Score: 4.5 / 5
Fan service drips from the Downton Abbey films, and certainly here for its titular grand finale, from its opening dialogue to the necessary and expected helicopter shot that tracks away from a winding pastoral driveway to the view of that magical facade we've loved seeing for fifteen years now. And, at least in my nicely filled little auditorium, the audible cheers and sighs and laughter helped make the movie for me. It's like the obligatory introductory shot of Hogwarts in each movie, or the slow reveal of John Wayne in one of his flicks. Surrounded as I was by groups of white women several decades older than myself, I felt somehow transported through time and space, back to my high school years of turning on PBS to watch the new drama series that quickly became a favorite between me and my mother. That's the magical feeling that legacy sequels are supposed to provide -- but that's a nut to crack another time.
It's 1930, and the world is still reeling from the stock market crash, and questions resurface that have long plagued the Crawley family: how much longer can we sustainably stay in our home, with our comfortable lifestyle, and care for our tenant community? It's now about eighteen years after the start of the series (and fifteen years since we started watching it in 2010), and not everyone is still part of the group; Dame Maggie Smith is honored well in this entry, along with a beautiful dedication. But the film works best -- admittedly, perhaps only -- as this metafictional meditation on the cost and necessity of moving on from a place of security and comfort. This is our last look, and indeed, many members of the family have already left or are prepared to leave soon, so the bittersweet warmth of Downton's scenic views and richly detailed interior are never less than enthralling to behold.
The series has always been about this issue, which makes this final entry a consummate work of emotional art. The Crawleys have, endlessly, battled themselves and each other to accept change or resist it. Clearly Julian Fellowes hasn't wanted to (or been able to) let go either, as the trilogy of films has evidenced. And of course we, the viewing public, have been clamoring for more for some time now. But all good things must end, and they end better on our determined terms than by the cruel whims of fate. I applaud Fellowes and director Simon Curtis (My Week with Marilyn, Goodbye Christopher Robin, A New Era) on knowing when to stop and creating a calculatedly brilliant -- indeed, grand -- denouement to this saga.
The presence of some American characters, notably Paul Giamatti's brother of Cora (Elizabeth McGovern) and his rakish associate (a delicious Alessandro Nivola), make up the real guest stars here, much in the mode of the series. We're also blessed with Simon Russell Beale, Joely Richardson, and Arty Froushan in such intoxicatingly rich roles that I found myself wishing they had all joined earlier. This is ensemble casting as it was in the golden age of Hollywood, and Fellowes nails it (Gosford Park told us long ago where his sweet spot always lay). He knows his characters intimately, and so do we by now, giving them endlessly quotable lines that elicit emotional responses from the audience in every single scene.
For me, the greatest emotional payoff in this film -- virtually cashing in all of its emotionally taxed profits on our behalf at the same brutal, rapturous time -- lies with what might have been its biggest risk. Thomas Barrow was not a likable character in the series at all. Robert James Collier imbued a thankless dredge of a role with tortured insight and a richly dynamic energy that allowed the character to shift and breathe and stress for years in relative obscurity and only occasional redemption. But Fellowes and Collier, in the trilogy of films, have finally given Barrow a chance to really blossom before our eyes, and this film in particular provides the almost incredible final ascent of his character to nirvana, and I thought we'd never see it. That's all I'll say on that front. If you know, you know. Be blessed.
It's also fair to say, and I think this goes beyond my own bias, that Collier delivers some of the film's most humorous and joyful moments, along with his comrades Dominic West (still playing a role so well that I keep forgetting it's West) and Arty Froushan (as the unshakably charming Noel Coward). There's a scene I at first disliked, when Coward is asked to entertain the Crawleys and shown in full measure as he plays the piano and sings to them; it felt odd and lazy and overly shmaltzy from a writerly perspective until the camera began panning across the faces of his audience. In light of the impending end of all this, we're treated to watching people at a precipice fully engaged with and moved by the only art available to them in a given moment. Of course they can't whip out their phones to record his song, but there's something to Curtis choosing to force us to witness the power of pure spectatorship when we don't let distractions take us away from genuine human interaction. How we have to pay attention to the important things in life, and so few of them are on our phone screens. And none are on social media. It feels apt in a story about choosing what is ultimately best for us and moving on, especially given the past year of news about AI art and the arts being co-opted by rising autocrats.
I will note, as a middling criticism, that though Fellowes and Curtis in no way skimp on us, there were several other moments in this film I wanted to linger upon. It's not like their budget or studio would have begrudged them an extra minute or two on delicate matters. Nevertheless, it's invigorating to experience Fellowes's extraordinary gift for pacing in ensemble drama, and he is one of the most efficient screenwriters working today when he's in his groove. Like an Aaron Sorkin piece, his characters will pop in and out of a single brief scene and completely change the plot in a matter of minutes. And after the somewhat fanciful rabbit trail of A New Era, here things feel focused and tight, like Fellowes wound it up with a vigor intended for it to outlast us all.
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