There’s a certain point when watching a soap-laden period drama stops being fun and just starts feeling… well… dirty. Not the kind of dirty felt after reading Lady Chatterly’s Lover. But the kind felt because the series has become so implausible and sensational that it overwhelms the enjoyment of it, let alone being intellectually engaged with it. During the first series, Downton Abbey was a grand escape, a way to explore a new world through characters entirely relateable to ourselves. Yet this past season, the melodrama been thrust into the spotlight, and the result is a more uncomfortable viewing experience. Even if there are still characters and relationships that keep this series worth watching, the imbalance of cringe-inducing soap-operatics to genuine emotional connection is growing at an alarming rate. This week’s double episode (2.06 by PBS’s count) is the paradigm example.
Since this series in many was has become The Mary and Matthew Romance (?) Hour, let’s start with our apparently star-crossed lovers. Their relationship used to be fraught with natural conflicts, grounded in their prickly personalities. It was natural that the two didn’t get together at first, because both are very proud. Mary (Michelle Dockery) was naturally hesitant in pursuing a man who was possibly no longer going to become heir, since her marriage prospects up until that point had always been determined by protecting her inheritance and status. Her hesitation understandably insults Matthew (Dan Stevens), he of the social-status-is-bull-I-just-wanna-work school of thought. He thus rejects her once she finally comes around in favor of the girl with the comparably moderate background. These conflicts make sense given what we know about the characters.
I figured that once the war descended upon the manor, our pairing would finally learn to get over their pride. They would learn to treasure what they have in the face of the destruction all around them and find a way back to each other. Of course, since this is a soap, there are going to be obstacles to their happiness. But since the first series had established both Mary and Matthew to be complex yet rational, I was sure that the conflicts would play out naturally without feeling forced, and the two would approach them thoughtfully.
*Sigh. If only. Suddenly, Julian Fellows, the creator of the series, became trigger-happy and started throwing as many tired conflicts as he could into the mix just because he could. Mary and Matthew have reached that stage where they recognize their importance to each other, in addition to their deep attraction, and little moments like their dance together show that beautifully. But the machinations that keep them apart are ridiculous. Their respective partners this series are wastes of space. They could have been opportunities to pose a real threat to our one true pairing, but instead we get one-dimensional caricatures. Matthew’s fiancé is the superhuman Lavinia Swire (Zoe Boyle), who has somehow tapped into every possible well of human goodness and purity and has no sense of self-worth whatsoever. The poor girl, who worships the ground Matthew walks on, witnesses his dance with Mary and hears him admit that he is only staying with her because he feels that it is his duty to do so since she was so loyal to him while he was injured. Instead of confronting the two-timer, or dumping the guy with the hopes of someone who may actually, you know, love her in return, Lavinia offers to let him go be with Mary, since only his happiness matters to her. Even as she’s dying (which the production is careful to show in the most beautiful and angelic way possible, with her flowing red hair draped around her modest white nightgown), she admits that it’s good that she dies so that he can be with the woman he loves. Fellows created a character that is too perfect to be a real person, or a real threat to the affection Matthew feels for Mary, whom he likes for being hot-headed and opinionated. Had Lavinia been an ounce more interesting (read: more selfish), Matthew could have actually felt some attraction to her, and his grief and guilt over her death may not have felt so forced.
Then, since her character is so empty, Fellows had to create a conflict that is far to melodramatic than is realistic in order for Matthew and Mary to be kept apart after: that Matthew believes that he and Mary killed Lavinia by breaking her heart. Therefore, their relationship is cursed, and it would be wrong of them to get together now. Listen, Fellows. Just because you hang a lantern on the fact that this plot point is cliché, by having Matthew mention that it is, doesn’t mean that it feels any less ridiculous to the audience.
Mary’s own fiancé, Richard Carlisle (Iain Glen), is as much of a caricature as Lavinia, but his personality and relationship with Mary have the opposite problem: he has become so obsessive and controlling that it is unbelievable that anyone, let alone Mary, would remain engaged to him. At first, their engagement made sense, given how pragmatic and unromantic they both are. They both recognize the financial and social benefits gained from their union and expected little more. However, for some reason, Carlisle suddenly cares that Mary doesn’t love him but loves Matthew instead, even if what he feels for her clearly isn’t love. His sudden need to know everything about her and control who she sees doesn’t make sense given his character. What’s worse is that everyone in Mary’s life can see this about him and they don’t do anything about it. Mr. Carson (Jim Carter), who is supposed to be the one person on the staff who cares about Mary the most, merely refuses to work for Carlisle after learning that he asked Anna (Joanne Froggatt) to spy on Mary for him. Mary herself barely seems to care. Director James Strong and Dockery at least knew enough to have Mary look indignant as she learns about what he asked Anna and when he tried to stop her from visiting Lavinia right before she died. However, the fact that that was the extent of her response up to this point contradicts with what Mary should be doing. For all her flaws, Mary has never been someone who would allow herself to be victimized or controlled, and yet she has barely confronted Carlisle. Yes, he does have power over her in the form of the knowledge about what happened between her and Kemal Pamuk (Theo James), but that doesn’t excuse her becoming a doormat for him.
Mary and Matthew are hardly the only doomed lovers on the series, however. After years of dealing with his wife’s meddling (read: obsession and extortion), Bates (Brendan Coyle) learns that Vera (Maria Doyle Kennedy) has committed suicide, and that he and Anna are finally free to be together. We get a quaint little wedding, and a steamy wedding night, and all the while, the two are their adorable, loving selves. Great, no? No. Of course, she uses the rat poison that he once bought for the house, and writes a letter to the friend that afternoon that portrays her fear that he is coming to kill her. So basically, she is setting him up from beyond the grave to be arrested for her murder.
What the hell. The problem here is that Bates’ wife has just become a catch-all psychotic. First she blackmailed him into getting his inheritance with the knowledge of Mary’s scandal, simply because she wants money and has leverage. Fine. Makes sense. We know that Bates was arrested the first time because he was taking the fall for Vera. But suddenly, Vera does not want Bates to be with Anna, so much so that she kills herself in order to frame Bates? Up until this point, her motives have all been selfish, but to some extent they were rational. Even blackmailing Bates into remaining her husband was motivated by the belief that this would benefit her financially. But there’s nothing rational about her last act – there’s nothing for her to gain from her own death and framing Bates for it. Where did this act come from? Again, the show is manipulating her personality so that she behaves in a way that makes the series more dramatic, even if it doesn’t fit what has already been established about her.
However, the biggest offender so far has been what the series has done to Lord Grantham (Hugh Bonneville). Yes, the war was traumatizing (says the suburban American dryly from the comfort of her own armchair). But how the hell does that translate into an affair with the new maid Jane (Clare Calbraith)? Not only were their scenes awkward – beyond the fact that there was no chemistry between them, and there was hardly any interactions between them that would cause the feelings that they are supposed have felt for each other – but again, it doesn’t fit with his character to suddenly have an affair. Mr. Do-the-Right-Thing getting grabby with the single mom in his own house? WHY?!
The show does try to provide motivations for his behavior, by showing that he was having difficulty adjusting to the changes after the war. His family was moving forward, like Cora (Elizabeth McGovern) and Sybil (Jessica Brown Findlay) taking on new responsibilities and social outlooks. However, Robert remains intransigent, hoping that his house and his society will quickly pick up where it left off in 1914. BUT WHY DOES THAT MEAN THAT HE WOULD RESPOND BY HAVING AN AFFAIR? It simply doesn’t follow! The worse motivation that the show offers up is that Robert is finding Cora’s behavior particularly insensitive and catty, especially in comparison to Jane’s waify, damel-in-distress kindness. But Cora has always been aggressive and has always put her family first, so there is no reason why this should be at all surprising to him, let alone offensive to him. This turn has simply been all-around unjustifiable on his part.
I don’t want to give the impression that I am predisposed to dislike this series. I actually have enjoyed it a lot in the past, and there are still features of the show that work well that I am watching for and want to see more of. One of the most interesting developments has been Thomas’s (Rob James-Collier) comeuppance. For too long, he and O’Brien (Siobhan Finneran) have been able to sit on the sidelines and scheme with their unchecked self-righteousness. It especially felt a little unfair that Thomas was never fired at the end of the first series, that he got to leave on his own terms, his reputation hardly effected. Therefore, for Thomas to actually struggle, first with the inability to find work after the war, then for his own rashness to saddle him with a storeroom filled with unsellable goods, is satisfying without being over the top. Even better is seeing Thomas have to suck up his pride and scrabble for his old job as the footman when he scorned it before the war. Well played, well-played.
Just as satisfying is how Sybil’s relationship with Branson (Allen Leech) is playing out. Their youthful romance was sweet to watch, but in this episode, Sybil finally takes the leap to publicize and officiate their relationship. The way that the family reacts is appropriate at every step. It makes sense that her sisters and parents would balk at their relationship at first: not only because it does seem rather sudden to them, but because the social and financial differences between them are not nothing. But the family gets over it after an episode, and they do so for the right reasons. They see that it isn’t worth breaking off all ties with their daughter when she is clearly not going to change her mind – Dowager Countess (Maggie Smith) astutely points out that the aristocracy doesn’t survive by being intractable, but by adapting – and Cora actually commends her daughter for being brave and honorable. How about that? From a narrative standpoint, however, what excites me is that Sybil is being set up for a harsh dose of reality. While I don’t expect her to completely reverse her decision, the series has left hints that Sybil may not have realized exactly what and how much she is giving up by rejecting her status for Branson.
All right, Downton. Time to get your act together. Let’s bring it for the finale!
