Not that these dramas have a whole lot in common (though Claire Foy appears in two and would have to join the cast of 'EastEnders' to be beamed onscreen in the UK more frequently than she is currently).
'Upstairs...' finished last weekend, with a Nazi spy who happened to be Lady Agnes's sister, and Lady Agnes's husband's lover - keep up! - tipping herself over the balcony to splat onto the front hall floor as the world descended into the maelstrom of WWII. A bit like the end of the first series of Downton, but one war later, and very dishonorable stuff afoot. At least Fellowes has the decency to keep pure villainy largely below stairs, harrumph! Much to like in the series, not least butler Mr. Pritchard, cook Mrs. Thack, and the believable and hesitant romance between chauffeur Spargo and nursemaid/housemaid Beryl. And is it us or does Laura Haddock look like a young Lesley-Ann Down? They missed a trick not casting her as a Bellamy relative. Things upstairs were a little forced, though. Neither Hallam nor Agnes, as Master and Mistress of 165 Eaton Place, are sympathetic enough to drag viewers upstairs through the green baize door....
Meanwhile 'White Heat' stretches credulity week by week, in the way that 'Friends' did. By the 1970s they hadn't moved on? Not saying they wouldn't still meet, but... no other friends, no partners from outside? And why would they still entertain the obnoxious, privileged, drug-addicted Jack when they had moved on from his 'social experiment' student house and got jobs and, presumably, lives? His sole function at mealtimes seemed to be to offend someone.
'Homeland' is following 'White Heat's lead, only having more episodes, it has much, much further to stretch. Imagine you're an agent who is absolutely obsessed with the idea that a returned prisoner of war marine is now a terrorist. You think you've finally got him by making him take a polygraph test to prove he gave a razor blade to a fellow terrorist in custody, so that he could kill himself. What's the last thing you would do? Get steaming drunk and sleep with him, maybe? This terrorist who represents everything you fear and loathe? Of-course, now that you've done this, when he passes the polygraph test, you try to prove that he was cheating by having him asked whether he's been unfaithful to his wife. He obligingly lies, without a flicker on the graph, but... you can't say how you know he's cheating! Duh! Well-made hokum, but hokum for all that.
'Mad Men' is a more subtle drama, and it's back after a long break. Season 5 is only on Sky (Ali resists, Dan grudgingly adds to the Murdoch empire) and now it's 1967. All the previous elements are there, yes all, and that means that nothing much has moved on in almost 2 years. Joan's baby looks younger than most TV newborns, and while Don has married his secretary and turned her into a 'creative', the agency is still staffed by the same chiefs and the same lack of Indians. Dan knows a thing or two about ad agencies and their history, and this scenario is about as likely as a Labour landslide in Kensington. Part of 'Mad Men's fascination is in pondering what it is that's so fascinating, when so little happens in each episode. Is it the sharpness? The script and the suits are only offset by the hourglass curves of the ladies. Maybe we'll work it out by the end of this series, but then we've said that the last 4 times.
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