Skip to main content

Downton With The Ship

ITV's new drama Downton Abbey is a perverse, facile and cheap remake of Brideshead Revisited-Middle March-Upstairs Downstairs, that relies on the evil of glamour to seduce the TV viewer into accepting aristo-porn for actual literary fictionality.  As a simulacrum of class, this works - but compared to the authentic engagement of works like The Wire and Mad Men, this is history as a catwalk, snobbery on tap.  I confess to enjoying this hollowed out work, to a degree, which plays like Dynasty in black tie, but also pulling back in repulsion.  What it says about Coalition-era Britain in 2010 is more than what it says about 1910 or so, when it is set, in an Edwardian world about to be "shattered" by WW1.

The doomed estate of the title represents centuries of assumed status and privilege, thrown into chaos by a legal question which seems to be allowing a commoner, a middle class lawyer, to inherit the pile, if not the posh.  The man of the house, avuncular, wise, a kind of President Bartlett of the upper-crust set, deals out judgements as if his status will last, when all about are losing theirs.  The captain is sinking with his ship.  So, it is poignant, but this isn't The Good Soldier.  It uses situations from far greater works to entertain, merely.  The difference between literature and entertainment is that both can delight and educate, but only one does so cynically; the art of the one is the craftiness of the other.

This series glitters with craft and guile, but wears its cynicism on its sleeve.  It is a romp, and purely fictitious, not fictional, featuring plenty of flat characters wearing their souls on their livery.  The downstairs types - egads - lust, hope, dream, and plot - and the upstairs types do the same - all that is at stake is the size of the Grail each seeks.  The series may develop a conscience or moral sense - it is currently not very George Eliot in depth and breadth - more Dame Christie - but for now what it emits is a whiff of desperate aspiration - a desire to go OMG they lived like that - rather than question how such living was ever permitted, in the first place.

Comments

Thank you - I really thought it was just me that found D.A. trite, offensive and patronising.

Popular posts from this blog

Review of the new Simple Minds album - Walk Between Worlds

Taste is a matter of opinion - or so goes one opinion. Aesthetics, a branch of pistols at dawn, is unlikely to become unruffled and resolved any time soon, and meantime it is possible to argue, in this post-post-modern age, an age of voter rage, that political opinion trumps taste anyway. We like what we say is art. And what we say is art is what likes us.

Simple Minds - the Scottish band founded around 1977 with the pale faces and beautiful cheekbones, and perfect indie hair cuts - comes from a time before that - from a Glasgow of poverty and working-class socialism, and religiosity, in a pre-Internet time when the heights of modernity were signalled by Kraftwerk, large synthesisers, and dancing like Bowie at 3 am in a Berlin club.

To say that early Simple Minds was mannered is like accusing Joyce of being experimental. Doh. The band sought to merge the icy innovations of German music with British and American pioneers of glam and proto-punk, like Iggy Pop; their heroes were contrived,…

THE WINNER OF THE SIXTH FORTNIGHT PRIZE IS...



Wheeler Light for 'Life Jacket'.

The runner-up is: Daniel Duffy - 'President Returns To New York For Brief First Visit'

Wheeler Light currently lives in Boulder, Colorado.



Life Jacket

summer camp shirtsI couldn’t fit in then
are half my size nowI wanted to wear
smaller and smallerarticles of clothing
I shrunk to the sizethat disappeared

of an afterthoughtin a sinking ship body
too buoyant to sinktoo waterlogged for land
I becamea dot of sand

JOHN ASHBERY HAS DIED

With the death of the poetic genius John Ashbery, whose poems, translations, and criticism made him, to my mind, the most influential American poet since TS Eliot, 21st century poetry is moving into less certain territory.

Over the past few years, we have lost most of the truly great of our era: Edwin Morgan, Gunn, Hill, Heaney and Walcott, to name just five.  There are many more, of course. This is news too sad and deep to fathom this week.  I will write more perhaps later. 

I had a letter from Ashbery on my wall, and it inspired me daily.  He gave me advice for my PhD. He said kind things about a poetry book of mine.

He was a force for good serious play in poetry, and his appeal great. So many people I know and admire are at a loss this week because of his death. It is no consolation at present to think of the many thousands of living poets, just right now. But impressively, and even oddly, poetry itself seems to keep flowing.