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The Gilded Age review – Julian Fellowes’ stinky rich New Yorkers are sheer agony
Forget Downton … here’s the new and definitely not improved Brownstone Abbey – and these posh Americans spout nothing but drivel. Does Fellowes actually write this stuff in his sleep?
Boost your vaccinations, don whatever PPE you have to hand – the new variant Julian Fellowes has breached our shores. This time, his typing is set in late 19th-century New York. Yes, it’s Brownstone Abbey. Its official title is The Gilded Age (Sky Atlantic), but we all know what we are dealing with. There are posh people – the old families who have been in New York since it was a glint in a Dutchman’s eye. Then there are the upstart types who made buckets of stinky new money building railroads and are now busy building mansions all over Manhattan and trying to lay down tracks into smart society. We’ll call them the Shamderbilts. And then there are servants, who live beneath these posh people and bitch about them whenever the restraining influence of the butler is absent.
We lay our scene in Central Park. It is 1882 it’s full of sheep. They turn and run from the camera. It is a wise move, all things considered.
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