There are some memorable moments in this season's Episode 3, such as when Daisy is admonished by Mrs. Patmore to get a move on the "spotted dick." Yikes, what is a 'spotted dick?' That is certainly an ailment I haven't seen a cure advertised for on the evening news, but then again, I really haven't had it on lately. Waiting for a Super Bowl ad?
Consultation with the shorter OED reveals that "spotted dick" is "a suet pudding made with currants or raisins." The British are always doing something with currants and raisins and candied fruit. They probably invented fruitcake. Surely something for the ancestors. They love tradition.
We have of course Lady Mary. Her hussy week with Tony Gillingham was okaaaaaaay, but obviously she didn't see fireworks. She's back to playing Hamlet at the altar. I did tell the readers here that whoever does light her fire won't be any of the three finalists we were introduced to last season. She's likely to continue the playoffs, but the winner probably isn't in the league yet.
We have Lord Grantham upset that he's spent time on public transportation, dressed in a tuxedo for dinner, made reservations at Claridge's, only to see his wife waltz in flattered to no end after dining with another male at the Ritz and seeing and discussing Raphael paintings.
Lord G is "cross," as he later put it. His dislike for public transportation reminds me of John Kennedy Jr. when he discussed his mother's efforts to save Grand Central Terminal from becoming another unneeded glass office tower.
If anyone remembers, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was a driving force behind the save the terminal effort in the mid 1970s. She is seen in the photo with Mayor Koch, Bess Meyerson and the architect Philip Johnson, with Grand Central Terminal in the background. Jackie-O gave testimony and publicly appeared to help preserve the terminal.
Maybe it is the whole attitude of the people on in 'Downton' that is wearing thin. Here's Lord Grantham, Robert, an Earl in 1924 whose parentage goes back to the Crimean war who frets over being in a tuxedo, having canceled reservations at Claridge's, being fed supper from his sister at her place in London, and seeing his wife come back after discussing a 16th-century Renaissance painter. He doesn't believe his wife can even have opinions on Raphael. You'd think his credit card got dinged for the cancelled reservation. What a toad.
Other threads are continuing, with Bates again in the frame for causing someone's death. But I really have to admit, these people are boring me now.
But then there's 'Grantchester,' which followed 'Downton' on PBS. 'Grantchester' is another of those charming English villages, this one near Cambridge, north of London, that the people who create those shows love to feed to their audiences.
These writers and producers also love to show us their train set. How many times are we going to see someone seeing their sweetheart off on one of those "carriages" with the window down and their head sticking out? And that piercing shrill whistle from the conductor. I hear it my sleep.
'Grantchester' is new at this point. The opening music almost sounds like the 'Downton' theme, but that's where any similarity ends. The main character is a vicar, played by James Norton, who, if anyone is old enough to remember, so closely resembles Richard Chamberlain in 'Dr. Kildare,' or James Franciscus in 'Mr. Novak,' that you might believe he's their son.
These were 1960s American TV shows. I only ever saw them in black and white, and they might have only ever been in black and white. Nevertheless, the vicar that Mr. Norton plays, Sidney Chambers, is easy to look at for the ladies, and by being a vicar, he's not bound by celibacy, or confessional confidentiality. He smokes, drinks booze, and entertains thoughts of bedding women. People tell him things, and he might tell others, if it helps solve the mystery of a death. He fought in WWII, and killed the enemy.
So, he's a bit of clerical Ms. Marple who zips through the village on his bike. He can pedal as fast as a train can leave town. He's environmentally aware in post-WWII England. He is assisted by a real police officer, an inspector, whose office at the station house looks like he's in a church, as he's surrounded by deep, dark wood paneling and stained glass windows.
The inspector, Geordie Keating, played by Robson Green, (two thoroughly English first names if ever there were ones) is predictably wary of civilians, smokes up a storm, follows soccer, and wears suspenders that pull his pants up so high it looks like they should hurt him. He lives in a modest house, with a lively wife, and two rosy red cheeked children who get their bath in a portable tub. The English love to show anyone who is paying attention how threadbare their lives were after WWII.
So far, so good. In one hour, the vicar has solved a mysterious death, probably found a soul mate, and developed the respect of a police inspector as they are seen strolling together at the end starting a "beautiful friendship," chatting through the meadow toward some some booze and spirited games of backgammon.
For now, 'Downton' is being eclipsed by 'Grantchester.' But it's still British.
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