Top Five Lines from Downton Abbey :: S5, E3
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If last week’s theme was secrets, this week had a theme,
too: brats.
Spoiled brats, to be more specific.
What’s gotten into everyone? Even the servants were acting
like spoiled brats this week.
The only person not acting like a spoiled brat is the
original spoiled brat herself: Rose. She was too busy trying to cheer up some
Russian refugees.
I’ll be honest, I had a tough time coming up with five lines
that actually stood out to me or made me laugh this week because throughout the
episode I just kept shaking my head or yelling, “No! Don’t do it!” But I
persevered and have come up with my Top Five Lines from the episode, or, to put
it another way, Top Five Examples of Bratage in the Big House.
1. Let’s start with the most obvious, shall we?
Mary.
Oh Mary, Mary, Mary.
You seem to think that 1924 is actually 2014 what with your
“modernized” value system and all. You act like it’s NBD that you went to
Liverpool with a man who isn’t your husband, checked into adjoining rooms with
him, slept with him for a week, and now are thinking of dumping him because
you’re just not that into him.
And then you dare to patronize your grandmother when she
tries to call you on it.
“Darling Granny, you know how much I value your advice.”
To which Granny responds as any knowing parent would: “Which
means you intend to ignore it.”
Granny was right, you know, Mary. It is scandalous in 1924. And for some of us, your behavior is even
scandalous in 2014.
2. Spratt the Brat.
Did you just love the scene with Spratt and The Dowager just
after he came back from catching Mary in the act in Liverpool?
Spratt’s all: *shuffle,
shuffle* I-didn’t-want-to-tell-you-anything-M’-Lady.
And Violet’s all:
Well-then-get-on-with-you-I’d-like-some-tea-already.
And Spratt’s all: *shuffle,
shuffle* I-didn’t-see-anything.
And Violet’s all: My-patience-is-wearing-thin-Spratt-what-is-on-your-mind?
And finally Spratt says: “I. Hope. Lady Mary. Enjoyed. Her. Time. In. Liverpool.”
*wink wink*
(Brat to the nth
degree.)
But Violet recovers ever so quickly so as to avoid the
townsfolk talking even more about her family than they already do.
You didn’t think
anything vulgar was going on did you, Spratt? Nothing beneath the dignity of
this house, certainly?
Whew! That sure shut him up.
Crisis averted.
3. Mrs. Patmore even gets into the bratty brigade this week.
She stomps and stews over getting her precious Army-deserting nephew’s name
onto a memorial. Any memorial. Somewhere. Anywhere.
And so she convinces Mrs. Hughes to talk to Carson about
getting Artie’s name put on the local memorial, even though her nephew
never set foot in their town.
When Mr. Carson refuses (as he should), Mrs. Patmore will
take no sympathy from anyone because, as she says,
“Sympathy butters no parsnips.”
4. Mrs. Hughes took a swipe at being a brat this week as
well. Even she gets mad at Mr. Carson for not being taken in by her big brown
eyes and her jingling keychain, when he refuses her BFF’s request. And
poor Daisy, eager learner that she is, gets caught in the crossfire.
“My advice, Daisy, is to go as far in life as God and luck
allow.”
5. Robert.
What can I say? Robert is pretty much always a brat—he’s
never really grown up—but this week brings him to a new bratty low.
When he suddenly wakes up and realizes that his wife has run
off to London to visit an art museum with another man, he decides to delight
Cora with his presence and jumps on the next train to London.
But his little plan backfires when Simon Bricker invites
Cora to an impromptu dinner and she blushingly accepts. When she arrives at Rosamund’s
townhouse, Cora is greeted by the original brat himself who berates her for not
being available at his beck and call for the “surprise” visit (which, if you
ask me, was nothing more than a check to make sure she wasn’t cheating on him).
He moans:
“I try to surprise my wife by coming to London . . .”
“I got a table at Claridges so we could make a night of it.”
“Don’t worry I cancelled everything when we got Mr. Bricker’s
telegram.”
“Rosamund gave me your dinner and went to bed.” (Translation:
I’m eating the dog’s food.)
Cora apologizes: I’m dreadfully sorry.
Robert: So you said.
Cora finally wakes up enough to say, “Wait. I don’t know
that I’ve done anything wrong here.”
“No? I travel to London in order to give my wife a treat
only to find out she’s out dining with another man.”
("Oh, and by the way, what would an ART EXPERT want with you? You can
barely tie your shoes by yourself, so I highly doubt that you know anything
about art. Ugh. You disgust me.")
Now, I get it if you think Cora was being amazingly naïve in
this situation. I’d even go so far as to agree with you. But right now we’re
talking about the Brat Factor, and Robert’s got it in spades.
He always has.
