DEAR HEART
two thoughts about Downton Abbey
(which I have now seen all of: I am considering other period dramas to fulfill my weekly two hours of non-textual stimulation: Boardwalk Empire? Mad Men? The Borgias? suggestions? No, Kate, the 2010s is not a period yet, "The Mindy Project" is not eligible.)
Let's break from "eternal destiny romantic love," for like a hot second. I just really want the version of things where Mary and Matthew didn't shack up right away. Matthew and Lavinia could have been good for one another. She knows about professional men. She has interests and hobbies. And she and Isobel would have been kind to one another. Understanding that Matthew brought them together, as ancillary women to the main character dude. But that they were shaped by common forces. Isobel knows what it's like to be second-best to a husband's work. (That does suck, but w/e w/e my enjoyment of this show is predicated in large part on the notion that Julian Fellowes can do stupid things, but the author is dead and I'll remake the world if I have to. Including the long series of non-dramatic events, like there is pie at dinner at one point but everyone likes it because pie! is so great! This is why I do not have many awards for my searing and searching writing. No awards at all for that. I have a shared award for chocolate mouse, though, so I do know of what I speak.) Yes, I want Lavinia to have a purpose in life: filling her mind, welcoming her husband home, doing her charitable works, reading books, having a mother-in-law whom she likes and who likes her and they can talk about, pretty quickly, non-Matthew stuff. Whatever, fine, we've all read Clarissa and Tess and young ladies with virtue send letters and die, fine, Mary/Matthew is the endgame, but I would like some female friendship on this show.
Isobel Crawley! Even though she raised a dick son, but he's mostly a dick when Mary's around. Mary has many fine qualities, but among them has never been numbered "bringing out the best in men." Which is not her task nor her fault! It's Julian Fellowes' fault, like everything in the whole world: Toby's recent crash, my ongoing exile, all of it. Mary's like Cleopatra. She just wants to run her kingdom, and doesn't really fret about whom she has to bang/romance/follow to do so. KINGDOM. Which is great (so great! also she's hot, I guess, BUT THIS IS NOT THE IMPORTANT THING. Like, that's the point with Cleopatra: she might have been plain! she might have been hot! but she was smart, and that's what mattered. "Custom will not stale her infinite variety" is not about her face.) but it is not really conducive to...dudes not being total dicks on the show? It's not Mary's fault they're all dicks after mooning over her for an episode. It is not! But moon they do, and dicks they are. But whatever. Isobel Crawley raised a largely-tolerable son, and he's nouveau riche as all hell. but what else are you gonna do? I realize he is the J Fellowes point-of-view character for a bit, that's a cross to bear. And I realize Dan Stevens is a twerp. But ISOBEL.
ISOBEL. Who is out of her depth with these fancy ladies, but totally fundamentally decent. Unlike say, other mothers on the show. I mean. Cora's alright, and her mother was solidly behind her. The Countess though! The Countess is really mean. For what reason I am not sure. It's funny? Fletched arrows are never so hilarious, and it's thematically directed at I Crawley a lot. Because what, it's not her fault that she's middle-class. Upper-middle class I guess. If Julian Fellowes would maybe not reflexively side with the most entrenched kind of landed wealth this show would be better. Because it's not like he'd have to start acting like working class people are actually PEOPLE. never that. But lawyers? Wealthy ladies in middle age? They're people. People are people. Which I Crawley gets. J Fellowes does not, despite not being alive ninety years ago and also not imaginary.
I had many thoughts about I Crawley's standard middle-class desires and expectations. Lately, I realized that whatever happens in the show, dead kids, unhappiness, whatever misery J Fellowes pours out, Isobel Crawley won. Not in the same way that the development of technical schools and benefits made everyone win. The fight was never working class v/s bourgeoise. Since the only thing that's Marxist is (wait for it, faded-lilac -- space bff) my desire to have a decent conversation about post-colonial bodies, which I know better than to look to this show for -- it was people who work v/s people who don't. And I Crawley is the lone representative of that group who can actually be countenanced at the dinner table. FUCKING BURRRRRRN. Her missing line, "My father was also in medicine, Sir John Turnbull, and my brother is Doctor Edward Turnbull." BURN BURN BURN. We never did get a socialist revolution. We got Isobel Crawley working, year by year, to make the world what it is. And of course she screws up and she imposes, that's how humans are. STOP MAKING KISSY-FACES JULIAN FELLOWES, YOU'RE THE WORST PARTS OF CREATIVITY. I'LL TELESCOPE HISTORY UNTIL YOU ADMIT THAT NOT EVERYONE HAS TO GET DRUNK TO GET FUCKED.
also.
if Matthew were a lawyer, zipping up to York and wherever, to wear his wig and argue and have drinks with his Oxbridge bros.
maybe he'd be better at driving.
ANNNNND:
Do I want nothing more than at some point in series 4 for someone (I don't know who, give some young actor a job, that's what these ensemble casts are for, isn't it) to come to Carson's door, and ask a question and Carson starts to answer, all proud and certain and Barrow shows up at his shoulder a la old times and is all "yes? can I help, i'm here after all."
private times are private, Barrow.
basically, let's say that Barrow takes the concept of UNDER-butler to its logical (to his filthy mind, sayeth Carson) extreme. and they get up to stuff. handjobs stuff. hand stuff. oh yes, hands over shirts, over shoulders, down the unbroken line of pressed trousers, hands at doorways and hands turning keys, hands in brilliantine, hands smoothing it in hair, both sets of hands, because they're nothing if not vain, in their own ways, and your body is not your own (it's the house, for Carson, he is an embodiment of it, an old time master of the house; for Barrow his body has not been his own since someone looked at him, and the way they looked at him changed him, his body is a tool in the right hands but it's never been put in the right hands. not before now.) and there's touching, and oh my, this one time Barrow goes down on bended knee to see to a spot on Carson's shoe, and looks up, like a -- Carson is too set off in his own mind to conceptualize it, because Barrow is a great many things (reluctant, difficult, among them colleague) but he thinks about it, Barrow at his feet, Barrow's hands, Barrow's reddened lips after he returns from smoking (obvs he and O'Brien are friends again, why not) Barrow's cheekbones, Barrow's stormy look at incompetence, and a great many of Barrow's other features.
oh and it takes like two years to happen, but the LONG GAME is something that Barrow learns to appreciate, at least when he gets to touch another human. (him and O'Brien passing cigarettes from hand to hand doesn't count. "the only thing between us is my fists" doesn't count either, I can't believe that like I can't believe that Juventus lost to Roma. ANYWAY.) And he's worshipful of how Carson, moves, a little, secure and safe.
third thing: story-time later! by which I mean "posting wretched and lame injury porn on this Livejournal." Isn't this the greatest place.
(which I have now seen all of: I am considering other period dramas to fulfill my weekly two hours of non-textual stimulation: Boardwalk Empire? Mad Men? The Borgias? suggestions? No, Kate, the 2010s is not a period yet, "The Mindy Project" is not eligible.)
Let's break from "eternal destiny romantic love," for like a hot second. I just really want the version of things where Mary and Matthew didn't shack up right away. Matthew and Lavinia could have been good for one another. She knows about professional men. She has interests and hobbies. And she and Isobel would have been kind to one another. Understanding that Matthew brought them together, as ancillary women to the main character dude. But that they were shaped by common forces. Isobel knows what it's like to be second-best to a husband's work. (That does suck, but w/e w/e my enjoyment of this show is predicated in large part on the notion that Julian Fellowes can do stupid things, but the author is dead and I'll remake the world if I have to. Including the long series of non-dramatic events, like there is pie at dinner at one point but everyone likes it because pie! is so great! This is why I do not have many awards for my searing and searching writing. No awards at all for that. I have a shared award for chocolate mouse, though, so I do know of what I speak.) Yes, I want Lavinia to have a purpose in life: filling her mind, welcoming her husband home, doing her charitable works, reading books, having a mother-in-law whom she likes and who likes her and they can talk about, pretty quickly, non-Matthew stuff. Whatever, fine, we've all read Clarissa and Tess and young ladies with virtue send letters and die, fine, Mary/Matthew is the endgame, but I would like some female friendship on this show.
Isobel Crawley! Even though she raised a dick son, but he's mostly a dick when Mary's around. Mary has many fine qualities, but among them has never been numbered "bringing out the best in men." Which is not her task nor her fault! It's Julian Fellowes' fault, like everything in the whole world: Toby's recent crash, my ongoing exile, all of it. Mary's like Cleopatra. She just wants to run her kingdom, and doesn't really fret about whom she has to bang/romance/follow to do so. KINGDOM. Which is great (so great! also she's hot, I guess, BUT THIS IS NOT THE IMPORTANT THING. Like, that's the point with Cleopatra: she might have been plain! she might have been hot! but she was smart, and that's what mattered. "Custom will not stale her infinite variety" is not about her face.) but it is not really conducive to...dudes not being total dicks on the show? It's not Mary's fault they're all dicks after mooning over her for an episode. It is not! But moon they do, and dicks they are. But whatever. Isobel Crawley raised a largely-tolerable son, and he's nouveau riche as all hell. but what else are you gonna do? I realize he is the J Fellowes point-of-view character for a bit, that's a cross to bear. And I realize Dan Stevens is a twerp. But ISOBEL.
ISOBEL. Who is out of her depth with these fancy ladies, but totally fundamentally decent. Unlike say, other mothers on the show. I mean. Cora's alright, and her mother was solidly behind her. The Countess though! The Countess is really mean. For what reason I am not sure. It's funny? Fletched arrows are never so hilarious, and it's thematically directed at I Crawley a lot. Because what, it's not her fault that she's middle-class. Upper-middle class I guess. If Julian Fellowes would maybe not reflexively side with the most entrenched kind of landed wealth this show would be better. Because it's not like he'd have to start acting like working class people are actually PEOPLE. never that. But lawyers? Wealthy ladies in middle age? They're people. People are people. Which I Crawley gets. J Fellowes does not, despite not being alive ninety years ago and also not imaginary.
I had many thoughts about I Crawley's standard middle-class desires and expectations. Lately, I realized that whatever happens in the show, dead kids, unhappiness, whatever misery J Fellowes pours out, Isobel Crawley won. Not in the same way that the development of technical schools and benefits made everyone win. The fight was never working class v/s bourgeoise. Since the only thing that's Marxist is (wait for it, faded-lilac -- space bff) my desire to have a decent conversation about post-colonial bodies, which I know better than to look to this show for -- it was people who work v/s people who don't. And I Crawley is the lone representative of that group who can actually be countenanced at the dinner table. FUCKING BURRRRRRN. Her missing line, "My father was also in medicine, Sir John Turnbull, and my brother is Doctor Edward Turnbull." BURN BURN BURN. We never did get a socialist revolution. We got Isobel Crawley working, year by year, to make the world what it is. And of course she screws up and she imposes, that's how humans are. STOP MAKING KISSY-FACES JULIAN FELLOWES, YOU'RE THE WORST PARTS OF CREATIVITY. I'LL TELESCOPE HISTORY UNTIL YOU ADMIT THAT NOT EVERYONE HAS TO GET DRUNK TO GET FUCKED.
also.
if Matthew were a lawyer, zipping up to York and wherever, to wear his wig and argue and have drinks with his Oxbridge bros.
maybe he'd be better at driving.
ANNNNND:
Do I want nothing more than at some point in series 4 for someone (I don't know who, give some young actor a job, that's what these ensemble casts are for, isn't it) to come to Carson's door, and ask a question and Carson starts to answer, all proud and certain and Barrow shows up at his shoulder a la old times and is all "yes? can I help, i'm here after all."
private times are private, Barrow.
basically, let's say that Barrow takes the concept of UNDER-butler to its logical (to his filthy mind, sayeth Carson) extreme. and they get up to stuff. handjobs stuff. hand stuff. oh yes, hands over shirts, over shoulders, down the unbroken line of pressed trousers, hands at doorways and hands turning keys, hands in brilliantine, hands smoothing it in hair, both sets of hands, because they're nothing if not vain, in their own ways, and your body is not your own (it's the house, for Carson, he is an embodiment of it, an old time master of the house; for Barrow his body has not been his own since someone looked at him, and the way they looked at him changed him, his body is a tool in the right hands but it's never been put in the right hands. not before now.) and there's touching, and oh my, this one time Barrow goes down on bended knee to see to a spot on Carson's shoe, and looks up, like a -- Carson is too set off in his own mind to conceptualize it, because Barrow is a great many things (reluctant, difficult, among them colleague) but he thinks about it, Barrow at his feet, Barrow's hands, Barrow's reddened lips after he returns from smoking (obvs he and O'Brien are friends again, why not) Barrow's cheekbones, Barrow's stormy look at incompetence, and a great many of Barrow's other features.
oh and it takes like two years to happen, but the LONG GAME is something that Barrow learns to appreciate, at least when he gets to touch another human. (him and O'Brien passing cigarettes from hand to hand doesn't count. "the only thing between us is my fists" doesn't count either, I can't believe that like I can't believe that Juventus lost to Roma. ANYWAY.) And he's worshipful of how Carson, moves, a little, secure and safe.
third thing: story-time later! by which I mean "posting wretched and lame injury porn on this Livejournal." Isn't this the greatest place.