Downton Abbey should slow down, fast!
OH for Heaven’s sake. I want to love Downton.
I long to immerse myself in the Crawleys’ shenanigans body and soul, slip into the drawing room and escape for one blissful hour but that wretched Julian Fellowes won’t let me.
Downton’s creator has become a speed freak. It’s as if he’s dipping his quill in steroids. No scene lasts longer than three lines. Characters whizz in and out as if they’re having a spin on a whirligig.
One second we think Lady Edith might become emotionally embroiled with a chap who just might be the heir Patrick, miraculously spared from the Titanic. The next, he’s inexplicably rumbled and disappearing for ever.
Why? We’d have loved the chance to see the two of them entwined, to wonder if Matthew might be ousted, to watch Lord Grantham’s growing discomfiture.
Bring back Upstairs Downstairs, we need a chance to lie down on a chaise-longue
We want slow gentle and meandering. We’re getting done and dusted at demented speed. Did we really need Mrs Bates popping her clogs, the First World War ending, Matthew getting a twinge of feeling back in his... leg and Carson promising to defect to Lady Mary’s new establishment in one feverish episode?
Bring back Upstairs Downstairs, we need a chance to lie down on a chaise-longue with a burned feather under our noses and regroup.