Skip to main content

Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale

 I skipped the "Downton" years on TV, but I've become a fan of the movies; any time people are crowded into one space and required to plot and scheme, I'm on board. "Downton" resembles a "campus" novel: people are forced to work side by side, and power struggles ensue.


The new "Downton" is interested in boundary-crossing. Dominic West is a movie star, and his boyfriend is a servant; when the servant receives an invitation to mingle among various representatives of the gentry, scandalized whispering occurs. There is also a strange subplot in which a villager writes a successful film. Literary talent can be a vehicle for social advancement; think of Alexander Hamilton. But the writer's spouse wishes to remain a servant--and so marital discord ensues.

The other thing I like here is the discussion of divorce. Matthew Goode can't stay married to Michelle Dockery--presumably because Matthew Goode's agent/manager has done some double-booking. The writers have responded with a clever subplot. Goode's character has an extramarital affair--and, to protect the reputation of the girlfriend, Goode pretends to have slept with "a mere streetwalker." The confession of a "purely physical" sin allows Goode to save his own good name--while also providing "adequate" grounds for divorce. Meanwhile, it's Dockery who suffers; there is an idea that she is damaged goods, and so she should not show her face at major social events.

"Downton" understands that people are animals; there are grasslands "codes" that we all must obey. But these codes can be malleable--if you're courageous and you have an imagination.

I had a pretty good time with "The Grand Finale."
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more