A few things Downton have been giving me a spot of bother. Mr. Bates and his steady drip of bad news. O’Brien and Thomas chain-smoking and scheming. Sybil and Branson in the garage. Matthew and Mary needing their head’s knocked together.
It really is soapy, and more than a little silly. And it could fairly be called girly. But this NYT piece really clarified an underlying bit of ridiculousness on which everything is juxtaposed: the relationship between the classes.
So while I now better understand why Downton Abbey is ‘idealogically confusing’ and therefore feel greater guilt for the pleasure it gives me, there’s no stopping now. I’m hopelessly hooked.
See you in 5 hours and 55 minutes.