Things to look forward to in 2026

Happy Boxing Day! Which is often a reasonably good time to blog, so here goes. There are quite a few projects cultural-consumption-wise that I'm at least moderately excited about, so I'll stick with a roundup of films/TV/the occasional book I'm looking forward to rather than a wish list of what I would like to happen (those are always a bit trickier to write anyway). As in 2025, I'm not expecting to get too carried away and develop a new villain crush or anything, but you never know.

Seven Dials Mystery: Agatha Christie adaptations are a mixed bag, but this one, premiering on Netflix early this year, could be a fun one. The book it's based on is a romp, with some tongue-in-cheek references to the world of P.G. Wodehouse (though you don't have to pick up on them to enjoy it), and an almost guaranteed mood-lifter. The only thing I'm not too keen on in the book is a certain snobbishness – the heroine Lady Eileen aka Bundle is part of the aristocracy, and sometimes a faint contempt for New Money shines through. But Bundle is mostly likeable, unlike her ghastly dad.

I'm relying on Netflix to prune the snobbishness, but I'm a bit nervous about what else they'll change. Bundle seems well-cast, though.

A Tale of Two Cities: Apparently, BBC in collaboration with MGM+ is working on a new adaptation, and it has been a while since the last one. Two Cities isn't one of my favourite Dickens novels (Barsad is fun, but otherwise it's lacking in the male villain department). However, I do like it, and a French Revolution setting is always interesting. 

Moreover, this will give a good indication of whether the Beeb can still do Dickens or if they are too mired in cultural politics to get a classic adaptation right (I could only make it through two episodes of the latest "gritty" Great Expectations). Kit Harington aka Jon Snow in Game of Thrones plays Sydney Carton – no objections from me – but another actor plays his accidental double Charles Darnay. Well, OK then.

One Piece season two: I haven't blogged about this hard-to-define Netflix show – fantasy and pirate adventure mashup is how I'd describe the genre – but I had a great time with the first season of this live-action adaptation of an anime. The fictional world is quite insane, and the premise more than a little strange. The charismatic young protagonist Monkey D. Luffy is dead set from an early age on finding a fabled pirate treasure (the One Piece of the title) and becoming "King of the Pirates". His wild ambition becomes increasingly likely as he gathers a motley crew of talented misfits, acquires a ship and finds (well, steals) a rare map.

What makes the premise strange is that Luffy doesn't actually want to rob anyone, and doesn't seem to realise that this is what pirates do most of the time, rather than just hunt for treasure and go on adventures. Also, no-one points this out to him (his pal Koby, who ends up with the Marines, has a try, but is told that "there are good and bad pirates"). Encountering increasingly sinister pirate captains in the forms of a short-tempered female pirate with a skull-crushing club; a psychotic clown; a creepy con man masquerading as a butler; and finally a fishman with an anti-human bias does not serve as a wake-up call to Luffy. However, the sheer charm of the progatonists and lots of exciting derring-do carry the series through all absurdities (which are entertaining in themselves), so here's hoping they keep it up in the next season.

The Mandalorian and Grogu: As someone who enjoyed all seasons of The Mandalorian, even the third one, I have to include this on my list, though I'm not sure where next Din Djarin's and Grogu's story could go. But I like to spend time in this part of the Star Wars universe, so I'm happy to catch this at the cinema. Let's hope that, if Thrawn makes an appearance, he'll be more impressive than in Ahsoka, and that they don't waste too much time on Grogu-being-cute scenes.

Dark Reading Matter by Jasper Fforde: Finally, a Thursday Next novel! It's apparently the last one, but I understand that; it might be time to wrap up Thursday's story.  

I wasn't as fond of the latest Thursday Next novel, The Woman Who Died A Lot, as the other ones in the series, and I did not care for the last instalment of Fforde's The Last Dragonslayer series (which was never a great favourite of mine) or the stand-alone novel Early Riser. Consequently, I've been a bit worried about Fforde's fictional output lately. What with that obvious immigrants-as-rabbits allegory he wrote (to be fair, I haven't read it, but honestly – I hate this trope), I was afraid that he was suffering from the modern ailment of politicitis which has had a baleful influence on cultural output. But I was pleasantly surprised by the follow-up to Shades of Grey, Red Side Story, which though by no means unpolitical had the old Ffordian verve and inventiveness. So I'm cautiously optimistic. If I like Dark Reading Matter, it might be time for another full-length Jasper Fforde post.

Avengers: Doomsday: It's make-or-break-time for the MCU, and I will be there cheering the Avengers on, or possibly Doctor Doom. And Loki will definitely be in it!

The yearly crop of Netflix Christmas films

'Tis the season for not too demanding blog posts. Last year, I admitted to the guilty pleasure of watching Christmas romcoms on Netflix; this year, I've indulged even more heavily, and might as well give a few tips to those who share my taste for this particular kind of brain rot. Always remembering that we're not talking The Seventh Seal here (fortunately).

The ones to watch while you're wrapping presents (or not at all): The award for the most plotless Christmas rom-coms available on Netflix this year (at least as watched by me) goes to Haul out the Holly and Haul out the Holly: Lit Up. Their main attraction is Lacey Chabert, of Mean Girls and Hot Frosty fame. Emily, a stressed-out woman with Christmas-mad parents, returns home to her small town (of course) after a bad breakup. Only, her parents are disappearing to Florida and the duty of keeping up the over-the-top decorating and Christmas jollities now falls, at least partly, to her. She only wants to have a nice, quiet Christmas but is somehow won over by the collective hysteria. 

In the follow-up, Emily and the other townsfolk feel threatened by a family of influencers (gasp!) who want to take over the festivities completely. I actually somewhat preferred Haul out the Holly: Lit Up to the first film – the dialogue is a bit sharper, and the quirky neighbours have their moments – but there's no denying both films are very thin indeed; Chabert, pro though she is, has her work cut out. Also, the message is confusing. At some point, I'd have liked someone to remind the small-town busybodies that Christmas isn't about the tallness of your nutcracker (that's not a euphemism: this is a thing). Nevertheless, you won't miss much while struggling to wrap up that cosy sweater, which is a plus.      

The stilted ones: Sometimes you just want a Christmas romance that actually is a bit stiff and unconvincing, simply to get into the right frivolous spirit. Paris Christmas Waltz and A Cinderella Christmas Ball are good alternatives for watching while present-wrapping, if you can't face the Haul out the Holly films. The romantic leads struggle to produce any chemistry, the romantic entanglements feel cut and pasted from other Christmas romances, and there's a certain air of cutting corners when it comes to costs. But the surroundings are nice, and there are some surprisingly good performances from side characters. In Paris Christmas Waltz, Paul Freeman nails the wise mentor role (even the Frenchness), and A Cinderella Christmas Ball has a solid supporting cast all round. I especially appreciated the surly guard, the crusty butler and the disgraced Duke who spouted none-too-brilliant words of wisdom with full-on sincerity.

The actually quite good ones: If I'm not mistaken, all the films I've mentioned so far are imported fare, shown but not produced by Netflix. The homegrown crop this year is a cut above: it feels like Netflix is getting the hang of this. True, the best Netflix romcom I've watched this year was not a Christmas one (The Wrong Paris – yep, I'm as surprised as you are). But Champagne Problems isn't half bad either. 

If you opt for only one Christmas romcom set in Paris, please let it be this one and not Paris Christmas Waltz. In Champagne Problems, glamorous business woman Sydney goes to Paris to win a bidding war for a French winery on behalf of her company. She accidentally falls for the owner's estranged son, and complications ensue as she ends up spending the weekend at the vineyard with an assortment of national stereotypes while trying to show her mettle.

Call me easily pleased, but having the French characters talk to each other in actual, correct French, and the German pronounce each obscure German Christmas phenomenon impeccably (because the actors actually are French/German, duh) already gives the project a certain classiness for me. To add to this, the dialogue is pretty fizzy, and the hero, instead of only hanging around gazing longingly at the heroine, actually has his own drama to resolve. Pas mal du tout.

A Merry Little X-Mas was also good fun. Personally, I found the environmentalist female lead character (a yummy mummy played by Alicia Silverstone – man, I'm old) hard to take, but the rival love interests (a toy-boy himbo and an English model really trying not to lose it) of the couple supposedly breaking up kind of stole the show, and there were some solid chuckles along the way. If you need small-town American cosiness, this is better than Haul out the Holly.

The absolutely bonkers one: I had to find one with a premise almost as out there as Hot Frosty, and My Secret Santa fits the bill. Get this: a single mother, who's lost her uninspiring job because of cut-backs, is desperate to find money to send her daughter to... snow-boarding school. A nearby resort offers a 50% discount on the school fees, but their only opening is for an inhouse Santa. So our intrepid heroine disguises herself as a jovial old man and lands the job, while falling for the resort owner's son.

Really, one suspects that someone came up with the idea while drunk. But you have to give Netflix credit: once committed to it, they do their best to make it work, and I had a good time. Not the worst Christmas film Netflix has to offer, but (among the newcomers) undoubtedly the craziest.                         

Very light reading indeed – Regency and meta romances

Sometimes, all you have the energy for is a good, light-hearted romance, preferably without those awkward "I'm serious, me" sections where the heroine Learns About Herself or has to get over some family drama of the decidedly-not-fun-kind. But where to find a romance that is not too embarrassing? I no longer automatically reach for the latest Sophie Kinsella, as she seems to be leaning a bit too much into lesson-learning nowadays. Emily Henry is a find, but she can hardly be expected to turn out more than one book per year. So what else does the genre have to offer?

After a newspaper article recommended Sophie Irwin's A Lady's Guide to Fortune-Hunting, I bought it but was unconvinced by the first couple of paragraphs. Luckily, I gave the novel another try this year, and found that it improved considerably after the first chapter or so. This is classic Regency romance fare: you may not be too surprised by how things turn out, but it's highly enjoyable all the same, and not too anachronistic-seeming. I've stumbled on some shockers in this genre, which were essentially just modern chick-lit in fancy dress, but this feels if not genuinely 19th-century, at least genuinely Georgette Heyerish. 

Also, it's uncommonly clean for a modern romance novel, which is a plus in my book. Honestly, there are only so many sex scenes using "of him" and "of her" phrases ("the scent of him", "the wondrous touch of her") and featuring supernaturally patient guys I can take. More power to Irwin for sparing us them. Her second book A Lady's Guide to Scandal is just as good, even a touch better when it comes to the plotting (at one time, I was genuinely unsure of where the story was going), but the obvious play for the Bridgerton audience bothered me a little.

Elsewhere, Emily Henry seems to have started a new trend: the meta romance. I hesitated before buying Katie Holt's Not in My Book as the plot seemed uncomfortably close to the one in Henry's Beach Read. But though it features a(n aspiring) romance writer and a broody love interest who's into literary fiction and who criticises her in creative writing classes, it's sufficiently its own thing not to feel like a rip-off. The heroine is cute, the hero bearable and "enemies to lovers" a very solid trope. 

I can't help it, I tend to enjoy romances about writing romances – and more often than not I prefer the book-related stuff to the romantic scenes, which was also the case here. Yes, there are sex scenes this time around, with the patient-guy factor very much in evidence, but I'll say this for Holt: when it comes to these scenes, she manages them better than Emily Henry, though Henry has the edge in other respects. Ideal for travelling.

The meta romance sub-genre has its pitfalls, though. Even though I had a good enough time with Cristina Wolf's How to Write a Rom-Com, I had expected more from the premise – jaded publishing assistant sent to a small town to gather ideas for a romance writer, though she really doesn't enjoy small-town romances – than I got. Pointing out that something is a trope doesn't make it less of  a trope in your own story if you don't put a different spin on it. Here, the heroine succumbs to the charms of the small town and the small-town hunk way too easily, plus there's a Liar Revealed story baked in, and that's not a favourite plot-line of mine. But hey, I read the novel. I'm by no means tired of meta romances yet. 

A double dose of cosy crime dramas

The expression "cosy crime" is an odd one. It has a negative, somewhat patronising tinge, and I think few crime writers would whole-heartedly admit to penning "cosies" (as they're called in the latest Carol Goodman – I don't know if it's an established term). People who enjoy cosy crime like myself, though, don't tend to be shy about it, and bookshops sometimes proudly label a whole section of their shelf space as "cosy crime", so their customers don't risk going home with something grim and gritty by mistake. I don't think TV execs mind the term "cosy crime" very much either.

One reason writers themselves are wary of the term is perhaps that it can be unwise to consciously pen a "cosy crime" story. If you sit down thinking: "Right. Let's make this really selling. Cups of tea, shrewd yet loveable senior citizens, fireplaces, cute pets, quirky neighbours, dead earls, here we gooo", chances are you'll end up with a story that is either too cloying or too ironic and underestimates its readership/audience. It's better to start with the mindset that you'd like to write the kind of crime story you yourself enjoy – and then, as often as not, it will turn out a comfortable read or watch. 

As for any moral reservations: it's true that crime is not cosy in real life. But nor is it entertaining in any other way. Criticism against "cosy crime" could be levelled against the whole genre of crime fiction, however glum and gory. We're probably ghouls to like it so much, but hey, no real person is harmed during reading or watching, and it keeps us away from the bear pits.

Circling back to the real subject of the post: I've recently watched not one but two British "cosy crime" dramas, which aired in the UK in the summer and have now found their way to Swedish television. I must admit it took me by surprise to find that they were as good as they were, because on paper they do seem a bit too textbook even for me.

What to say of this pitch? In Ludwig, David Mitchell, the comedian known for his "posh and repressed" persona, plays professional puzzlemaker John aka Ludwig. He's forced to impersonate his much more well-adjusted twin brother when the latter goes missing. The brother's a police detective, and John soon finds that his puzzle-solving flair is a help when cracking murder cases, though he's not great at social interaction.

I was suspicious of this setup as it smacked of "diagnosis crime", i.e. the kind of plot where the problem-solvers are better at their job because they have a touch of Aspergers, autism or OCD. It's a bit overdone. Besides, David Mitchell as nerdy and socially handicapped? Not exactly inventive.

Yet somehow it works. The crimes themselves are nice little puzzles, and the continuing mystery of James's disappearance is intriguing. But what really saves the show from being too run-of-the-mill is John's interaction with his brother's family: his sister-in-law, for whom he has always carried a torch, and his nephew, who isn't half as resentful about his uncle's prolonged stay as he could have been. Anna Maxwell Martin as James's wife, who ruthlessly pushes John out of his comfort zone yet is also very fond of him, is a standout. It's a pity Mitchell doesn't have more scope for his comic timing, though: mostly, he plays it straight.

Another obvious pitch would be Mark Gatiss as a closeted owner of a bookshop, who keeps his books in an eccentric order, enjoys tea and ginger biscuits and solves murders as a side-line in post-war Britain. And that's what we get in Bookish. Gatiss's character is even called Gabriel Book (which means his shop is called Book's, with an apostrophe). He has a harmonious lavender marriage with lovely Trottie, his best friend since childhood, and they own a dog named Dog. Bit too cosy, surely?

However, yet again, the obvious set-up works. The atmosphere is reminiscent of Foyle's War, and we get classic whodunnit plots in enjoyable settings, like a film shoot and a luxury hotel (the latter falling apart a bit). The problem-solving team is easy to root for: Polly Walker as Trottie is a delight, and I like ghoulish girl-next-door Nora and the easy-going Inspector Bliss. The Books' young protegé Jack is less interesting (he mostly walks around looking clueless), but I can take that. As for Gatiss, I admit I prefer his icy Mycroft in Sherlock, but he keeps Book (in some ways an eccentric-Brit cliché) from becoming grating with a touch of vulnerability.

It's heartening to see that even shows that look formulaic on the face of it can turn out to be treats if carried off with a bit of effort and some heart. A focus on core relationships is a good way to make a drama more compelling; it's not all about the problem-solving, even in a whodunnit. I'm looking forward to more Ludwig and Bookish – but no annoying communist housemaids next time, please.

The Diplomat season three is the best one yet – but I still don't know what kind of show it is

Just when I was convinced that The Diplomat was not trying to be the new West Wing, guess what kind of vibes the first episodes of season three gave off? Uh-huh, West Wing vibes, all the more obvious as Allison Janney's Grace Penn is now the President, and her husband is played by fellow ex-West Wing actor Bradley Whitford (boyish Josh's hair's now white – feel old yet?). The first major plot point is about who's going to be Penn's Vice President, and the whole "who sunk the ship?" plot of the first two seasons is shoved firmly in the background.

Soon, though, we're back from the US to the UK and from national to international intrigue. Which is something of a bummer. In spite of being an anglophile (or probably because of it), I prefer The Diplomat when it concerns itself with American rather than British politics. As long as we are on American soil, the show carries itself with more assurance. There may still be preposterous developments (they do not back-track from the revelation in season two, which is pretty hard to swallow), but you feel the home field advantage.

Thankfully, though, even when we're back in the UK, the repartee remains suitably snappy. The writing this season is far more consistently good than in the first two seasons, so even though I've had my misgivings I'm in for future seasons. It's time to give this show its own blogging tag.

But honestly, what is this shape-shifter of a show? Right now, I'd say it's leaning away from soapy thriller and more towards marital drama. It happens to also involve politics, as the central couple – Kate and Hal – are both ambitious politicians who, just to complicate matters, are entirely convinced by the other's statesmanlike qualities. They support each other, but also use each other, until this viewer at least has little clue about what's going on. But it's a pleasant kind of cluelessness.

The characters are sometimes as mysterious as the show's ambitions. I still don't know what Kate actually feels for her husband. In the first season, she was all for ditching him. Something shifted during season two, but then he had just been in a car bombing. This season, the relationship is incessantly on-off. Hal still loves his wife – I think – but he may love politics more, and there are signs that his patience with her private antics is wearing thin, as is her patience with his political schemes.

Fun as all this is to watch, characterisation is not the strong point of this series. It's carried by witty writing and good performances but, when it comes to most of its characters, you can state two opposite things about them, and either of them could be true. Grace Penn has the making of a great President. Grace Penn has the making of a dangerous President. Nicol Trowbridge is a fool. Or perhaps he is a crafty knave. Maybe he secretly loves Kate – or not-so-secretly hates Kate. Dennison is the voice of reason. Dennison is a stuffed shirt, ready to betray his boss at any time (the only thing that makes him credible as a Tory politician). Eidra is still in love with Stuart, or merely exasperated by Stuart... I could go on and on.

As long as we get plenty of one-liners and high-octane marital squabbling, though (and more Janney and Whitford, please!), I'm on board, and not only because Sewell remains impossibly handsome and charismatic as Hal. The next soapy thriller development seems to be just around the corner, but I'm ready to take it. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Who cares – it's watchable.

Miss Austen should be right up my alley, and yet...

Was autumn always this intense? I have trouble even making it to the gym a modest number of times a month, let alone finding the energy for blogging. But I guess I should be able to write about how there's no pleasing some people, in this case me.

A few weeks ago, I watched Miss Austen, a respectable period drama based on a novel by Gill Hornby. It's well-cast, well-acted, and has the admirable goal of defending Jane Austen's beloved sister Cassandra. She's not much liked by literary historians as she burned most of her sister's letters. However, this drama fights Cassandra's corner. An enduring love for Jane and an eagerness to follow her wishes are shown to be the reasons for the letter-burning, rather than an attempt to sanitise Austen's reputation. I think Austen would have warmly approved.

All the same, isn't it kinda boring?

That's certainly not the actors' fault. Both Keeley Hawes (always a safe bet) and Synnøve Karlsen put in engaging performances as the older and younger Cassandra; Patsy Ferran is a perfect Jane; and Jessica Hynes as my personal favourite, passive-aggressive sister-in-law Mary Austen, is a joy. We follow two timelines. The older Cassandra travels to the deathbed of the brother of the man she was supposed to marry, and takes an interest in his daughter Isabella. Isabella's deceased mother was a firm friend of Jane's, and Cassandra finds her sister's letters in an attempt to keep them from her sister-in-law's clutches. While she reads them, memories resurface. That's where the younger Cassandra and Jane – long-dead in the more recent timeline – come in.

The problem is, not much happens in either timeline. Either Hornby or the TV adapters have attempted to jolly things up a bit with a romance or two, but for once I could have done with less of this particular ingredient. Isabella's interest in the local doctor, who reciprocates her feelings but is too proud to ask again after having been shown the door once (by Isabella's dad), is a tepid affair. The young Cassandra meets an absurdly eligible admirer (wholly fictional, I suspect) while on a family holiday, but as we know that both she and Jane ended up single, it's just irritating to watch her push away her chance at love for no apparent reason. The plot drags quite a bit.

What should bring some zip into the proceedings is Jane's writing, but the flashbacks take place very early in her writing career, so there's not much discussion about her published novels. The exception is Persuasion, which the older Cassandra is reading to Isabella. I loved the flashback, taking place later than the other ones, where we see young(ish) Cassy reading the scene of Louisa's accident for the first time and exclaiming "you killed her!", much to Jane's amusement (Louisa lives). In the later timeline, Isabella is equally on the edge of her seat when the scene is read to her by Cassandra. 

This was great, and I could have done with more in the same vein. That Isabella's impertinent maid Dinah eavesdrops and gets ideas on how to bring her mistress and the doctor together was perhaps a melodramatic twist, but hey, I'm not complaining. We needed a reminder, at this point, as to why we should take any interest in these women at all.

The continuing problem with life and works dramas is that novelists' lives – even the most colourful ones – are rarely as interesting as their books. That doesn't mean they themselves were unhappy. The best thing about Miss Austen (besides Mary) is the sisterly bond between Jane and Cassandra, and I can well believe that they lived very contentedly, as long as they could be together. Whether their life really lends itself to the costume-drama treatment, however, is another matter.

Arguments for and against a Downton Abbey next-generation sequel

When Downton Abbey the series ended, I spent a post arguing for and against the idea of a Downton film (or movie). So it is only fitting that now the final Downton film has aired, I should do something similar, and look at why it could be a good idea – or not – to follow up with a new TV series, this time focusing on the next generation of Downton inhabitants and their friends and relations. Well, whether it is fitting or not, I'm going to do it, and that despite the fact that there is to my knowledge not a hint of a rumour that Fellowes or anyone else has any such project in mind.

For: I can't be the only one who's thought about it? The original Downton characters have made their farewell to the audience, in a very decided manner, in Downton Abbey: The Grand Finale. The trailer stated "It's time to say goodbye", almost as a plea to the fans: "Please, don't force Julian to write any more of these". Another movie would be such an obvious cash grab I don't think even we tolerant Downton fans would stand for it. Enough is enough.

But... what if we jumped forward in time, ten or fifteen years or so, and instead caught up with the Downton children as young adults? We have the bones of a new central cast of characters there: George, Sybil, Caroline, Marigold, Tom Branson's new kid (I forget the name)... These often invisible children haven't been given much personality of their own, so they'd be almost like new characters, but still tied to the "Downtonverse". The settings would still be the castle, the Dower House, the village etc., places we've grown to know and love.

I'm generally tired of World War Two dramas, but I dare say we can't miss out on the nervous tension surrounding the question: will George, the heir, make it back from the war alive? There's even room to explore a new version of the Obscure Heir plot which started off the original series. Some long-lost cousin could be revealed to be the heir should George die, and this time it might not be a good egg like Matthew but a very unsavoury character. Moreover, Downton Abbey surely lends itself to being a centre for evacuated children, or something else war-related, with juicy Foyle's War-esque plot lines as a result.

On the other hand, from the Thirties to the Forties isn't that much of a time jump, which could become a problem if you constantly have to check in on old characters and don't give the new ones the space they need. A bigger time jump to the Fifties could give Fellowes or other writers the opportunity to clear the field by stating that at least some of the old guard has passed away. And we could still have the vague threat of an unsuitable heir apparent after George (who, of course, makes it through the war). Here, the vibe would be more Agatha Christie (without the murders!) than Foyle's War.

One original character who would still be very much alive – and bickering, though with less vitriol than in their young days, with her sister – is Lady Mary who, as foreshadowed in the original series, will take the place of the Dowager Countess. Now that's a decent pitch for a period drama, surely? 

Against: The personality-less depiction of the Downton kids means that we aren't exactly on the edge of our seats waiting to see what happens to them. The biggest argument against a next-gen. sequel though, in my book, is the trickiness of the genre itself. One might think that a next generation sequel risks doing less damage to the original than a sequel taking place directly after another story ends. After all, we would mainly be following new characters and storylines. However, a sequel has to address what happens to the original characters, and as a next-gen. sequel takes place so much later than the original story, whatever is said about the original characters' lives is pretty much set in stone. There's no way of walking back from it later on.

To take an example in a completely different genre: recently, Netflix in Sweden finally aired the animated series Avatar: The Last Airbender, which I hadn't seen before but with which, apparently, a whole generation of Nickelodeon viewers have grown up. I surprised myself with how much I got into it and, after chomping through all three seasons pretty swiftly, couldn't wait to check out the next-generation-and-then-some sequel The Legend of Korra (bizarrely showing on another streaming service). 

New avatar, new characters taking centre stage, the original protagonists either aged purveyors of wisdom on the sidelines or dead: so far, so good. But when the middle-aged children of Aang, the now deceased titular character of the original series, get in a fight we're suddenly told that Aang favourised the son who'd inherited his air-bending gift over the others. This sounds very unlike the fun-loving, warm-hearted character we got to know in Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Aang never gets the chance to set the record straight or make it up with his kids. Because, by this time, he's already dead.

This detail didn't ruin The Legend of Korra for me, but it saddened me a bit, and the Star Wars sequels had similar problems with their original golden trio. Imagine how miffed we would be if we found out, twenty years on, that Molesley never hit the big time with his film scripts or Andy and Daisy ended up fighting every other day. Even if their life would then take a better turn, much time would have been wasted, and there would be no way the already past decades could improve. 

On the other hand, if nothing at all happens to the original Downton crew for twenty years, it gives the impression that they've been in a sort of stasis waiting for a new story to come along. This isn't very  satisfying either, narratively speaking.

At the end of the day, I'm still in favour of a next-generation Downton Abbey TV series. But I acknowledge that it would not be easy to get it right.