One Answer to Downton Abbey - Upton Flabby!
---Spoiler alert!!--- If you are a fan of Downton Abbey, tasteful prose, British humor (well, any humor in this case), and/or not having to roll your eyes in disbelief, you have come to the wrong place! Just kidding – but this article DOES include SPOILERS for Season 3 of the epic Masterpiece series. Do not read any further if you want to watch the show untainted!
A couple of years ago, two people who professed to be friends told me that if I wasn’t watching Downton Abbey, my life simply was not complete. I thought, what the heck -- even my life could use a little sprucing up. Besides, I’ve always held the belief that if I watch programs on PBS they will somehow make me smarter, or at the very least, a more interesting conversationalist. It’s the same with NPR. Whenever someone tells me they heard such and such while listening to NPR, I immediately feel their intelligence far surpasses mine, and I make a mental note not to ask them if they’ve heard Bat for Lashes’ new song on Sirius XMU.
Since I got into the game late, I’ve never seen all of the first season of Downton Abbey, although I did make an attempt one weekend. I had to stop my Abbey marathon when I began saying, “Pip-pip cheerio!” whenever my husband came into the room to see if he could watch golf. I will do just about anything to keep from having to watch golf on television, but even I have my limits.
I started seriously watching Downton when World War I was raging (in the series, because even I’m not THAT old) and people were getting killed, pregnant, waiting to hear if they had breast cancer (I guess some things never change), nursed back to health or accused of murdering someone. It was all very dramatic, exciting and confusing because for the most part, I had no idea who was who or what was what. But I am a sucker for an accent – and those abounded in every episode.
[Spoilers ahead…]
I must say right here and now that I would watch Maggie Smith tie her shoes, chew gum or even pretend to sleep, because it doesn’t matter what she is doing, she is marvelous. My adoration does not stop there. In fact, over the past two seasons, I have become increasingly fond of several of the cast members. I care about the Crawleys, really I do (I wrote that with an English accent, could you tell?)
Okay, I care about some of the Crawleys more than others. Actually, I care about one of the Crawleys more than I should. I had pretty much convinced myself that Matthew Crawley was all set to throw Lady Mary Crawley over for me at any given moment. So when he was killed off in the finale of Season 3, it was just too much for me to bear. I still hadn’t come to terms with Lady Sybil’s demise in Episode 5. Actually, if I hadn’t been so enthralled with Matthew Crawley I might have considered helping Lady Sybil’s husband, and former chauffeur, Tom Branson, overcome his grief – because if I’m anything, I’m all about keeping calm and carrying on. And I do love to carry on, especially with the chauffeur!
I know we’re supposed to keep a stiff upper lip – but when I realized my beloved Matthew was no more, I had a moment where I somehow found myself in an alternate universe. Did I faint? Did I have the vapors? (Does it matter?)
Suddenly, I was on a neighboring estate owned by... the Creepies. What? Everyone who’s anyone knows that the Creepies have always been very close to the Crawleys. Not only did I find myself in this new, lovely imaginary setting, I discovered that I was to be Lady Shan Willyoubee-Creepie. I came to my senses (well, we know that’s not true), when my lady’s maid, Dilly Dally, slapped me a couple of times and told me to snap out of it. Oh, the nerve!
Just about the time I was gathering my wits, my butler, Willy Nilly, rushed into the parlor to announce I had company. And there he was, alive and well, my beloved Matthew Crawley. In my excitement I forgot I was supposed to be pretend-British and began to channel Scarlett O’Hara instead, saying things like “Well, I do declare” and “as I live and breathe!” Alt-universe Matthew, sensing my distress (and very poor acting skills) rushed to my side. “Darling, darling, thank goodness you’re alright. I had to fake my death so we could be together!”
The moral of this story is very simple: A girl can still dream and there are happy endings. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!
March, 2013
