Director: Simon Curtis
Writers: Julian Fellowes
Stars: Michelle Dockery, Joanne Froggatt, Elizabeth McGovern
Synopsis: In the summer of 1930, the Crawleys grapple with the threat of social disgrace when Mary finds herself at the centre of a public scandal and the family faces financial trouble as they embrace change.
To say that the Downton Abbey films are like Avengers movies for anyone who has spent a Sunday night watching PBS’ Masterpiece Theater with their mom is the understatement to shame them all. To go even further by saying that all three feature-length Crawley Chronicles© contain more charm in their tea-appropriate extended pinky fingers than most massive blockbusters do in their entire productions isn’t really going that far at all. The conclusion of 15 years-worth of worldbuilding will lead to such justifiable if lofty claims; this melodramatic escapade that began with six magnificent seasons of television has “finally” reached its endgame with Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale, and the term “finally” is only being used because it’s astonishing how long these characters and their makers have hung around.
With two features to its name and another now welcoming guests with open arms, there’s no relief in Downton Abbey shutting its doors and shuddering its stained-glass windows. Anyone in their right mind would be happy with more offerings, like a hungry guest at a party stocked to the brim with biscuits and jam yet only serving a miniscule amount per attendee. (As if the hosts don’t have a servant’s quarters overflowing with dedicated housekeepers and cooks capable of stuffing all of England twice over.) There’s an element of hypocrisy to the pain experienced here when the same mouthpiece has criticized the relentless nature of the Fast & Furious franchise and certainly the assembly line nature of the MCU, but hell, the Crawleys and co. have yet to travel to space. Better yet, they’ve never seen a man land on the moon. And, as a matter of fact, they don’t even have a television set.
Perhaps too much of a good thing can never actually be all that good of a thing, an aspect of good filmmaking that series creator Julian Fellowes – who wrote all three of the Downton films in addition to all 52 of the show’s episodes – and director Simon Curtis understand more than any of Downton’s clamoring fans, most of whom would give up an honor equivalent to knighthood in exchange for the chance to hang around in this world for just a little longer. It’s fitting, then, that The Grand Finale cares far more for its characters and the time spent with them than anything too closely resembling plot mechanics, a feat unto itself given how much this franchise tends to pack into its runtimes, whether an hour and change in length or a shade over two for theatricality’s sake.
So jam packed with talented Brits (and a few Americans willing to don questionable accents or shed them altogether because they’re literally Paul Giamatti) that the opening credits refuse to leave a single member of its Avengers-like cast on the cutting room floor of its extended opening credits crawl, Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale is a bit more like Doomsday in name than in contents. One can assume the still-unfinished Marvel “that’s supposed to be nuts!” lacks a lovable butler (which is enough to reject it outright) but there’s probably some malfeasance occurring in the latter, and a dash of scandal is certainly present in the former from the onset, albeit subtly. As quickly as one character can say the words “And now, back to Downton!” at the conclusion of a theater performance enjoyed by all of the manor’s occupants — help included, because they are oh so loved — another, arguably the series’ main in Mary Crawley (Michele Dockery) is mired in disgrace following her surprise divorce from Henry Talbot (Matthew Goode; in this world, “divorce” and “death” are just other ways to say “scheduling conflicts.”) As is only fair for a divorcee, Mary is swiftly exiled from a ball being hosted by Lady Petersfield (Joely Richardson), one where the royal family is soon expected, and the rest of the Crawleys follow her home.
Once there, Cora (Elizabeth McGovern) is met by her brother, Harold Levinson (Giamatti) and his finance guru, Gus Sambrook (Alessandro Nivola), who is hot, and so is Mary, so they get it on. All the while, Harold reveals that he burnt his and Cora’s late mother’s fortune on poor investments that Gus definitely had something to do with and proposes selling the Grantham House (this place has a lot of nicknames) to repay their newfound debts. Before a single dinner bell rings, Mary, her father Robert (Hugh Bonneville), the house’s staff (including longtime series stalwarts Jim Carter, Phyllis Logan, Joanna Froggatt, Brendan Coyle, and many, many more) are ensconced in complications so regal that they surely — surely — shan’t all be resolved by movie’s end.
Forgive the sarcasm, but it’s this same sort of grandiosity that has fueled Downton since 2011, and it certainly isn’t going to stop in what appears, by all accounts, to be the cast and crew’s last hurrah. Unless, of course, they inevitably gross another few hundred million dollars at the box office and decide that a flash-forward to the family’s handling of Princess Diana’s tragic demise is worthy of their efforts. (I would personally kill to watch Lady Mary and Laura Carmichael’s Edith go to bat for Meghan Markle while donning old lady makeup and making Piers Morgan squirm at his newscasting desk as two progressive women set his political sentiments ablaze.) It wouldn’t be the first time the keepers of Downton intersected with the royals; nor would it be the first time the family produced a theatrical hit. 2019’s Downton Abbey grossed nearly $200 million worldwide — more than the second Lego and Angry Birds films, just a hair less than Rocketman — while the second film, A New Era, took home $92 million and change as COVID-19 continued to ravage theaters everywhere. Halloween Ends barely outgrossed that total, for crying out loud.
Whether the third time at the box office is as charming as the first two remains to be seen, but in terms of the film itself, there’s little question: The Downton Abbey machine churns primarily due to the force of its charm, with its plottiness acting as an ancillary figure that functions less as a pivotal point of understanding for an audience and more as a means for the film’s existence being justifiable. A third Downton movie is certainly not a necessity, but how else would longtime fans know how Mr. Carson (Carter) feels about his looming retirement, or how the lovely Mrs. Patmore (Lesley Nicol, receiving her flowers in the form of operatic bouquets befit for a send-off worthy of the series’ most underrated character) plan to set her protege, Daisy (Sophie McShera), up for success as she steps into the head chef role, or how the former footman’s career as a screenwriter is panning out? (Quite well, in fact.) After all, the love that this franchise’s uber-specific (and sizable) audience has maintained for its characters over the years is precisely what has warranted its subsistence.
If Downton is indeed dying, there will never be a world in which it is fully dead, merely one where it is cherished for its simple pleasures, regardless of the many deaths, divorces, and dramatics that occurred within its hallowed halls over the course of a decade and a half. Its pomp and circumstance has always been synonymous with silliness, just the way everyone who loves Downton has always liked it; that it concludes on that sort of note is only right. And so, as the Crawleys make their final exit, fading from view into the not-so-uncertain future, fans will likely cry because it’s over, yet their because-it-happened smiles will stretch wider than ever, a lingering reminder that they’ll never really be all that far from home. Not really.
