A Few Notes on Thomas (Downton Abbey)

Thomas Barrow has always been a frustrating but compelling Downton character for me.  As despicable as he can be, he still pulls me in.  Now, that’s partly due to Rob James-Collier’s rich performance, which I love.  It’s also partly due to how strongly I identify with him as a queer character – that’s not an automatic “in” for me, but his situation in series 3 aired as I was preparing to come out to my family, and I think it kind of made me imprint on him.  This post tries to sort out this often-contradictory character (Thomas-related spoilers through the series.)

In series 1 and much of series 2, James-Collier’s acting is pretty much the only thing that keeps me from hating Thomas (now that the series is over, it’d be interesting to see how I react to him going back to those early episodes.)  By and large, he’s written as a broad villain, a haughty malcontent who’s constantly scheming to gain the upper hand over other downstairs folk, especially Bates.  I remember it annoyed me to see the one LGBTQ character written so “evilly.”  Under further consideration, though, there’s more going on here than it seems at first glance. 

Being gay in 1912-1925 doesn’t excuse Thomas’s conniving, but I think it helps explain it to an extent.  We see in the pilot how guarded he is.  Even though he seems to genuinely care for the Duke (more, it appears, than the Duke cares for him,) that doesn’t stop his plans of blackmailing the Duke if he needs to.  We quickly see that this is a pretty defining trait for Thomas.  He constantly tries to get one over on someone else before they can do the same to him.  In early episodes, he frequently suspects Bates of talking about/plotting against him, and he’s always on the offensive.  Living in a society where his orientation could get him fired, or even arrested, he’s cultivated a dog-eat-dog existence where he endeavors to always be the one to strike first.

As time goes by, we see more of Thomas’s vulnerabilities.  He makes brief, tenuous connections, like with the blind soldier he helps care for during the war, and he lets his defenses down just long enough to show he’s not as ambivalent as he pretends to be.  He (very occasionally) uses his scheming powers for good, whether intentionally (helping Andy out of a jam) or as a happy accident (playing a big role in ousting the officious nanny who, it turns out, was mistreating Sybbie.)  The Jimmy situation in series 3 is kind of incredible for him.  Thomas, the man whose self-preservation and self-promotion is always at the fore of his mind, takes an enormous risk with huge possible fallout.  He believes O’Brien’s lie that Jimmy is interested in him even though the evidence before his eyes tells him that can’t be true, just because he wants it so badly.  That’s a major shift in Thomas’s standard MO, and it tells a lot about him.

In light of these more sympathetic moments, though, it’s frustrating to see him continually returning to his old ways, putting his back up and plotting against those around him.  On several levels, I can understand why he does it.  After all, old habits are hard to break, even when he’s taking tentative steps toward trying to be better.  Showing any kind of vulnerability is fairly antithetical to his character, so when his kinder efforts don’t bear immediate fruit, he tends to dismiss them as hopeless and retreat into his isolation.  He’s also quite the self-saboteur.  As he observes in series 6, he disappoints himself when he keeps burning bridges even though he knows he shouldn’t and it won’t get him anywhere.  But while I get all that, I still hate to see him falling back on villainy.  I’m not even sure why, since his more admirable scenes are pretty rare, but I just root so hard for him to turn it around and it kills me to watch him blowing his chances.

Relationship Spotlight: Tom Branson & Lady Sybil Crawley (Downton Abbey)

This isn’t a fascinating relationship, a narrative treat for viewers to ruminate over, but it’s a lovely one, and I’m fond of it.  It has some serious missteps – Sybil and Branson are particularly hurt by series 2’s time jumps, where  they seem to speak once every six months and have the same conversation in which Branson comes off as a jerk – but in the end, it’s a fine connection between two characters I like.  In light of Tom’s less-than-compelling entanglements of late, I thought I’d look back on better times.  Spoilers for Sybil-Branson plots ahead.  (Note – though he’s called Tom now, I’ll refer to him mainly as Branson, since that’s what the show uses for most of the pertinent storyline.)

From the start, it helps that both Sybil and Branson are engaging and rootable in their own right.  Sybil is so sweet and conscientious, and I like that she not only sees her privilege relative to those around her, but she actively tries to help others improve their situations.  Her efforts to help Gwen find a secretary job are a highlight of series 1, and I still wish we were able to see more of her nursing work during the war.  She doesn’t see inequality and just sigh about an unjust but immutable world – she rolls up her expensive sleeves and gets her hands dirty.  Branson, as a socialist in favor of Irish independence, is a bit notorious among the Downton staff, he’s not the typical image of a revolutionary out for blood.  He hates the system of unbalanced power that perpetuates his people’s subjugation, and he speaks against those who prop it up, but he doesn’t indiscriminately hate all members of the ruling class.  He judges individuals on their merits and ultimately wants change through demonstration and free speech, not violence. 

It’s impressive that, for a socially-verboten upstairs/downstairs romance, their relationship is built on friendship and shared interests.  It’s not an overwhelming onslaught of sexual desire that makes them fly in the face of society’s expectations and taste forbidden fruit.  Rather, they initially connect when Branson is driving the family somewhere and overhears evidence of Sybil’s interest in politics.  He later strikes up a discussion with her, giving her pamphlets on political topics and encouraging her independent streak.  I love that he watches outside the house when she models her new harem pants for her family.  It may not be love yet, but it’s clear he’s enchanted by this young woman who won’t simply accept the rules that are prescribed for her.

This is how they begin, by talking to and supporting one another.  Love comes slowly, with acknowledgment of the upheaval it requires.  Like I said, it squanders a good chunk of its potential in series 2; it seems at least 80% of their conversations there involve Branson wanting Sybil to run away with him and acting like she’s a snob when she points out that marrying him would likely mean saying goodbye to everything she’s known in her life to date.  However, the ship rights itself, and what little we see of them as a married couple stays true to the start of their relationship.  They look out for each other, they talk through their disagreements, and each loves the other at their best and worst.  Though it’s been interesting to explore Tom’s uncertain position at Downton since Sybil’s death, I definitely would have preferred more of their marriage than we got.  I won’t dwell on the sad ending, though.  Instead, I’ll leave you with another favorite Sybil/Branson moment of mine from series 1 – when Branson rushes into the garden party to tell Sybil that Gwen got the job she’s been trying for.  As their mutual excitement and happiness takes over, there’s a moment where both of them have entirely forgotten that they’re a chauffeur and an earl’s daughter.  I love that.

A Short Ponder on Downton Abbey

 

Really, Downton Abbey is just an example for discussing new works set in the past (various Downton spoils ahead.)  When writers today pen period pieces, antiquated socially-unjust beliefs are a big consideration.  There’s a pull to align the heroes with modern thinking: early-19^th-century good guys are abolitionists, early-20^th-century good guys support women’s suffrage, and so on.  Understandable; many aren’t straight, white, able-bodied, land-owning Christian males, and people in general don’t root for bigots.  But go too far, and historical credibility is lost. 

 

Downton Abbey is inconsistent on this issue, tending to fall on the anachronistic side.  In the end, none of the Crawley girls acquiesce to their parents’ marital plans.  Each forges her own path, sometimes extreme (Sybil eloping with the socialist chauffeur, Edith cavorting with a married man) sometimes less so (though Mary eventually marries Matthew, it’s because she loves him, not because he’s the heir to Downton.)  And despite unhappiness or disapproval, Lord and Lady Grantham always ultimately accept matters.  Plus, Sybil is a huge supporter of women’s rights – following the suffragette movement, helping a housemaid find better employment, even small things like wearing harem pants – and Edith learns to drive and writes a newspaper column.

 

Being gay puts more than Thomas’s job at stake – homosexual acts were illegal in the U.K. until the ‘60s, so his outing is a potential police matter.  However, nearly everyone is on his side.  Mrs. Hughes is her usual wonderful self, Bates and Anna reach out to help, and Lord Grantham, one of the least open-minded on the show, says it’s nothing he didn’t see at Eton.  Furthermore, it’s widely agreed that Thomas didn’t choose to be gay.  Even Carson, whose reaction is the harshest, admits that Thomas can’t help his orientation.  My LGBT history is incomplete, but I’d have thought it was much later before average people believed sexuality isn’t a choice.

 

Downton didn’t really explore race until black jazz singer Jack appeared in series 4.  Very light steps here – all the Crawleys double-take when they first see him and tend to talk stiffly around his color, but they’re not openly rude to or dismissive of him.  There’s a sense that they’re at least mildly racist but careful not to be seen as such, which seems wildly inaccurate for 1920.  When Jack gets engaged to Rose, Mary cites societal disapproval and Rose’s own murky motivations in her argument against it.  The two speak cordially to one another about “if [they] lived in a better world,” focusing on the larger idea of social acceptance rather than what Mary thinks of a black man being romantically involved with her cousin, which feels like a copout.

 

All historically sketchy, but that’s the catch 22; do I want to see Mary be racist?  Of course not.  Lord Grantham’s popularity has nosedived as his less-enlightened attitudes have been revealed – while he’s tepidly tolerant of homosexuality and mostly keeps mum on race, his “Father Knows Best” approach to women is uncomfortable, and his blatantly anti-Catholic statements are just gross.  And it’s true that Thomas probably would’ve fared much worse in real life, but how could I have handled open rejection?  Carson “sympathetically” admitting it’s not Thomas’s fault he’s been “twisted by nature into something foul” is horrible.  If Anna or Mrs. Hughes had similarly denigrated him (not out of the question at that time,) I might’ve been done with the show.

 

All this is a long, rambling way to say I don’t know the answer.  What’s appropriate?  What’s true to history?  What will audiences accept?  It’ll take someone savvier than me to figure it out.