In the lead-up to the final Downton Abbey Christmas Special, and in preparation of a forthcoming "Best Downton Abbey Moments" post, I've gone right back to season one and started watching from its inception. Well, not "watching" exactly, but I've had it running as background noise while getting on with study/chores/writing. Having just finished season three I thought I'd transfer my original review (posted on LiveJournal) to this blog for the sake of posterity.
I found some of my predictions and complaints interesting in light of where the show has ended up, and my thoughts on Sybil's death are (I think) still relevant three seasons later – though I couldn't help but add a few little updated comments in italics.
The theme of change has always been prevalent on Downton Abbey, but now it really comes to the forefront. There’s nothing even remotely subtle about it – plenty of characters spell it all out in no uncertain terms: that it’s the 1920s, that the post-war world is one of growing freedom from stifling traditions, and that if people don’t adapt to the changing times then they’ll be left to flounder. Practically every line given to Shirley MacLaine follows in this line of thinking.
Yet in terms of content and pacing, season three felt like a continuous cycle of conflict and near-immediate resolution that carried on in fits and starts over the course of a dozen or so subplots. There’s no real sense of momentum or build-up to anything. Robert nearly lost the estate, but Matthew buys it back. Matthew is reluctant to accept Reggie’s money, but two letters from beyond the grave absolve him of all guilt. Mrs Hughes has a cancer scare, but is given the all clear. Edith nearly gets married, but is left at the altar. Ethel gives up her son, but a way for her to remain in his life presents itself. Cora blames Robert for Sybil’s death, but Doctor Clarkson convinces her otherwise. Bates returns from prison after a couple of rather pointless run-ins with various wardens and cellmates. Thomas looks like he’s about to leave Downton for good, when things arrange themselves so that he can remain.
It’s therefore ironic that although the major theme of Downton Abbey is change – in time, in attitudes, in fashion, in women’s rights – there’s very little upheaval in the storylines (with the obvious exception of Sybil’s death). It would seem that people can never leave Downton unless they die, rather like that motel in Identity that no one can escape no matter how far or fast they run.
Compared to this, the first and second seasons felt very eventful. This was naturally to do with the novelty of a new series and the first thrill of getting to know new characters, but things feel a bit sluggish now. What’s worse, many of the plot developments seem to arise from incredibly bad luck, followed by incredibly good luck. Not a lot was achieved through hard work or proactivity, and nobody likes a plot built on contrivance.
But I can’t complain too much. It’s still Downton Abbey: frothy, warm, attractive, quintessentially English fare.
Some brief thoughts before we head into the gritty stuff:
Despite everything she’s done, I’m not consumed with hatred for O’Brien. Why is that? Usually I love to hate these types of characters, but in this case, I remain in a state of tranquil calm. I actually feel sorry for her, as how miserable she must be to live her life in this way. I’m not entirely sure how Thomas came to know about the significance of Lady Grantham’s soap (I suppose we can only assume that she confided in him) but the re-emergence of the words deeply unsettled her. I wonder if this means her role in Cora's pregnancy loss will finally come to light soon.
Update: It didn't, but rather served as the motivation for her seeking employment elsewhere.
I’ll reserve judgment on Rose, but her inclusion in the last episode seemed a rather strange, shoehorned-in addition. Not only was the actress’s resemblance to Emilie de Ravin startling, but the twist could be seen coming a mile away: a seemingly demure sweet little thing is actually a tempestuous brat carrying on with an unsuitable man in dodgy nightclubs. This could lead to a somewhat pointless subplot, though I admit I’ll enjoy watching her try to go up against Violet – and failing miserably.
Update: Did Violet/Rose ever interact again after this scene??
There were two great talking points in this season: Sybil’s death and Thomas’s encounter with Jimmy. Of the latter, I was surprised to find myself so sympathetic toward Thomas. It’s easy to forget just how horrid he was in season one (bullying William and leading Mr Pamuk to Mary’s bedroom) but since then, it’s become clear just how desperately lonely he is.
In many ways, it’s his fatal flaw. It allowed Mrs O’Brien’s hints and innuendoes to sound more sincere, even though it should have been obvious she was stringing him along. And yet, I bought it – coming straight after Sybil’s death, which would have inevitably reminded him of the blind soldier’s suicide (oh how I wish they had kept that guy around a bit longer!) I think he was in just the right place emotionally to believe that Jimmy was truly interested in him.
Of course, Thomas sneaking into Jimmy’s room while he was asleep and waking him up with a kiss was a bit much. Surely the same result could have been achieved just by Thomas gently trying to wake him up, though I suppose Fellowes wanted to leave no doubt in Alfred’s mind as to what was happening.
There has been some speculation as to whether or not Jimmy is gay. I’ve no idea – there’s a chance that his lady’s man persona and discomfort with Thomas’s touchy-feely behaviour was a front, but I can’t really get a fix on him.
Update: He's not.
I’ll just have to wait and see how it all pans out in the special (don’t spoil it!) though I will say that although Fellowes did a good job of keeping everyone involved relatively sympathetic – sans O’Brien – I didn’t care much for Mrs Hughes’s implication that Jimmy led Thomas on what with his being “a vain and silly flirt”. First of all, he never flirted with Thomas, and second of all, that type of excuse wouldn’t even be remotely acceptable if we were dealing with a man entering the bedroom of a female servant at night. Perhaps she simply meant that mixed signals were accidentally being sent out, but the way it was phrased didn’t quite sit right with me.
I am however, very sorry that the platonic O’Brien/Thomas ship seems to have well and truly ended (seriously, what do you call pairings that aren’t remotely romantic but that you still "ship"?) I did enjoy their ridiculously blatant evil plotting behind closed doors, complete with scowls and cigarettes. I’m not even entirely sure how or why their newfound vendetta emerged, and I’ll forever remember O’Brien’s tiny smile and Thomas’s shining eyes when they come face-to-face for the first time after Thomas returns from service in the war.
Another thing I noticed this season was an underlying strain of proactive women, helpless men. Regardless of the troubles beset them all, it’s invariably the women who set out to get things fixed whilst the men dither about helplessly. Robert is rendered virtually useless by his bad investment decisions, leaving it to Violet and Mary to hatch a plan to acquire money from Martha. Matthew frets over inheriting money from Lavinia’s father and it’s up to Mary to discover the true circumstances of the bequest. Edith doesn’t care that Strallen is too old, but he gets a guilt complex over the whole thing and jilts her at the altar. Every time Anna comes up with a new idea to get Bates out of prison, he hems and haws over whether it’s worth pursuing. After Mr Byrant is a total dick to Ethel, Mrs Byrant sheds her doormat persona, lets Ethel back into Charlie’s life, and tells her: “leave Mr Byrant to me.” Whilst Mr Carson is a homophobe to Thomas (granted, that was the way things were back then, but it didn’t make it any less unpleasant) Mrs Hughes is able to show empathy and kindness.
It all seems too deliberate to be an accident, and I've always been grateful to Fellowes for his treatment of female characters. They are active and three-dimensional and largely sympathetic and get all the best lines, and the show passes the Bechdel Test with flying colours. I loved that Mrs Hughes and Mrs Patmore were given a subplot together in which a woman’s health is treated with dignity and importance, and that all the Crawley women plus Isobel rallied around Ethel (whilst the men sat back and got all judgmental).
But a few unpleasant bits crept in here and there. I didn’t like Daisy abruptly turning into a snotty cow the moment Ivy turned up and Alfred showed interest in her (and like Mrs Patmore said, “Alfred won’t like you any better for being hard on her”). Oh how I hate watching girls get catty whenever a boy’s interest in them is at stake. And Ethel’s story of a “fallen women” got uncomfortable at times, particularly in Mrs Bird’s treatment of her.
In saying that though, it did illustrate the double standards and social anxiety of the time, both in classism and in the male/female divide. Just as Ivy needs a chaperone in order to accompany Alfred to the pictures, Mrs Bird’s fear in having Ethel work alongside her is that her own name might get tarnished by association. In both cases, it says a lot about the culture they live in that each woman is so concerned with protecting their reputation.
And of course, Sybil.
I’ll admit – what happens to Sybil strongly reminded me of Marian in the BBC's Robin Hood, both in the shocking/painful nature of the death and the inherent narrative ‘cruelty’ with which it occurred (in both cases the audience is lulled into thinking that everything is alright and that the heroes will pull through, mere minutes before everything goes to hell). Throw in the fact that both deaths involve a beautiful young woman, and it’s difficult not to draw comparisons.
But in this case, I’m prepared to be a bit more lenient on the show considering the storyline was informed largely by what was going on behind-the-scenes – in which case the unfortunate implications of what played out on the screen were somewhat unavoidable. So let’s start at the beginning...
I dearly loved Sybil. She wasn’t my favourite character, and I don’t think she was the most interesting either, but she was sweet and intelligent and spirited. I loved that she was interested in woman’s emancipation without being given an obnoxious “rebellious princess” air, and her inter-class friendship and support of Gwen’s ambition throughout season one was my favourite subplot. Her line “your dream is my dream now, and I’ll make it come true” is perhaps one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.
And yet come season two, Fellowes seemed to lose a fair bit of interest in her. Although I initially approved of her desire to help the war effort and become a nurse, most of her scenes instead involved her having repetitive conversations with Branson in the garage, a relationship that I was never fully sold on. What happened to the feminist arc? Why did her story suddenly have to become all about a forbidden romance? Granted, the war threw a lot of social issues out of kilter, but I liked it better when she was attending rallies and trying on culottes.
She was missing entirely from the Christmas Special, and by the time season three rolled around, she was little more than a cypher. Her impending death was foreshadowed fairly blatantly; not only with Edith pre-emptively inheriting several feminist storylines that felt more suited to Sybil, but also in the reduction of Sybil’s character to a figure who simply sat on the side-lines and talked about Tom. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going to happen to her.
And here’s where the necessities of real life and the storytelling decisions begin to collide.
First of all, it’s downright insulting to kill off a feminist nurse in childbirth through the idiocy of patriarchal men. That at least was my first reaction, along with: what were they thinking?! It’s just as bad as killing off Maid Marian – a symbol of hope and fertility – by shoving a large metal phallic symbol through her stomach.
And yet on reflection, it’s clear that this wasn’t a careless or unintentional decision on Fellowes’s behalf. Throughout season three, Robert has been characterized as an increasingly out-of-touch relic whose upper-class arrogance belongs to an earlier time and which is beginning to cost him dearly: his wife’s fortune, the respect of his family, and now his daughter’s life.
We are clearly not meant to think favourably of him, and one could argue that a point is being made as to the seriousness of women’s reproductive health and the disastrous consequences that occur when clueless men pretend to be the authority on such matters (it was Cora who involved the family doctor and wanted to take Sybil immediately to the hospital).
And yet on further reflection, this reduces Sybil to a plot-point. She died so that her pompous father could learn a lesson in hubris and so the audience could see just how damaging his old fashioned attitudes really are – but in doing so, Sybil as a character is lost. Furthermore, the death was rather too similar to Lavinia’s: that of a saintly young woman who dies suddenly, painfully and prematurely, in such a way that suggests she’s Too Good For This Sinful Earth – another rather insulting trope.
But through this another caveat arises. Some might argue that death in childbirth was a genuine risk for women up until very recently, and that this was an accurate representation of that. The fact that Sybil was a feminist makes no difference to how or why she died – after all, Mary Wollstonecraft, one of the greatest advocates of women’s rights, died of septicaemia after giving birth.
But this is naturally counteracted with the fact that this is a television show. Life and death isn’t metered out by chance or fate, but decided upon by the writers. Fellowes had the power to write out Sybil in any way he chose, and he chose to do it like this.
Or did he?
Because it’s very clear at this point that unlike Lucy Griffiths, who by all accounts would have been happy enough to return for a third series of Robin Hood were the writers not set on killing her off for shock value and to explore Robin’s character without her (at least in theory, but that’s another rant), it was Jessica Brown Findlay’s decision to leave the show for other projects.
If Allen Leech wanted to stay on in the show, then it’s difficult to conceive how Sybil could have possibly been written out without killing her off. There’s no way she would have left her husband and baby, and there would be no reason for Branson to stay at Downton without his wife – not for any long period of time, at least. That only leaves one option: death.
And it’s hard to complain that a character got an anti-feminist death when the real-life actress made the personal choice to leave in order to further her successful career.
Update: Though taking a glimpse at her profile on IMDB, she hasn't quite hit stardom yet.
So basically, my conclusion on Sybil’s death...? It was something that happened. It was certainly a gut-punch to the viewers, particularly since the trinity of the Crawley sisters has always very much felt like the heart of the show. It was a harrowing scene to watch, and though Robert’s intonation of “she’s only twenty-four years old” made me want to punch him in the face and Matthew’s clutching of the bedpost was a little ridiculous, I was immensely moved by the shocked devastation on Edith’s face, Thomas’s tears below stairs, and Violet’s unsteady walk across the living room floor. Though I know the actress is busy on Game of Thrones, I’m a little disappointed that Gwen didn’t turn up for a brief cameo at the funeral - but that probably would have tipped me into Marian-level mourning.
So goodbye Sybil: you were lovely, you deserved better, if you’d been given a better storyline then your actress probably would have stuck around, but I’ll remember you forever like this:
***
There are a couple of other Downton Abbey reviews on my LiveJournal – since I won't be posting them here, you can follow the links if you're interested:
Christmas Special: A Journey to the Highlands (plus a musing on fan investment that reads as utterly naïve two years later. I've gotten used to how batshit fandom can be since then).
Christmas Special: The London Season
And of course, season five and six were originally posted on this blog.
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