The Golden Age

Los Angeles, California


I'm mad at Matthew. Until a couple of weeks ago, Billy and I were going merrily along, enjoying the second series of Downton Abbey. Did we notice the anachronisms? No, not really. Were we stuck on intense admiration for the hats? Well, one of us was. But then, a character showed up last week, looking like The English Patient, and claiming to be the heir to Downton (the one who had gone down with the Titanic). That was, well, weird. This week (spoiler alert): Matthew learned that he could walk again just as Spanish Flu descended upon the estate. Livinia, the fiance (the one who had gone back to him after he had summarily dismissed her as a result of his paralysis which would prevent them from having a "proper marriage"), suddenly looked unwell at the dinner table. She's a goner, I said to Billy, trying to even the score because he had readily picked up on Lord Grantham's attraction to the new maid. Sure enough, Livinia is now DYK (dead, you know). "Died of a broken heart, because of that
kiss . . . " said Matthew, at her graveside, further telling Lady Mary that they could never be together having caused the death of Livinia by sharing a brief dance, profession of undead love, AND a kiss (are you following this?). No, I cried to Billy even before this last speech. Matthew had that self-righteous look on his face that made me fear that he would go all upstanding on her, and refuse the fact that they are meant to be together. I've seen this happen before, like, with Bo and Hope on Days of our Lives (yes, it's true. A college addiction, everyone was watching it, who was I to be different?).


Despite the above rant about Matthew, we really are enjoying Downton Abbey. It's been a long, cold couple of decades since what we now consider to be the golden age of PBS. In fact, if you just hate it when people start waxing nostalgic about the good old days, this would be a good time to exit, stage left.


We came to the PBS party pretty late in the game, but were able to catch up on a lot of the classics through pledge breaks and PBS reboots (ok, reruns). We had already missed the original Upstairs, Downstairs (didn't like the recent remake much). Also missed the original Forsyte Saga (liked the Damian Lewis remake a lot). We missed most of the Shakespeare (I think they did the complete works, if memory serves), including the legendary Much Ado About Nothing with Sam Waterston. But we did see a good deal of really, really good stuff: The Jewel in the Crown, and Brideshead Revisited (which people remember as being on Masterpiece Theatre but was actually on Great Performances). This was truly a gilded age: there was Masterpiece Theatre, Great Performances, American Playhouse, and Wonderworks. American Playhouse offered productions of American short stories incuding Kurt Vonnegut's Who Am I This Time?, with Christopher Walken and Susan Sarandon, which was so good. They also produced a couple of Jean Shepherd's stories, including The Star-Crossed Romance of Josephine Cosnowski -- these masterfully narrated by Shepherd himself.  Wonderworks was a wonder. It produced excellent full-length, and even series-length, versions of children's lit, including Anne of Green Gables and The Little Princess. Adding Mystery, with it's fab Edward Gorey titles, into this mix and you had something good going almost every night of the week. Now Masterpiece Theatre is cut up into three portions: Masterpiece Classic (which in recent years has caused me to cry out: enough with the Jane Austen already. And don't even get me started on Dickens); Masterpiece Contemporary, and Masterpiece Mystery (still with the Gorey titles). With Downton Abbey, there ostensibly is a nod to that golden age when it was simply Masterpiece Theatre, and introduced by the incomparable Alastair Cooke. While it's only one night a week, that's ok. At this point in time, I don't really want to watch TV on more than one night a week. And with Netflix (which we don't utilize effectively), and the DVR, there are always more choices than we can handle, should we choose to sit and sog on another night.


So, while I don't anticipate a real return to that golden age, I do now find myself looking forward to the Sunday night saga of Lady Mary and the others at Downton, in spite of the plot having more twists and turns than the Space Mountain ride at Disneyland. Also, in spite of Matthew's recent peevishness. And the truth is, I would probably keep tuning in regardless of all of that, and even if I wasn't enjoying it quite so much. Because, after all is said and done, one should never underestimate the power of fabulous hats. Thank you so much for reading my blog. Cheerio!