Is Julian Fellowes's period super-soap finally a match for the mighty Downton?

Telegraph

6 hours ago

Julian Fellowes has always been a magnificent writer of millinery. Remember in Downton Abbey when Lady Mary memorably said, 'I'm just going upstairs to take off my hat'? The Crawley family saga chronicled the decades via changing hat fashions, from oversized Edwardian numbers through to flapper-style cloches. Fellowes' follow-up creation, The Gilded Age (Sky Atlantic), continues the headgear theme. As you might expect from the Americans, theirs are bigger, bolder and brasher. Some of the towering titfers on display – laden with feathers and flowers, silk bows and sculpted lace – must weigh a tonne. It's a wonder there weren't more neck injuries in late 19th-century New York.
Fittingly, then, it's hats off to the third series of the HBO-made period piece. The latest run is the best yet, fairly fizzing with gossip and intrigue. It starts slowly but gathers pace beautifully, complete with some gasp-inducing cliffhangers. Fellowes and co construct a sort of Edith Wharton-esque super-soap – not least by learning some lessons from Downton and playing to his strengths.
Mid-series, he even brings the action back to familiar turf, with sequences set at the ancestral seat of the Duke of Buckingham (Ben Lamb). By viewing us Britons through a US lens, Fellowes has great fun sneaking in gags about our crumbling houses, fixation with the monarchy and fondness for alcohol.
We're getting ahead of ourselves, though. First things first. As we return to the Upper East Side elite, New York's old guard is weakened and the ever-ambitious Russells stand poised to take their place at the head of society. Industrialist George (Morgan Spector) risks everything by building a cross-country railroad, while his wife Bertha (Carrie Coon) bids to elevate the family to new blue-blooded heights.
Across 61st Street, the Brook household is thrown into chaos as imperious matriarch Agnes (Christine Baranski) stubbornly refuses to accept her do-gooder sister Ada (Cynthia Nixon) as the newly wealthy lady of the house. Doleful, dissolute Oscar (Blake Ritson) starts off penniless but soon charts a surprising path to happiness. A sweet subplot sees plucky footman Jack (Ben Ahlers) patent his alarm clock invention, further blurring the lines between new money and old.
The flaws of Fellowes's writing remain, although they're far less glaringly obvious this season. As he interweaves multiple plot threads – upstairs, downstairs, in and out of ladies' chambers – his dialogue can be inelegant, clunking with historical context and stilted plot exposition. Scenes of the men doing business are a bore compared to the women's barbed conversations in the parlour. The show is carried by its formidable female characters. Baranski and Nixon's arch double act is a delight, while Coon delivers a powerhouse performance as Bertha, ruthlessly scheming but suffering the personal cost.
It all looks as magnificent as ever, with lavish locations supplemented by seamless use of CGI. The difference this time around is that the dramatic stakes are raised. Divorce, death and danger come calling. Romance blossoms in several places, some of them unexpected. The lens widens from wealthy people's problems into a portrait of societal change. As Bertha triumphantly declares to the dethroned Mrs Astor (Donna Murphy): 'The future belongs to America.'
The eight-part series climaxes with – how else to put this? – a pair of balls. These sumptuous set pieces play host to reconciliations and reprisals, proposals and engagements. If there isn't a soppy smile on your face by the time the credits roll, I'll eat my hat. Although it might take a while.