My fury continues to simmer at this show's relentless insistence on taking itself all too seriously. Make up your mind—either commit to being profound and say something meaningful, or embrace your ridiculous nature and take bold, daring swings. Perhaps Marian has a malevolent twin lurking in the shadows! What if Gladys has been a master con artist all along, chuckling in the duke's face as her devious plans unfold? Imagine the long-awaited, groundbreaking musical episode we've all been craving, the one that could catapult this show to the pinnacle of television greatness—but instead, it's being squandered.
Having said that, this season has been amusing in its own right (compared to its predecessors). We all presumed the season would culminate in a wedding, but they pulled the rug right out from under us, using the grand finale for Gladys to stroll down the aisle—married in haste! Absolutely, it's shocking how swiftly they tied everything together, but Bertha is orchestrating it with her characteristic prowess. That woman could conquer any mountain. Plus, she has a Scrooge McDuck-esque vault filled with gold coins, enough to secure a church adorned with last-minute floral arrangements. Did you catch her pre-wedding CEO-like pep talk to the household staff, urging them to operate as OneHousehold and tear down their silos? Someone needs to put her in charge of Microsoft next; she'll soon be preaching the gospel of synergy in their daily operations.
Meanwhile, Gladys is throwing a wrench into the works by refusing to leave her room. Come on, Gladys, this family is a business! Did you miss the memo? As a result, she misses meeting Hector's sister Sarah. Picture me there, dutifully taking notes, when I suddenly exclaim, "Is that HATTIE MORAHAN?" And indeed it was. Hattie Morahan, Blake Ritson's (Oscar van Rhijn) partner and, more notably, the Elinor from the 2008 BBC adaptation of 'Sense and Sensibility,' penned by Andrew Davies. If it's set in the 19th century and produced by the BBC, who else would they hire? That adaptation is a gem, and we should all binge-watch it immediately. More Hattie Morahan, please!
But wait, who else graces the Russells' doorstep but Bertha's sister Monica (seriously, Monica?), portrayed by Merritt Wever! Yay! Bertha isn't thrilled about her presence, but Larry invited her, and now she's at dinner, resplendent in her hideous frock. Bertha offers Monica one of her dresses, but Monica stubbornly declines, insisting on wearing the dreadful gown. So, Bertha orchestrates a coffee cup with a broken handle, leading Monica to spill her brew all over her ruffles, ruining them. I was convinced George caught on, but later, he acts clueless, saying, "Wait, no, you DIDN'T." Really, George? You've been married for over two decades (we assume), and you witnessed Bertha best Mrs. Astor at opera. Wake up and smell the coffee—sabotage, anyone? By the way, the Bang Watch for the Russells remains at zero. Bertha is furious that George isn't fully on board with Operation: Marry The Duke.
That brings us to the wedding day, so let's take a step back and explore some of the other narrative threads we've woven. Enter Madame Dashkova, portrayed with mesmerizing charm by Andrea Martin (what a treat to be graced by such esteemed guest stars this week), whose Russian accent is a sensational audition for the role of the Dowager Empress in a live-action adaptation of the 1997 film, "Anastasia." She's absolutely nailing it, folks. Dashkova claims to channel messages from Luke to Ada, but just as things get intriguing, Agnes bursts in, dismissing the whole charade as mere hogwash and hocus-pocus. Ada, ever the emotional open book, underscores her loneliness, making me wonder: Can we please find her a more supportive circle? My heart truly goes out to her.
Larry, on the other hand, is at his pleading best, begging Bertha to convince Marian to fill in as a bridesmaid for someone who had to bow out last minute. Bertha, though reluctantly, agrees. I hope Larry cherishes this half-hearted consent before his mother forces him into a loveless marriage with some banker's daughter. Or she would have, had he not secured that clock money. Speaking of which, I'm vehemently opposed to the notion of Larry receiving any share from it. Larry merely assisted Jack with an invention that was entirely Jack's brainchild. They sell it to Mr. Weston for a whopping $600,000 (roughly equivalent to $20 million today, if my math serves me right; though the exact year remains a blur), and guess what? Jack pockets exactly half of that sum. Larry, what exactly was your contribution here? Oh, chatting up Mr. Weston? The very task you failed at before Jack stepped in to save the day? Good heavens. Eat the rich, indeed. It's criminal how Jack walks away with half, and even then, he refuses to quit his job, citing it as his first real home. Jack keeps his newfound wealth a secret, shared only with Larry and now Mrs. Bauer, who he's confided in.
We catch glimpses of Peggy, her family, and the Kirklands, though not nearly enough. Mrs. Kirkland, embodied by the formidable Phylicia Rashad, continues to be vile, yet oddly compelling. She muses about Peggy's newspaper article, lamenting that her own ambition was to be a dutiful wife and mother, seemingly oblivious to the fact that modern young women aspire to more. Peggy, unwavering, responds that she yearns to be a good wife and mother, but one who also wields the power to vote. Take that, Mrs. Kirkland! And Peggy, live your dreams unapologetically. Besides, none of the suitors you're meeting measure up to your worth. William Kirkland needs to stand up to his mother and, dare I say, serenade Peggy in a heartfelt duet. But alas, Audra wasn't even allowed to hum at the piano, so the odds of that happening are slim to none. Aurora pops up after Peggy's speech, expressing ignorance about Jim Crow laws and post-Reconstruction disenfranchisement, then just as quickly drifts away. Nice seeing you, Aurora! But worry not, Dorothy's got your back too, despite never having laid eyes on you before.
When Peggy and Dorothy converse with the Kirklands, Mrs. Kirkland manages to insult Arthur once more, even in his absence. Dorothy comes to his defense, and Mr. Kirkland offers a half-hearted rebuttal. "The audacity of that woman," Dorothy fumes after they leave, William included. Where's his backbone? Peggy's screen time this week was limited due to the wedding shenanigans, but make no mistake, there better be more of her next episode.
Elsewhere, JP Morgan pays George a visit, regaling him with a tirade straight out of a "It's a Wonderful Life" scenario. Channeling Mr. Potter with eerie precision, he informs George (gasp, the very name!) that his backing for the grand transportation venture has dried up and that George stands to lose every penny he has. To punctuate his villainy, he even twirls his mustache with relish. Pure, unadulterated villain energy. My admiration for JP Morgan in this series knows no bounds; I can't quite articulate why, but I'm utterly captivated by his portrayal. What if George's financial world comes crashing down, and Bertha ties the knot with Jack the Clock Twink (a moniker of Twitter's ingenious devising, not mine)?
More drama unfolds as Mrs. Astor's family faces the specter of scandal. Her daughter Charlotte's near-duel over her honor has made headlines, spelling social ruin. Mrs. Astor steadfastly refuses to bring her to the wedding and gives anyone who dares to inquire about Charlotte, including a clueless Bertha who's been out of the loop on duel drama, the cold shoulder.
As for the wedding itself, Taissa Farmiga is criminally underutilized in this series. Notice how I scarcely ever mention Gladys? That's because her screen time primarily consists of sitting in a room, looking terrified, or exiting said room, still looking terrified. At least in "The Nun 2," she had a tangible reason to be frightened – a demon nun hot on her trail! A demon nun she thought she'd vanquished for eternity, but Hollywood's bottom line had other plans. I yearn for her character to have more depth than mere sitting and trembling. "But, Alice," you protest, "she fled a few episodes back." Indeed, straight to BILLY'S HOUSE. Remember "It Happened One Night"? Her father confines her to a yacht, and she swims ashore, boarding a Greyhound bus! That timeless classic premiered over ninety years ago. Haven't we learned anything about the ingenuity of fictional Wall Street heiresses?
George informs Gladys that backing out now would come with severe consequences, and reluctantly, she proceeds with the wedding. As she walks down the aisle, tears streaming down her face, I can't help but feel unmoved. I yearned for a twist, a moment where she'd summon the courage to say "no" and bolt. Alas, the priest uttered the traditional "speak now or forever hold your peace," and silence ensued. Bertha beams with joy. Before we know it, Gladys finds herself aboard a ship, bound for England with Hector, who breezily inquires if she's familiar with the intricacies of sex. "Great," he says, "because we're about to embark on that journey, and it might get awkward." I admire the openness with which they address awkwardness and seek to navigate it transparently. Is Hector inherently evil, despite his burgeoning likability? Will Gladys's sojourn to England prove disastrous? Or might it surprise us all? Time will tell.
