Downton Abbey: A New Era

There is something inherently funny about watching the British aristocracy grapple with the indignity of being "useful" for once. By the time Downton Abbey: A New Era sauntered into theaters in 2022, the world was a different place than when we first met the Crawleys on our television screens in 2010. We were emerging from a global pandemic, theaters were struggling to lure audiences back from the siren song of Netflix, and here comes Julian Fellowes, offering a double-shot of pure, unadulterated comfort food. I watched this film while wearing a particularly scratchy wool sweater that made me feel like an underprivileged footman, which was a terrible choice for a humid afternoon, but somehow the tactile discomfort only heightened my appreciation for the silk and velvet on screen.

The Hollywood Invasion

The genius of A New Era—and I use that word with the appropriate level of Fellowesian exaggeration—is how it splits the narrative into two distinct flavors of escapism. At home, Downton is invaded by a film crew led by director Jack Barber (Hugh Dancy, bringing a frantic energy reminiscent of his work in Hannibal but with 90% less cannibalism). This "meta" plotline serves as a delightful wink to the audience. Watching the stoic Jim Carter as Carson react to the "vulgarity" of a motion picture being filmed in the Great Hall is worth the price of admission alone.

This subplot essentially recreates Singin’ in the Rain, as the production transitions from a silent film to a "talkie" mid-shoot. It allows Michelle Dockery, as Lady Mary, to step into a leadership role that feels earned after years of character growth. She’s the one holding the house together while the others flee to the Riviera, and her chemistry with Hugh Dancy provides a spark of "what-if" romantic tension that the franchise usually plays too safe to explore. Laura Haddock is a standout as the silent film star Myrna Dalgleish, whose Cockney accent threatens to ruin her career—it’s a performance that balances slapstick comedy with a surprising amount of pathos.

Sunshine, Linen, and Scandal

While Mary handles the "kinema" ruffians, the rest of the clan heads to the South of France. The catalyst? The Dowager Countess, played by the incomparable Maggie Smith, has inherited a villa from a mysterious man in her past. Hugh Bonneville leads the expedition, and while Robert Crawley spent most of the TV series being a lovable curmudgeon who hated change, here he’s forced to confront the possibility that his mother had a much more "vibrant" youth than he ever imagined.

The cinematography by Andrew Dunn (who lensed the spiritual predecessor Gosford Park) shifts beautifully here. The gloom of Yorkshire gives way to the blinding, oversaturated gold of the French coast. It’s pure travel porn. The villa mystery is essentially an excuse for the cast to wear spectacular linen suits and look pensive while staring at the Mediterranean, and frankly, I’m not even mad about it. This half of the film feels like the ultimate "Contemporary Cinema" play: it’s a legacy sequel that knows its audience doesn't want gritty realism; they want to see Elizabeth McGovern and Imelda Staunton trading polite barbs in the sunshine.

The Passing of the Torch

Beneath the velvet and the quips, there is a palpable sense of finality to Simon Curtis’s direction. Curtis, who previously explored the intersection of celebrity and history in My Week with Marilyn, understands that the true draw of Downton isn't the plot—it's the furniture. And by furniture, I mean the actors. Maggie Smith has been the soul of this franchise for over a decade, and A New Era serves as a poignant, elegant sunset for her character.

In an era of cinema dominated by multiverses and CGI spectacles, there is something radical about a film whose highest stakes involve whether a roof will be repaired or if a valet finds love. It’s a "franchise" film, yes, but one built on the radical idea that we might actually like these people. The script by Fellowes manages to give almost every member of the massive ensemble a "moment," even if some feel a bit truncated. Dominic West as the dashing Guy Dexter is a welcome addition, providing a suave foil to the downstairs staff’s anxieties.

This isn't a film that’s going to change the course of cinematic history, nor does it try to. It’s a victory lap. In the context of 2022, it was a reminder that the theatrical experience can be as simple as a shared sigh of relief. It’s a gorgeously produced, expertly acted piece of fan service that manages to be more cinematically competent than it actually needs to be.

If you’ve never seen an episode of the show, the sheer volume of characters might leave you feeling like you walked into someone else's family reunion. But for those of us who have spent years wandering these halls, it’s a lovely, tear-streaked goodbye to the old guard. It’s light, it’s airy, and it’s served with exactly the right amount of cream. Just don't wear a scratchy sweater while you watch it.