If, like me, you grew up in the 90s and were weaned on Public Television, then you’ve seen shows just like Upstairs, Downstairs, if not the show itself. At the very least you know the type: low budget British dramas from the seventies, with one set, a large ensemble cast, simple camera work but a high minded conceit, clichéd characters going through powerful storylines. If you’re like me, you find this kind of television show very comforting, like an old blanket. If not, you’ll probably find it in turns charmingly naïve, embarrassingly old-fashioned and powerfully insightful.
Upstairs, Downstairs follows the lives of the wealthy Bellamy family, owners and residents of 165 Eaton Place, and their live-in servants and cooks (who, as in the British townhouse style, work in the servants quarters downstairs, hence the title). The series entire takes the family and its employees from 1903 to 1936, but season one (reviewed here) covers the years 1903-1910.
As with much British cultural production of the sixties and seventies, post-empire Britian’s insecurity about national identity is played out over a series of nostalgic conflicts between traditional values and a world which disavows them. Sir Richard Bellamy (David Langton) is a Tory parliamentary member and master of the house who keeps the order of the “upstairs”, while downstairs the Butler, Hudson (Gordon Jackson) forms the old-guard patriarchal moral center. If the men represent the moral fiber of the Bellamy household, it is the women characters who struggle against it, and the show’s women go through great change while the men stay rather constant, objects of either scorn or admiration. Women run the house, and women run this show.
The show’s true protagonist is Rose (Jean Marsh, co-creator and producer of the show) the fiercely loyal but lonely-in-her-sacrifice first parlormaid. In Rose the conflict between traditional roles of servitude and individual freedom are played out as a series of powerful female figures appear in her life. There’s Sarah Moffat (Pauline Collins), the head-in-the-clouds second parlourmaid who comes under Rose’s wing, a dreamy romantic girl who is crushed by an affair with eldest son James Bellamy (Simon Williams), and disappears from the house in scandal, only to reappear later as a world-weary and self-destructive woman: the cynical detritus of the Bellamys’ wanton disregard. There’s Lady Marjorie Bellamy (Rachel Gurney), mistress of the house who must balance maternal devotion to the help with her role as their employer. Then there’s Elizabeth Bellamy (Nicola Pagett), the idealist daughter of privilege who strives against tradition through radical politics, but is caught between her beliefs and the love of her parents.
It’s an ensemble cast, and an ensemble show, and characters come in and out of focus accordingly. The first nine episodes are somewhat cheesy, full of expository dialogue and cliched characters. Despite attempt to reveal the underlying class conditions of the British aristocracy, these episodes have simplistic politics, and a fairly conservative bent. Interestingly, episodes two through five were affected by the Colour Strike, revealing how organized labor inserts itself into history even against revisionist products such as this one (but that’s for another discussion altogether). As a result, those four episodes are black and white, and fairly harsh on the eyes. Even so, the show can be endearingly campy (as with the first three episodes, Sarah’s story) or melodramatic in the best way (as with episode eight about Emily, the ignorant kitchen maid who is devastated by a love affair gone wrong: the conclusion had me in tears). It can also have drastically goofy episodes: in episode five, Elizabeth is seduced by a German gentleman who turns out to be an arms dealer/spy with homosexual BDSM tendencies.
If the entire run were like that, this would be a bit of charming camp, and little more, but something changes in episode ten. Though the credited writers remain consistent, the quality of the dialogue and the ideas expressed makes a dramatic leap, and suddenly it transforms from a likeable tv show into a classic bit of British story telling. The characters begin speaking in high-style British euphemistic understatement, they fight over ideas and ideals, the political context of the times becomes more than just window dressing and starts inserting itself into story arcs. The real tensions arising from the loyalty, servitude and cohabitation of a homeful of servants begins to bubble to the surface.
These episodes, though occasionally overwrought, show a good premise maturing into excellence, and left me wanting more. I do not know if the next four seasons maintain this level of intensity, but once beyond its early likeable simplicity, Upstairs, Downstairs has the makings of a truly classic piece of television.
DVD Bonus Features
An alternate pilot, which though not as good as the final, is an interesting watch. Decent commentary on a couple of the episodes, and a making of featurette. Considering you’re also getting thirteen hours of programming, I think it’s not a bad amount.
"Upstairs, Downstairs: Series One (1971)" is on sale March 1, 2011 and is not rated. Drama, Television. Directed by Brian Parker, Raymond Menmuir. Written by Alfred Shaughnessy, Jeremy Paul. Starring David Langton, Gordon Jackson, Jean Marsh, Nicola Pagett, Simon Williams.
