Dear friends and readers,

Like life, soap opera is all repetition, and this was another week where endless deferral alternated with levels of climax; the pleasure is in the talk and pictures of the mini-series, and the talk overheard (or writing on the Net I read) added more to the mini-series than much in the hour itself. Have others observed how time has slowed down this year? Unlike previous seasons, each episode begins precisely where the previous left off. It’s all leisurely endless continuation …

Edith story began the hour (Carson: “Telegram for Lady Edith!”), provided several high scenes of emotional trauma (Mrs Drewe [Emma Lownes] upon being shown Marigold’s birth certificate and tearing it up to her husband [Andrew Scarborough]: “How could you do this? I’m your wife, yet you have lied and cheated and used me shamefully. If you’d have taken a mistress you couldn’t have been more false”)

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Mrs Drewe: ‘It’s lunacy! You’ve lost your mind! Tell her.’
Mr Drewe: ‘It’s true. Marigold’s her daughter.’
Mrs Drewe: ‘It’s a lie! I don’t know what she’s holding over you, but you can’t let her get away with it!’
Lady Edith: ‘I have a copy of her birth certificate.’

and ended it in a final chilling madness made sense to Laura Carmichael who enacted the role:

It sort of felt like a long time coming that moment when it’s really exposed how unaware and indifferent Mary is to Edith’s grief even without knowing about Marigold her baby; the pressure would have been so intense and she’s sort of had enough by that point to have family members tell you that they don’t care [Cora, Lady Grantham has a groaning look that Edith has brought up the death of Grigson when Mary has had such a modern haircut] your heart and your happiness must be incredibly difficult

On my listserv a member was eloquent: “I did truly feel sorry for Mrs. Drewes and was glad to see she upbraided her husband for lying to her. Someone on the Downton Abbey fan page (“Spoilers here!” their page motto) scorned Edith as “bleating.”

I’d just been reading an intelligent essay in Leggott and Taddeo’s Upstairs and Downstairs by Andrea Wright on the popular semi-comedic costume dramas focusing on the recent shopping worlds of women, The Paradise and Mr Selfridge, comparing them to 1970s much more feminist The House of Elliot — the owners are women and not punished for risk-taking. But like Downton Abbey, these new costume dramas have lots of “good girl messages” — stay home, be obedient, don’t rock the values that supposedly sustain you and you’ll be safe, perhaps even happy. Well, without reading much against the grain we are shown 6 supremely good girls in this series (the 3 daughters, 1 cousin [Lady Rose aka Lily James, Cinderella herself] and Anna and Daisy), in the case of one denigrated since she was young for awkwardness, intelligence (she writes), what ambition she has, ugliness, “poor” Edith, has been made psychologically sick by obeying most of these messages. Yes she had sex outside marriage and now has paid not just big on it but been made much much sicker. 5:5 ends with her fleeing with her baby lest the grandmother and aunt manage to take the child to an orphanage and it ends on this (to anyone with an ear) chilling line: we’ll be so jolly together. Right. In an impersonal hotel room, baby with ice cream and mother with champagne.

Over on two of the Downton Abbey facebook pages a favorite “fan fiction” thread finds viewers persisting in the theory that Lady Rosamund Painswick (Samantha Bond) is Edith’s mother: how else explain Cora’s absence of any deep feeling for her second daughter, no defense, no help, no observation, all at a distance — if she is the kind of woman who is not a natural mother then why so indifferent to her husband? Why insist he get back in bed with her? he obeys.

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Cora: ‘Because I’m telling you. Nothing happened.’
Robert: ‘I’ll tell you what did happen. You allowed him into your private life. A man who thought he could step into my place, just like that.’
Cora: ‘He thought it – and he was mistaken.’
Robert: ‘Very well.’
Cora: ‘If you can honestly say you have never let a flirtation get out of hand since we married, if you have never given a woman the wrong impression, then by all means stay away. Otherwise, I expect you back in my room tonight.’

As to Lady Mary, I rejoiced to hear the French hairdresser’s view of her haircut while Anibundel picked up on Mary’s gut bitch reaction to the ailing dog, Isis: “I wonder if she’s picked up a germ, or something equally fell.”

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When it came to Fellowes’s apparently ideal normative aristocratic types, I was told that it was amusing to watch and listen to Michelle Dockery as Lady Mary pull off such continually “mean narcissism” and I should consider Cora, Lady Grantham (Elizabeth McGovern) as someone hiding her pain with self-effacement, having accepted Robert, Lord Grantham’s (Hugh Bonneville’s rule). The YouTube advertisement assumed I would enjoy her hard-faced triumphant riding point-to-point and sneers at Mabel Lane Fox (who never manages to win)

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As she tells Charles Blake (Julian Overdeen) she doesn’t believe in letting other people win …

But I do not like cruelty even as an aesthetic spectacle, and wish that the new man she finally attracts might corrode her soul in the way she carelessly does to others, but I suspect Matthew having touched her was a temporary weakness.

By contrast, Anna believes in helping others to win. We were treated to Mr Bates (Brendan Coyle) for once angry at Anna (Joanne Froggart) when he discovers near where her button box should be a dutch cup and Marie Stokes’s book. So she’s been lying when she has said she longs for a child, and preventing it because she thinks her husband a murderer.

Anna: ‘Will you please tell me what is the matter?’
Bates: ‘I couldn’t find your button box.’
Anna: ‘I’d forgotten all about it. Oh, well, never mind. It’ll turn up.’
Bates: ‘I did look. I looked in all the cupboards, and I found some other things.’
Anna: ‘Oh, yes?’
Bates: ‘Yes. I found a book by Marie Stopes and a box containing a cunning piece of equipment to ensure there would be no Baby Bates.’
Anna: ‘And I’m supposed to applaud your poking around in my things, am I?’
Bates: ‘Now, just a minute. It is not for you to be angry with me – it is for me to be angry with you.’

Her anxiety at home gives him a chance to supposedly prove himself innocent (an untorn ticket to London — what? he couldn’t have bought two?) and they end on perfect contentment, she kissing his hand:

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So Fellowes weasled out of that one, jumped that shark. Lady Mary’s choice of contraceptive and who murdered Mr Green is now the subject of talk on fanpages.

For my part I can see how little free is Anna ever and remain much moved by her. I wish such scenes as hers were longer, lingering. The scenes move far too quickly for the emotions suggested.

And for me the absent Miss Bunting and present Daisy (Sophia McShera) provided the high point of the hournot that I mind Daisy, with the help of Mr Moseley (Kevin Doyle) who we discover should have gone on for further schooling given his intelligence on tests, reading away in his prized precious 5th volume of the Cambridge History of England which she is induced by Mrs Patmore (Lesley Nichol) to accept

Daisy: ‘Miss Bunting loved the new hairstyles. She said women were being set free.’
Moseley: ‘I’m sorry Miss Bunting’s gone.’
Daisy: ‘She gave me such confidence. She’d tell me how sharp I was, how quick.’
Moseley: ‘I agree with her.’
Daisy: ‘It’s harder on your own, harder to believe.’
Moseley: ‘Well, could I help? Not with mathematics, probably, but I know a bit about history and I’ve read a few books.’
Daisy: ‘How old were you when you left school?’
Moseley: ’12.’
Mrs Patmore: ‘It was a shame, really.’
Moseley: ‘I was quite bright. And my dad wanted me to stay on. He thought I could be a teacher, if that doesn’t make you laugh. But he couldn’t manage it. We had no money, you see, and then my mother got ill and so I had to earn as soon as I could.’
Daisy: ‘Why don’t you take Math now?’
Moseley: ‘No, I’ve missed it. But I’d like to help… ‘

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Similarly talk on line and Rob James-Collier made the role played by the ever sicker and more desperate Thomas Barrow to electric shock and otherwise poison his sexuality, rescued finally by Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) and advised by Dr Clarkson (David Robb) to “fashion as good a life as you’re able” though in words condemnatory of Thomas’s homosexuality (“Remember harsh reality is always better than falsh hope”), one intended to make the viewer think

‘For the first time ever in Downton Abbey we see Thomas question his sexuality, himself as a gay man and it set about a sequence of events to try and cure that. So Thomas reads about a “miracle” cura as it were and yah we see the scenes where he’s injected himself and he’s slowly making himself more ill, and it’s quite a sad journey (“I assume this is a course of treatment you spent money on.” “Yes a lot of money, I went to London for a course of electro-therapy … ) they were viewed as freaks of nature the most abhorrent thing that you could be. He’s just saying you’ve got to accept it because there’s no way around it. That is what you are. That just explains how difficult it was back then. For a practicing homosexual man it was virtually impossible … ‘

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Another couple not resolving issues under an umbrella after they leave the doctor

Thomas: ‘Well, that will give you a good laugh.’
Miss Baxter: ‘It won’t. And I don’t expect you to understand, but I think it shows you to be a very brave person.’
Thomas: ‘What?’
Miss Baxter: ‘To inflict such pain on yourself to achieve your goal. Think what you could do in this world if you just set your mind to it.’
Thomas: ‘You’re daft – do you know that?’

As in the fourth episode, these scenes and that of the Dowager (Maggie Smith)’s visit to Prince Kuragin’s impoverished lodgings with her new maid, Miss Denker (Sue Johnston) who does not go up, were the most quietly humanly interesting. It’s a foregone conclusion that Maggie will not elope with Rade; she shows up out of respect for their memory, with the ostensible excuse that slowly his wife is being located — not that he has any room for or has shown any interest in getting her back. Their conversation is nuanced, touching and the acting of the aging people effective

Prince: ‘Some tea? I can just about make tea. How did you find me?’
Dowager: ‘Rose gave me your address.’
Prince: ‘And you came alone to this part of the city?’
Dowager: ‘I was accompanied by my maid. She’s waiting outside.’
Prince: ‘How wonderful to be back in a world where ladies are accompanied by their maids. Why didn’t your son provide you with a car?’
Dowager: ‘Oh, he would have done. I just didn’t choose to tell him where I was going.’
Prince: ‘It is not our first secret assignation.’
Dowager: ‘I always feel more comfortable leaving the past in the past.’
Prince: ‘Then why have you come?’
Dowager: ‘Because Rose’s father, Lord Flintshire, thinks he’s close to finding the Princess.’
Prince: ‘She’s alive, then? She was alive when she left Russia.’
Dowager: ‘That they know. They think she was put on a boat headed for Hong Kong. You’ll know more soon.’
Pause.
Prince: ‘I wanted you from the moment I first saw you. More than mortal man ever wanted woman.’
Dowager: ‘That is an historical detail.’
Prince: ‘Nonsense. If Irena were dead, I would ask you to run away with me now.’
Dowager: ‘You couldn’t run away when there’s no-one left to “run away” from.’
Prince: ‘I loved you more than I loved her. Even today. Even this afternoon.’
Dowager: ‘Please don’t.’
Prince: ‘Why not, if it’s true?’
Dwoager: ‘Because you’ll make it sound as if we were both unhappy, and I don’t believe you were – and I certainly was not.’
Prince: ‘You wouldn’t admit it if it were true. You think to be unhappy in a marriage is ill-bred.’
Dowager: ‘You do know me, Igor. That I must concede.
Prince: ‘Yes.’

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The technique of endless deferral is also resorted to over Mrs Crawley’s (Penelope Wilton) coming decision to accept Lord Merton (Douglas Reith), the police’s latest visit to the Abbey now to question Miss Baxter who as she says knows nothing. Only Mrs Patmore’s buying a cottage for her retirement is permitted closure, not just to show off the old stove someone rebuilt or procured, but ready us for the coming getting together of Mr Carson (Jim Carter) and Mrs Hughes (Phyllis Logan) who look at each other before turning to gaze on Mrs Patmore’s satisfaction:

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Mrs Hughes: ‘What’s the kitchen like? Oh, not quite the scale you’re used to.’
Mrs Patmore: ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind – it’d be my own. I could live here later when I stopped working. There’s only one flight of stairs, so I’m sure I could manage that, no matter how old I get.’
Mrs Hughes: ‘Oh, an outside privy, I see. That’ll bring back memories.’
Mrs Patmore: ‘Well, Lord knows I’ve seen one of them before. But ‘appen I could change things round when I move in.’
Mr Carson: ‘I’m sure you could.’
Mrs Patmore: ‘Well, that’s it. I’m going to take it. Now, if you’ll come outside, I’ll take the key back and give him my answer.
Mr Carson: ‘I envy her. Have you ever thought about your life in retirement?
Mrs Hughes: ‘Who says I’ll live to retire? Is everybody ready?’

MrCMrsH (2)

I wish both scenes, of Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore, of the Dowager and Prince were longer too.

Moralizing about characters is central to novel reading — not as if they were people, but in accordance with the implied author’s design, his presence making them perform as his puppets, the themes of the whole piece. In Bernard Paris A Psychological Approach to Fiction and Character and Conflicts in Jane Austen’s Novels, he argues for the centrality of characters in understanding novels, that an implied author projects his ethical, political, social (&c) outlooks through what his or her characters are, say, do. The authors studied in the first book are mostly Victorian, and realists, e.g., George Eliot, Stendhal, but he also studies Thackeray’s more satiric approach. The book is refreshing in the way he honestly critiques the ending of a book or what happens in it through his approach. He moralizes through an intelligent thought-out approach to characters. All our talk is filled with subtexts showing our political, social, psychological and other views interacting with the author’s.

That I find no content to comment on in Atticus (Matt Barber) and Lady Rose’s recurring early romance scenes, but noticed alertly how well and cheered Lady Sinderby’s first appearance with her husband (Daniel and Rachel Aldritch) at the point-to-point seemed, and how she cordially accepted Cora’s invitation to dinner (so that’s our next episode) tells something about my age and gender.

Sinderbys

After all, though this too suggests nothing exciting for the mini-series, just more of the same. Lady Sinderby will turn out to be another of Fellowes’s aristocratic women who pay for their privileged lives by behaving discreetly, with self-control and on the surface kind self-effacement.

For myself I remember how Jim loved to go to point-to-point races, how we’d take picnics and wine, he’d bet and lose on the races and I’d buy a new big hat. I died the day he did.

Ellen

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Miss Bunting (Daisy Lewis) before Tom Branson (Allen Leech) finds out she is leaving

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His not-so-cool but complacent acceptance of her departure

Dear friends and readers,

It’s hard to know how to approach this week’s episode: on the level of human feeling, I felt most for Miss Bunting (“I loved you you know”), but found Branson’s cool adieu where he just about informs her while he’ll miss her it’s her fault for not being compliant that drove her from the abbey, repugnant, and repugnant the more lavish punishment meted out to other decent characters. Edith (Laura Carmichael) is forbidden to come near the very young child who she now has a sick craving for. Her male aid, Mr Drewe (Andrew Scarborough) is now bitter at the possible loss of his farm because his unbelievably obtuse wife, Mrs Drew (Emma Lowndes) says she cannot bear the pressure from Lady Edith and will insist on departure:

Pressure (2)

Edith is directly threatened by immovable pressure from the aunt who enabled her to have the baby (Rosamund, Samantha Bond) and a grandmother (the Dowager, Maggie Smith) who sometimes seems to be the only person in rooms filled with people to recognize intense strain, though her response is usually one which makes the person’s inner condition more wretched. They begin to insist on the departure of the baby to an orphanage in Switzerland where Edith could visit — as long as she’s discreet.

Pressure (1)
Lady Rosamund and the Dowager close in on Edith, apply pressure …

Rosamund: I gave up ten months of my life to make sure she [baby Marigold] came safely into the world.
Edith: The trouble is, the farmer’s wife, Mrs Drewe, she just thinks I’m a nuisance. She doesn’t want me to see Marigold.
Rosamund: So, we have a situation of infinite danger to your reputation, which brings you no emotional reward to compensate.

Bates

The shared heart-hope of Anne (Joanne Froggart) and Mr Bates (Brendan Coyle) rocks back and forth over the persistent if gentle interrogations of police implying that one of them was near Mr Green in London at the moment of his death. They fear parting from one another.

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Mrs Hughes sits by and supports Anna in one of the police interrogations

I also found repugnant how unthinkable it is to Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) and her father, Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) that she should be anything other than imperturbable at questioning by the police, and the way she reacted to meeting the young woman, Mabel Lane Fox (Catherine Steadman), at a luncheon meanly (coolly is the word I’m supposed to use) engineered by the self-satisfied Charles Blake (Julian Overdeen).

Hurt
Miss Fox gets up rather than be ganged up on by this pair:

Charles: Well, what shall we do with your food.
Mable: Eat it. And I hope it chokes you …
When she’s gone:
Blake: Now, I’d like my beef pink, but not raw.
Lady Mary goes on sipping her port.

How the ongoing self-berating abjection of Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) prompts her to regard the kindness and understanding with with Mr Molseley (Kevin Doyle) greets her as a further burden. So too an unexpected parallel with Thomas Barrow (Rob James-Collier) also whipping himself (physically, he is inflicting taking electric shock therapy on himself) who refuses any comfort from concerned expressions of regard (from the Dowager, Mrs Hughes [Phyllis Logan], even Mr Carson [Jim Carter]). He is still out to do damage where he can.

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Sick, giving himself sick treatments, he lashes out yet …

Sometimes it becomes impossible to ignore the perverse ethical and reactionary class and ethnic biases of Julian Fellowes — even if he feels for his victims. There is a very nasty outlook undergirding the whole of many scenes in Downton Abbey this year. I wonder sometimes if many people watching this just rejoice in the faux glamorous settings and clothes and have the most shallow understanding of the forces and themes Fellowes’s figures in the carpet represent.

For example, this week the as yet untouched and thus easily sweet Rose McClaren (Lily James, soon to be playing Cinderella in movie theaters near you) encounters in the rain an equally sweet suitor, Atticus Aldritch (Matt Barber), who turns out to be Jewish. It is the episode’s second sequence to use the romance of umbrellas:

Umbrellas

He at first presents himself as Russian partly perhaps because Rose tells him the sweets she is carrying are for a group of Russian emigres she provides comfort for twice a week. But when they get there and the two Russian males they introduce him are told his relatives came to England in 1859 and 1871, they become angry at his presence, and declare him not Russian, he is pushed into admitting he is Jewish. Those were fierce pogrom years.

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Russian emigre reacting to Aldridge’s presence

Those who would rejoice in another break-through against prejudice in this new coupling, should notice that Aldridge does not behave in any way that marks him as Jewish, seems to have no feelings that might naturally arise from such a family pre-history. Why should these Russians be angry at him? Disdain would be more realistic. This resembles the treatment of Cora, Lady Grantham, who many people might forget is said to be half-Jewish. This identity would be totally erased but for her wealthy dowry, her mother’s name, Mrs Levinson (Shirley MacLaine) and the way Paul Giamatti who played Harold, her brother, did present himself as Jewish now and again.

aroldinLondon
As a rakish New York Jew in a London park

At the dinner table with the Sinderbys Atticus’s parents (Daniel and Rachel Aldritch, married n real life and introduced in the next episode), there is a back-handed joke about how much money the Sinderbyss have: this fits the stereotype of the super-rich Jew (the father is a well-to-banker); it’s something about how they need not worry about what others do, but of course the sting in the joke is they do.

I noticed that again it’s Lady Rose who is open to someone outside this narrow purview of who is acceptable to these upper class British people. Can she really be surprised that there is such a thing as anti-semitism? She is the one who went out with the black musician in the fourth season; she did seem to realize there was racial prejudice. Before that she danced with and was genuinely attracted to a working class man to whom she said he was a “nicer” person than she; and again she recognized that he would be seen as “beneath” her. I give her that as a character she does her charity work in a generous spirit, but Fellowes can conceive of such behavior only in a peculiarly innocent person. I just wish he did not then (in the following episode, 7) display a need to demonize some woman in sight so that when her divorcing mother and father turn up, the Marquis of Flintshire, Shrimpy (Peter Egan), and the Marchioness (Phoebe Nichols), he is the generous spirited one and she the poisonous witch. Miss Obrien (Siobhan Finneran, appropriately for a while the Marchioness’s lady’s maid) having gone, Fellowes turns to the Marchioness — Phoebe Nichols often gets such parts, and I suspect because she’s not pretty and has a reedy voice. It won’t do.

How does the Dowager’s schemes to forestall the possible coming marriage of Mrs Isabel Crawley (Penelope Wilton) with Lord Merton (Douglas Reigh) fit into this white world paradigm with its reinforcement of every law and custom that upholds this aristocratic order? After all, does she not want her best friend, Mrs Crawley to be like herself?

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They do a puzzle and drink tea — to keep Spratt (Jeremy Swift) occupied …

When Dr Clarkson (David Robb) suggests to her, she is jealous, she demurs, she does not “understand him.” She cannot be threatened; no, it’s that this useful active female bourgeois will wilt under a regime of having nothing to do and life with a boring man. This does not seem to have hurt Cora, Lady Grantham, and anyway of late, Mrs Crawley’s life has been (as far as we can see) sheer leisure whose one sport is the occasional tension that dinner conversations cause. She says she’ll miss Miss Bunting.

It is hinted that Cora, Lady Grantham may miss her gentlemanly art-historian Mr Bricker (Richard E. Grant) because she is seen standing at her window watching him leave early in the morning.

Window

He overplayed his game by sneaking into her room on the night that Lord Grantham said he would not be returning from his dinner at Sheffield. But unlike Lady Mary, Cora remains physically untouched; indeed she stands in her lovely dressing gown stiff as a board during much of this “ordeal” — she produces mild abjurations that he must go, until unexpectedly Lord Grantham does turn up, and when Mr Bricker tells Grantham he insufficiently appreciates Cora, Grantham at least erupts and punches him and we get a near row. For once this character is seen to bend and look excited. Never fear when a knock on the door is heard, she returns to peaceful walking and speaks Edith who comes to the door as if Edith were a five year old, “‘Your father and I were just playing a stupid game and we knocked over a lamp.’ ‘Oh. If you’re sure.’ ‘I’m sure, poppet.’

Selfcontrol
Since she was allowed to act for real when Sybil died, McGovern has at best been allowed dramatic self-control which she performs here

The legitimate male order must be preserved. What comedy the episode had is provided by Mrs Patmore (Lesley Nicol) and Mrs Hughes when Mrs Patmore inherits a small sum. His desperate stab at advice was she should buy into a building firm that Lord Grantham had a brochure about on the dining table because he might hire them to build houses on his estate to rent to tenants. He is non-plussed when Mrs Patmore asks if the shares have gone public. The two women conspire to make Mr Carson feel not that he has exposed his ignorance of the ways of the stock market (which he has) but is responsible for Mrs Patmore managing to think of buying herself a cottage and renting it until she retires. Mrs Hughes is (as is common in this series) given the one genuinely funny line as she assures Mr Carson that because of him “We feel thoroughly protected”

Protected

After Miss Bunting, Daisy (Sophie McShera) had the best moments of this hour. She braves the rule which forbids her to show herself upstairs (how many times over the past five years has an upper servant reacted with horror at her presence, one of the household looked puzzled to see her upstairs?) and reaches out to the bumbling Branson to tell him not to give up Miss Bunting: He sees her peeping out at the door and comes over and asks: “What can I do for you?”

Daisy

Daisy: You can do something for yourself. You’re making the biggest mistake of your life.
Tom: Is this Miss Bunting, by any chance?
Daisy: She’s an extraordinary person. Clever and kind.
Branson: She’s all of those things.
Daisy: Then why turn your back on her? … I mean it. She’s leaving tomorrow, but I know she loves you. I can tell when she speaks of you.
Branson: She’s leaving tomorrow? For good?
Daisy: Won’t you stop her? You’re not a Crawley. You belong with us. We’re the future. They’re the past.
Branson: Well, I can hear her voice in that …

Alas, the upstairs people are still very much in charge of the UK. But people like Daisy have access to good educations and much more fulfilling jobs than they could dream of in the 1920s.

In James Leggott and Julie Taddeo’s Upstairs and Downstairs: British Costume Drama from the Forsyte Saga to Downton Abbey, Andrea Schmidt dilates on “Imaginative power” of the fan fiction and postings on the Net about Downton Abbey. She demonstrates how these fans — often disdained — expose the absurdities and perversities of Fellowes. He hires a “historian” as a reinforcement of his claim that he refuses to develop his characters in more sophisticated adult ways and deal openly with complex politics because is he keeps to “historical accuracy” no anachronisms in his characters. “Historical accuracy” is his mantra (like the US uses “national security”) behind which he wants to control the depiction of the characters to suit his defense of this super-rich order of people. At the same time he can write dialogue and invent presences with the power of suggestivity. He is usually real enough, and registers the depths and amorality of people sufficiently to open up suggestions we can play with — such as my argument last year that Mr Bates murdered his first wife and Mr Green through the clever ruse of accident.

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POV: Miss Bunting looking back from her carriage window at the village and Tom Branson standing by a tavern door — perhaps we may hope he relents for his own sake ,a poignant shot

Similarly this Downton Abbey fan fiction develops his characters from hints and behaviors Fellowes refuses to make clear or explicit — he cannot sue them as they are making no money and are not acknowledged as legitimate or serious by those in charge of literature and art. These fan fictions and postings and blogs too expose the nasty undercurrents of his portrayals, his fatuity. They complicate his stories in more “interesting, self-aware and sensitive areas” that he (in effect) refuses to. One I noticed is a fan fiction that postulates a love affair between Miss Obrien and “arguably the most underdeveloped character in the series, Cora, Lady Grantham.” A pair of lesbians. In another “poor Edith” is given a sarcastic and funny voice and describes the passive-aggressive relationship of Matthew (his sycophancy and making up to her) and Lady Mary (her cold indifference and potentially needling tongue) one New Year’s Day. They allow Robert (Lord Grantham to have his affair with Jane (the widowed housemaid?).

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After punching Mr Bricker and throwing him out of his and Cora’s bedroom, Robert asserts himself by holding on to the chair and saying he will sleep in his own room —

Ellen

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HopeTreacherous

Corrective

Violet, Dowager Grantham (Maggie Smith) to Prince Kuragin (Rade Serbedzija): ‘Hope is a tease, designed to prevent us from accepting reality.’
Mrs Crawford (Penelope Wilton, the cant corrective): ‘You only say that to sound clever.’
Dowager: ‘I know, you should try it …’

Dear friends and readers,

I was beginning to lose hope. And from the release this week online of a YouTube three scenes designed to advertise what is thought to be the most appealing, the most wry, and the most strident (one criteria for trailers is the aggressive punch) scenes in Episode 4, it seems the film-makers were beginning to realize they were anything but compelling their audience to watch:

Neame thought to lure us by the sincerely touching proposal scene between Lord Merton (Douglas Reith) and Mrs Crawley, with that unbeatable silhouette still of her standing there as he leaves, showing the series can still do it right; another of the series rather daring representations of sexuality as experienced by older people, that between Mr Bricker Richard E. Grant) and the still underdeveloped character of Cora, Lady Grantham (Elizabeth McGovern); less originally Miss Bunting (Daisy Lewis) also challenging the power of the bull in this china shop, Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) to command his servants’ presence, expecting to hear how Mrs Patmore (Lesley Nicols) has had her burdens as a cook increased by Miss Bunting’s tutoring of Daisy, only to be told “No, sir” (however timidly) and receive the full eloquence of an increasingly articulate (and letter writing) Daisy on behalf of aspiration, self-fulfillment that has nothing to do with her practical status.

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Daisy (Sophie McShera) ‘But I must say this, m’lord.
Miss Bunting here has opened my eyes to a world of knowledge I knew nothing of.
Maybe I’ll stay a cook all my life, but I have choices now, interests, facts at my fingertips.
And I’d never have had any of that if she hadn’t come here to teach me.’

These two moments do not begin to cover the chock-full hour, which it’s not my purpose to summarize, only remarking that we can date the episode by the occurrence of a significant Nazi eruption into violence in March 1924, which in the episode foreshadows the expected news of Michael Grigson’s death.

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Lord Grantham (appropriately enough) reading aloud to Edith (Laura Carmichael) the incident of high violence in which Michael Grigson involved himself

In this scene (as in several others, Robert retrieves himself and comforts his daughter with the stability of reality (Violet Lady Grantham’s utterance resonates through this hour).

Otherwise blows continue to rain down on Edith. Mrs Drew (Emma Lowndes) begins to see in her a neurotically distressed woman in effect stalking herself and her adopted child, and slams the door in Edith’s face; told by the ever compassionate Mr Drew (Andrew Scarborough) she must stay away for a while, she is repeated derided and jeered at by the family high (I had almost said bitch) princess, Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) who knows just what words needle and corrode the heart most (even the Dowager tells Mary this is getting to be in vulgar bad taste of her). These moments of torment fleet through the hour, well-prepared for and believable after 4 years of bad luck in the context of an utterly repressive and sheltered environment where nonetheless everyone is oblivious to her gifts (as a writer) and needs (as an adult).

But in this hour, the context and flow of emotion sustains itself from thread to thread. The contrast to Daisy in the character of Thomas Barrow (James Rob-Collier), for in this hour the alert Miss Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) who holds no grudges, one of the many kind souls in the Abbey, begins to understand that Thomas is attempting to medicate (torture) himself into heterosexuality.

Treatment
Thomas arrives home having lied about his father’s illness

Observed
Quietly observed by Miss Baxter who follows him down the corridor

In an excellent essay on “Homosexual Lives: Representation and Reinterpretation in Upstairs, Downstairs (1975-79) and Downton Abbey” (in Taddeo and Leggott’s Upstairs and Downstairs), Lucy Brown points out how in his sexual and emotional life Thomas is continually sympathized with in the Abbey: from the Duke of Crowborough’s exploitation and threats (Season 1), to the suicide of a solder Thomas as a nurse has cared for (Season 2), to his genuine loving friendship for the flirtatious (we have Mrs Hughes’s [Phyllis Logan)’s word for it, Jimmy (Ed Speleers), whenever it’s a question of harsh punishment for his sexuality, Thomas is saved (by both Lord Grantham against the police, and Mr Bates of all people blackmailing Miss Obrien [Siobhan Finneran], Season 3). Daisy is taking the right way, but we cannot say that Thomas is taking the wrong, for it is not easy for Thomas to accept (enact) reality as he has told various characters over the years.

The strength of this show all along has been in the quiet rhythms first seen in the first season (and never lost from view) where Fellowes’s gift for suggestive daring character creation through story and dialogue asserts itself in the context of many aptly juxtaposed threads which comment on, reinforce, contrast, ironically undercut one another. I say daring because he repeatedly breaks social and even artistic taboos in the emotions and behavior of his characters. I mean to suggest of how a few of these play out in this brim full episode.

***************************

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Anna (Joanne Froggart) in Piccadilly Circus

I’ve demonstrated how Fellowes’s alter ago, and our dark hero Mr Bates (Brendan Coyle), beloved of our most exemplary heroine, Anna (Joanne Froggart), seems to have gotten away with two murders (which she is determined to cover up). In this episode Anna is protecting her man again: she brings herself to tell the police she liked Mr Green (who as she says it, we all know raped her brutally), but in a telling psychologically true impulse she relives what she believes her husband did by when with Lady Mary in London revisiting Piccadilly Square where Mr Green is said to have unfortunately stepped off, tripped himself into a bus. That master of human psychology (whom Fellowes has said much influenced Downton Abbey at first), Trollope has Phineas Finn relive a murder he did not commit when he is acquitted in Phineas Redux, a powerful sequence Simon Raven elaborated further upon in the 1974 Pallisers, complete with the sort of depression that goes along with such behavior and we see in Anna’s suffering face.

What Anna does not know is she is being stalked or if you will observed by a plain clothes detective:

PlainClothesDetective

Anna is not the only one having a hard time in London. She had been sent to deliver a note to Lord Gillingham (Tom Cullen) to meet Lady Mary at noon in Kensington Gardens, for after having tried a four-day tryst with the said Lord, Mary has decided she does not want to spend her life with this man. His response is indignant rage:

mind-your-temper
He can’t believe no means no, how impolite …

How dare she reject him after they have gone to bed together. She tries to break the news gently (unusual for her) that she’s tried him out and found him wanting. While she’s not breaking the “virginity taboo,” according to Freud, the inculcated feeling taught girls that they must marry the first man they fuck with is a way of tying them to sexual fidelity because not only has she been married and given birth, but way back in Season 1, she went to bed on the first night of meeting a very handsome Turkish gentleman, Mr Pamuk (who died of the orgasm). We can now qualify Freud: men want women to believe this to protect their male pride.

She is though being utterly unconventional and knows it as she did not quite have the nerve to herself buy a dutch cap from the druggist and sent Anna (who in a later episode will have to deal with Mr Bates finding it in her drawer).

Lady Mary’s experience here functions as the prompter of Anna’s walk and is also a parallel linchpin tying in the set of threads the film-makers advertised as their strongest: unconventional scenes of love, to wit, the extraordinary nerve it takes to show old people in love (Lord Merton and Mrs Crawley), wanting sex, one pair of them in the show as old as well past 70, others not satisfied, one young man punishing himself for his sexuality. This is rarely done. Again I have to instance Trollope who has an aging woman writer and aging newspaper man fall in love in his The Way We Live Now, he propose on his knees, and then hug and kiss the lady from there, a sequence of scenes Andrew Davies was not quite up to dramatizing — he has them decorously stand to kiss. Well it’s also just not done (according to Lord Gillingham) to try a man out. This rude confrontation (ironically Lady Mary does not like rudeness) suggests she is doing right not to marry Lord Gillingham: he would be such another husband as her father, Robert, stand on conventional norms — or as we see, lie down.

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Coraclosingthelight (1)

After the scene over Mr Brickman’s “appreciation,” Cora’s flirtation with him at dinner right before Miss Bunting’s own deep uncomfortableness drives her to ignite Lord Grantham’s frustration, we see the husband and wife discuss how they will not discuss what has happened; he turns away and she closes the light. Not a satisfying marriage it seems, or sexually not going well by this time, but a very conventional one as we’ve been shown repeatedly. He married her for her money and she him for his rank; they have stayed together and apparently never strayed for the same reason they appear to be blind to Edith’s having gotten pregnant, given birth, and brought her baby home to live with a nearby compliant tenant-farmer. It’s just unthinkable.

And apparently that is what happened to Violet, Lady Grantham when she fell in love half a century ago with Prince Kuragin. The largest framing of this episode is the one the film-makers did not quite dare put into their advertisement: a very old man telling a very old woman he loves and wants her, and surge of painful memory and desire. Yes desire. Her wit as ever a cover-up, but this time of herself. Lady Rose (Lily James) who I must admit is emerging as the series’ sweetheart (and far far luckier than her equally charitable alter ego, Miss Baxter) is intent on doing her charity and we see she does it right. She holds luncheons in an ancient church in London (it seems), book sales, does what she can to give the emigres some comfort, and the Dowager, having glimpsed Kuragin in the last episode, now takes Mrs Crawford as buffer, and travels down by train, walking slowly there to see this man.

In this season, first with Lady Shackleton, then Lord Merton and Mrs Crawford and now herself, Maggie Smith stretches this character in a new direction: contradictorily subtly human, she is ambivalent, for he has recalled to her memories of real unhappiness, of the price she paid when she made a choice (inexorable to her still) to stay with her husband which she does not regret (who would want to end up in that church soup kitchen) while staring down at the loss of what she could have known.

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Arriving

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Making his appeal

Lady Mary has not shown that she has it in her even to be attracted to such a man; she is her father’s daughter: she is seen walking with him considering a plan made by tom (the ever subordinate Allen Leech — who does like his beautiful office) to build and rent houses at three different points in the hour and we should not forget that he has the last word in the hour: he decides to build much better houses than Tom dared. But she has the strength to reject Lord Gillingham who would have been to her such a husband as her grandmother had.

Not for the first time I was very much moved by Maggie Smith. This is the woman who was Alice answering the heart’s desperate needs in Alan Bennet’s Bed Among Lentils. But after all Fellowes imagined the characters, slowly developed them over several years now, by writing their lines, developing their scenes, woving these into a tapestry — with Gareth Neame, the producers (who have changed over the years), the production and costume design people (mostly the same), and the wonderful actors and actresses, not to omit the cinematographer

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One of the last stills of the hour

Ellen

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