Feb
20
Downton Abbey: let us talk of the finale
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Did you watch the season finale of Downton Abbey last night? If not, here is your official notification that I’m about to talk about it, thus firehosing all sorts of episode details directly into your face. In order to avoid this spoiler-bukkake, stop reading now and click elsewhere! Let Thomas’s disembodied dead-eyed gaze be your warning!
I love spoilers, so I do.
I initially resisted Downton Abbey because I suspected everyone who was raving about it was in on some elaborate joke—I mean, since when did everyone get obsessed with some crusty old period drama?—and then I finally downloaded the first episode and was instantly addicted. If you’ve never seen it I can’t even really explain why it’s so good, just that it is. I mean, even the opening sequence is indescribably compelling—there goes the dog butt! And the bell! And the flower petal! OH MY GOD HERE’S THE CHANDELIER PART I JUST SHIT MY PANTS.
Anyway, we tore through season one and two in record time, and I can’t believe the finale is now over and we have to wait, like, MONTHS to see what happens next.
As for last night’s show, I mostly loved it. So much to talk about!
Matthew and Mary. I mean, finally. Jesus christ on a stick. I was distracted by Mary’s bare arms as the romantic snow fell all around her in the proposal scene—dude, isn’t she freezing?—but it was a lovely moment and I had a big stupid smile on my face. God knows we can’t trust that they’ll really live happily ever after, but I’m glad the season didn’t leave us hanging on this front. Also, is it just me or did Matthew somehow develop a chin between season one and season two?
Sir Richard Carlisle. The genius of allowing Sir Richard’s eternal nastiness to wear so painfully thin was unveiled via Lady Violet’s elegant “Do you promise?” when Richard announced they’ll never see one another again. Did you leap off the sofa in order to comically pump your fist and yell “OH FUCKING SNAP” when that happened? Just me? Okay then.
Daisy. Good god, the girl finally sort of grew a spine—although she’s clearly still missing most of her brains, as evidenced by the Ouija board fakeout. The resolution over the endless William-whinging was actually sort of brilliant, too. Hopefully in season 3 she won’t be quite so mush-headed and startled all the time, because it’s been kind of getting old. Also, weirdly familiar somehow…
Lord Grantham. I didn’t see the Pamuk confession coming at ALL, did you? His subsequent conversation with Mary was pretty much the best thing ever: “I don’t want my daughter to be married to a man who threatens her with ruin. I want a good man for you. A brave man.” So noble! So loving! So forgiven for macking on that maid a couple episodes ago!
Thomas. Man, I was prepared to hate Thomas forever if Isis the Dog met her untimely demise, but by the part when he managed to emerge as the hero for looking for her, I was actually sort of rooting for him. He’s evil, but he’s becoming a sympathetic character, don’t you think? He’s just so bumbling in his diabolical efforts.
Bates and Anna. Oh, Bates. Well, at least he’s not dead, but I have to say, the Bates/Anna storyline has gone downhill for me. I was so into those two last season, and this season has just been so…SOAPY, I guess. I feel Bates started out all strong and mysterious, and now he’s just passive and more than a little cheesy. Although it was oddly refreshing to see him in prison garb, for some reason.
Rosamund and Whatshisname. Ugh, the grifter side plot was nearly as bad as the Burned Peter/Patrick episode.
The Servant’s Ball. AMAZING. I could not have loved this more. Cora dancing with Carson! Thomas dancing with the Dowager Countess! Matthew taking a stiff drink and shuddering (“Crikey!”) when he realizes he’ll have to dance with O’Brien! Nothing but net in this entire scene.
Did you watch last night? (I certainly hope so, if you’ve made it this far.) What did you think?
Feb
17
Sandman
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Dylan has a nightmare at least once a week, often more. They used to be scary to observe—if you’ve ever read the description of what it’s like for a small child to have a night terror, that’s exactly how he would behave, and the first couple times I saw him in the throes of one I was nearly convinced he was having a seizure of some kind.
Now they seem like regular nightmares, whatever that means. He usually wakes up sometime before midnight, sitting upright in his bed and sort of squawking unhappily, and one of us goes in to check on him. We ask if he’s having a bad dream (he says yes), we ask if he can remember what it was about (he shakes his head), we tuck him back in and whisper soothing words and he falls back to sleep almost instantly.
He can never remember (or articulate) his dream the next morning, and he never mentions them or seems negatively affected in any way. I suppose it’s just a stage, his imagination lighting up like Roman candles in the middle of the night and taking his brain for an unpleasant ride.
Still, it makes me sad. He’s such a happy little guy who seems to live in a world of perpetual sunshine. If he had a soundtrack, it would be a cheery, silly Pomplamoose song. What dark unfriendly dreamscape is unraveling in his mind when the stars come out? Why should such a trusting, joyous little boy be sent somewhere like that?
Like I said, he seems no worse for wear, and I’m sure it will pass. But it’s maddening, in a way. We all want so badly to protect our children, and yet when they close their eyes, anything can happen. Anything at all.
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