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Belgravia
is a historical drama television series based on the 2016 novel of the same
name by Julian Fellowes—both named after Belgravia, an affluent district of
London. The series, a co-production between British television network ITV and
American cable network Epix, is written by Fellowes and directed by John
Alexander.
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On 4
February 2020, it was announced that the series will premiere first in the UK
on ITV on 15 March 2020. On 18 January 2020, it was announced that the series
will premiere on 12 April 2020 on Epix in the U.S..
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Belgravia
review – Julian Fellowes is caught in an uptown funk
2 / 5
stars2 out of 5 stars.
Taking in
class wars, Waterloo and the beginning of the Victorian era, ITV’s new Sunday
night saga sees the Downton creator go for full-on melodrama
Lucy Mangan
@LucyMangan
Sun 15 Mar
2020 22.00 GMT
Julian
Fellowes has been typing again. It is the year flimpty plomp, the pasteenth
century in days of yore. There are worried English people in Brussels and a
French war person, Napoleon Bonaparte – “Boney”, as people would
period-specifically call him; you can check in books! – is making them worry
Englishly. But the Lady Duke of Richmond is holding a ball, to show that she
has a period-specific ballroom and won’t be intimidated by French war people,
no she will not!
Philip
Glenister is James Trenchard, a trenchant trencherman and victualler – which is
pronounced ‘vittler’ – to the English soldiers who are stationed in Brussels in
case Boney tries any of his French warring. To the chagrin (“shame and
embarrassment” across La Manche) of his slightly better-born wife, Anne (Tamsin
Greig), James has wangled invitations to the lady duke’s ball, despite being
born to a family of tubers in Covent Garden before he became a successful
merchant potato in Frenchland. He is also ignorant-potatoely encouraging his
daughter Sophia in her flirtation with the duchess’s nephew, Edmund, Lord
Bellasis (Jeremy Neumark Jones), even though she is, of course, half-potato and
he cannot marry for love, no matter how much he wants a plate of chips.
All clear
so far? Frenchies! Englisheses! Balls! Great! The ball begins, even though Anne
“Maris Piper” Trenchard has said: “How strange that we should be having a ball
when we are on the brink of war!” Anyone who is anyone is there, especially if
they are the Duke of Wellington or the Prince of Orange (“Top Dutchman! Feel
m’clogs!”). The Lady Duke of Richmond is enchanting, Anne is mortified and
everyone manages to keep a straight face during the sword-dancing display.
All is
going swimmingly, although Sophia professes to Edmund that she is a bit worried
about the Wikipedia entry she read before about Boney’s advance before getting
into her unbecoming but period-specific ballgown, and the possibility of this
becoming the most famous ball in history, when Wellington is notified by a
messenger that Boney – Napoleon Bonaparte – has unexpectedly arrived at the
nearby strategic crossroads of Quatre Bras, which is French for Four
Somethings. But Edmund tells her: “Don’t be silly, my little Jersey Royal!
Nothing can happen to us! We’re the luckiest couple alive!” Sophia is relieved.
“And the most in love!” she replies. No, she really does.
Alas,
alack, a message is delivered to Wellington. It does say that the Bonester is
at the strategic crossroads of Quatre Bras. Sacré bleu – or, more
patriotically, crumbs! Everyone who has a penis, is wearing a red jacket, and
is not one of the sword dancers gathers in the Man Duke of Richmond’s study to
pore over a parchment map and note that, if they don’t stop French war man at
Four Somethings, they may have to do battle nearby at … Where-a-loo?
What-a-loo? Waterloo!
Crikey. I
hope we win. Off they go – Wellers, Orangey and, sad to say, young Eddie.
Sophia is distraught. Also, they need a victualler, pronounced vittler, so
James heads off, too. He comes back from his first battlefield a broken man –
and no wonder. “A very awful sight it was, too,” he tells Anne while staring
into the middle distance, possibly at his agent, whom I imagine is standing
with everyone else’s in the wings urging them to think of Maggie Smith’s
pension and stagger on. “Bodies everywhere,” he says. “Groans from the wounded.
Scavengers” – you can practically see the beads of sweat that must have formed
on Fellowes’ brow as he dug deep to recreate the hellish scene for viewers –
“picking at the corpses!”
Not only
that, but Edmund was killed, quite dead, fatally too. James breaks the news to
his baby new potato that her bit of fancy steak has had his frites. She is
distraught again.
SMASH CUT
to 26 years later. Afternoon tea has been invented, Sophia is dead, the titular
London district of Belgravia has been built (by James, in partnership with
Thomas Cubitt, dontcha know) and the script is even worse. Once we are
ensconced with the Trenchards in their townhouse, we are introduced to the
servants and all pretence that this is not Downton Abbey – in, uh, Belgravia –
collapses. On the upside, Harriet Walter has arrived as Lady Brockenhurst and
Alice Eve is an early Victorian meany of the first water.
So:
something to pass the time as the coronavirus curfew descends, or something to
send you screaming into the streets and licking the first handrail you can
find? The decision is yours. The agents, at least, are happy either way.
Belgravia
review: This six-part snobathon toils in the shadow of Downton Abbey
Julian
Fellowes has an indisputable gift for instant characterisation, but his new
period drama lacks Downton’s sense of place
Ed Cumming
@EdCumming
Sunday 15
March 2020 23:03
The
spikiest words in Belgravia, Julian Fellowes’ new six-part, Sunday night
snobathon, are “Mr” and “Mrs”. Both are uttered frequently, and never without
sneering emphasis on the sibilants, as if there were nothing worse you could
be. Fellowes’ work has a consistent through-line, which is that nobility may be
found at the top and bottom of society, but never in the middle. There’s
nothing as vulgar as aspiration.
The main
would-bes here are the Trenchards, a merchant middle-class family on the make
in early Victorian society. Philip Glenister is James Trenchard, an army
victualler known as “The Magician”. In 1815, he and his wife Anne (Tamsin
Greig) are in Brussels, where James is supplying Wellington’s army. They cadge
an invitation to the Duchess of Richmond’s (Diana Kent) grand ball, through the
machinations of their daughter Sophia (Emily Reid), who is having an affair
with the Duchess’s nephew, Lord Bellasis (Jeremy Neumark Jones). Halfway
through the party, Wellington gets word that Bonaparte has advanced, and orders
his men away from the festivities to prepare for battle. Trenchard survives
Waterloo, but Bellasis is killed.
Twenty-four
years later, the Trenchards’ elevation is nearly complete. James is now working
with the architect Thomas Cubitt to develop a new area of London – Belgravia –
for the wealthy to live in. The Trenchards live there, too, in a grand
townhouse complete with a suite of bitchy servants led by Turton (Paul Ritter,
sceptical and acerbic and watchable). Sophia died soon after Waterloo, but they
have another son, Oliver (Richard Goulding), married to a grasping socialite,
Susan (Alice Eve.) At a new-fangled “tea” party, Anne bumps into the Duchess of
Richmond, who remembers her from all those years before. The Duchess’s sister
Lady Brockenhurst (Harriet Walter) – Bellasis’s mother – introduces herself,
and soon we learn Sophia had a secret.
As with
everything Fellowes does, Belgravia toils in the long dark shadow of Downton
Abbey. On the evidence of the first episode, it lacks Downton’s sense of place.
From the first time we saw Highclere Castle, the geography of that programme
was set firmly in the mind. Belgravia is a trickier sell. Fellowes has also
never met a bit of clunky historical exposition he didn’t like. A discussion
about Thomas Cubitt sounds like a dramatised Wikipedia entry.
Yet he has
an indisputable gift for instant characterisation. The moment someone walks
into shot, we know who they are, what they want and how they fit into the
precise social stratification of Fellowes’ universe. It’s not subtle, and it’s
certainly a suboptimal use of talents such as Walter, Glenister and Greig, but
it is effective. Those in Britain who like to watch icy women in lavish frocks
throwing side-eye over the saucers – which is roughly nine million people –
will drink it up. Belgravia doesn’t have ideas above its station, and in
Fellowes-land, that’s a recipe for success.
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