The Downton Abbey Movie

I can think of at least a dozen reasons why I should hate Downton Abbey. The idea that someone with my sensibilities would not only have faithfully watched all seven seasons, but also just dropped $100 to watch the movie version at Cinebistro is astonishing. Let me explain.

Although I am fully aware of the debt which western civilization owes the British Isles, in addition to the great contributions those countries made to the establishment of our own. . .I have always held on to a bit of resentment towards Great Britain. I find them to be condescending, and their silly monarchy embarrassing. Whenever one of them gets married, women in America completely be-clown themselves with their fawning worship of the most ridiculous institution to survive modernity, second only to Free-Masonry. The British monarchy is the biggest collection of talentless, entitled white people ever assembled in one place. The closest we come to it in Virginia is cocktail hour at the Commonwealth Club.

And yet, there I was last night, thoroughly enchanted by Lord and Lady Grantham and their pretentious family, none of whom has done an honest day’s work in their collective lives. What gives?

Well, for one thing, Downton Abbey is a feast for the eyes. The grand old house and the lush grounds are simply gorgeous. There’s something to be said for beauty, no matter the source. Then there’s their impeccable, for lack of a more precise term—manners. To watch a group of people speaking to each other with courtesy and respect for seven years has been something like a salve for the soul. To hear adults, whether upstairs or down, use complete sentences, with such precise grammar and diction is to be reminded that verbal communication is now in decline. Then there's this...

We live in a loud world. We are people with short attention spans, who must be constantly bombarded with flash and pop. Turn on any television program these days, go to any movie, no matter the genre, and before long a car chase scene will break out. Everyone involved in the entertainment business seems to be screaming at us. They have come to the conclusion that we cannot be entertained without a full frontal attack on all of our senses. They are probably correct.

But, last night, hardly anyone raised their voice for nearly 2 hours. No one was gruesomely killed (although there was an aborted assassination attempt). No one felt obligated to shower us with 16 different varieties of the F word. No one got naked. And there were no thinly veiled preachy climate change sermons. What there was was fine acting, terrific writing, and freaking Maggie Smith. Watching her deliver her lines with that delightfully aristocratic tilt of the head was worth however much it cost me last night. 

Plus, I was with these wonderful people...

So yeah, me of all people, I’m a Downton Abbey guy. There. I said it.