Let me be perfectly candid: I've completely lost track of everyone's names. The sheer multitude of characters in this series, coupled with the extensive gap since season one, has left me utterly nameless. I was positive Marian was "Miriam," confident to a fault.
Catching up with everyone is next to impossible, primarily because this show's cast size is overambitious, rendering it challenging to forge an emotional bond with any single storyline. However, allow me to quickly summarize: Christine Baranski and Cynthia Nixon portray Agnes van Rhijn and Ada Brook, respectively, living their mundane routines. Marian (definitely not Miriam) leads a clandestine life, albeit solely on Thursdays. Bertha Russell strives to infiltrate high society by securing a box at the prestigious Academy of Music, New York City's acclaimed opera house. Her spouse, George, continues to amass wealth and has recently taken a fancy to union busting. The woman George was seemingly poised to romance is nowhere to be seen, but her absence doesn't rule out her presence. Agnes's son, Oscar, remains gay and yearns to wed Bertha and George's daughter, Gladys. Tom Raikes has vanished, and I sincerely hope he never resurfaces, for he was as dull as dishwater.
Peggy and her family merit a paragraph all to themselves, for I wish this show revolved solely around them. At the season one climax, we discovered Peggy's son was very much alive, contrary to what she had been led to believe, and was residing with an adoptive family. Her father, Arthur, deceived her to keep this secret, causing her mother, Dorothy, to be livid. Understandably so! Secretly, I harbored a hope that the showrunners of 'The Gilded Age' would read my season recaps and promptly arrange a duet for Denée Benton and Audra McDonald, because otherwise, what's the point of assembling such a Broadway dream team if not to stage a musical extravaganza? For the musical moments you do feature, you bring in outsiders? Why, oh why?
As a refresher, even in this single episode, you have an array of seven Tony Award winners and three nominees, at least one of whom (Denée Benton, I'm sorry, Bette Midler's 'Hello, Dolly!') was undeniably deserving. No one takes this show seriously. Grant us a musical episode already!
And here we find ourselves, venturing into the second season. It's Easter Sunday, a day seemingly devised solely to showcase the splendid hats adorning everyone's heads. I, for one, am not complaining. Imagine Carrie Coon in her chic hat, Taissa Farmiga donning hers with equal elegance! Even some of the gentlemen have embraced the hat trend, I suppose. Then there's Gladys, a vision in blue, toting a matching azure parasol high above her, as if she's part of the ladies' chorus from "The Pirates of Penzance." I adore it all.
These vibrant Easter ensembles stand in stark contrast to the mourning attire donned by Peggy and her parents as they journey to Philadelphia. Why, you ask? Because the son whom Peggy had excitedly discovered was not deceased, has now passed away. Yes, Peggy's cherished 3-year-old has succumbed to scarlet fever, and they are now attending his funeral. It's a heavy burden to bear at the season's onset, but it does provide some of the show's finest actors, Audra McDonald and Denée Benton among them, with poignant emotions to portray on screen.
Peggy's mother remains incandescent with rage towards her husband, who now deeply regrets secretly stealing their granddaughter's child, giving him up for adoption, and informing her that the baby had perished. Wow, indeed. One might be tempted to rationalize it by saying, "It was 1883, so such things happened," but people were well aware of the wrongness of stealing babies and lying about it back then. This episode primarily revolves around them, aside from Peggy inquiring if she can return to be with Agnes and Ada. Now, let's delve into what the others are up to.
Bertha has somewhat gained Mrs. Astor's favor, albeit in a manner akin to how Cady ingratiated herself with Regina George, albeit minus Cady's overt eagerness. This means that Bertha doesn't possess a box at the opera, but Mrs. Astor will acknowledge her in church and attend her gatherings. Her soirees are the epitome of elegance, where Mrs. Astor sports absolutely stunning dresses. Please forgive me; I am no fashion historian. I pen this recap adorned in a cozy, large purple sweatshirt emblazoned with "Schrute Farms Bed and Breakfast." The Astor ladies don electric blue and pink gowns, so delightful and enchanting that I can barely do them justice with my meager fashion vocabulary. It's akin to Elle asking Warner what kind of shoes she's wearing, to which he replies, "Black ones." That's me in a nutshell. My apologies.
Mrs. Astor is apprehensive, however, as the Metropolitan Opera looms on the horizon, complete with boxes for all the wealthy individuals she snubs. It also features Marcella Sembrich and Christina Nilsson. Opera is the Olympics of singing. If Spotify didn't exist in 1883 and you yearned to hear someone display exceptional talent while mingling in and out of your friends' boxes, then the opera was the place to be. (Moreover, opera is magnificent, and more people should attend. But I digress.) Bertha, of course, will lend her support to the Met, for she is none other than Alva Belmont.
Apparently, Marian's romantic life is taking a new turn, introducing us to Dashiell, the late husband's nephew of Agnes and a young widower with a 14-year-old daughter. While I couldn't care less about Marian's love affairs, here we find ourselves acquainted with this new character, whom the show insists on emphasizing is related to Marian only by marriage—a union that, while legally permissible yet socially odd, seems to be pushing the boundaries of conventionality. Marian leads a secret life on Thursdays, teaching watercolor classes at St. Mary's, an all-girls school, much to Agnes's disdain and Marian's subsequent tantrum.
Moreover, the season welcomes Robert Sean Leonard as the new minister, making this whole experience feel surreal. I sincerely hope he gets entangled in some juicy scandal, as the show desperately needs more actors who can convincingly portray roles in period dramas, particularly male actors.
As for Oscar, he faces a harrowing experience after being beaten up and robbed for hitting on a man at a bar. This tragic turn of events leads him to propose to Gladys, who seems all too eager to accept. I have no objections to their pairing, aside from her living a lie, which was bound to happen given her wealth and the era they inhabit. The alternative might have been an E.M. Forster-inspired plot where Oscar flees to Italy to lead an uninhibited gay life, but alas, marriage equality is still not legal in Italy.
At Bertha's dinner gathering for opera enthusiasts, she astounds me, the viewer, by leading her guests into the foyer adorned with floral arches, garlands, and the renowned singer Christina Nilsson. The actress portraying Christina Nilsson is adequate, belting out "The Jewel Song" from Gounod's Faust. Now, you might be thinking, "What's this? The Jewel Song in Italian? But Faust is a French opera!" Indeed, it is peculiar. However, opera was a lot more flexible back then, and the Met premiere of Faust was oddly in an Italian version. The 19th-century did things its own way, and who are we to question it?
