Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale

Bluesky

In 2010 a show set in 1912 hit screens, and over the last 15 years its own incremental progress, in near real time, means that we return to it for a last hurrah in 1930. Six series, and now three movies, means that fans of Downton have had 52 episodes (including the specials) to sate them.

Its clearest antecedent in film is Gosford Park, which is sharper than anything here. Any vim or vinegar has been replaced with saccharine. On smaller screens it's of a piece with tea-time television; engaging with difficult subjects, true, but usually only to make clear that our protagonists are progressives.

There's a plot, or at least a succession of events. Simon Russel Beale as a gala president is one of the antagonists. He's a traditionalist, of course, and who could argue with community involvement or entertaining children? What the fetes have in store never seems especially perilous. There's mention of the Great Depression. Paul Giamatti's American cousin has lost his (tailored) shirt and Alessandro Nivola's Mr Sambrook is the (cuff) link to getting it back.

Director Simon Curtis is a safe pair of hands. He'd gently shepherded a previous film outing for Downton, is otherwise no stranger to period pieces, like Goodbye Christopher Robin. There's a line - "the past is a more comfortable place than the future" - that seems on the edge of self-awareness but, like everything else, is rounded off.

Writer Julian Fellowes is hostage to what's gone before. As a newcomer to Downton I was massively helped by a trend in the dialogue to the conveniently expository. When A speaks to B they'll say that of course C will remember an ex because of 'why'. Sometimes that algebra will overlap and expose a degree of self-awareness. Arty Froushan's Noel Coward is to be a guest of honour at Downton, social paramedic to a society pariah. There's a point where I wondered if this was going to turn into Gosford Park, but we got past the point where the boundaries of up and down-stairs were being violated. Instead there's an amusing enough set of bits of business about the writer's burden, the responsibilities of creation among those in the cinema trade. If it's a nudge it's sometimes to prompt a wink, and at others to keep you awake.

It is for fans, and going with a filmgoing companion who's been with the Earl of Grantham since the Titanic sank was buoyed by fan service but the best of that was a ghostly moment at the very closing that doubly relied on past fondnesses. Recursive nostalgia is no substitute for quality, and it drowns everything else in tepidity.

There's no salt, no acid, no real heat, but plenty of unctuousness. A wee bit of spice is sauce for scandal and the wit and waggish Noel Coward is the only other tart note. There's no bite, but there is comforting mush. Not cool, It is institutional custard. Fondness is a product of exposure rather than any inherent qualities. It's not sweet enough to be cloying, but thick enough to blanket any subtleties that might have emerged. Its consumption is an act of nostalgia, but like many unworthy destinations if you weren't already there you wouldn't go.

Source