(S)o(a)pium for the Masses: A small tribute to “Downton Abbey”

Dear M’lords & M’ladies:

The Great Recession? Why worry?  The prospect of an anemic

recovery? This too shall pass. War with Iran? Can’t really think about that now. An important, upcoming presidential election? Borrring. . . .

Why obsess about any of the above, when we have Downton Abbey to calm our spirits and enliven thoughts on Sunday nights. . . .

During that other “great” Depression of the 1930’s movie fans were offered the gossamer fantasies of the rich and careless, fancy-stepping their light fantastics in dry martinis and billowy chiffons, from My Man Godfrey and The Thin Man  to Cole Porter and the nifty footwork of The Gay Divorcee and Swingtime. Today we are invited to bask in the reflected glow of early 20^th century, upper class England, in an uber soap redolent of the great romantic novels, from Pride and Prejudice (the unfairness of entail) to Jane Eyre (blind Rochester vaguely reminding of Matthew in the wheelchair, or is it burned Patrick/Peter?). The series gives us lace strewn ankle length frocks from the WWI, an authentic country estate inside and out, etched wine goblets, and the icing on the pastry, an unabashed and hefty nod to the ineffable Upstairs Downstairs- staff member for staff member- from cook to butler, from  parlor maid to scullery wench to evil footman.  Even the title prompts subliminal literary associations: is it meant to evoke the glitz of a sophisticated “downtown” milieu or the moral rigors of a strict “abbey”-maybe it’s both!

Will Lady Mary and Matthew endure in the long run, and will the House of Crawley- about to be “exposed” rather brutally in the local scandal sheet as a result of Mary’s youthful folly- also weather the storm? Perhaps the dastardly “Sir” Richard- latter day Rupert Murdoch as it were- finally will be “exposed” himself. . . . Why does Bates insist on looking so cryptic all the time, messy divorce to ungrateful tart notwithstanding, to say nothing of a threat of imminent execution!!! And is there really anyone on the planet as maddeningly sensible as Anna??? Will Daisy screw her head on right and finally accept a meager war widow’s pension and warm father-in-law overtures in a world devoid of social security? Something is not clear to me: was that the new parlor maid innocently cozying up to Lord Grantham, or vice versa, as Carson kept a watchful eyeball on the developing situation. O thy name is Haughty Disdain indeed Carson, but how exquisitely so- what power in that deprecating glance! Nary a fork nor spoon misaligned will escape thy withering scrutiny, nor will Lady Mary ever lack for your understated guardianship, the fact that sensible Mrs. Hughes views your favorite as an “uppity minx” notwithstanding. Dour, malevolent O’Brien- she suddenly seems strangely conflicted, and the chauffeur too is a person of some interest. But it’s Maggie Smith as Granny G. that is my beacon: one could do a lot worse than end up so feisty, smarmy and yet annoyingly wise in one’s own dowager-ly dotage! As for Lord & Lady Grantham, well, the very name says it - they are grand and they grant, period, though not without the attendant emotional turmoil.   

The combinations and plot twists, meaningful glances and clipped though dense-with-meaning dialog, even in the face of egregious miniseries manipulation, engenders my complete addiction to this fictional world of manners and morals, irony and intrigue. . .  . My husband and I argue over the motivations and personalities of the main characters: he can’t understand why Matthew tolerates Lady Mary and says she’s “mean”; I bristle, countering with the pressures of entail and her status as eldest daughter combined with the forced sublimation of early feminist stirrings- can any of us forget that handsome, irresistible (literally) young Turk? I personally view Edith, the younger somewhat confused sister, as a complete nincompoop, while he, taking the more analytical view, sees her as “developing” and “growing.”. Where can all this possibly lead? I must admit the whole thing holds me captive to its high definition, digital thrall-   I’m helpless in the face of this mesmerizing epic saga on the little screen, exquisitely decked out in silk settees, silver soup tureens, carefully crafted chignons, amazing hunting outfits, silly hats and jet onyx jewelry. I’ll admit to having shamelessly enjoyed reruns as well.  If you haven’t seen it, do give it a try. What harm can possibly ensue from one little episode . . . .

A few critics have skewered Season Two for not approximating the glory of Season One, but this is pure balderdash! Can every single episode thrill like the first? Besides, the glorious number seven of the second series ensures that disaster will follow, does it not?