"You are, after all, First Footman." (S 5 E 4)

With these not-so-friendly reminders of his position, Moseley is battered through the episode and heavily laden with the responsibilities of several footmen and maids in a collective effort by Carson and Mrs. Hughes to knock his uppity ass down a few notches in the scheme of things at Downton. I empathize with the frustrations of Carson trickling in from last season when Moseley had to give careful consideration to taking a position lower than his training, along with his much needed verification of being the pinnacle of footmen throughout the land; after awhile, however, the assaults on the poor old coot elicited pity for his plight and slight disdain for Carson. And what hand did Mrs. Hughes have to play in this game, given that she was the one who enlisted Moseley when Carson so adamantly refused to entertain the idea of his return?

Moseley became the punching bag of the evening, but he held grudges of his own when Thomas returned looking disastrously ill and Moseley used him for target practice, slinging arrows and spitting venom at every opportunity afforded to avenge his lady love. What was completely unexpected was Baxter’s turn the other cheek approach to her villainous childhood friend, especially when she saw he was in distress. While we still have no glaring confirmation, the hypothesis that Thomas’ little pilgrimage was in fact a trip to the gay doctor stands when his magazine ad for “Choose Your Own Path” was discovered by Baxter; shortly after she stumbled upon Thomas using a syringe that may have been aversive drug therapy. Then again Thomas was also stealing a spoon from the kitchen so maybe he just developed a bad heroin addiction when visiting his pops. He was looking a tad tweaked out…

Then again maybe he should have shared the stash, as there were a few people in Downton that could have benefitted from a little substance-induced happy time. Mrs. Patmore was still stewing over the slight she received from Carson involving the memorial for her nephew. Mrs. Patmore’s temper continued to flare like her red hair towards the stoic butler, cutting him at the knees with slices of insults about his apathy, even when Lord Donk expressed his sincerest apologies and gave his sympathies for the unfortunate circumstances (the one moment of the evening when we recalled some affection for the aristocratic mule). Of course that warm fuzzy feeling chilled over as Donk continued to give Cora the cold shoulder and brush aside any fragments of intellect she may expel.

But as the twists and turns of Downton Abbey goes, we were soon greeted with a cognitive dissonance of sorts when Miss Bunting was yet again invited to dinner amidst Cora’s insistence (did she have a plan for this all along?). Predictably Bunting challenged the many ways and traditions Lord Donk has clasped to his breast and refused to loosen his grip on, provoking him into steaming frustration. After a brief exchange over Daisy’s education and Donk’s elitist distance from his staff, Bunting demanded an audience of the downstairs dwellers Mrs. Patmore and Daisy for their own opinions. Donk, as usual, took the bait, and I cheered as he was proven most wrong by the cooks. However, Donk became the bigger equus, and admitted his fault, but Bunting couldn’t leave it be and pushed him to the precipice of his patience before abruptly chucking him into the pit. Now this pushed me to the edge as well. Being the prideful man that he is, seeing Lord Donk admit his fault as of late has been as rare as the white elephant of Siam. Bunting should have let it go as she had won the battle, but she needed one more piercing shot as he had graciously lowered to one knee in submission.

This move on her part not only polarized the parties in the abbey even more, but also forced me to cross lines in my own home. My mother, who is also a traditionalist, has thus far sided with Donk, believing Bunting to be an unwelcome, rude rebel who needs to “shut her mouth or go home.” I, up to now, had always sided with the passionate revolutionary, but her final display this evening forced me to take sides with my mother. This was a position I sorely resented Bunting for putting me in, because the last thing my mother needs is the ammunition of me having to admit she was right about something. Like three years ago when she recommended some random period drama I was not even remotely interested in; I watched one episode on Netflix, then binge watched the first season, immediately purchased the second on DVD, and here I am with a blog on the damn show after enduring four and a half seasons of I told you so’s. The prolonged point being is if Thomas had shared his crank, his LSD, his Heisenberg happy rocks, perhaps instead of fighting, everyone would have been sitting around the wireless radio, singing some retro version of Kumbaya and I wouldn’t have to admit defeat to my over-zealous mother.

In absence of mind-altering incredibly hard drugs, some people were still peaceably feeling the love. One hemp-struck Lord was Merton, who floated on over to the Crawley house and joyfully proposed to Isobel. Sadly, though Isobel promised to give the proposal careful consideration, it seemed her mind was almost made up, warning Merton time would most likely have no impact on her decision. But for someone who has struggled so much with the loss of her husband and son, in spite of her knack for independence, Isobel seems so lonely and yet so comfortable in that particular isolation. Falling into step with Violet, who is also reluctant to revisit matters of the heart with her former love interest, the two old biddies may just fall into a Boston Marriage arrangement and spend the remainder of their days pissing each other off (SPIN OFF ALERT!)

Speaking of rekindling love, after her moment of epiphany with Tony, the forces that be gave Mary another opportunity to get her lady fire stoked by Blake after a chance run in at a fashion show. They enjoyed a simple dinner as she divulged that she was preparing to cut it off with Tony. However Tony wasn’t so keen to being put off. After she lowered the boom, Tony jumped from his Prince Charming persona to a damn-near Chris Brown re-enactment. Anger burned in his eyes as he lamented that their exchange of bodily fluids was an unwritten contract for marriage and he sternly maintained that they will “work out their issues together.” The red flags of this situation are undeniable and one can only hope Mary will find her way out. Then again, perhaps she shouldn’t ignore the red flags of the other suitor attending a woman’s fashion show either…

And the red flags keep flying for Anna and Bates as suspicions continue when Anna returns visits the scene of the crime where Green died or was possibly killed. Curiously, a detective or spy (maybe it was a cousin of Spratt’s) was perfectly positioned to witness Anna’s inquisitive journey and reported back to police, redirecting the investigation and the spotlight on the Bates’ once more.

Screen Actors Guild Round Two: Congrats to the Fantastic DA Cast!

"In my day, a lady was incapable of feeling physical attraction until she'd been instructed to by her mama." (S 5 E 3)

The dowager countess once again attempts to reiterate the point that she came from a very different dimension era with the aforementioned and horribly misguided quote about when a young woman gets her lady fire lit. This of course all came crashing down when Secret Agent Spratt spotted Mary and Tony departing from a week-long tryst at a distant hotel and reported back to the countess. Refusing to waiver in front of the help, Violet quickly concocts an alibi for her deviant granddaughter to derail the nosy butler. She later gave Mary a violent verbal lashing for once again laying with a man who has yet to put a ring on it. But awkwardly, he is trying; god help him he is trying desperately to latch onto his lady love and Mary is utilizing the evasive tactics of a stealth ninja in avoiding his marital lasso. Later she revealed to Tom that Blake’s prophetic “is it lust or love” chat rang true, and perhaps she had been blinded by lust all along when she realized her pretty boy is a shallow puddle of water in conversation. Alas Mary has already given him a piece of the pie and he is undeterred in seeking the rest of her matrimonial baked goods, so now she is faced with the challenge of putting him off. Meanwhile, Mary was slipped some ammunition against her Draconian grandmother when a Russian blast from the past shuffled into Downton and proved that even in 1924, those who ride highest on their moral horses are usually hypocrites. The dowager was caught off guard after being confronted by what was most likely a platonic love affair, but she didn’t seem too reluctant when he started stoking the flames of her lady fire again. Well, I’m not sure there’s still a fire there, but maybe some glowing embers beneath the cinders of time. Okay, more than likely it’s just dry, dusty ash, but hey, fires can always be rekindled at any age…I think. Well to be honest, I’d rather not think about it.

Finally after dragging it out for three long episodes, Baxter’s confession is revealed, and her history of being the female half of a Bonnie and Clyde house servant duo is laid out on the table for Cora. Cora finally agrees to make her decision and of course Baxter shall remain, because god knows Cora simply cannot be without a lady’s maid for one more day. But in spite of narrowly avoiding the travesty of having to dress herself (yeah right, Anna would be stuck doing it again), there is trouble in paradise for Lady Grantham. After often being left out of any intelligent conversation in the abbey by her husband, and being shipped out to London alone, Cora finds herself being swept off her feet by the debonair Mr. Bricker, who clings to her every word and treats her as though she may even have a brain in her pretty little head. Of course Lord Donk is not amused when she misses a surprise dinner to bask in the London night lights with the art lover, and he unabashedly insults her, temporarily graduating to Lord D---bag. But what exactly did you expect? You treat your wife like a feeble-minded female, you can’t deflate your ego muster the strength to warn off his flirtations with her so you substitute your dog for your better half, and…oh yeah, you’re still technically responsible for her daughter’s untimely death. Besides, if you hadn’t noticed, People.com just declared your wife a certifiable card-carrying MILF, which no doubt transcended through time, technology, and fictitious TV programming to increase her desirability throughout early 20^th century England. Hope Lord D---bag can find a way out of this one, otherwise he’ll be shacking up with Isis in the dog house.

Lady Edith was also sadly shifted to the dog house when she predictably overstayed her welcome at the Drew farm. After “disappearing” when babysitting little Hibiscus, and lingering even though the man of the house had returned, Mrs. Drew abruptly fired Poor Edith from her patronage of her secret child. Can this woman ever get a break? I know, Mr. Fellows, that you once claimed some people are just unlucky in life, but damn, the ritualistic abuse of this character is not only disheartening, but becoming gradually predictable as well.

There is one unfortunate who seems to have her luck improving though, as Daisy is finding her confidence and discovering her ability in mathematics with the help of Ms. Bunting. Eager to succeed and possibly sit on her matrics, Daisy may be the next servant to fly the coop (we talked about this in the first episode’s blog, don’t do it Daisy!). She has the support of most of the household, except for droopy poopy Mr. Carson, who crapped on her parade and advised her her work was “not necessary for her place in the scheme of things.” Perhaps Mr. Carson doesn’t want to lose another servant to bigger and better opportunities either, considering how in the afterlife, William was promoted as a waiter in Russian high society alongside Anna Karenina and some princess who looked oddly familiar…but Carson had his hands full crapping on people’s parades after he refused a request from Mrs. Patmore to lift some of the embarrassment of her nephew’s execution for cowardice. After fleeing the frontline in a panic and being shot as a traitor, Mrs. Patmore attempted to leave that shame in the shadows, but will soon be unsuccessful when her nephew’s hometown constructs their own memorial to their soldiers and his name will be noticeably omitted. She enlisted Mrs. Hughes in pleading with Carson to allow his name on the Downton memorial, but was immediately shut down as he cited honor, tradition, and some other patriotic insensitive drivel that drove the nail of shame further into Mrs. Patmore’s heart. But she may not have been the only one feeling some shame in this episode.

While I can’t be entirely certain, Thomas has contacted some service in London named “Choose your own path” which sounds like possible gay cure treatment. The thought of it turns my stomach though I know aversion therapy and gay cure therapy has for the most part been scientifically outlawed in more progressive countries, it is still alive and well in many other parts of the world as well as in the dark corners of the western civilizations (The American Psychiatric Association and the American Psychological Association have both denounced the treatment and many therapist licensing boards have banned the practice, but religious organizations are not subject to licensing board restrictions and their "treatments" live on). If this is the path Thomas has chosen, as much as I loathe what he has become, I will be cringing at the prospect of what awaits him in this trials including medical experimentations and aversion approaches like electric shocks and re-conditioning. We’ve all had those moments where we wanted to be “normal”, but thank god, in spite of their disagreement with my lifestyle, my parents never sent me to therapy for it.

We close as the drama with Mr. Green’s death begins to unravel, then, winds back up a little too neatly to believe this is the last we’ve heard of the ordeal. After a witness reported hearing a verbal exchange with an unseen individual prior to his “accident,” a policeman has been frequenting the abbey in a preliminary investigation. Green had reportedly told his co-workers he had quarreled with a resident of the abbey which raised suspicions. Information of Bates’ travels arose and he was interrogated over his trip the day Green died. After supplying the answers expected of him, Bates appeared to be off the hook and Anna was breathing a sigh of relief. But nothing in Downton ends so nicely and given the whisperings of future episodes, a shocking twist is about to rear its ugly head…

Yet again as awards season continues, good luck to the DA cast at the SAG awards this weekend, though I’ll not hide my disgust that my fake TV wife Michelle has been shut out of both the Golden Globes and the SAGs, so frankly, they can suck it.

"Let's Hope I never Write My Memoirs!" (S 5 E 2)

So first things first! A huge congrats to Joanne Froggatt for her Golden Globes win! If anything, after the battering this woman has endured over the last season for her storyline as a rape survivor, she truly deserves this award, not only for her portrayal of a survivor, but the care and consideration she gave to such a critical and sensitive topic. Yay you, JoFro!

We dive into Downton once again with *gasp* extended scenes the UK didn’t have! I can only assume from what I gathered on Tumblr that this was Jimmy’s departure, which really wasn’t all that thrilling, but we’ll take whatever crumbs we can get from the leftover loaf the UK throws us after their viewing of the season (I will never stop bitching about the delayed US release and neither should you!) Thomas tries to play for some sympathy after Anna finds him wallowing in the wake of Jimmy’s absence, but let’s be real, any sympathy that could have been drudged up for this two-faced slimy rat-bastard has been spent two-fold. I have nothing left for him, I truly don’t. When he noted that sometimes he wished he could just fit in, I shouted at the screen “then stop being a P-----k!” Lessons learned Mr. Barrow. Miss Bunting returns to school the eager Daisy in her lessons and simultaneously fans the socialist flames that are licking at Tom’s boots and getting him in hot water with Lord Donk. Lady Edith and Mr. Drew hatched a plot to ease Edith back into little Dandelion’s life, but the plan didn’t seem to go over as well with Mrs. Drew as originally planned; but Mr. Drew and Edith are dumbfoundedly ignorant of their failure and continue to grin like morons in the perceived success of their plans. I usually pity Poor Edith’s plight and I can totally empathize with her desire to be involved with her child, but with this poorly designed scheme, she’s looking more and more like the Fredo Corleone of the Crawley family. Someone just ship her off to Vegas already.

Lord Donk and Carson are caught in the battle of the memorial, where one side pines for a garden of solitude and reflection, and the other a town centerpiece that leaves the cricket field untouched. Still not sure if Donk was more concerned about accessibility to the memorial or his pitch living to see another cricket loss for the abbey. But this wasn’t the only war Lord D was fighting. He found himself battling art aficionado Mr. Bricker for his wife’s dog’s affections, because apparently there is nothing more ill-bred than trying to steal the affections of another man’s dog. I now feel I should give a sound lashing to anyone who tries to play fetch with my four-legged pals: “don’t even so much as glance at their tennis ball, jackass!” He was also battling the prospect of a wireless radio in the castle prompted him to draw a line in the sand as Rose tried to not-so-subtly drop hints for one. It wasn’t until the King himself opted to address the nation over the airwaves that he receded and allowed the contraption into the abbey walls. So I can only assume that if the King declared premarital sex a righteous and morally responsible act, Lord Donk would emphatically agree and Mary and Tony would not have had to run off to a secret lust-driven getaway. In fact, he may have invited Tony to Mary’s room and lit the candles himself.

Sadly this did not occur, which left Mary and Tony to fend for themselves, having to arrange their own reservations, light their own candles, button their own dresses and shirts, and schedule their own sex. Did he actually schedule their sex? Yes, apparently the British are so tenacious in their arrangements that to be spontaneously romantic might just be considered rude. So no, “first my dear, we shall be off to feast in town with a romantic dinner at 6:00, then we shall return for a romantic romp betwixt the sheets at approximately 8:15, then at 8:20 I will light a cigarette and you shall realize that this side of things is not right at all and curse the fact that you passed Blake up for me.” Mind you I was never really Team Blake, but come on Tony, you scheduled sex! You could have been at least slightly mysterious…”we’ll have dinner, then come back and whatever happens, happens *wink*.” But at this rate, we were lucky he didn’t have the itinerary written out on a hotel napkin. At least Anna’s trip to the pharmacy wasn’t going to go to waste.

Poor Anna, the responsibilities of a lady’s maid know no bounds, but I’ll bet “purchasing contraceptives for your lady’s lecherous lifestyle” wasn’t in the initial job description. With some ostracization from the shopkeeper that probably isn’t too out of place for some traditional locations around the states nowadays, she was affronted with personal questions regarding her life with her husband rather than respect for being responsible adults. But don’t feel too bad Anna, the first time I tried to be a responsible individual, my mother’s friend who worked at the store popped out of nowhere to ring me up at the register. Longest check out of my life. Why a lesbian needed such things, well that’s another blog in another rainbow-painted dimension. In the midst of this salacious conversation, Anna delivered my favorite quote of the night, “let’s hope I never write my memoirs!” Let’s hope not, seeing as how it didn’t work out too well for the residents of Jackson, Mississippi. I could only imagine Downton’s own version of The Help; the Crawleys may want to invest in an airtight non-disclosure contract with their servants. But then again, servants keeping secrets at Downton has its negative side as well, as Baxter has learned.

Thomas, still writhing in anger over losing his upper hand with Baxter continues to moan and gripe about her disloyalty and ruefully lets Moseley in on her tale of woe. Taken aback by the revelation, Moseley confronts Baxter and struggles to comprehend her lack of a suitable motive. His idealization of the perfect Baxter has been shattered and their future together may hang in the balance, but I suspect forgiveness will take the victory from this field and somehow they’ll find a way to kiss and make up. Cora on the other hand, is more exasperating with her tortuous indecisiveness, leaving Baxter waiting for her final fate, which, yet again is the same thing Lord Donk did when the revelation of Bates’ criminal record surfaced. Can’t these Crawleys just sack a fool or move on?

The episode closed with the ominous arrival of a police officer asking questions about one Mr. Green, revealing that there was “a witness” who has come forward with some untold information that the police may need to follow up on. Is Bates headed back to jail? Time will only tell…or spoilers…spoilers can tell too, again because the golden child of the west, the Brits, already know what has happened and it was almost too much to contain it. Thanks guys.

Get It Girl! Congrats JoFro!

Annnnd Look Out America, Here Comes the Dog's Ass! (S 5 E 1)

So thrilled to be rejoining the Crawley family at Downton Abbey for a fifth season! We were once again ushered to Highclere castle by the furry white posterior of Britain’s most famous period drama dog, Isis, in the opening credits (seriously guys, it’s been five years, can’t you get someone else’s ass now? I mean I’d prefer Lady Mary’s but I’d settle for Mr. Fellows if it meant a change in scenery).

Last season I decided to write reviews for the various episodes and did my best to keep up…which left me combining episodes I had fallen behind upon and wondering if I ever wrote a final review for the last episode (I most likely did not). Thus, if you care to and have a little extra time, you can read on my humble and hopefully comedic perspective of the show’s happenings, and if not, no worries, I expect life will get in the way and put a sound stop to my ranting and reflections soon hereafter. I am hoping this goes without saying, but say it I shall to avoid liability: spoilers ahead!

In our return to Downton we find our ever ill-fated Edith mourning the ongoing loss of her baby, little Marigold (yes, that’s her name, not sure if she’s of noble blood or hippie-offspring but she’s damn cute). Edith manages to find her way to subtly push in on the fostering family and continue to be a shrouded part of her daughter’s life. Oddly, she breaks the mold with her maternal instinct and is far more involved in little Blossum -er Petunia –um Chrysanthemum’s life than Mary is with George, but Edith may have an obstacle to overcome. The foster mother seems wary of Edith’s intentions toward her husband, but these concerns are of course totally baseless; far be it from Lady Edith to kiss another woman’s husband….a third time…I mean she has morals damn it!

Sauntering upstairs we find the beloved elites sitting about after a tiring day of taking off hats and waiting for visiting hours with the children. Lord Donk (as he shall be aptly named for the remainder of this blog and countless others) is grappling with another opportunity to feel important, included, and wanted with a war memorial committee, but then struggles when he is passed over for Carson, a slight which he pouts over for the rest of the episode. The family prepares for numerous houseguests and inconveniences as Donk and Cora approach their wedding anniversary. Down below, Daisy is complaining yet again as another kitchen maid bit the dust in the last season and she’s caught with the workload. I swear house/kitchen maids and footmen are like the Starks in the Game of Downton. Julian is killing them all off one by one! Sure they’re supposedly off to bigger and better things, but the reality is Gwen’s job as a secretary relocated her to the north of the Wall and she died at Castle Black after uttering her now famous catchphrase “I want to learn shorthand.” Sad, but true. Who knows what dear Ivy’s fate will be.

Love was in the air at Downton; in fact it was rank with it as Pretty boy Jimmy tried to “put off” his former employer, Lady Anstruther, at which he fought valiantly once or twice until a carefully plotted visit to the abbey found him quickly slipping between the sheets with her. Cousin Isobel continued to play the field with Lord Merton, but no chance of happiness for Isobel goes without intervention from the Death-eater Dowager. Cousin Violet was soon confronted with the possibility that she would share titles with her adversary, and, sucking the potential joy from Isobel’s life, she too hatched her own plot to cut the rope on this social climber. Lady Mary is still entertaining the ongoing battle for her heart with Lord Gillingham, silently positing that she should have the opportunity to dance the horizontal mambo before she chooses who to marry. Um, Mary, you tried that; you killed him. But at least you’re no quitter! And Gillingham is game too, but perhaps he’s oblivious to your track record as a Black Widow…I say go for it. Whatever happens, the pool of eligible bachelors may be narrowed, making your decision much easier. Even Tom got into the game, though he was forcibly subjected by match-making Rose when she invited Miss Bunting to the Crawley anniversary dinner. An outspoken revolutionist herself with a good head on her shoulders, she rubbed the aristocratic family the wrong way like some chaffing knock-off brand of Spanx when becoming vocal. This of course slightly re-ignited Tom’s old passions for politics and progressive women who routinely piss off Lord Donk with opinions their husbands never gave them.

Last but not least, we are faced with yet another ulcer-inducing episode of Barrow the Bastard and his endless drive to take out Bates once and for all. After threatening her numerous times for inside information on the Bateses, Baxter became increasingly frustrated, refused to back down and eventually gave up the story of her criminal history to Cora (déjà vu anyone?), rendering Barrow powerless with nothing to hold over her head. Cora, never a fan of Barrow, put him in his rightful place and left my mother and me cheering on the couch in hopes of his eventual and completely deserving demise. But thanks to Lady Pyro, after Edith set fire to her bedroom and Thomas whisked her to safety, Cora was blinded by gratitude and planted a big kiss on his shrewd little buttocks, forgetting that Thomas is more slimy and deceitful than Moseley’s “Latin” hair. This, of course quickly elicited a resounding WHAT THE F---?! in my living room, disrupting my neighbors and quite possibly corrupting the young child who lives down the hall. I have to admit, after the multiple shenanigans that Barrow has committed and pulled himself out of (stealing wine, stealing snuff boxes, stealing dogs), this storyline is becoming tiresome. It’s been done, hopefully as we progress through the season, it will not be done again.

Stay Tuned…

Also wishing so much luck to Joanne Froggatt at the Golden Globes this weekend, congrats Anna!

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A Flurry of Blurry Stars

     So I had the opportunity to meet some of the stars of Downton when they came out to LA for some promotional touring, and I decided I needed to write out the details because when you're in a state of ecstatic elation, these details tend to blur and fade quickly with time.
     I sat with friends I had met at the Nonstop premiere, grief-stricken because I had gone to the wrong place, and just minutes after I realized my mistake, one of the girls texted me and informed me that I had missed Michelle. I rushed to the right location in hopes of catching her again. Sitting with the girls, my stomach was tied in knots. I had taken half a day off work. I had driven several miles. I went to the wrong damn place, and I may have missed my only chance to meet my favorite actress and, let’s face it, the object of my affection, my celebrity crush. As we made aimless chatter, a sleek, slim figure appeared, stepping out alone. Not the image you typically expect from an Emmy and Golden Globe nominated star. She was wearing a blue, long-sleeved collared top, skinny jeans, flats, and a small white purse strung across her chest. Her hair was casually cropped around her head, and she had on semi-thick black framed glasses.
     “Is that her?” I asked.
     The other girls stared at her for a moment, not entirely sure, then agreed it was, though she had changed her outfit from when they had met her earlier. Even her hair was styled differently. She was earnestly staring down at her iPhone and didn’t glance up until she almost collided with a potted plant and artfully dodged the hanging limbs of a small tree.
     “Where could she be going?” they wondered aloud, and posited what activities she might be pursuing with only an hour and half before the press conference. I had fought the urge to run after her, knowing that at some point, she would have to return. The girls eventually had to leave and I was left alone.
     As I was waiting for Michelle to return from wherever she had gone, I was worried that I wouldn’t have the guts to get up and speak to her. I was worried she would get past me and disappear before I could reach her. I was worried she would think I was some creepy stalker. I was watching the door and suddenly I saw her coming in. She was walking with her publicist for DA, Victoria. I got up and immediately began to approach her. Not wanting to bombard her from the side unexpectedly, I said her name to get her attention first, but being a bit soft spoken when nervous, it came out just a notch above a whisper. Though she didn’t hear me, apparently she saw me out of the corner of her eye and happened to glance up at me over the black frames of her glasses. Realizing I was speaking to her, she stopped, caught somewhat off-guard. I heard Victoria exclaim with a small “Oh!” as she was surprised someone had walked up on them too.
     “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re in a rush, but I was hoping I could get a picture with you and maybe an autograph?” I asked meekly.
     I sensed I had snapped her out of whatever deep train of thought she may have been in. She took a fraction of a second to register what was going on and then quickly cued in.
     “Oh yeah sure!” she replied, taking off her glasses.
     I was shaking and fumbled with the big magazine in my hand, the Sharpie, and my cell phone, trying to get the camera set up.
     “Sorry.” I murmured a few times, knowing that she was in a hurry and trying to get my wits about me and to control my trembling hands. Victoria stepped up and said “here,” offering to take the picture just as I got situated and put the camera on selfie mode.
     “Oh you want to do a selfie?” Michelle asked.
     “Yeah sure, I mean, whatever’s easier.” I said.
     Michelle leaned in and I clicked the photo, but I could instantly tell that I had been shaking and it was blurry.
     “One more? Sorry.” I apologized again, and Michelle leaned in and took another photo. I handed her the magazine and the pen and she asked my name.
     “Jae, J-a-e.” I spelled for her. “I am such a big fan of yours; I love all your work.” I blurted out. It was so clichéd and not even remotely reflecting of my status as a true fan, and I prayed I didn’t appear to be a creepy autograph hunter.
    Michelle and Victoria gave an “aw," and Michelle said “thank you!”
     “I was supposed to be here with these girls but I’m an idiot and I went to the wrong hotel, so I missed you earlier.” I explained, as if she was remotely interested in the series of unfortunate events that have become my day to day life.
     “Oh yeah I saw them earlier!” She said. She handed me back my magazine, having written “Jae, Best Wishes, Michelle Dockery.”
     “Thank you so much Michelle, I really do appreciate it. Enjoy your evening!”
     “Thank you, bye Jae!” She smiled and so did Victoria and they walked away. I was still in a daze. Realizing that if I left for home now, the notorious LA traffic would be horrendous, I opted to stay and see if I could catch a glimpse of the other stars of Downton, as well as Michelle in whatever outfit she would wear to the conference.

     Laura was the first to exit, but I was texting the girls, giving them an account of my encounter with Michelle. When I glanced up, I saw the back side of a rather tall looking woman in a lengthy dress and wavy hair. Could that be her? She looked incredibly tall, almost too tall to be Laura. I couldn’t tell as she walked farther away, but suddenly caught a glimpse of her profile and saw it was in fact, her. I judged the distance as she neared the entrance to the press room and realized I would have to run to catch her, which might just frighten her to glance up and see a fan rushing her like a bull elephant. I predicted a phone call to the police and an unfortunate ending to my day, so I opted to take the loss and let her go.

     Allen emerged next, and looked dashing and debonair. He was initially surrounded by a group, but as he broke away only one followed him to the press room. I gathered my nerve and approached him.
     “Allen, sorry to bother you, I know you’re in a rush,” (this would become my coin phrase for the evening), “but would you mind if I got a picture with you?”
     “No of course not!” He ran his fingers through his hair and whipped his head a bit to adjust his coif. He apparently put his arm around me, though I was too star struck to notice, and clicked the selfie. Another blur, but I didn’t have the guts to inconvenience him for another.
     “Can I also get your autograph?”
    “Yeah, yeah!” he took my DA book my dad had bought me and I handed him the pen.
    “Are you sure you want it on here?” he gestured to the cover.
     “Yeah that’s fine.”
     “Will it stick?”
     “I think so, yeah.”
     “No, let me tell you, I have signed many of these, tons of them, I know this. You don’t want the cover,” he opened the book to the first cover page. “And you don’t want this one,” and flipped to another, “not this one either.” He landed on the title page. “This is the one!”
     “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” I laughed.
    “Yeah, this kind of pen won’t stay on the cover.”
     He signed and handed the book back to me.
     “Thanks Allen, I appreciate it, enjoy your night!”
     “Thank you!” and he continued on to the press conference.

     I saw Joanne coming from the elevators and watched from a distance for a moment. I kind of laughed as she did a little shimmy to make the fringe on her dress dance back and forth. She too was surrounded by people. I had hoped some of them would break away as they had from Allen, but they stayed with her as she moved toward the press room, surrounding her like a security team. I approached the group, spotting a possible publicist giving me the stink eye.
     “Joanne?” I asked, but she was telling a story of some sort to another person in her flock. I stayed in step with the group and Madame Stink Eye, hoping to get her attention, and finally Joanne finished her story and glanced at me.
     “Joanne, I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re in a rush, but could I please get a picture with you?” I asked.
     “Yeah sure!” she said and leaned in for a photo. Blurry again, damn this phone! But she was running for the press conference too and I didn’t want to ask her for another either.
     “Could I also get an autograph please?”
     “Sure!”
     I handed her the DA book, already opened to the page Allen signed, heeding his advice. As she was signing, I felt oddly compelled to self-disclose as I reflected on her performance as a victim of sexual assault from the season.
     “I loved your work in this last season. You did an amazing job.”
     “Oh thank you!”
     “You know, I’m a survivor, and I know that you got a lot of flak for this season, but I really appreciated what you did, it meant a lot to us,” (‘us’ because apparently in the presence of Anna Bates, I presumptuously became the spokesperson for rape survivors everywhere).
     “Oh thank you so much.” Joanne had turned to face me and was looking me square in the eye. For a brief moment she seemed completely unconcerned with the waiting press in the next room.
     “What’s your name?” she asked.
     “Jae.” I replied.
     “Jane,” (yeah, that happens all the time) “thank you so much, it was nice meeting you.”
     “Thank you, I really appreciate your time, enjoy your evening.”
     Still smiling, she kept her eyes locked on me for a moment longer as the rest of her body turned to walk away; for a minute there I thought I saw her eyes tearing up just a tad. I actually walked away from this encounter feeling a connection to her. This was the magic of Joanne and her personality. I hoped to meet her again someday.

     Michelle was the last to emerge, and I stood, walking slowly to the side of the path she would have to take to go to the conference room. Only expecting to admire from a distance, slightly hoping to just catch her eye and smile a goodbye at her (nope), she looked gorgeous as she floated by and disappeared into the conference room.

My Dad Gets Me

Just when I thought my father never understood me...he comes over with this gem...thanks Papa.

Sidebar: Is it just me or is the conflicting angle of the book and the photo borders creating some optical illusion of disarray? It's upsetting my occipital lobe and my OCD...

Meeting the Fake TV Wife

So don't get me wrong, I love everything Downton, but if you hadn't gathered from previous posts, my heart belongs to Michelle aka Lady Mary. I call her my Fake TV Wife not because I'm some oddly obsessed lesbian with some strange romantic delusion, but because I'm an oddly obsessed lesbian who still likes to dream. And I stole the idea from another oddly obsessed lesbian blogger/fan of Tina Fey because I thought it was oddly funny. Anyways, being in LA I have more opportunities than most for celeb sightings and I was fortunate enough to make it out to the Nonstop premiere to "meet" Michelle for a quick second as she signed an autograph and I snapped a quick pic.

 

Michelle had come across the street and began signing but I was located on the far right in the line of fans and she started in the middle and gravitated to the left. I panicked that I was missing my one opportunity, and then my heart sank as Michelle crossed the street to return to the red carpet and press. Myself and some fans I had met there began calling for her and she glanced over and waved, then after a quick consultation with her publicist, she returned and signed for us. She was so amazing. Okay no more fan girl gushing, I'm about to slap myself. 

Here's video of the event, Michelle returns to us at 1:20 and my happy hand appears at 1:30 clicking her picture as she simultaneously signs my photo.

DA: Simpsonized

20 Signs You Watch Too Much Downton Abbey

I've come to find I'm most creative when I should be working...

1. You’ve thanked the mailman for his services but warned him to stay away from your sister.

2. You noticed that your calf was showing from under your dress and felt like a tramp.

3. You now pronounce “valet” with a hard T and find yourself disappointed when they take your car instead of taking your clothes off.

4. You refuse to do the dinner dishes and ask other diners to play bridge with you until the men come through.

5. When you go out to eat, you suspect the waiter is up to no good which drastically impacts his tip.

6. You warn every pregnant woman you see of the dangers of eclampsia so she doesn’t meet the same terrible fate dear Sybil did.

7. You now refer to prenups as “tying down the money.”

8. You’re not yet 30 but are unmarried and believe you are entering what you’ve begun calling the “Poor Edith” stage of life.

9. You had hoped to visit England one day but in spite of English virtues, you fear that you’re crazier and more offensive than Martha Levinson.

10. You’ve rung a bell for service so many times your frustrated husband has taught the family dog to poop on the bedroom rug every time he hears it chime.

11. You have the silverware polished weekly even though it’s plastic.

12. You’ve tried to organize a hunt but realized your neighbor’s hamster is not profitable game.

13. You feel like Mr. Carson when you delegate chores to your kids and demand perfection to uphold the status and reputation of the family.

14. You’ve started calling your children’s bedrooms “the servants’ quarters.”

15. You’ve thought about dappling in the black market following the war, but realized the only thing you could manage to smuggle is Girl Scout cookies and you simply don’t trust the uniformed tikes.

16. You’ve recently discovered an attractive cousin at a family reunion.

17. You take a Dowager Countess approach to technology and often flicker the lights in your home lamenting “WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!” much to the annoyance of your family.

18. You’ve developed a perpetual fear of the deadly potential of your own ladyship and consequently have cut your husband off from sex completely.

19. Conversely, you’ve developed an unrealistic expectation of the deadly potential of your ladyship and have sought out every ex who has ever done you wrong.

20. You put out an ad on Craig’s List for a Lady’s Maid; under job requirements you listed “must be able to hold the soap.”

S 4 E 9

So I don't exactly recall why I didn't write a review for the final episode last year...I think perhaps life got in the way...or I died temporarily...or I said screw it, no one's reading this crap anyways and gave up. Whatever the reason may be, rest assured there was an episode 9, which included some dresses, some dancing, a scheme or two, and Paul Giamatti. If you missed it, buy the DVD and watch it.

Cheerios, Piggy Love, and Goodbye Green (S 4: E 6, E 7, E 8)

So unfortunately I fell massively behind in my episode reviews given my indolence hectic work schedule, but seeing as how about two people read these on average every week I sincerely doubt I’ve disappointed any. Since I’m about three episodes in, this will be long but I will try to provide the Cliff’s Notes version.

Downton Debriefing…
Continuing the dance of culinary uncertainty, Alfred is accepted into his chef’s school by default after another drops out, sending Ivy and Daisy reeling. Daisy struggles with the rollercoaster of Alfred’s coming and going; Ivy’s blinders have been removed after Jimmy shows himself for the insufferable misogynistic ass he is, and she finds herself falling for Alfred as well, but not enough to accept a ridiculously expedited marriage proposal. All ends well with hugs and well wishes, but not before the claws come out between the two befuddled kitchen staffers. With Alfred’s departure, the issue of Mr. Molesley arises again, but the staunchly rigid Mr. Carson refuses to fill the position with a reluctant former valet. Eventually, with the help of Mrs. Hughes, Molesley eeks in and takes the position, still licking his wounds. But of course, his story continues to blossom as love strikes between him and Lady’s Grantham’s maid, Baxter.

The alleged thief in the Dowager home is acquitted, because apparently the gardening glove did not fit. Cousin Isobel cleared the young man’s name after finding the missing letter opener wedged in the cushion of a chair; sadly there was no chase down the dirt road on a Bronco. Again, another missed opportunity, Mr. Fellowes. However, the countess could not be caught in her own embarrassment, and beat Isobel to a public shaming by reinstating the gardener and apologizing on her own accord. In spite of this exchange, their friendship becomes deeply rooted when Isobel nurses Violet through a bout of Bronchitis, ever the self-promoted nurse. And what will undoubtedly be a disappointment for Dr. Clarkson, Isobel has a suitor in Mary's godfather. Awe. But don't count Tom out as he seems to be finding himself tapping on Cupid's door with a young politically involved teacher, Miss Bunting.

Rose finds herself dancing with her Jazzy knight in shining armor, Mr. Jack Ross in more ways than one after inviting him to perform for Lord Grantham’s birthday at the Abbey. Mary discovers her in the throes of lust, petting with the singer downstairs (her face makes you squirm and emits a stern and screaming unquestionable warning; love this wife of mine). Rose traipses off to London trailng Edith to meet with him again, and the two lovers are later spotted by Tom in public necking. Mary issues a clearer warning because apparently that warning face which could melt a more submissive tramp’s face off hardly swayed the obstinate child, but to no avail. Rose announces her engagement with underlying tones that she may be doing it simply to spite her mother, and Mary is off to appeal to the more level-headed half of the two. Consequently, rather than endure the backlash of an interracial marriage in 1920s England (or a Cheerios commercial in 2013 America), Jack calls off the affair. Either that or he really was a Thomas. Edith is not much luckier in her romantic plight as Mr. Gregson is still missing and she is navigating her first trimester of pregnancy. Edith finds herself in a downward spiral of not only losing her chance at love once more but surviving the world with the scandal of bearing a child out of wedlock. Finding a confidant in Aunt Rosamund, Edith tip-toes to the precipice of getting an abortion before taking a last minute detour away from the edge and seeking alternative options. In plotting with her aunt, the Dowager stumbles across the secret of Edith’s delicate state, and ever the supportive grandmother, through scandals of post-coitus dead diplomats and marriage out of class, she helps Edith find a suitable solution.

Love continues to shakily bloom for Mary, but not before the pig shit hits the fan. The arrival of Charles Blake sets her teeth on edge and the claws are bared as the two banter against one another with every meeting, leaving Evelyn Napier, Mr. Nice Guy on the sidelines, pitifully mediating as he’s being swept and locked into the Friendzone. However, in spite of either one loudly proclaiming their dislike for one another, the nature of this relationship begins quite similarly to that of Mary and Matthew, and we all know how that war ended…well before he was squished like a slug under the car. The breaking point comes when the pigs the family has invested into are found on the brink of dehydrated death by Blake and Mary. Quick to salvage the poor little porkers, they volley back and forth between the spigot and the trough to water the bacon down. Sloshing through muck, mud, and a little sewage, which Blake flings right onto Mary’s lips, coming dangerously close to creating his own story of the Terrible Awful. Let’s hope Anna never ghost-writes an expose of the help at Downton. On the bright side, after this sordid event, Mary was given the opportunity to learn the name of one of the servants. Yes, Ivy has been here for two years, but don’t let that take away from your victory, M’Lady! You’re in touch with the little people! The determined Lord Gillingham hasn’t given up and often pops up in his stalkerish mode, gently combatting with Blake and keeping his presence known. He later reveals he has broken with his fiancée, leaving himself wide open for Mary. But in spite of her devastation over the earlier news of his engagement, and the budding love she shared with Blake over pig droppings, she remains guarded and reluctant, keeping both at bay.

The secret of Anna’s assault has been slowly floating to the surface, and ultimately pieces of it breached when Lord Grantham was summoned to America in an attempt to save Cora’s brother from scandal and ruin. Planning on toting Bates with him, Mrs. Hughes persuades Mary to appeal to Robert and request that Bates remain home to support Anna, but not without Mrs. Hughes having to spill the beans on why. Afterwards, Mary attempts to provide a shoulder for Anna to cry on, but still traumatized and scarred, Anna keeps the shields up and politely refuses the support. Anna and Bates work tirelessly to return to normal life, but unfortunately in his endless pursuit of Mary, with each visit from Lord Gillingham brings Mr. Green back into poor Anna’s life. With each stay, Anna is re-traumatized, and Bates becomes frightfully closer to discovering the truth. Once again, Mrs. Hughes has an amazing Mama Bear moment, seething with anger towards Mr. Green when she confronts him, but his narcissism can’t be broken. No longer able to find peace with her conscience, Mary requests a meeting with Gillingham and demands Green be sacked. Suspiciously, Bates takes a trip to York, where Mr. Green resides, and Green dies in an accident, tripping into the road and being run over. Unsure of the course of events, both Anna and Mary are caught in a web of uncertainty: fear wrapped in doubt and, let’s face it, sprinkled with a bit of relief and relish that in some twisted way, justice was done. Concern has never been played for Mr. Green’s well-being, as Mrs. Hughes hissed “I didn’t lie for your sake!” and while to err is human and forgive divine, I lack such divinity. I am not a fan of an eye for an eye, but we’ve all fantasized about our rapists getting pushed falling into rush hour traffic. So if everyone escapes this incident unscathed, then brava!

Secrets Revealed, the Return of Napier, and Renegade Staff (S 4 E 5)

Another week, another visit to Yorkshire, Downton. Heartbreak visits Mary once more along with a face from the past, Anna’s secret is unsheathed, and Downton paints a 1920s picture of the downfalls of today’s recession. But first, the Downton Debriefing…

Her ladyship Cora has been blessed with a new lady’s maid who bends over backwards to please and seems to be winning the hearts of everyone upstairs as well as below. Of course, this level of harmony is usually short-lived and damn near non-existent at the abbey, so we wait with baited breath for the other proverbial shoe to drop. Somehow I fear the moment of gravitational pull upon ill-fated footwear may have something to do with the Evil Butler, as Thomas has already set his sights on the fair maiden and is trying to mold her into the shadow of the once compliant O’Brien. Dear Alfred has set his sights on culinary school to become a chef, because working in the trenches of the kitchen no longer seems to suit him. Does it strike anyone else as odd that the redheads downstairs are always so damn ambitious? First Gwen, then Ethel, now Alfred…only Mrs. Patmore is happy in her rut and continues to shun all technology from sewing machines to refrigerators. But alas, in spite of the entire house pulling behind Alfred, even Daisy while nursing her broken heart, his dreams were not yet meant to be, and he is rejected by the school. We only hoped he would not turn to satisfying the wanton needs of unsavory characters in the alleyways of London and luckily, his place was saved as footman of Downton.

Cousin Isobel continues her crusade to save the less fortunate and finagles a poor young man into a gardening position beneath the claws of the Dowager Countess, but when cousin Violet notices a missing letter opener and immediately suspects the newcomer of the crime. We lie in wait for a conviction of sorts as the old woman lacks evidence, but completely busted up laughing at the multitude of plucky and sarcastic chuckles that popped from the countess as she strode down the way with Isobel. Lord Grantham manages to maintain one foot securely in his old ways, loaning money to a late farmer’s heir to continue the family’s ownership of a generationally managed farmland, proving he still has a great heart for the villagers and a poor head for business. Michael Gregson is MIA which causes some worry for Edith. See what happens? Ya gave him a piece of the pie before he put a ring on it, now he’s taken his sample and hit the road to find the next open bakery and you’re off to the doctor. Damn Edith, damn. Tom is beginning to return to his roots as a radical socialist and questioning his placement within the abbey and the Crawley family, and oddly Cora is not arguing the motions as much as we expected, given that Sybbie was to be the warm reminder of the baby Crawley sister, the late Sybil. Now on to the juicy bits…

In the middle of Alfred’s journey to culinary school, Carson was faced with the task of finding a replacement footman. In spite of Mrs. Hughes’ telling suspicions, Carson was confident that poor old Molesley would be ecstatic to fill the position. We slighted the uppity Mr. Molesley a few blogs ago for adopting a high and mighty stance against having to temporarily act as footman when Jimmy injured himself. However, when Mr. Molesley was similarly apprehensive towards taking the “permanent” job as a footman after having been an established valet and a trained butler, we felt somewhat more sympathetic towards him. Today, the US has sunk into a deep recession which at times teetered on the cusp of a depression when unemployment rates hit an all-time low a few years back. Many experienced, trained, educated workers were without jobs and without means of supporting their families. While some reached out to grasp any income at all, some sneered at the possibility of having to work minimum wage jobs when their educations and experience had afforded them higher positions in the not too distant past. The recession peaked as I was exiting graduate school and I was utterly fearful of the very real chance that I would be returning to retail in order to pay back my student loans. I was almost indignant at having to lower myself to such a subjacent job. My mother and I even recently discussed the generalized reluctance of taking lower paying jobs with higher skills over having no income at all and living on unemployment and welfare. This was clearly demonstrated with the road-repairing delivery boy Molesley had to “think about” Carson’s offer, before returning the next day and begrudgingly accepting. Sadly, Alfred had not gotten the position and Molesley’s air of superiority robbed him of a job. We pity him, but not his swollen ego.

It was not unexpected that after Mary had rejected Lord Gillingham’s proposal we would be hearing of an official announcement of his engagement to some other faceless twit, but poor Mary’s devastation over the news wrenched our hearts yet again. Though she steered the hand of her own fate while continuing to grieve Matthew, Mary was not totally absolved of her affection for Gillingham. Again Michelle brought a vulnerability to Mary we’ve always loved in her as she blinked and blotted away tears composing a congratulatory letter for him. Completely empathic, we just wanted to throw our arms around dear Mary and cry “It’s okay we still love you! Do not shed another tear and forget all about John- er I mean Matthew, yes Matthew.” But hope is rekindled as the amazingly handsome but self-proclaimed bore-monger Evelyn Napier returns to the abbey, still seeming to carry a torch for Mary after all this time, not even the least bit swayed by her black widow status which she embraced on his first visit to the grounds. But, ever the fool, whenever he seems in pursuit of Mary, he comes packaged with competition, previously a sexy diplomat, now his employer, and we await the circus that will ensue when Blake arrives. I don’t want to give away too many hints, but I see venom and pig shit in his and Mary’s future.

The last heartwarming event of the evening of course goes to the continuing trial of Anna’s rape and Bates’ unfaltering quest to gain knowledge of the incident. After finally blackmailing Mrs. Hughes into surrendering the sordid tale, Bates approaches Anna and melts our heart with the most endearing speech to his wife any rape survivor could hope for and what some only dream of: “you are not spoiled, you’re made higher to me and holier because of the suffering you have been put through”. Our hearts clenched and a lump formed in our throats as he declared his undying love, and the tears flowed. How desperately we all want to feel unspoiled. The warm fuzzy moment passes quickly though, as Bates later issues a clear warning that he will hunt down the culprit and his tone left no question of his seething anger and the fear of what he is truly capable of. Of course, deep down inside, we’re kind of rooting for him.

Loverly Lords, Interracial Trysts, and the Rape Goes On...S 4 E 4

Returning to Downton once more, we find polar opposites of emotion within the walls of the abbey. Anna finds herself in the aftermath of a destructive storm following a brutal sexual assault from the previous episode. Mary on the other hand is finding that her own fire has not gone out, but has slept beneath the cinders, and Lord Gillingham is fanning the embers slowly but surely. But again, as is typical of our favorite period drama, the stories of the 20+ characters continue on. I think we’ll call this portion the Downton Debriefing from here on out.

Mary is not the only one gradually re-emerging with the living as cousin Isobel returns to the ranks of Dr. Clarkson in the medical field, though we almost hope to see Clarkson getting drunk and making another clumsy attempt to wed her and bed her. Surprisingly, it would also it would appear as though she and the Dowager Countess have finally made full amends, the two clucking hens ruling the roost, an earned respect for keeping count with cousin Violet’s slings and arrows we’ve come to adore. The love square downstairs intensifies as Jimmy continues to facetiously pursue Ivy to get Alfred’s goat and dear Daisy couldn’t grab Alfred’s attention if she ran about naked with her bonnet on fire. But we wouldn’t slight Mr. Fellowes to write that scene anyways, just for kicks. And if these trials and tribulations weren’t enough for poor Daisy and her singed hair, Alfred may pursue a career as a chef far, far away.

Tom, Mary, and Rose trek off to London, Tom and Mary in pursuit of business, Rose in pursuit of having an innocent fun filled evening…right? Although her last trip to Aunt Rosamund’s found her in a night club with a married older man, and the last dance she attended ended in a brawl, there was no reason to doubt that this trip would go perfectly well. Of course, surprisingly it wasn’t her fault when it didn’t go as planned, due to her white date getting completely inebriated, making a spectacle of himself, then dashing off the dance floor to reminisce with whatever ill-fated meal his stomach had just become acquainted with. The awkward moment came when the doe-eyed (and suggestively effeminate) black Jazz singer descended the stairs of the stage and swept her up in his arms. Thankfully Tom was close at hand to rescue her from what could have undoubtedly become…nothing as he broke up their interracial jig and escorted her off the floor. Never mind that no one rose to their feet to help Rose when she was being swung around by Johnny Lush and nearly suffered whiplash; rather they all uncomfortably averted their eyes, but the gentle black dude, who was probably a Thomas anyways (yeah, I’m now referring to the gays as Thomases), oh no! Save her Branson, save her now! Oh and Lady Edith finally threw caution to the wind and was deflowered…she is poor Edith no longer! But I fear this tryst will not be without consequence (okay I know it will not be without consequence, damn you spoilers!).

Lady Mary, as previously mentioned, is resurfacing, but anchored by Matthew’s memory. Though Lord Gillingham makes a convenient surprise of himself at every turn in what becomes an almost stalkerish chase of Lady Mary as he departs from Downton, pops up at Rosamund’s, then trails Mary back to the abbey in hopes of a successful proposal. However in spite of Mary’s small bursts of smiles and warmth in his presence, she rejects his efforts, citing the loyalty of her aching heart to Matthew. She still smooches the dude, but refrains from getting wild and wicked with him, probably fearing the deadly wrath of her ladyship which has already claimed two victims and after several months is no doubt in need of a third. Aren’t we all…(not gonna lie, I'd totally take the risk).

The story again turns sporadically dark as we revisit Anna’s suffering from Mr. Green’s attack. Still a bit tousled and wounded, she busies herself in her work as a distraction from her trauma, and shies away from everyone, including Mr. Bates. She recoils even as he innocently places a hand on her shoulder, a feeling we all know too well, one I still struggle with at times as I navigate physical contact with others. She follows the text book write ups of self-blame and self-loathing for a tragedy one knows in their mind they couldn’t have possibly been responsible for, but can’t seem to convince their soul of the same.

When I wrote on this issue during the last review, I received a few responses in reblogs: one, a complaint of ratings yet again, which I must confess I had to yield to a bit in recognizing that this art cannot be created without some ratings to drive another season. This is, after all show business, and without the business, there is no show. There must be drama to create a drama series, and the accusation of using difficult issues as a ploy for ratings can be attached to any event in this show as much as the next. The other feedback I received was disappointment that Anna was not made into a suffragette of sorts, paving the way for rape victims to don their Wonder Woman capes and seek justice. Instead, she was made a victim, the victim most women are before they can regain their strength and overcome. She was made human and real. She blamed herself; she called herself dirty and soiled. Is this the way a victim of rape should feel? No. Do we feel it just the same? Unfortunately, we do. Did Julian do rape victims a disservice by showing the true and raw emotion of an assaulted woman just a day or two after her rape? Hell no. Again, this is the reality, a reality that rings true nearly a century later, and in that day and age, there was little a woman in her position could do. We have all fallen to our knees in irrationality before rising above it, why should the expectation of Anna be so great?

Likewise, I couldn’t help but notice the double standard of a rape at Downton that snuck under the radar, and that was the seduction of Tom by Edna. Dear dear Edna, whom we had been warned about last season and already suspected she would be just as deceiving this time around, did not disappoint when she fed drink after drink to Tom at a dinner party, then slipped into his room and apparently stumbled into his bed. She of course wasted no time trying to barter an agreement to marriage out of Tom, and following sound advice from Mary, Tom ran back to the true mother hen, Mrs. Hughes, for help. Can I just say, if I haven’t said it enough, I freakin’ love Mrs. Hughes. She immediately pounces on the hussy like a mama bear protecting her cub and runs Edna off the grounds once more. But before her departure, Edna maintains that Tom seduced her, which Mrs. Hughes quickly set straight in clarifying she intoxicated him and pursued him. But let’s be real here, if John Bullock had purposely gotten Rose drunk and jumped into her bed, we’d have another Anna outrage on our hands. That is just as much rape as wrestling a woman to the floor and beating her into submission. So where were you, dear viewers, when poor Tom was being taken advantage of? Though it may seem silly to some, rape happens to all genders, and I’m not a fan of the double standard.