I can’t….the words…there are no…my grief is….
How can the show go on? Omg, how can LIFE go on? I don’t understand….there’s no…the smashed, shattered remains of my heart lie broken before my television screen….
Shall I care about the rest of the episode? Am I able to live through the trauma that was this finale of Season 3?
It all started out so grandly. The family all treks up to Scotland to visit and so we can all see some nice castle shots. Up in Scotland is Cousin Rose (the young wild thing of last episode) who’s bored to tears and warring with her parents. Cora and Lord Grantham are sympathetic to…the rebellious kid. Why? Probably because Julian Fellowes decided he needed a bright young thing to join the cast now that both Sybil and…
I can’t type it.
Edith and her editor meet up in Scotland and everyone is all, “what a coincidence…not.” Along the way, she decides to become his mistress. Well, when you’re Edith, I suppose adultery is better than nothing…except oh wait. It’s adultery.
Ugh. Edith, you have proven yet again to be the most useless, hapless thing on television this year (except for the now canceled show Do No Harm).
Anna and Mosley have a fine time up in Scotland, the former dancing away and the latter getting drunk. O’Brien does not have a fun bone in her body and ends up feuding with the help there. Oh, O’Brien. If you just pulled the broomstick out of your butt, you’d feel a lot better.
Mary, super pregnant with a baby, is all like, “Shut up Matthew, I can make the trip to Scotland!” Matthew replies, “ok, crazy pregnant lady.” She goes to Scotland. She feels ill. Matthew, in his worry, refrains from saying I told you so. Mary and Anna quickly return to Downton, where Mary goes into labor.
More to come on that…later.
Branson remains behind at Downton when everyone else travels off to the hills and glens of Scotland, mostly because oh, who knows. He’s Branson. He’s lonely. He’s so lonely he goes downstairs to eat at the servant’s table, where some pushy maid decides SHE’s the cure to his sadness. The strumpet kisses him (does she not REALIZE he is still in mourning for his awesome wife) and is promptly fired. Mrs. Hughes takes Branson aside and informs him that he’s a big, rich boy now and cannot eat at the table with the help. He glumly tells her he’s terribly, terribly alone now without Sybil. She makes sympathetic noises, but doesn’t change her stance. Oh, Mrs. Hughes. You’re the best mother figure of both the end of the 19th century AND the beginning of the 20th.
The rest of the staff decide to go to a carnival in town. Mrs. Patmore goes with a grocer who asks her out on a date. Is he going to whisk the most adorable cook in existence away to a life of wedded bliss? Nah. Much to our (and Mrs. Patmore’s) relief, it’s clear he just likes the ladies…all the ladies.
Daisy and annoying Ivy have a bit of a competition with a ring toss. Daisy wins. Ivy doesn’t. Foreshadowing of things to come?
Jimmy, Alfred, Thomas and the rest of the men of downstairs have a nice little contest against the men of town in a tug of war. Jimmy even wages a bet on the outcome. He’s lucky (I swear, it must be the blond hair) and wins a whole lot of money. Drunk, smug and celebratory he then acts the smarmiest he can. I thought Jimmy couldn’t get any smarmier. I was proven wrong with this episode. He’s such an ass you want to beat him up . . . and then you get your wish when a bunch of townies corner him to do just that.
But wait! Here comes Thomas to save the day! Thomas takes on the gang, gets pretty beat up himself and basically saves Jimmy, probably because he just can’t bear to see that pretty face ruined. Jimmy decides a guy who gets the crap beat out of him to save your sorry butt is an ok dude, even if he hit on you when you didn’t want him to. They becomes buddies. Sorry, Alfred. Look’s like next season is going to be no better for you than this one. You really ought to just forget Ivy, marry Daisy and then the two of you can go off and be gullible and earnest together on that farm William’s dad wants to give her.
Mrs. Crawley also gets some action as Dr. Clarkson asks her out on a date. This is basically a complete turn around from Season 1, when Dr. Clarkson kept trying to kick Mrs. Crawley’s busybody attitude and interfering out of his hospital. Ah well. Hate quickly turns to love in TV land, except not so much, since Mrs. Crawley either doesn’t realize (or refuses to realize) it’s a date. Dr. Clarkson struggles manfully to romance cousin Isobel, but fails utterly and then is called away to attend to Thomas’s wounds.
So Mary has the baby. It’s a boy! She, Matthew and the baby have a nice little family portrait at the hospital together. The earldom is secured! The picture of man wife, and baby is adorable and touching. Matthew rushes home in his car to tell everyone the news.
Cars are evil death machines and should be banned for all time.
Matthew Crawley, the heir to Lord Grantham and Downton Abbey, husband to Mary, new father to a beautiful baby boy, is dead.
I hate you so much Julian Fellowes. I hate actors who think they’re Broadway stars and refuse to return to the show that made them (and no, now I’m NOT going to see your dumb show Dan Stevens). I REALLY hate cars. And I hate it that I was right about my premonition: no one can ever have a happy relationship in Downton Abbey. No one. That episode before was ALL A LIE.
I will finish the episode with an ode to the late, great, beloved Mr. Crawley before I change into a black Think Geek T-shirt and go deep into mourning with my pint of mint chocolate oreo chip ice cream.
An Ode to Matthew Crawley
The bumbling lawyer cousin
You looked like you ate lots of muffins
When first you stumbled upon
Downton Abbey’s lawn
But soon you won our hearts
With blue eyes, blond hair, smart talk
Your mind was sharp as a knife
And your smile was full of life
We loved you then and there
You were the best of the best of heirs!
Mary soon came around
And love between you was found
But soon you were torn apart
By dumb advice and Mary being a fart
Then came war, Lavinia too
Financial crises and that other dude
Still, with luck, the flu and a kiss
Soon nothing was amiss
Together, and (mostly) in bliss
Mary changed from Lady to Mrs
Through bickering and some false starts
You were married, and so burst our hearts
Soon Mary was knocked up
And our lawyer became a proud pop
But Fate and stupid CARS
Soon intervened and oh! Our hearts
Was smashed in the night on the road
And thus shattered our souls (and remotes from throwing them at the TV)
We remember your wavy hair
Your white teeth and dignified air
We remember your mellifluous voice
We remember you, gorgeous Brit boy
R.I.P. Matthew Crawley, 2/17/2013 (though it happened earlier in Britain).