There was review that ran, maybe in the Guardian or Independent, last week or so about how totally sucky season 2 was so far, and I am not linking because it’s just a 1200 word tour of spoiler city. AND BECAUSE THAT PERSON DON’T KNOW SUCKY FROM NOT SUCKY, APPARENTLY. I am only three episodes in and while it’s not as tense–the class war and post-victorian restraint and everyone being bound by the rules of their station is thrown off kilter by THE WAR, everyone is equalized. Also, the first season rested so much on the secrets and revelation of the noble-to-a-fault Mr. Bates, who is kind of like the Masterpiece Period Drama Version of Coach Eric Taylor.

Not exactly, but they are both from the “real men don’t show they are suffering, a real men protect the women, and you just fucking man up” playbook. Mr. Bates is so gallant–to a fault! I got a little weepy when he threw his leg brace in the pond! Bound no more! Being a strong and silent type can almost kill you! Anyhow, there is less of that secret/revelation/power/scheming dynamic downstairs and more just busy drama pstairs–all the various Lady Crawleys are less interested in their marriage-ability (all the men are dying anyhow) and instead finding their purpose in the world (feminist sub-plot furthered via war-effort nursing), William and Thomas both join the army and so William’s chin is still getting major screen time:

There is something really gratifying when British people look so impossibly and totally cliche British. (But then again, if you take him out of the tux, I guess he’s just straight up Aryan.) I wonder if British people think that about Americans when they watch obese people sweating profusely on The Biggest Loser.

Anyhow, my friend Shayla who is further along into the series says the shit really hits the fan once the FLU hits. Nothing rachets up the drama like a pandemic!