Time is catching up with the languid aristocrats of Downton Abbey.
As the fifth series opens it's 1924. This gives Lord Grantham the opportunity to flap his newspaper in snooty despair at the new Labour government who're a bunch of grubby, working class people! 'What worries me,' he grumbles, 'is our Government is committed to the destruction of people like us and everything we stand for.'
I put my pen down at that moment. It was too soon after the referendum for that line to just wash over me like warm, perfumed water, as the dialogue and stories of Downton are meant to do. For once, the show had delivered a jolt - unintentionally, of course - and I was suddenly seeing the privileged toffs of this mild and inoffensive programme in a different light.
The threat of rebellion was indeed in the air. As if the election of a Labour government wasn't enough to upset Lord Grantham, he was reminded of his growing irrelevance when a group of villagers visit the Abbey to discuss erecting a war memorial. As he prepares to graciously accept the leadership of their little campaign they say they don't want him. They want Carson, the butler, to be in charge. This is a terrible upset to protocol as such honours should always to be granted to the lord of the manor. To reinforce the threat of change at Downton, the organiser of the village group is a pushy woman who does all the talking and even instructs Carson in how best to prepare her tea - 'milk in first!' These people are not meek and deferential and they know how they like their beverages.
But it's not that easy to upset the established order of things. Social change can't be seized by something as simple as politely nudging his Lordship aside. If it were that easy, class privilege would have been eradicated years ago. No, for revolution to occur the 'lower orders' need to believe they are good enough to have power. Poor old Carson doesn't believe it. He doubts his worth and is mortified at the thought of taking his master's rightful place. He is uneasy in this new world where the old order can be upset. 'I sense a shaking of the ground I stand on,' he says, dithering over whether to accept the challenge. Again, thoughts sprang up of the referendum. Carson was unintentionally exhibiting a classic version of the Scottish cringe. Am I good enough? Why are they asking me? Why not ask the big posh man instead? He knows best.
Yes, watching Downton so soon after the indyref tainted my enjoyment of it. Normally I can admire the beaded dresses and the sleek hats and the candlelight. It's all so warm and soothing. Nothing bad ever happens, to the extent that when something bad did occur - the rape in the last series - there was uproar and debate, not about rape itself, but about whether Downton should have sullied itself with such a brutal topic. But watching Downton today things felt askew; I simply wasn't in the mood to romanticise the Establishment or to sigh for the supposed steadying comfort of the old order. The referendum was on my mind.
Although perhaps indyref thoughts simply rushed in to fill the vacuum left by the absence of plot. Nothing happened in this episode, though I appreciate the opening of a new series is very often about resuming handfuls of pre-existing storylines and getting us all back on an even keel. Even so, need it be so tiresome? Lady Edith sighed for her farmed-out nipper. Lady Mary sighed over her dead husband. Some horny toff sighed over an equally horny footman. Daisy tried to learn book-keeping. In a last-minute nod to 'drama' one of the bedrooms caught fire…but the fire was put out and all was well.
Nothing happened. It felt limp and there was an unforgivable lack of plot for a show which lasted for an hour and a half. As usual, Downton Abbey was all brocade and bracelets and feather boas, candlesticks, chandeliers and curtseys. Beauty with no substance. It was like an exquisite jewellery box containing nothing but a 99p ring from Primark.
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