'Downton Abbey' comes to us seasonally, in the winter, after it has already aired in the U.K. It doesn't even last as long as winter. Or summer, spring, or fall, for that matter. There will be a fifth season, but beyond that is anyone's guess. The show's creator, Julian Fellowes admits the story moves slowly. "It's a slow burn of a show," he recently admitted. We're NEVER getting to WWII, are we?
One thing has recently occurred to me. If the English aristocrats are arranged across the moors and heather like New York crime families, then the Crawley/Granthan clan might be equatable to say the Gambinos, with Lord G. appropriately in the godfather role.
That would lead a sharp-eyed law enforcement agent to look for the "under-boss," who in this case might be very well described, because he is part of the lower level staff. Did John Bates avenge the rape of his beloved wife Anna with his mysterious trip to "York" and instead follow the path of Lord Gillingham and his cocky valet Mr. Green and cause Mr. Green to meet with death by motorized vehicle? Thrown under a bus, literally? If so, it would be another subtle exhibit of the family power.
And another moral question presented by Mr. Fellowes. If getting away with rape is possible but not desirable, is getting away with murder, although desirable in this case, right? Mr. Fellowes does more than dress the ladies in hats and gloves and the gentlemen in white or black bow ties. He presents thought.
Such ethical questions are starting to unfold at the conclusion of Episode 7, as Lady Mary, on hearing of Mr. Green's death starts to do the circumstantial arithmetic and obliquely asks one of her suitors, Charles Blake, what should one do if certain information is known to an individual and they're not sure how to handle it.
Mr. Blake, considering the "theoretical" question and acknowledging its lack of details, advises silence. While Charles's position is not officially that of a "consigliere" his advice of silence fits with the Italian code of "Omerta," the pledge of allegiance to the family through silence.
In fact, Mr. Green's demise has his employer wondering about Lady Mary's power. We know Lady M. asks his Lordship to sack Green, without giving any specifics, only to assure him that he would agree it is the right thing to do if he were to know everything. He agrees on faith.
When the news of Mr. Green's accident ("accident"?) starts to spread, Lord Gillingham has to start to wonder if Lady Mary were to say something about replacing the prime minister, would Lloyd George suddenly receive a vote of no-confidence and see his government dissolved? And that we know of, Lord Gillingham might not even suspect a real seat of power that lies with the lady with the cane, the eminence gris, Dame Violet. Shared power is exponential.
And what an Episode 8 is! The Crawley family plans a Lufthansa heist, English style, when they concoct a means to retrieve a letter of indiscretion that the Prince of Wales has written to a married socialite. The letter is based on what David, the future King Edward VIII, sent to his mistress in 1919, that went something like this:
"This is only just a teeny weeny little scrawl to catch the last post sweetheart & to tell you how fearfully madly I'm loving you this afternoon angel & looking forward to 4.30 tomorrow.
'Although I only said all this about 12 hrs. ago I can't help saying it all again this afternoon only I mean it even more sweetheart!!"
Even if he held it to 140 characters, David was going to paint himself into a corner no matter what era he lived in. And he did.
A portion of the Crawley crew gains access to a potential blackmailer's room, sweeping in with purpose and determination in floor length evening gowns, gloves up to their elbows, and a bobbing bow tie, only to come away empty handed. Bates's time in the slammer has proved indispensable as he arranged for a forged document to gain access to the room, and then again indispensable as he utilizes Fagin learned pick-pocket skills to complete the recovery. Needless to say, this helps Lady M. decide nagging ethical questions as she gently drops tell-tale circumstantial train ticket evidence into the fire.
Finally, Ol' Shirl appears again as Cora's mother, Martha Levinson, with her son Harold in tow, he only freshly reprimanded, and nothing more, after the Teapot Dome Investigations in the States.
Harold, played by Paul Giamatti, appears looking like a financial Al Capone in an natty overcoat with a fur-trimmed collar, smoking a cigarette as he arrives at the Crawley London headquarters. Mr. Giamatti is perfectly casted as what the English perceive the jazz age financial wizards to be: no hair, put plenty of money. Harold no doubt is Harry F. Sinclair, who figured prominently in the Teapot Dome affair, gaining drilling rights on Federal land after bribing a cabinet member. Harold still thinks he had a good idea. They always do.
And Ol' Shirl. Thank God Shirley Maclaine got into at least one more episode, and this the last one of the season. Ol' Shirl is an American cistern of sarcasm and worldly advice, as befits anyone who through successive reincarnations can remember Cleopatra and her barge.
She glintingly tells Mrs. Dudley Ward about the dangers of tabloid publicity, referring of course to her hardly secret affair with David, the king's son, and the next in line to the throne. Even Americans know of this. Shirley smiles mischievously, and perhaps with a bit of jealousy at Mrs. Ward's youth. After all, didn't Ol' Shirl and Angie have the Rat Pack for playmates? Those were the days.
The English love their pomp. Wardrobe has been emptied out to supply all the regimental uniforms needed for the palace scenes. There are medals galore, and plenty of puffed chests to pin them on. Robert Crawley has somehow remained fit enough to pour himself into his dress regimental uniform, making him appear this time not as if he's ready to invade Poland, but rather to appear as a decorated Russian doorman at a condo complex off Gorky Square, opening doors for Russian women coming back loaded down with Prada shopping bags.
Our radio personality Don Imus calls the Royal Family the best known welfare family. And while few in the 1920s would dare to call them that, you can see how after hundreds of years of such a lifestyle, a general population might get a little weary of it. Or, at least, why Americans might wonder what all the fuss is about.
But the need for royalty might be justified when the alternative is someone like David Beckham, the retired English soccer star who John Oliver, himself another Brit, described on 'The Crowd Goes Wild' as "sonically flawed." Great phrase.
Beckham, by all appearances, is the epitome of male virility, married to a former Spice girl, Victoria, who has four children with her, named as cool as can be: Brooklyn, Harper, Romeo and Cruz. I mean, the guy is the tattooed English version of George Clooney. But I had never heard him speak. At least not until the press conference when his association with the new professional soccer franchise in Miami, Florida was unveiled. He'll be a part owner and general manager, not a player.
When this resplendent hunk opened his mouth, I thought, geez, John Oliver is right. This guy sounds like a dimwit. Which of course is why the British need the Royals. They have been genetically bred and tutored on how to make everything they say sound like it is coming from a play by Shakespeare.
There will be a Season 5. Several lines are still dangling in the water, and they will no doubt get tied together in some finale-type episode.
Martha Levinson has had the last word over Dame Violet, showing that the Americans still win. Her son Harold, if he hasn't met the right woman yet, might at least be closer through his recent association and at least learned that it is possible.
As Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes wobble into the surf together, they might next time there is downtime at Downton go to the cinema together and snog in the back row. Bates and Anna appear to be out of harm's way (at least for now). In fact, there are several pairings on the runway set to take off. And of course there is Lady Mary. She's got three gentleman seriously interested in her, so it will probably be someone else.
If there's anything I've ever learned by watching horse racing, the front runners tire each other out, and usually someone comes from behind and gets the roses.
And if there is one thing Mr. Fellowes and his crew gives us, it's plenty of flowers to look at.
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