The Gilded Age
“I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying.”
If you had to guess who coined a memorable phrase in the late 19th century, you would be clever to choose either Oscar Wilde or Mark Twain. Twain published a book in 1873 called The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today, which satirized a host of social problems in late 19th century America that he believed were thinly masked by the veneer of fabulous wealth. Although it took until the 1920s for the moniker to stick, it has indeed stuck. Arriving in New York City for his grand American tour in 1882, Oscar Wilde remarked that America was “the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between.” Like most of Oscar’s apocryphal bon mots, that has stuck too.
And so we too have arrived in New York City in 1882, the camera lingering on a crowd of bleating sheep in Central Park as they scurry before a thundering carriage. Following the thundering success of his Downtown Abbey, Julian Alexander Kitchener-Fellowes, Baron Fellowes of West Stafford, DL has written up a new costume drama and stuffed it into the deep pockets of HBO; ladies and gentleman, I give you The Gilded Age. Now that’s as purple as I’ll let my prose get on the subject, but it only feels right to start this essay in the same register as the series. The Gilded Age is not Edith Wharton, with her rhetorical knives concealed beneath rustling satin. Nor is it Twain, with his proto-John Stewart grin barely concealing a tear. Nor is it 1883, the new series about the Oregon Trail that is determined to conceal nothing, especially the horrors of being an American pioneer. Perhaps it’s Oscar, after all, dressed in purple velvet and always speaking too fast for his considerable intellect to keep up with his uncautious tongue.
The Gilded Age was originally conceived of as a prequel to Downtown Abbey, but had a rough gestation, switching networks and becoming instead a big-budget extravaganza on HBO that doesn’t directly reference any of the Downtown Abbey characters, though it definitely shares the same tone. The series follows two families, the Brooks and the Russells as they navigate the social milieu of 1882 New York City. The Brooks are old money; the Russells are new. If you’ve read any Edith Wharton, you know instantly what that means; the Russells haven’t a prayer of ever being truly accepted into society. If you’ve read any history, though, you know the Russells will win out in the end simply because they will always have more money than everyone else. The audience surrogate is Marion Brook (Louisa Jacobson), a young woman who moves in with her two elderly aunts after her father dies leaving her without funds or options. Marion’s blood makes her an old money character, but her sensibilities and sympathies are with the new.
Now I must apologize for waiting three whole paragraphs before introducing you to Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon), the gorgeous spider at the center of all this. Bertha is wife to railroad tycoon George Russell (Morgan Spector) and as the story opens she has finally built the palace of her dreams, right on 5th Avenue. She wants to be accepted by old money New York and she will do anything to achieve that goal. She schemes, she swans about in peacock feathers, she throws breakfast trays across the room when crossed. She’s sublime. The entire series takes its cue from her presence; every woman’s gown seems a more subdued version of hers, every house a less ornate version of hers. Wilde would have loved her madly, in his way.
What is The Gilded Age? I’ve already said it isn’t social commentary or social satire and it is certainly not social realism. It is a soap opera in the same way Downton was, stuffed full of scheming servants and hidden gay love affairs and crane shots of ballrooms. It’s a costume drama that wants to go down like candy the way Bridgerton did, but it mostly lacks the charm and entirely lacks the sex that has made that series such a delight. And I’m sorry to report that the characters all talk like they’re in a high school production of The Importance of Being Earnest. I’ve sat through nearly three hours of the show and couldn’t bring to mind one single moment of natural dialogue between anybody, above stairs or below. The gowns, however, are beautiful.
The dialogue isn’t the only thing that rings false; the series is overall quite tone-deaf. Although the first two episodes hint at the plight of other classes, it’s only through brief side plots and snide remarks regarding which charity Mrs. Russell should patronize in order to curry social favor. Furthermore, the series clearly wants us to sympathize with Bertha and George Russell, who are literally robber barons. It’s a bit of a rough switch from Bernie Sanders on CNN at 8 talking about how bad the billionaires are to The Gilded Age at 9 on HBO - who will George ruin next to avenge a petty slight to his wife?? Can’t wait to find out!
Alright, once again I’m being a killjoy. I wanted this show to be more Wharton and less Wilde, who I’ve always found charming but rather empty. But that doesn’t mean it is without its joys; those gowns really are stunning and Carrie Coon eats up the scenery for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The cast is stuffed with stars, including my beloved Audra MacDonald and my other beloved Christine Baranski. I have high hopes for the character of Stanford White, a real-life architect who got up to some absolutely debauched and notorious shenanigans before getting himself shot by the husband of a famous actress. There is no reason not to kick back and enjoy the swirl of colored silks and velvets and feathers, the gossip belowstairs, the glittering chandeliers. But it does feel like a bit of a missed opportunity to do more than remake Gossip Girl, 1882 edition. As the critical success of 1883 has shown, historical dramas can lean into realism without losing the draw of a big costume drama. What better time has there been for us to take a long look at that Gilded Age, than now, through the lens of our own? Fellowes could have done what Wharton did and inserted one long fingernail underneath that gilt, just to show us how easily it flecked off. Instead, he’s given us a series with a budget large enough to take a sizeable chunk out of the student debt crisis on a network currently most famous for Succession. But who am I really to complain? I’d probably greenlight that budget for a show where Carrie Coon just walks down staircases in gown after gown after gown after gown.