TV Review: The Apotheosis of "The Gilded Age"
After a somewhat frivolous first season, Julian Fellowes' HBO drama returns for a surer, more satisfying sophomore outing.
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Warning: Full spoilers for the second season of The Gilded Age contained herein.
It probably comes as no surprise that I’ve been a fan of The Gilded Age since the very first episode. Say what you will about Julian Fellowes–best-known, of course, as the creator of the sumptuous period melodrama Downton Abbey–but the man knows how to make a costume drama. The Gilded Age, like Downton, seems at first glance to be frivolous, focusing as it does on the wealthy and their subordinates, and the first season in particular could seem like lots of navel-gazing by very talented actors dressed in very fancy clothes. It was more than that, obviously, but it was easy to see why some might have that impression.
With the second season, however, Fellowes has really outdone himself. The stakes are higher than in the first season, the costumes are even more elaborate, and the engagement with historical forces is more textured (if still inflected by Fellowes’ undeniably melodramatic stylings). All of the pieces fall into place with a glorious sort of moral simplicity. The scrappy strivers–whether Carrie Coon’s Bertha Russell or Ben Ahler’s enterprising footman with his alarm clock–get their victories, while the stodgy and old fashioned, including Agnes van Rhijn and Mrs. Astor herself, are suitably humbled. Even Nathan Lane’s indefatigable and chameleonic Ward McAllister seems stunned by the events, while Ashlie Atkinson’s Mrs. Fish gleefully abandons the Academy to go to the Met (when are we getting that Mrs. Fish spinoff, anyway?)
One of the things that I’ve always appreciated about Fellowes’ fictions is their ability to convey to us the tumult and ferment of social change in the form of juicy domestic melodrama and soap opera theatrics. Thus, while it might seem as if the opera war being waged by Bertha and Mrs. Astor is the very definition of upper-class frivolity, it is symbolic of a larger struggle, one in which the old classes are slowly giving way to the new order of merchants and titans of industry and business. Oddly enough, given the extent to which Downton was very much a conservative show, The Gilded Age, at least within its own narrow confines, seems more forward-looking. After all, who amongst us hasn’t found ourselves cheering Bertha? Of course, this might have more to do with the fact that she is played by the divine Carrie Coon, who can truly do no wrong and who makes Bertha into a remarkable creature of contradictions, someone who dearly loves her husband and children but who is willing to sacrifice their happiness on the altar of what she believes to be best (it remains to be seen just how George and Gladys will take the news that she has been bargained away to an English duke).
George’s arc is likewise more sophisticated than it was in the first season. He might be someone who has made his money by the exploitation of others’ labor, but he’s not an amoral monster (unlike some of his associates, who truly embody the stereotype of the coldblooded capitalist). Surprisingly, he finds himself more than a little convinced by the advocacy of the union leader Mr. Henderson, even making concessions to the strikers. Though he claims to do so as a means of ultimately gaining a victory over them, I’m not quite sure I believe him and, in any case, he has set in motion a set of historical forces that he won’t be quite able to contain. Credit goes to Morgan Spector, though, for giving us a greedy industrialist that we can lust over.
A similar dynamic of new money besting old also plays out in the various van Rhijn storylines. From the beginning Christine Baranski has made a meal out of playing Agnes: her incandescent fury at Oscar’s disastrous business venture that closed the penultimate season should, if there is any justice in the universe, gain her an Emmy nom. Likewise, she has made it clear that she sees the Russell’s as interlopers and posseurs, and she has done everything she can to instill her values in Marian (who, it must be said, doesn’t take to them at all). There’s this more than a little poetic justice in the fact that Ada at last emerges as the financial powerhouse of the family, due to her deceased husband’s family fortune which stems, not from old money, but instead from textiles. In other words, it is now commerce, that dirtiest of things in Agnes’ eyes, which will not keep the family from penury. For the rest of my life I will never forget the look of transcendent joy in Ada’s face as she realizes that, for the first time in her life, she has power. Cynthia Nixon has been knocking it out of the park this season, and her tragic romance with Luke (Robert Sean Leonard) was another remarkably resonant interlude (even if, like so many other people, I knew he was doomed the moment he said he had back pain. Once again Fellowes’ indebtedness to melodrama was made manifest).
For me, though, the most impactful and resonant storylines are, unsurprisingly, those involving the staff. Who didn’t feel absolute joy, for example, when twinky little Jack finally managed to perfect his alarm clock and then, with the aid and assistance of both his fellow servants and the ever-altruistic Marian, managed to get a patent for it? Who doesn’t love the homey wisdom of Mrs. Bauer, or the Old World nobility of Bannister, who shows himself a man of true magnanimity and grace?
As was the case with the first season, Peggy’s arc is the one with the most dramatic and emotional stakes. Whether it’s discovering that her child has died or her travels to the Jim Crow South–where she comes face-to-face with the brutal violence that is a part of everyday life for African Americans there–she gets some of the best writing. You can almost feel her pain as she realizes that her son has died and that she will never get to see him again, just as you can also feel (and sympathize with) her rage at her father. Denée Benton gives a truly remarkable performance, matched only by Audra McDonald as her mother, whose wrath at her husband for his abandonment of their grandchild is almost as incandescent as her daughter’s.
Not everything works, of course. For the life of me I can’t understand why they would have Peggy and Mr. Fortune decide to kiss after having narrowly escaped a lynch mob. Nor was I thrilled about the sidelining of Oscar’s gay plot. Other than a few meaningful exchanges with Claybourne Elder’s John Adams and a rather understated scene with Oscar Wilde, queerness seems to have been relegated to the background. However, given Fellowes’ very clumsy addressing of social issues in his dramas, this might not be such a bad thing.
Overall, however, The Gilded Age has now become a series that is much surer on its feet and somehow it hits all of the (very predictable) beats that one expects while managing to keep you on the edge of your seat. I’m sure we all knew on some level that Bertha was going to succeed in her efforts to outshine Mrs. Astor and the Academy of Music, just as well knew that Marian and Larry would finally share a long-awaited kiss (and I have to say that Louisa Jacobson has also been doing a much better and stronger job this season than last). However, we couldn’t be quite sure until the actual moments arrived, and when they did we found ourselves swept away by the upsurge of feeling that is such a key part of historical costume melodrama.
There is undoubtedly a lot of heartache in store for the characters of The Gilded Age, but Julian Fellowes has shown once again that he knows how to deliver. I know that I will be watching!