Lord, how this show has disintegrated. I can’t believe I cut away from one of the best Super Bowls in recent years to tune in. Well, that’s it. At some point you either have to quit complaining or quit watching, and I’m leaning strongly to option B. I can only guess that the writers are still off celebrating the success of Season 1. They’re still pounding mai-tais in Aruba while the custodial staff turns out scripts in addition to its other duties. Somebody should get them on the phone.
At least Vera’s dead. At least for now. But that’s a mixed blessing for Bates since he’s now the prime suspect in her murder. Of course he is. Again, absolutely predictable melodrama without an ounce of subtlety.
And for God’s sake, can Thomas actually do something besides sit around smirking and smoking? Or at least get some audible lines? His character, a reasonably complex villain in the first season, has been wasted in this one. Like the unpleasant O’Brien, he has become aimless.
I have a few more complaints, but you get the idea. World War I lasted four and a half episodes and Downton Abbey is beginning to seem like a show in its twelfth season, not its second. Next thing you know, we’ll have Harry Connick Jr. dropping by. Or an extended dream sequence. It’s time to stage an intervention with the writers and get this show back on the rails.
By the way, who won the Super Bowl?