I came late to the game to Downton Abbey but recently watched the entire series alongside my wonderful partner. Like millions of others around this here globe, I was immensely charmed by the motley cast of characters. The wily and acerbic Dowager Countess aka Cousin Vi (the late, great Dame Maggie Smith). The stiff traditionalist butler Carson (Jim Carter). The tortured and Machiavellian footman turned valet turned underbutler turned butler Thomas (Robert James-Collier). The warm and mischievous Cora Crawley, the Countess of Grantham (Elizabeth McGovern). Her hubby, the well-meaning yet idiotic Robert, the Earl of Grantham (Hugh Bonneville). I could go on and on. 

Created by The Lord Fellowes of West Stafford aka Julian Fellowes (lol), Downton‘s colorful, likeable characters are what provided the series with much of its energy and beating heart—far more so than its story, which could be occasionally meandering. They also helped blunt the edges of the rather repugnant class politics that percolate just under the surface. As you likely know my dear readers, the series takes an extraordinarily light touch when it comes to dealing with the period’s decaying British aristocracy. The central Crawley family is treated with the utmost sympathy, while the various crimes of the British Empire—including the Second Boer War and its disgusting domination of Africa—are only vaguely gestured at. 

This approach mostly carries over into the film continuation of the series, which was released in 2019. Set in 1927, the film picks up with Downton Abbey bracing itself for the imminent arrival of the King and Queen, George V and Mary of Teck, respectively. And that’s basically it from a plot perspective. The film’s narrative is not exactly what you would call propulsive, amounting to little more than some state dinner prep and generalized angst amongst the ranks of both the Crawleys and their staff. To Fellowes’ credit, many of film’s characters do get some semblance of an arc, which is an achievement given the abridged nature of cinematic versus multi-season storytelling. Yet a vast majority of them are largely situational and low stakes, more like diverting vignettes than substantive conflicts. 

In fact, I’d say most of the situations facing the abbey’s staff don’t even rise to the level of an arc but instead stay firmly in hijinks-territory. The Royal Family, you see, bring along their own staff during their visit to the abbey. Once there, these interlopers attempt to take over the house’s operations, much to the chagrin of folks like the unflappable Mrs. Hughes (Phyllis Logan) and the ever-stalwart lady’s maid Anna Bates (Joanne Froggatt). The servants we know and love attempt to fight back against this incursion, going so far as to conspire in the abbey’s cellars and unlawfully confine the Royal Family’s staff in their rooms for the duration of the visit. It is all pretty entertaining and amusing stuff. I certainly enjoyed watching it, even if there isn’t ultimately that much to chew on, and even if it strains the credulity of an already deeply unrealistic world. 

Much meatier are arcs such as Tom Branson’s (Allen Leech), which is no surprise given the nature of the character. As an Irish socialist who marries into the Crawley family in the early seasons of the show, Tom has long been a man torn between two worlds. Throughout the series, he oscillates between a deep and fierce love for his found family and a general distaste for the inequities they represent. Some of this rises to the surface again in the film continuation, and Leech, to his credit, delivers another fine performance brimming with warmth and magnanimity. 

Yet even Tom’s best moments in the film don’t reach the richly emotional depths he navigated within the show. Agonized, complex scenes like the one where he pours out his heart to Mrs. Hughes about the tragic loss of his wife Sybil (Jessica Brown Findlay) in season 3, episode 9, for example, are nowhere to be found. They are replaced with a much more straightforward, albeit still sweet, journey that revolves around finding new love with Lucy Smith (Tuppence Middleton), a maid whose conflicted life circumstances mirror his own. All of this, of course, is fine, as it jives with Fellowes’ lighter, looser and more carefree approach to the material in this format. But that said, it doesn’t really help make the film’s story feel less slight. 

Strangely enough, Fellowes himself seems to recognize the lack of meat on this version of Downton Abbey’s bones—but only in the last 15 minutes or so. It is here where we finally get a whiff of real conflict and real stakes, especially when Smith’s Dowager Countess reveals a secret to Michelle Dockery’s icy Mary Crawley. It’s a powerful moment marred by the film not giving itself any time to properly explore it. The fact that it still lands and lingers with you, though, is a testament not only to the skill of both Smith and Dockery, but that the characters themselves are so memorable that you don’t mind the story being an afterthought. 

At one point in the abovementioned scene, Smith Countess remarks to Dockery’s Mary that no matter how their descendants live in the future, Downton Abbey “will be part of them.” Such sentiment is mirrored later between Carson and Mrs. Hughes, where the former says to the latter that “100 years from now, Downton will still be standing.” I’m not sure if I would go that far in talking about this world’s legacy. Like the series that preceded it, the film’s story can leave something to be desired, and the less that is said about the class politics the better. Yet elements, whether it be Tom’s gentle pursuit of love, the interactions between characters like Mary and the Dowager, not to mention the characteristically rich period aesthetics on display, do land. And together, they show why, for over 15 years, the world of Downton has continued to culturally resonate.