Today, in Caithness, the sun is shining and the air is clear. I'm sure it will come as no surprise to anyone reading this blog that, certain weathers and certain times of the year ignite certain music in me. And, on late winter days which are filled with sunshine, I am usually to be found singing the songs of The Spinners . Inevitably, I start humming different ones of their songs (and of course adapting them to be about Orlando and Jess) as I go around doing different things. But I remember almost all the words to them. I haven't heard a lot of them in years, but they are all there, rooted in my memory. It is truly fascinating to think about how these songs have passed through history. They are part of my own nostalgia, which is why crisp sunny mornings make me incapable of ignoring the temptation to sing them, but they are part of something much bigger. There are songs amongst them which are a newer step in the folk music movement. Songs like Silver in the Stubble are amongs...
This blog contains spoilers!
Downton Abbey spawned such a high degree of loving obsession from people around the world that it would seem wrong if it never featured in this blog series.
We were late arrivals to it: by the time we were catching up, there had already been three series and their associated Christmas Specials. Everybody knew that Matthew died in a car accident at the most inopportune moment possible, and that the lovely Lady Sybil died in childbirth. I do wonder how differently I would have felt about the series if I had experienced the same shock as those who watched it the first time round.
Now, I'll caveat the following statement with the fact that I love Downton Abbey - it's one of my comfort series that I'll go back to time and time again to watch on my phone. But, in writing terms, I think it's something of a cautionary tale. The tale being: know when to stop.
The first three series of Downton Abbey are pure drama, taking us powerfully - and often painfully - through the 1910s and into the 1920s. The characters are developed to such an extent that we feel their pains and their triumphs - who can forget that wonderful moment in the snow when Matthew proposes to Mary, and Lavinia gives her blessing from beyond the grave, via a ouija board?!
But, as it progressed, it became a sort of parody of itself. First becoming darker, as the rape of Anna Bates demonstrates, followed by the shocking (not shocking) sudden death of her attacker and subsequent police investigation. Then, it became "fluff", to quote the lovely Hugh Bonneville. Everything was jolly and, if it wasn't jolly, it wasn't beyond fixing.
People came back; people got married; grand gestures were made; the final film has Lady Edith threatening a man in public, as though her character had been entirely transformed within the space of a couple of years. It went from believable to fairytale.
Yet, to be fair, people kept watching. I kept watching. And I kept enjoying it!
So, perhaps the moral of the Downton Abbey story is not so much "know when to stop" as it is "if you don't know when to stop, then own it". Julian Fellowes and his team gave people what they needed, followed by what they wanted. And it happened so seamlessly that it's only in looking back that you notice he did it by changing grit into fluff.
Downton Abbey truly captivates, even for latecomers. Knowing the tragedies in advance changes the experience, yet the drama, elegance, and characters still make it deeply compelling and unforgettable.
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