HBO's The Gilded Age is as towering and empty as an untouched croquembouche

Vulture

"It carries no coherent message, tone, or point of view from one plotline to the next, no organizing sense of what it is trying to be, beyond a display case of gowns and a lesson in the vital importance of guest lists. It is a hot-air balloon overladen with decorative bunting," says Kathryn VanArendonk of Downton Abbey creator Julian Fellowes' new period drama. "If you happened to be strolling past a spectacle like that and had a few spare minutes, you would absolutely stop and watch. If the balloon’s big and gaudy enough, who cares if it struggles to leave the ground? The series was on a course for NBC before landing at HBO, and you can tell: Despite the satin and marble and impeccable production design that comes with an HBO-size budget, The Gilded Age’s writing is prim, with a network-y bluntness. There’s no raunchiness, no explicit sex, and (Carrie) Coon’s Mrs. Russell spends much of the early episodes haughtily examining her luxurious home while stating her thesis in the baldest language imaginable." VanArendonk adds that a series with Coon, Christine Baranski, Audra McDonald "and the rest could be an exciting prospect. Here, they’re all so siloed it feels like being cheated of the good stuff. There’s an aimlessness to The Gilded Age: Somewhere along the line, someone forgot to ask why a show about these particular characters at this particular time would be compelling. It’s not hard to imagine what the answers might be, but the series has no interest in offering them up: When it comes to reasons to care, The Gilded Age is strictly BYO. There’s ample surface appeal — my God, the gowns — but there’s a hollow space where The Gilded Age’s emotional core should be and a large question mark next to the central issue of whether Mrs. Russell’s social conquest matters at all for anyone other than her. As a result, the show is at its best when it’s at its most trivial, fully ignoring substance in favor of style."

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• The Gilded Age is Downton Abbey on steroids: "From its earliest moments, HBO‘s lavish new period drama The Gilded Age wants you to know that it is Downton Abbey on steroids," says Meghan O'Keefe. "There’s soapy upstairs/downstairs drama, fabulous dinner parties, and a group of bright young things looking for love in candlelit shadows. The Gilded Age‘s ingenues are hungry for love and for personal purpose. A violet-draped Christine Baranski drops barbs that would make Dame Maggie Smith proud. The series even opens with a footman delivering his wealthy employers news of a relative’s death, which forces the introduction of a middle class relation to the mix to shake things up. Sound familiar?" O'Keefe adds: "Fellowes takes these themes and pushes them further in The Gilded Age. Set in 1880s New York City, The Gilded Age is specifically about a culture of conspicuous consumption and outrageous avarice. Gone is Britain’s demure attitude towards fortune. Plot-lines focus on insider trading schemes, brutal business decisions, and how much cash the prim and proper ladies of society can toss at a dinner party. In The Gilded Age, Julian Fellowes doesn’t just seem fully unfettered from the quaint rules of British propriety, but at long last, embracing his final form. Fellowes uses the hallmarks of the British country house drama — pretty, poor relations, scheming sons, bitchy ladies of the ‘ton, and scandals in the servants’ halls — to ease us into this brutally fun new world. The Gilded Age isn’t Downton Abbey, but American; The Gilded Age is Downton Abbey with fangs."
• The Gilded Age is the anti-Downton Abbey: "Not that The Gilded Age has any sort of responsibility to be funny, but humor is part of what made Downton Abbey so watchable, and even when characters say things that are supposed to be witty, they often fall flat," says Robert Lloyd. "Another reason Downton Abbey worked so well is that it is a big show painted on a small canvas; various intrusions of history notwithstanding, it is parochial and provincial and intimate, like a Jane Austen novel, centered on a single family and its retainers. The Gilded Age, perhaps appropriately to the style of those times, is overcrowded — two houses, unalike in dignity, separated by an unpaved stretch of 61st Street, each with its family, relations and staff (neither has much in the way of friends). As a result, many of its storylines are rendered in shorthand, with characters who seem created more as historical bullet points — to express a type, or an opinion — than as fully fledged individuals."
• The Gilded Age is not very entertaining, and it's packed with so many characters and story lines that hardly anyone gets to breathe or make an impact: "It’s difficult to parse what exactly The Gilded Age adds to HBO’s roster of shows about terrible rich people, the latter a symptom of our own gilded era, in which the most consistent protest we can seemingly muster up is to make TV shows about how miserable our overlords must be on their private planes," says Inkoo Kang. "Fellowes chronicles his characters’ myopia, but he doesn’t quite critique it; he wants us to care about whether Bertha will get a chance to meet and curry the favor of the fabled Mrs. Astor, the grande dame of the antique elite. (In its worst moments, The Gilded Age just feels like an old-timey version of Mean Girls.”) Perhaps the female audience is supposed to take delight in the fact that the power players in this world are mostly women, but that skewed vision of history only emphasizes how much these initial chapters soft-pedal the noxious and manifold bigotries of the era. Unconvincingly, the only victims of the runaway capitalism of the late 19th century seem to be other rich people, punished for their underhanded avarice. Apart from Peggy, whose journeys between the Black and White New Yorks provide some novelty, there is hardly anyone to root for or invest in. And that’s crucial not because we always need shows with characters worth championing — Succession, for example, is a fantastically acidic show with no redeemable people in it — but because Fellowes doesn’t seem to understand how unsympathetic his creations actually are."
• There is something intriguing about this examination of old and new money: "There are people who promote a myth to this day that the United States has a class system that rewards achievement and success and working your way up by the power of your own abilities, but Agnes looks down on the Russells precisely because they got their money from work; that they made themselves rich rather than being born rich," says Linda Holmes. "She has the same feelings about other "new money" families like the Rockefellers, whom we would now think of as old-money families. I would certainly not go so far as to call The Gilded Age a critique of a system that venerates inherited wealth, but it makes for a sometimes provocative challenge to the very idea of meritocracy that the caste system on display in this New York is immovable: Marian is Old New York without doing anything at all; Bertha is New New York no matter how hard she tries and no matter how much 'success' her husband has. Everyone seems to understand that eventually, someday, Bertha's family might be respectable by the sheer force of their accumulated money, but for now, they're ignoring her invitations. The Gilded Age is also surprisingly cutting in its consideration of the work philanthropy does as a stage on which the very wealthy can preen."
• Simple enjoyment is all one can really glean from this series: "The Gilded Age is not seeking to paint a horrifying portrait of American plutocracy, nor is it offering any sort of searching treatise on the inequities of racism, sexism, and homophobia," says Richard Lawson. "Those social ills are in there—more than window dressing, less than focus—but the main drive or intent of The Gilded Age is to titillate like a good gossip session might. To make the audience feel the giddy tingle of whispered scandal, to be lulled by the formality of upper crust decorum. If that stuff didn’t work for you when Downton reigned supreme, it likely won’t again when The Gilded Age arrives on Monday. And that’s just fine. Those not interested are probably better off—and maybe even morally superior—for not falling prey to these fantasies of wealth, these sympathetic depictions of pampered idiots who have nothing better to do than fret over who gets invited to a luncheon. But if you are looking for the immersive distraction of a trip to the well-appointed climes of yesteryear, The Gilded Age serves that up with eager largesse. Consuming the rich isn’t quite eating them, but it’ll do until the reckoning comes."
• The Gilded Age is a muddled and slapdash portrait — a thin gloss on its superior sources that consistently dips into caricature: "Fellowes’s heart doesn’t seem to have been in it; certainly his ear wasn’t," says Mike Hale, adding: "The shopworn dialogue jibes with the largely one-note characterizations, seen most egregiously in the hidebound widow Agnes, who seems to have no thoughts beyond her distaste for the nouveau riche. In general, the conservatism and provincialism of the old guard is so overdrawn, and presented with such little context, that the society women seem like they’re from outer space, and the actresses playing them can’t do much to make them human. One of the glories of Downton, of course, was the excellence of its performers, many of whom were not well known in the United States beforehand. For The Gilded Age HBO has assembled a starrier cast, but most of the actors fall victim to the obviousness of the material. Baranski’s usual brilliance is muffled; she’s the designated zinger deliverer, like Maggie Smith in Downton, but the effect isn’t there. Nixon tries hard but can’t find anything consistent to play in Ada, who’s always on the verge of hysterical-spinster caricature. Bertha is a slightly more rounded character — the story is generally more sympathetic to the people of the future — but her grim social climbing isn’t that much more interesting than Agnes’s snobbery, and Coon seems as uncomfortable as her castmates. Other performers go straight to mugging, like Nathan Lane as the social arbiter Ward McAllister."
• The Gilded Age is more optimistic about wealth than Downton Abbey: "Even in Downton Abbey, his own end-of-empire series, Fellowes approached wealth with more optimism, if only because literally anything would be more optimistic than Succession. His richest characters are often imperious and myopic, monstrous in their lack of compassion and perspective," says Daniel Fienberg. "But wealth is an amplifier, not a definer. The 'downstairs' characters in Fellowes’ world can be just as venal, but they’re systemically shackled. At the same time, there’s room for the rich in Fellowes’ world to be kind, to deserve and find love. Even in an aristocracy-in-decline piece like Downton, lucre is neither an inherent malady or panacea. The Gilded Age is more optimistic about wealth than Downton or Gosford Park because in transferring a comparably structured upstairs/downstairs story to America in the 1880s, it’s about a birth-of-empire. Perhaps that sense of hopefulness gets in the way of the stakes in an ambitious series that’s an embarrassment of casting and character riches, without always working as high drama. A full overview of The Gilded Age would take me longer than the Michael Engler-directed pilot, which runs 80 minutes and somehow might have needed to be a bit longer."
• The prolonged time it took to make The Gilded Age may ultimately be a blessing: "It’s an age-old plot, but The Gilded Age arrives with a racial and social awareness its Downton Abbey forebears did not," says Ani Bundel. "This awareness is part of a longer-term trend toward color consciousness adopted with varying levels of success by shows such as Sanditon, Grantchester and The Long Song, but unlike those PBS series, HBO’s entry will likely have a far larger mainstream footprint (and marketing budget)."
• The Gilded Age excels at re-creating the creature comforts of Downton Abbey: "For those who want one, the show is an escapist balm, a comforting distraction from the woes of the world," says Alison Herman. "The plot’s lack of urgency is a selling point in and of itself. Can Bertha get her snooty peers to come to her dinner party? Will Agnes and Ada’s niece Marian (Louisa Jacobson), an impoverished orphan from Pennsylvania, adjust to her new home? You won’t be at the edge of your seat—just deeply ensconced in your couch, perhaps sipping a cup of tea. Where it falters is in expanding its range. Fellowes clearly relishes his new environs; The Gilded Age has a passion for niche New York historical figures that’s Mrs. Maisel–esque, give or take a century. Viewers will recognize Clara Barton (Linda Emond), whose Red Cross is the .01 percent’s latest cause du jour, but architect Stanford White (John Sanders) or social arbiter Ward McAllister (Nathan Lane) are cameos for the true history heads. Caroline Astor (Donna Murphy) functions not unlike Bridgerton’s Queen Charlotte, a lofty figure who observes the action from above and occasionally deigns to influence it. But America is more than a shiny new set of proper nouns."
• It's hard to care about The Gilded Age's characters: "The only stakes are an infinitesimal difference between rich people whose forebears have been in Pennsylvania for a century and a half, rich people whose parents were from Ireland, and soon-to-be-rich people who are lawyers. Who cares?" says Rebecca Onion, adding: "I don’t mean to be exhausting by advancing a class-based critique of a show by a man everyone knows is deeply conservative—indeed, a full-on Tory member of the House of Lords—or of a network whose driving interest in wealthy white people is already well established. But my lack of interest in the show is only slightly a matter of politics. It’s more that, beyond a normal, warmblooded amount of interest in a developing love triangle between Marian, a handsome young solicitor (Thomas Cocquerel), and the maybe-slightly-more-handsome young scion of the Russell family (Harry Richardson), I truly can’t bring myself to care about these people and their airless drawing room lives. My kingdom for a little bit of horse manure on their highly polished shoes!"
• The Gilded Age is gentle, blissful entertainment: "Watching the first five episodes elicited a reaction not unlike enjoying a warm fireplace with witty friends," says Ben Travers. "The tasteful tale of class conflict at the start of America’s Gilded Age relishes its expansive production, stunning wardrobes, and talented ensemble as thoroughly as it preserves its respectful atmosphere. After all, Fellowes’ characters’ common goal is to be society’s most dignified member. Appearing gentlemanly instead of being a gentleman is social suicide, and where one stands on the public ladder of success is everything, whether they need to maintain appearances in order to access long-denied opportunities or for the simple satisfaction of knowing you’re a rung up on the guy down the block."
• Each episode pops with eye-catching practical sets combined with seamless CGI and crackles with crisp exchanges: "This series is brimming with an ensemble equal to Downton in numbers and potentially matching the dramatic richness of that unforgettable group," says Richard Roeper, adding: "Early episodes bring in a wealth of interesting characters, including the snooty upper-crust Mrs. Fane and Mrs. Morris, played by Kelli O’Hara and Katie Finnernan, respectively, and the gatekeeper for all things social, one Ward McAllister, played with hammy verve by the great Nathan Lane. Meanwhile, in the kitchen and in the hallways, Simon Jones is a standout as the Carson-like butler, Bannister; Kristine Nielsen is memorable as Mrs. Bauer, a German immigrant and cook with a kindly heart, and Taylor Richardson is heartbreaking as a housemaid with a tragic past. (We could name at least a half-dozen equally interesting characters.)"
• But for its impeccable cast and presentation, The Gilded Age occasionally bites off more than it can chew: "Individual scenes shine, but the pacing is rather inconsistent, and major subplots seem to come and go in the background with little fanfare," says Clint Worthington, adding: "Still, a lot of narrative chickens have yet to roost, and there are enough ephemeral delights in The Gilded Age to make it worth an initial gander...For better or worse, The Gilded Age carries all of the strengths and weaknesses of Downton Abbey to a Yankee milieu. It’s gorgeous and beautifully staged, with all the comforting pageantry that its period setting allows. And Fellowes seems more game to openly critiquing America’s class and race divides than he was in his sun-dappled nostalgia for King George’s England. But can you really be that critical of the forces that built such ostentatious wealth when showcasing that wealth is part of the appeal? Time will tell whether Fellowes’ trans-Atlantic experiment will work, or if this kind of Merchant-Ivory formula has finally run its course."
• The Gilded Age and Julian Fellowes benefit from co-writer Sonja Warfield's contributions: "What makes The Gilded Age actually serve as an evolution for Fellowes as a creator rather than a step backward is how the series handles other issues apart from the typical class divide — and writer Sonja Warfield's contributions are very much felt here," says Carly Lane. "Nowhere better is this illustrated than in the dynamic between Marian Brook (Louisa Jacobson), who discovers her father has left her penniless and travels to Manhattan to live with aunts Ada and Agnes, and Peggy Scott (Denée Benton), an aspiring writer who is at constant odds with her father (John Douglas Thompson) over her career choice. The friendship between the two women is an unlikely one from the start when they meet by chance on the train to New York, but The Gilded Age does something very interesting in that it periodically focuses on the way Peggy is regarded very differently in society as a Black woman, with the camera lingering on subtle moments of microaggression directed against her, moments that are often juxtaposed against Marian's inherent privilege in the very same scene. The series doesn't present a fantasy version of the 1880s in which racism doesn't exist, but even more importantly, it gives Peggy enough screentime to have her own story independent of the other characters — primarily, as she seeks to become a published writer and, by extension, potentially finds a romance of her own with handsome newspaper owner T. Thomas Fortune (Sullivan Jones). There's also an intriguing plot thread surrounding Agnes' son Oscar (Blake Ritson) trying to court the Russells' wide-eyed unmarried daughter Gladys (Taissa Farmiga), in part so that he can marry someone capable of turning a blind eye to his secret (and in this time period, illegal) relationship with another man."
• The Gilded Age should've focused on Christine Baranski and Carrie Coon's characters: "In truth, The Gilded Age would be a much better show if it kept its focus more tightly on these two women and the very different outlooks about how the world does and should work that they possess," says Lacy Baugher Milas. "Instead, the decision to include so many other characters and subplots means that virtually everything and everyone in the show ends up being diluted down to the most basic, uninteresting version of themselves. To put it bluntly, I’m not sure why anyone thought we wanted to watch two van Rhijns servants go on the world’s most awkward date together as a prelude to one of them later sharing a harrowing story of sexual harassment, but I would like to ask that person some questions."
• How did they all sit down?: "As television spectacles go, it’s a beautiful one," says Gabrielle Bruney. "I had some questions, though, about the large bustles sported on dresses of the era: What’s going on back there? Are these looks related to a**-centric styles of today? And most importantly, how did they all sit down?"
• Here's a list of all the theater stars in The Gilded Age
• Cynthia Nixon compares her The Gilded Age and And Just Like That characters: “I think that Ada could not even imagine a world in which someone like Miranda Hobbes would exist,” she says. “Ada is the youngest child in the family and she’s been taken care of almost like an object. I think the thing that is true of Ada is she’s very tender and she’s very, very fearful. She didn’t have anybody to instill her with dreams for herself. And so, her dreams are very small. But what we say at the beginning of the show is that even if she can’t dream for herself, she can dream for her young niece.”
• Christine Baranski on playing Agnes van Rhijn, the embodiment of "old" New York: “Playing powerful people is something I’ve learned to refine throughout my career,” she says, “and there’s a power that comes from stillness and trusting that your words and the way in which you say them will have authority.” Baranski adds: “Agnes is a very emphatic character—I call her a walking declarative sentence. I have a T-shirt that says ‘I’m Not Bossy, I’m the Boss,’ and that’s true for Agnes and a lot of my other characters.”
• Baranski welcomes comparisons to Dame Maggie Smith: "It was intimidating," she says, knowing such parallels would be drawn. "Any comparison to Maggie Smith to me is just awesome. To me, she's incomparable, and I have idolized her since I was in high school. I remember seeing her play Desdemona in Othello on film, and I was sitting in the balcony of the theater in Buffalo, New York."
• Julian Fellowes says The Gilded Age has a "different energy curve" than Downton Abbey: "Downton had a melancholy about it, which was rather charming. It was partly about the decline of the control of the (British) aristocracy," he says. "This is the absolute opposite: It's the arrival of the new guys in town who came to New York in the 1870s and ’80s and built their palaces up and down Fifth Avenue. They threw money at everything because they had money."
• The Gilded Age is a test for Fellowes after undergoing a long development process and moving from NBC to HBO: "The series will test whether viewers want to turn to HBO for a historical costume drama in the Downton Abbey mold, and whether Downton was a once-in-a-career hit or a repeatable phenomenon," says The New York Times' Dave Itzkoff. "Fellowes, who wrote all six seasons of Downton Abbey (a couple of episodes included co-writers) and its two film sequels, knows that these are precipitous stakes, though he prefers to see them as reflections of the runaway success that Downton enjoyed." Fellowes says of making The Gilded Age: “The only way people are not going to have any expectations of you is if you’ve only ever written a flop. I’d rather have the big success and see if I can survive it.”