Downton v Corrie

"But you watch Coronation Street!" was my  brother's indignant riposte, when I dared to criticise Downton Abbey (he's a DA fan, of course).

Well, for us, there's no comparison. The clunking prose, the anachronisms, the slow-moving plot (is there one?), the wooden acting...I think Downton is terrible. Lady Mary looks as though she's been impaled (vertically - I'm trying to be delicate here) by a broom handle, and apart from Maggie Smith, everyone sounds as though they're reading through their lines for the first time. And oh, those lines...

"She is bruised and broken. We must wrap her up and protect her" (his lordship, about the bereaved Lady Mary, who incidentally  looks as though she's never experienced an emotion in her life, let alone grief).

"I love you with every fibre of my being" (his lordship again - he seems to be cursed with the worse lines - quite out of the blue, to one of the maids. Last series).

Whereas Coronation Street is, I think, marvellous. Okay, so some of the plots are a bit off the wall - it's hard to keep going week after week with credible plots - but some of the acting is wonderful. The present story of Hayley's terminal cancer has brought out some of the best scenes (between her and husband Roy) I've ever seen on television.

And before anyone attacks me, yes, we do watch DA. We find it vastly entertaining, for all the wrong reasons. We don't care what happens to anyone, but are constantly astonished that so much money has been thrown at the production of something so soulless. For us, the Emperor that is Downton is stark naked.

But we're in a tiny minority, so feel free to ignore us.

Downton Abbey revisited

...because I've posted about it before. But I see from today's paper that it's in the running for big prizes in the USA.

I simply do not understand the popularity of this series. The clunking prose, the predictable plot lines....what is the attraction? It it's period drama we want, the lets turn to Andrew Davies, who does it faultlessly.

Examples (plot): vengeful maid places bar of soap by the bath just before her ( pregnant) ladyship steps out. M'lady slips, loses baby,and guess what? That's right. It was a boy; the much wanted son and heir after a clutch of witless daughters. The theres our hero, who suddenly leaps to his feet after weeks in a wheelchair. Anyone who has ever been in that position knows it takes some time to regain the use of their legs. I've been there.

And for prose? My favourite has to be the immortal exchange between the Lovers, who are having a little dance around the drawing room ( as one does). She: Can you dance without your stick? He: you are my stick. And my lord, ever original, to the maid who he's been chatting up for at least a week: I love you with every fibre of my being! (original, or what?)

Why do we watch it? Good question. We watch it to see if it can get any worse. And it never disappoints.

I shall now prepare to be shot down in flames.

Downton Abbey (again)

Every week, we watch in fascination as another episode of unlikely plot and clunky prose crosses our screen, to a background of beautiful buildings and pretty frocks. Come on, fellow-writers! Couldn't we all do better than this? Last night's highlight, after the miraculous recovery of Matthew, who leapt from his wheelchair apparently healed, and the next day (or thereabouts) took the lovely Mary in his arms for a quick waltz round the drawing room:

Mary: Can you dance without your stick?
Matthew: You ARE my stick.

Isn't that lovely? No-one has ever called me their stick before (sigh). And there's m'lord, kissing the maid, telling her, "I want you with every fibre of my being". Aaaaah. Bless.

I wouldn't miss it for the world. Roll on the next series.

Downton Abbey

Are we the only people on the planet who don't think that Downton Abbey is the best thing since Upstairs Downstairs*? Watching it last night, we were so bored that we barely managed to make it till the end. The characters seem wooden (apart from fabulous Maggie Smith, who could read the telephone directory and make it sound ilke magic), the plot whisks hither and yon, in and out of the trenches, and back to a candlelit dinner before you've had time to draw breath, and the dialogue...

"War is reaching its long fingers into our house and scatttering our chicks," says the lord to his lady (or the oher way round; I forget) as they get into bed. Does ANYONE ever talk like that in a private domestic situation? Okay, so I'm not privy to the conversations among the nobility, but nonetheless, this beggared belief. And the cliches: "war has a way of distinguishing between those things that matter and those that don't" (one soldier to another, as they stand together in their trench). Really? Now, who would have thought of that? Surely not a soldier, surrounded by dead companions, up to his knees in mud?

And before I get completely shouted down, this is just my opinion, expressed on my blog, and I'm open to the opinions of others. So please be gentle with me!

*One of our favourite programmes ever.