Reflecting on Downton Abbey
It has been exactly 53 days since I started plowing through the sick, twisted world of Downton Abbey. Of course, being the apprehensive [and pessimist] guy that I am, I didn’t really know what to expect — a lavish British period piece/soap opera on rich, somewhat entitled white people’s self-pity, how the fuck am I going to sit through SIX SEASONS [and a feature film] of this? I [mostly] hate period pieces and loathe the concept of the soap opera; going down in circles until it never ends (or until all of the actors die and get replaced by new ones), yet fascination got the better of me, slowly, until I became fully invested in Downton Abbey’s moral and spiritual challenges. So why did I weep all of a sudden, in an uncontrollable fit of ecstasy, during its feature film, out of nowhere, and for no reason? Probably because I became thoroughly invested in its multiple character arcs and incredibly subversive scripts from creator Julian Fellowes — forever destroying the tropes of the period piece/soap opera we were known to hate, but also because I was seeing so much of my own psychological struggles in its protagonists. Fellowes not only asks the audience members to think about how we, as a society, whether privileged or not, are doomed to be challenged by our own moral angsts, as they will catch up to us, eventually. It not only sets a precedent on how television shows should be written but is also one of the greatest television series to ever marvel the screen. So, how do I reflect on a show I’ve invested the past 52 days on, quarantined at home, not knowing what to do?
Simple, we must first assess what makes the show so fascinating, or should I say, hypnotizing. The characters are an absolute treat to watch — they’re never stuck on the same roundabout pattern, but always, continuously, evolving. The character that stays on from season 1 to season 6 will not be the same when the show ends. Julian Fellowes will always challenge its protagonists, both morally and spiritually, until their time of anguish allows them to learn that better days could be ahead.
Thomas Barrow’s Portrait
There isn’t a character in Downton Abbey that’s more compelling and brilliantly written than Thomas Barrow (Rob James-Collier). He represents the perfect pattern for a TV character — he never stays the same from when we first saw him in season 1; moody, evil, conniving, tries to make the world revolve around him and uses his co-workers for his advantage, until we learn his secret, he is homosexual. Homosexuality, during the 1910s-1920s, was heavily condemned. And from what we hear with Thomas’ stories, growing up as a different boy, with a possibly abusive father who was “never nice” to him, it’s hard to not think that Thomas had an easygoing childhood — he was probably bullied at school, rejected by his family who didn’t accept him “as he was” and didn’t see the world like he did. It only takes 3 to 4 minutes to fully know the characters’ own moral anguishes by seeing how they act in the present moment. Barrow tries to suppress his own homosexual impulses by making others feel bad for them, just as he felt bad about his own difference in his past, and present. He doesn’t want anyone to feel any form of love, because he’s never experienced it. When he tries to kiss James (Ed Speleers) after his own impulses takes the better of him, he feels bitter regret and more anguish, until he saves him from being savagely beaten by taking his place, finally making amends and becoming friends. All of the little moments that allows us to delve deep into Barrow’s psyche makes us comprehend more about him than any other character that’s presented in Downton Abbey. The only thing Barrow seeks is love or, if you will, acceptance. All he wants is to be loved by his peers, co-workers and the Crawleys. He wants people to accept him for who he really is. When Carson (Jim Carter) is going to sack him because the staff will be reduced, he sees no path forward in his life and attempts suicide, until Anna (Joanne Froggatt), Baxter (Raquel Cassidy) and Andy (Michael C. Fox) find him and save him from death. He realizes that his co-workers do love him and accepts the way he is; Barrow learns to be nicer and to appreciate the fact that there are indeed people who genuinely care for him. It’s only in the movie that we see Barrow actually finding love and a community of people who have the same impulses; they understand his own pain and longing for a world in which any type of love is accepted in society. He finally has people in his life that know what it’s like to be cast aside and rejected, just because they love someone who is of the same sex as them. Thomas Barrow not only is the most compelling character of the entire series, but one of the, if not, the best written openly gay character in 2010s television. His homosexuality serves as a purpose to understand his psychological angst and moral troubles, which are quasi-challenged and restrained by his own sexual impulses he tries so very hard to suppress (and fail). We learn so much from each character with so little information and that’s the genius of Julian Fellowes.
Julian Fellowes’ Modus Operandi Continuously Challenges Us
From the very beginning of the series, until the very end, Julian Fellowes utilizes the same modus operandi of writing to subvert audiences’ initial expectations of the series, constantly engaging us and, in the process, destroying the familiar tropes of the British period piece. He sets-up, early on in the season, a faux-problem to exploit during the entirety of its respective season. The problem is amplified by the characters’ moral dilemmas with it, and the audience can’t seem to decide whether or not they will ever resolve the problem, but it gets easily solved out by one minor change, thus cornering the audience in a trap and taking the bait. The best example of the theory of the faux-problem would be in season 2, with the relationship between Lavinia (Zoe Boyle) /Matthew (Dan Stevens), Carlisle (Iain Glen)/Mary (Michelle Dockery). At the end of the series, you would want Matthew to be engaged with Mary, but how do we get to that point, when Fellowes constantly throws mental, moral, physical and spiritual challenges at the characters? Before I delve deep into this, here’s a drawing so you understand exactly what I mean.
As you can see, season 2 has its fair share of faux-problems, which are multiple situations that can prove complex for some but are actually solved fairly easily. Once Matthew regains the use of his legs (as he was misdiagnosed by Dr. Clarkson), everything falls into place for Matthew to ask Mary’s hand — Lavinia dies quite tragically, as her spiritual sacrifice makes way for Matthew to finally say those magic engagement words with Mary, after they realize that they’ll never be happy if they’re apart. The world of the faux-problem constantly keeps challenging its audience, both morally and spiritually, as they will also think about their own anguish, while going back to a better form of faith and/or spirituality. The audience keeps taking the bait, every time, because Julian Fellowes never gives a clear head-start in every situation, that the problem will be easily resolved. He overcomplexifies it until the situation is at an impasse, and the audience member is trapped in a corner, feeling completely powerless. Once the situation gets easily resolved, you feel like a fool, but you can’t stop watching, you continue to become trapped in its faux-problems because you like it. You not only like it, you fucking love it.
Tom Branson’s Moral and Political Punishment
One of the bigger life-lessons that Downton Abbey teaches is through the character of Tom Branson (Allen Leech), a Marxist, who marries, in season two, Lady Sybil (Jessica Brown-Findlay), whom Robert (Hugh Bonneville) vehemently disapproves, because he’s a staunch conservative. Throughout season 1 and 2, the Marxist/socialist, revolutionary tendencies of Sybil are revealed, and you know that the duo are meant to marry each other, which, in itself, is a faux-problem, created by Robert himself. It’s only when Sybil becomes pregnant that Branson is welcomed, quite reluctantly, in the family. However, once Sybil goes into labor, she suffers from pre-eclampsia and dies. This is God’s punishment to Tom; he tried so willingly to marry Sybil, without the Crawley’s approval, thinking he could bypass the class system, into a life he clearly doesn’t want, stuck with conservatives who reject the Marxist/socialist way of life as a means to start a revolution. Once she dies, he’s stuck with the only thing he didn’t want to — and now he must put his politics aside and start accepting who his family is, not for him, but for Miss Sybbie. As soon as he does that, he slowly converts to conservatism and Robert fully accepts him as a member of his family, that is, until Sarah Bunting (Daisy Lewis) comes along and runs her mouth with her far-left ideologies, reminding of the man he once was. He could’ve left Downton and spent his life with her but realizes that he can’t give up his family and finally believes it’s OK for people to think differently.
Branson’s arc is as compelling as Barrow’s, but for different reasons. As Sybil’s death could easily be punishment by God for barging-in and trying to overrule the disparities between him and the Crawleys, it becomes a gift. Branson slowly realizes that we shouldn’t condemn anyone for their own political views and accept independent thinking. Even if Julian Fellowes is a conservative lord temporal, he doesn’t give in to his own views; he presents a plurality of political opinions and teaches the audience (and its characters) to accept all of them and to believe in our own ways of thinking, while debating respectfully in disagreement.
And this is the genius of Downton Abbey — Fellowes never bends the knee to an ideology and/or a group of people, he presents them all and allows their characters to have their own independent ways of thinking. Just look at Branson or Daisy Mason (Sophie McShera) from Season 1 to the film; their ways of thinking continuously evolve to more independent, respectful thinking. The viewer is also challenged to re-think how they treat individuals, humans, who could potentially be broken by their own form of moral anguishes. We’re all humans, and we should learn to better communicate and/or live together in a better world, a harmonious one at that, in which we can all agree to disagree. It doesn’t matter if we’re privileged or not, we’re all humans, with different backgrounds, different political views and/or different views on life and love, and we should all relish that. Accept our own diversity of opinions, not be afraid to speak our minds (respectfully) and cherish our own human condition. We’re all different, and we need difference in society for it to be perfectly balanced (as all things should be). I implore each of you to step into the world of Downton Abbey and bathe in its royalty. Trust me, you will not be disappointed.
