Alright, I've revisited the premiere episode of "Downton Abbey" to decipher what "The Gilded Age" lacks, and the answer is simply: VITALITY. We find ourselves ensnared in a suffocating, uninspiring saga, whereas "Downton" bustles with energy, vibrancy, and radiance. "The Gilded Age" feels akin to thumping an ancient, dusty pillow in a desperate bid to revive it. That's not to diminish its merits entirely; for instance, this week's episode did offer a brief respite with a little jaunt! The elite flock to Newport for a change of scenery from their New York opulence, proving that variety, indeed, is the spice of life!
This sojourn revolves around romantic entanglements and who's courting whom, yet the sole couple radiating genuine spark is Bertha and George Russell, whose heated clinch in the conservatory lasts but a fleeting three seconds. If one is to depict socially constrained high-society characters, a steamy encounter against a wall is bound to pique interest at some point. Otherwise, we're left with intense, soul-penetrating gazes in drawing rooms, à la Mr. Darcy.
Gladys and Larry Russell are in Newport to appease their mother and propel Larry's nepotistic architectural aspirations. Marian joins them, paired off with a Morgan, and invites Oscar, still mourning the collapse of his hollow marriage to Gladys, thwarted by George. Bravo, George—four points to you. Though I can't shake the fear that Gladys might end up as a weeping Consuelo Vanderbilt at the altar. These Newport vacationers head to a tennis match and later to Ward McAllister's grand bash.
Meanwhile, Agnes and Ada stay put, hosting Robert Sean Leonard for tea. The romantic pairings in this series are so predictable that I yearn for the characters to rebel against their scripted fates. Ada has exchanged a grand total of one conversation with this gentleman, yet everyone assumes, "Ah, she's a woman, he's a man—perfect match!" Couldn't Robert Sean Leonard and Cynthia Nixon have been assigned more meaningful roles in this episode?
Peggy returns to 61st Street, her interactions with Agnes a delight because they behave like real people, not like drama teachers overacting in a community theater's production of "Lady Windermere's Fan." Agnes assures Peggy that Racist Armstrong (a moniker I've just coined, not optimistic about its future) must tone down her racism this time around. When Armstrong protests, Agnes retorts, "It seems you've mistaken this for a debate." Now, that was satisfying.
Armstrong, in a string of despicable incidents, exhibits overt racism and treats Peggy with utter contempt. Good heavens, Armstrong! Peggy, inexplicably magnanimous, finally confronts Armstrong, clarifying that while she harbors no grievance against her, "You clearly don't want one with me." Spot on, Peggy! Armstrong, what on earth possesses you? Do you somehow delude yourself into thinking you're immune to dismissal? There exists no maid's union to protect your deplorable behavior, and even if there were, your case would be indefensible! One can't help but anticipate a climactic confrontation between Armstrong and Peggy, where Armstrong will undoubtedly unravel some traumatic past event as justification for her racism, rather than acknowledging her own vile choices and lack of self-reflection. Damn you, Armstrong.
The show persists in pushing the unappealing pairing of Marian and her cousin Dashiell. Really? He saves her from further interaction with the intoxicated Morgan, to whom Meghan Trainor's "NO" hadn't yet served as a guide. They then proceed to dance at McAllister's lively bash. Meanwhile, Oscar encounters Maud Beaton, a Parisian exile with a paid companion, whom I sincerely hope is euphemism for "gay." Perhaps Maud and Oscar could embark on an unconventional gay marriage! One can't resist whimsically pondering, "Could Oscar and Angela be indulging in a homosexual liaison?"
I've refrained thus far from discussing the oddly star-studded yet musically arid Broadway ensemble. When Larry's potential new boss made an appearance in Newport, I exclaimed in disbelief, turning to my wife and asking, "Guess who else might have shown up?" She ventured Idina Menzel (incorrect, albeit plausible) before correctly guessing Laura Benanti. Laura Benanti, affectionately known only by me perhaps as "the Benans," was the very first topic my wife and I debated on Tinder. Here, she portrays a lonely widow eager to spice up her life with her new architect. And spice it up she does, with Larry being refreshingly (or perhaps alarmingly?) honest about their arrangement with his mother. When Bertha inquires about his motives, he justifies it by saying he'd rather not resort to prostitutes and can't sleep with the unmarried women he knows. Alright, Larry, I get it. If Laura Benanti were to ogle me with such obvious intentions, I'd probably hop on board too (in this hypothetical scenario, I too am a 20-something, unmarried, architect scion). Yet, it's evident that this path leads nowhere good.
Bertha continues her clandestine machinations concerning the new opera house. Ward McAllister urges her to meet the young bride of an aged millionaire, as they might be interested in acquiring a box at the Metropolitan Opera. This twist alone earns the episode four stars. Bertha and George attend Ward's party and encounter the newlyweds—among them, Bertha's former lady's maid who had hit on George last season. I despise this twist… yet, I am thoroughly engrossed by it.
