Poor Edith, poor, poor Edith!
Downton Abbey is back, and Episode Two was heart-breaking.
I chewed on Episode One and thought about writing something, but I felt like a Monday morning quarterback with nothing but a collection of petty criticisms to share. Julian Fellowes is an Emmy-winning author, and I'm a blogger with fifteen followers. Really, that speaks volumes.
Truth is, I enjoyed Episode Two much better than Episode One, so I'll share my thoughts now.
So back to poor, poor Edith.
Sir Anthony Strallen did the right thing. At the wrong time. But it was the right thing. Not because he's older and slightly infirm, but because, to quote Robert way back in Season 1, "He's dull as paint."
The Edith-Anthony thing reminded me of the Sybil-Tom thing last season -- they're falling in love, we guess, but for no discernible reason whatsoever.
But it was wrenching nevertheless-- the falling veil, the sobbing mother and daughter, the uneaten canapes.
No matter that this will be best in the long run, Robert had a paternal duty to deck that louse, Sir Anthony. Instead Robert had a wistful and solitary stroll along the grounds until Mathew broke in with the news that all would be well once more with the Crawley finances.
As for Mathew's change of heart on his unexpected windfall -- predictable, but believable. You can't have Downton Abbey without the Abbey, can you? They could have renamed it Downton Place, but, come on, . . . no.
I loved how the episode closed -- a very relieved Carson singing as he polished silver. All is right with his part of the world. This is Julian Fellowes at his best -- showing the humanity of all the characters. I felt the same during the brief scene between Cora and Mrs. Hughes. These people lived together for decades; between classes or within classes, genuine love and devotion would grow.
Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Pattmore, and -- my favorite -- Mr. Carson are at the top of their game. Oh, if I could glare like Mr. Carson, think of the bad behavior I could stem in my children.
The best line of this season? When the elegant dinner party descends to the level of a glorified Pot Luck, Carson states, with no sense of hyperbole whatsoever, "If you ask me, we are staring into the chaos of Gomorrah."
The chaos of Gomorrah.
Carson, my friend, I felt the same way when I found out that three-year-old Ainsley had broken into the hidden stash of chocolate milk.