Zootopia/Zootropolis vs The Good Dinosaur

To be honest, I didn't expect to be bowled over by either Disney's Zootopia (released as Zootropolis in Europe) or Pixar's The Good Dinosaur. What struck me when I saw the first trailers for these two films was that the underlying conceits seemed eerily similar. A world with animals in charge (and no humans) on the one hand, a world with dinosaurs in charge (and humans an animal species among the rest) on the other? Same difference! What's more, these ideas weren't original: in fact, they seemed downright  lazy. How many children's books, comics and animated films aren't built around the animals-as-people idea? More, even, than there are films and television programmes cashing in on kids' fascination with dinosaurs. All in all, it looked like neither Disney nor Pixar had quite hit on the next great idea for an animated picture yet.

Well, once again I learned that one shouldn't doubt The Mouse. I was seriously impressed by Zootopia: as for The Good Dinosaur, it wasn't bad - I bawled my eyes out at least three times - but I retained more of my initial scepticism. Pixar films, though often profoundly moving, are generally considered as a little more brainy and challenging than heartstring-plucking Disney fare. I'm not sure I agree, but I can see that there's a case to be made along those lines - Inside Out was certainly a proof of just how brainboxy Pixar can be. This time round, though, I think I can say with some truth that Zootopia was a more cerebral offering than The Good Dinosaur.

The underlying message of Zootopia is that you should overcome your prejudices which, on the face of it, sounds ickily moralistic. But rather than serve up this message on a plate and force-feed the audience with it - as, believe me, so many Swedish books, films and TV programmes aimed at children do - Zootopia gets to grips with its subject and doesn't shrink away from some of the hard questions it poses. What if you are limited to some extent by a group identity, though you don't want to be - is a career as a cop really such a great idea for a rabbit? What if someone lives up to the preconceived opinions you are trying to free yourself from, and what if this happens more than once? What if you feel you have a justified grievance against a specific group, rather than specific individuals who happen to belong to it? When does keeping an open mind risk becoming silly, or downright dangerous? It's hard not to snigger as a naughty child when Nick, the film's cynical fox, ridicules the wide-eyed rabbit heroine Judy's idealistic views of predators and prey who "live in harmony and sing Kumbaya". (Before it gets confusing, I should add that predators don't actually eat prey in this film - they've evolved away from that, apparently - so harmony between the species is not an unachievable goal.) Of course, the film sticks to its anti-prejudice message, but it acknowledges that shedding your prejudices is a great deal easier said than done - "real life is messy" - and bothers to put up intelligent arguments for why it's still worthwhile.

Some viewers have found it confusing that the predators and prey of Zootopia can't be equated with real-life groups in the human world, but I find this one of the film's strengths: it makes you think about the nature of prejudice generally, rather than distracting you with tiresome parallels in the "immigrants as aliens" vein. It has been said that the film is about racism, but actually it casts the net wider than that. My thoughts turned more to sexism when I saw it: the problems faced by Judy Hopps and Vice-Mayor Bellwether (a sheep doing all the donkey work for the vain lion Mayor) are those typically faced by ambitious women in a male-dominated working environment, while the accusation which surfaces towards predators - that they are genetically programmed to be violent - is a slur many men will be familiar with. That the predators, who at first seem to be rather favoured in Zootopian society, end up as the target of a toxic hate campaign is a clever twist, reminding us that victims of prejudice aren't always "marginalised". There's more: hands up if you recognise the impulse that makes an anxious mother draw her child further away from a perfectly harmless tiger on the tube, after there's been a scare about predators running wild. I've certainly been there.

If all this sounds impossibly worthy - my point is rather that it isn't - you can simply see it as a sweet "buddy movie" starring a fox and a bunny taking on bad guys. There's a major plot hole, though: what do the predators actually eat? You can't tell me Mayor Lionheart grew big and strong on wilting carrots.

A beautiful friendship is at the heart of The Good Dinosaur too, and its saving grace. The message of this film is that you should overcome your fear, but the point is never forcefully argued. Admittedly, the protagonist, a young dinosaur herbivore called Arlo, is seriously wimpy, but his parents' ham-fisted attempts to help him man (or dino) up only put my back up, and to some extent Arlo's. The whole "making your mark" scheme - as the dinosaur children perform feats which help their family farm (these are evolved dinos, remember) they are allowed to put their footprint on the family's silo next to their parents' - is a terrible idea, which only confirms Arlo's place as the runt of the litter. Only when we leave the realms of dodgy dinosaur parenting and concentrate on Arlo's against-the-odds blossoming friendship with a feral human boy, Spot, does the film become engaging.

I had other issues with the film besides the simplistic "be a man/dinosaur" theme: the not overly interesting premise (what if the meteor had missed, and dinosaurs had evolved to become, erm, hillbilly farmers and ranchers?); the clunky title (I suppose it references the thriller The Good German, set in post-WWII Europe, but what's the connection exactly?) and the oddly ugly dinosaur animation - like child drawings, and that much more noticeable as the backdrops are stupendously ultra-realistic. Nevertheless, all my defences crumbled away when Arlo and Spot bonded over lost loved ones - a three-hanky scene. This time, then, the Debating Society's prize goes to Disney, while the Big Weepie prize goes to Pixar. Not that I didn't cry a bit over Zootopia, too.    

Eurovision follow-up and ways of wasting time

Nope, sorry, I don't understand it either. Britain was robbed - not of a victory, perhaps, but of a place among the top ten, or at least somewhere mid-field. The Brits did everything they could this year - at least everything I would have recommended - and still ended up third last in the Eurovision Song Contest. I voted for them (and for Poland: yes, you can do that), but it didn't help much.

It's a pity, because a little pro-European spirit in the UK would have been welcome about now. As they say in Star Wars: I have a bad feeling about this. Um, maybe we could let them win at football, or something?

What of the winner, then? Well, I didn't see that one coming. There's nothing wrong with Ukrainian Jamala's voice, nor her sincerity, but worthiness aside, this is a song with a scream in it - albeit a well-modulated one. Not something you'll find yourself humming in the shower, then. But we've had worse winners (Hard Rock Hallelujah, anyone?) and for that matter worse songs with screams in them in this competition. What's more, I had no real hope Sweden would win this year - I'm not sure we could afford it, for one thing - and Germany didn't deserve to (I'm not complaining about that last place - cripes). So congratulations Ukraine, and good luck with the, er, diplomatic aftermath.

On the plus side, Swedish Frans did really well - better than I'd expected - and Poland and Austria were favourites with the televoters, which rescued them from the bottom of the list. Russian Sergey got most of the popular votes, which was only fair. The Swedes put on a great show, Petra Mede shone again, and the parody of a typical winning Eurovision song in the mid-act was particularly funny. The overall quality of the competing songs was high: I may even buy the CD. All in all, not a bad Eurovision year.

The Eurovision froth was welcome, as I'm not in the mood for straining any cultural muscles at the moment, either in my reading or in my television viewing. I've given up on two historical crime novels lately and settled instead for a rereading (Jude Morgan's Passion, which I haven't written about specifically but still feels like blog ground already covered - it's great, though) and Discworld novel number four (Mort, promising, especially as Death is one of my favourite Discworld characters). As for TV, I haven't really put my back into finding some new addictive TV series. Increasingly, I find other ways of wasting my time when off duty. Watching YouTube clips is a real time bandit: it's hard to resist intelligent if nerdy twentysomething males presenting well-argued theories on such subjects as Pixar films and Disney princesses (yes really). Not to mention Top Ten lists with a villain theme, where I continually make the mistake of taking a look at too general lists where not a single one of the baddies on offer is personally known to me. Perniciously, these clips tend to be 7-15 minutes long, so you don't really register how time passes. You think "just one more", and suddenly, there's a whole hour gone.

For more concentrated time-wasting, watching The Clone Wars  on Netflix is preferable. It has no artistic or educational value and does not improve your mind one jot. It's too dull for kids and should be way too silly for grown-ups. But each episode is only about twenty minutes long, and the feeling that you have spent twenty minutes being no earthly use to anyone is oddly uplifting. I was even moved to do a modest stint of housework after one Clone session, muttering "every tuft of dust must be destroyed" in General Grievous-like tones in an effort to make hoovering feel less of a drag. Sadly, it didn't work.

Eurovision: A for effort to the UK (but Russia will probably win)

There's no doubting that Russia wants to win the Eurovision Song Contest. Year after year, they send blissfully mainstream, ultra-professional numbers that have me humming along reluctantly while fearing that my own mother country will be bested. (The bread-baking old ladies were a different but equal kind of threat.) And since it's only a matter of time until they win (again), maybe this year is as good a time as any. I don't think Sweden stands a chance  - Frans is a sweet lad and the lyrics are clever, but I suspect the song is too low-key for massive European appeal - and the less said about Germany's entry, the better. Whereas Russia's ditty "You're the Only One", well-sung by the iceberg-climbing Sergey, is so catchy it has me jigging in my seat. Plus it's not about world peace, thankfully.

I can't help wondering, though, if the powers that be in Russia have really thought this through. Yes, "Russia wins Eurovision" would be great PR. "Eurovision fan arrested for waving rainbow flag" - not so much. For the Russian authorities, hosting this competition will be tricky to say the least - a little like hosting a multinational dog show in a country where the promotion of keeping pets is prohibited. Ah well, when there's a will, there's a way, and my goodness there's a will.

And it's not like the race is run yet; there are other strong contenders for the Eurovision crown. Here are a few (though please note that I've only heard the music video for some of them):

United Kingdom: Wouldn't it be marvellous if Britain won? Think about it: the timing really couldn't be better. Also, they've sent a good solid pop tune this year, professionally executed by two boyband-cute guys, without any archness or irony. To be honest, the song isn't my absolute favourite, but providing the boys don't tank completely live, I'm tempted to vote for them anyway. This kind of responsible Eurovision behaviour from the Brits should be encouraged and reinforced.

Azerbaijan: (yes, I've checked the spelling): There could be more power in the singing, but this is classic toe-tapping Eurovision fare. I wouldn't mind working out to this tune.

Austria: Far away, apparently, there is a lovely country, where they sing, and there are waving flowers on the ground... Yes, this number is extremely treacly. I suspect there are more hard-hitting My Little Pony cartoons. Having said that, the girl sings sweetly in beautiful French (do they speak French anywhere in Austria? The Alps, maybe?) and it's a real earworm.

Poland: The verse is a little dull, but I love the "Oh-oh-oh-oh" refrain, which in the video at least sounds really great. The rock power ballad vibe and suitably hirsute singer make me think of Queen.

Australia: Much as I love Eurovision, I don't think I'd watch it in the middle of the night. For this dedication alone, the Australians deserve to participate a second time around. Also, they sent a really strong entry last year, and here they are again with another winner - a ballad that no music radio channel would have to feel ashamed about airing. If the Aussies become a permament Eurovision fixture, I for one wouldn't grumble. But if they win, which country will they team up with when it comes to holding the competition next year? It would have to be a really good loser to allow another country to celebrate its victory and host a show on their soil.

Other possibles are the guy from Hungary, who wouldn't look out of place down a Cornwall tin mine, the rockers from Cyprus (I'm a sucker for a wolf-themed number) and the girl from Belgium who's just like something out of Fame. Let battle commence.

The end of the costume-drama boom?

April does seem to be the cruellest month where blogging’s concerned. I have had legitimate reasons for having a blog rest – headaches, toothache, travel – but maybe I have also been put off by the depressing nature of my chosen blog post subject: the likely end of the English costume-drama trend we’ve been seeing for the last few years.

I remember grumbling about the lack of costume dramas back in 2010: well, something changed, and I bet it was thanks to Downton Abbey. It took some time, mind, before Downton had the desired effect, but finally we got there. The BBC stopped being sniffy and met ITV’s challlenge by churning out high-quality and watchable period dramas of its own, culminating in the superb Dickensian. But now – well, I may be imagining it, but it feels like we’ve reached the crest of the costume-drama wave, and that new meagre years lie ahead.

Granted, there will be a new series of Poldark eventually, and ITV has committed itself to a drama about the young Queen Victoria. But these are projects that have been in the pipeline for a while, and when it comes to Poldark, the Beeb couldn’t very well back down from at least a second series after all the scything fuss. At the same time, they’re not doing a second series of Dickensian. I’m not going to be too hard on them – it was a wonder that Dickensian was done at all, and I can see that it must have posed a challenge from a marketing point of view. Nevertheless, I can foresee that we’ll have to wait for a long time for something equally good costume-drama-wise, or simply drama-wise. As for ITV, they got a three-episode Trollope adaptation out of Fellowes. (I’ve not watched it yet: I made the mistake of reading the novel Doctor Thorne first. Don’t if you’re not already a Trollope fan. A TV version should be quite sufficient.) But apart from that, and the Victoria series starring Jenna “Clara” Coleman, they don’t seem to have anything new lined up to fill the gap – or rather the chasm – left by the end of Downton Abbey and Mr Selfridge. Maybe, because the BBC had such a success with The Night Manager, spy dramas will be the new black now for a while.

At least the final series of Mr Selfridge was good. It didn’t have the same frothy appeal as the first and second series, but this time around, when something serious happened you actually cared. Harry Selfridge himself remained a problem to the end; I could well understand the frustration of his enemies – a newspaper proprietor, a gambling agent and a share-holder representative, all with legitimate grievances. Nevertheless, when Selfridge was kicked out of his own company, it was a melancholy moment, not least because he was fully responsible for his own downfall. I’m glad they stopped the series before he got completely impoverished. Other characters, such as Mr Grove, Miss Mardle and Mr Crabb, have been around for long enough to earn our sympathy, if not to a Downton degree. (Someone give Ron Cook a lifetime award or something: he’s been excellent in everything I’ve seen him in, from cheeky boy actor in Will Shakespeare way back, via the debtor’s prison guard in Little Dorrit to Mr Crabb, who was little more than a function character to start with.)

We probably won’t get to see anything as engrossing as Downton again for a while – if ever – but with Mr Selfridge, ITV has shown that they can come up with a creditable long-running costume drama in its own right. There’s enough screenwriting and acting talent out there to make it happen again and again. So what are they waiting for? 

Matthew Shardlake - a hunchback worth the hype

Can a bestselling crime story be considered an Ambitious Book Project? I confess I felt pretty smug when I finally got round to reading C.J. Sansom's Dissolution, the first in his much-hyped Shardlake series. The hefty tome had a sombre, brown cover and a title in stylish, Tudor-y writing: this book, it seemed to proclaim, is no romp written by some Philippa Gregory wannabe, so serious readers - and male readers - need not be put off. But what about me? Would all this immersion-in-Tudor-times prove too much for me, who have never liked too abundant local colour in historical novels?

Sansom's pleasant prose soon dispelled my fears. He has a knack of breathing life into both scenarios and characters which saves him from the kind of show-offy look-how-much-I-know-about-this-period writing so many authors of historical novels stoop to. Whether central to solving the murder mystery or not, Shardlake's experiences in Tudor England are all of a piece, and so I swallowed a fair amount of local colour not completely necessary to the plot without a murmur

Sansom's hero, the hunchbacked lawyer Matthew Shardlake, is flawed but fundamentally decent, and very likeable with it. In Dissolution he is still an ardent reformer and chummy with Thomas Cromwell, who sends him as a commissioner to the monastery of Scarnsea in order to investigate the brutal murder of his predecessor. He is also supposed to persuade the abbot to agree to a voluntary surrender of the monastery - earlier forced dissolutions of monasteries sparked a rebellion, so Cromwell has to tread carefully for a while. Shardlake sets off with his young assistant Mark, who is an idealist (and alas, like so many idealists, self-righteous with it), and soon finds that both assignments are a lot trickier than he could have imagined.

Which brings me back to my initial question, whether I can justifiably label this novel an ABP. Because, as critically acclaimed as it is, it's also - unpretentiously - a whodunnit. With monks.

Shardlake comments to Mark that "people love tales of naughty monks". I'm rather like the Tudor populace in this regard. At first glance, though, the monks of Scarnsea are a lot less naughty than Cromwell or I might have hoped. The worldly abbot has no intention of forfeiting his position, not even for a handsome pension, and has made sure all new rules from the King are strictly followed. Nothing seems amiss with the monastery's finances, handled by a skinflint bursar. The old prior, who was a bit of a card, was replaced two years back by a Scots disciplinarian who takes a very dim view indeed of monk-on-monk action. Everyone minds their Ps ad Qs, and even with the little matter of a headless corpse at hand, Shardlake is hard pressed to find any way in which to pressure the abbot into giving the monastery up. Not to mention the difficulty of actually finding the killer.

The characterisation is a highlight of this novel. Apart from Shardlake himself, we have his monk suspects, who fairly leap off the page. It's true that the least flawed of the bunch, the infirmarian Brother Guy - a Moor from Spain - is also the least vivid, and has a certain approved-by-the-British-Council air, but he has his moments too. The love interest is less of a joy. Shardlake acts more like Hastings than Poirot when both he and the handsome Mark fall for the only available girl in the place, Brother Guy's female servant Alice. I couldn't but think that those of the monks who question the wisdom of having a comely wench within the monastery walls have a good point. You certainly wouldn't expect, though, that two London visitors who have a murder to solve would lose their heads so easily, and I got quite impatient with them both. Perhaps it is proof of my involvement with the characters that I wanted to tell Shardlake - and not just him, either, but another character in another context - "give it up, brother, you can do a lot better than that".

I also liked that religious differences are discussed in a way that makes it plain how much these questions matter to the characters. The second Shardlake novel Dark Fire, which I've also torn through by now, is a page turner as well, but felt a little less genuine when it came to envoking the Tudor mindset. I can well understand that Shardlake's reformist zeal would cool owing to the events in Dissolution, but his religious doubts in Dark Fire feel disappointingly modern, as do some comments on social injustice which I'd guess are more typical of the author than of his Tudor characters. Sansom pulls up in time, though, and mostly remembers that it is Shardlake who tells the story, not himself. Furthermore, there is a new sidekick in the form of the cheerfully cynical John Barak. Even with occasional lapses into class-warriordom, he is vastly preferable to the priggish Mark. I look forward to more Shardlake and Barak adventures, with or without monks.         

Help, a hot Compeyson!

It's with a mixture of relief and deep envy that I can say that BBC's Dickensian is seriously good. This project, mixing characters from different Dickens novels together in one costume drama, is such a dream for any Dickens fan who has ever strung two words together that it is difficult to accept with good grace that someone else is penning it, especially if that someone admits to not being a Dickens expert. This seems to have been misplaced modesty, however - Tony Jordan and his co-authors show a good grasp of Great Expectations, Bleak House, A Christmas Carol and - on the whole - Oliver Twist, which is a good start. There are also the nerdy references to other Dickens books which a project like this needs - for example, the clothes shop where both Honoria Barbary and Martha Cratchit work is Mantalini's from Nicholas Nickleby. But no mention of anything Dombey-related so far.

I'm twelve episodes into the twenty-episode-long first series. (Will there be a second? Here's hoping.) There are three main storylines, two prequels and a murder mystery. We get to see what really happened between Honoria Barbary and Captain Hawdon and why she consented to become Lady Dedlock. We also see the events leading up to Miss Havisham's abandonment on her wedding day - Satis House has unceremoniously been moved to the middle of London. In the meantime, Inspector Bucket (Stephen Rea - perfect for this part) is trying to find out who killed Jacob Marley. Notable subplots include Fagin, Nancy and Bill Sikes, who are also very much suspects in the ongoing murder investigation.

But will Honoria really be forced to give up her captain? Will Amelia (of all suggested first names for Miss Havisham, the best that I've come across) be abandoned, or will she see through Compeyson in time? In the very first episode, we see Little Nell surviving her illness, which is a sign that everything may not turn out as it does in the novels. It's a delightful idea and keeps us on our toes, though I wonder how future storylines would look if the Dedlock marriage and Havisham tragedy do not go ahead, as they're the starting point of Bleak House and Great Expectations respectively.

Of course there are gripes. I was sorry to see that the wonderfully unreconstructed Scrooge thinks as little of his ex-partner as everyone else (so as to make him a plausible suspect): Scrooge and Marley in Carol may have been bad men, but they were good friends. And while Carol's Marley was no saint, he's hardly as wicked as he's depicted here (again, the better to make him a person as many people as possible would have liked to murder). Characters from Dickens's lesser-known novels are a little undefined and not quite like themselves: Wegg has a wooden leg, Mrs Gamp is fond of gin and, er, that's pretty much it. In the latter case, there is no mention of Mrs Harris. I don't think the series writers have quite grasped the nature of the Bumble marriage - no long-standing affair, as is hinted here, but a late-blossoming romance which quicky turned sour - and I don't really see what part the Bumbles have to play in the plot, unless one of them brained Marley, which admittedly would be something. All in all, though, Dickens's characters are recognisable, intelligently handled and excellently acted.

What about villains, then? Ah. Now we get down to it. There is a villain around - apart from Fagin and Scrooge - who pursues his plans with consummate skill and is mesmerisingly played by the remarkably handsome Tom Weston-Jones. The bad news is, it's Compeyson.

Yes, Compeyson, Dickens's least likeable villain ever. Worse than Sikes, who at least loved Nancy. Worse than Bounderby, who was just an idiot. Worse than Old Orlick who, though an oaf, did have a fraction of a case. Worse than seducer colleagues Steerforth and Harthouse, who had some sort of tender feelings, however fleeting, for the girls they were pursuing. One of my pet Dickens theories is that he deliberately kept Compeyson in the background as much as possible in Great Expectations and didn't give him any memorable lines - hardly any lines at all - so as to make it completely impossible for anyone to be charmed by the worm who blighted Miss Havisham's and Magwitch's lives. Yet a man who could seduce a bright lass like Miss H and convince a judge that he was a gentleman and deserved a lenient sentence must have had charm, and that's what we see in Dickensian.

So what's the problem - I'm a villain-lover, aren't I? Yes, but there's more to villain-loving than thinking a baddie is a bit of all right. It entails feeling affection and sympathy for the selected villain, rooting for him and seeing things from his point of view. It's impossible to do this with Compeyson, who is just as cruel and heartless in Dickensian as in Great Expectations, and has no excuse for his behaviour whatsoever. (Though it's interesting to see how the whole abandoning-on-wedding-day scenario wasn't part of the original plan at all, the original plan being somewhat hazy - I could write a whole separate post on the complicated sibling relationship between Amelia and her half-brother Arthur, and the even more complicated relationship between Arthur and Compeyson.) The result is a sort of villain-related cognitive dissonance where I have to acknowledge the hotness of Compeyson as played by Weston-Jones, while still finding him - Compeyson, that is - a despicable human being.

Hm, maybe non-villain-lovers have these sort of experiences quite often?

It's the final Downton 3: Heartfelt reasons for and sensible reasons against a Downton Abbey film (or movie)

Time was when it was easy to be blasé about the possibility of a Downton film. Now, after the end of the final series, I've lost count of how many times I've googled "downton abbey movie" (forget "downton abbey film" - the top hits are all about filming locations). I know it makes little sense to wish for a film when the series was so nicely wrapped up, but I really, really want one.

Roughly, this is the argument that takes place in my head on this subject:

Downton Abbey went out with a bang with series six. The script was zingy, the pace had picked up since series five, and the characters continued to engage our interest. Most importantly, there were happy endings pretty much all around. So why risk a less satisfying ending of the drama with a film? Surely it's better to pull down the curtain while everything's still sunny.

Granted. But some of the characters' stories could safely be expanded upon. I don't want to complain or anything, but it would be nice to see Molesley and Miss Baxter married - other romances that hadn't been around as long were all right as hinted future scenarios, but after two and a half series I'd have hoped for these two to have reached the engagement stage, or at least the kissing stage. It would also be reassuring to see that things still look rosy for Edith and Bertie Pelham past the wedding night stage, and there's surely more fun to be had from Bertie's steely mum. Plus, do I have to remind you that Thomas still doesn't have a fella?

I'll get back to that. Meanwhile, about those hinted-at romances. Because the series ends where it does, we can imagine them all coming to pass. If the story goes on, one or two of these romances will probably be seen as to come to nothing, for the sake of "realism" and dramatic tension. Do you really want that?

No, fair point. But some of the romances could get into troubled waters and then be patched up again at the end of the film - that would make for some dramatic tension. And I'm ashamed to say I could, if pushed, sacrifice a romantic scenario or two for the sake of more Downton. Molesley and Miss Baxter have to end up together, and it would be really sad if Mrs Patmore didn't manage to become Mrs Mason. But it wouldn't be a catastrophe if Branson and Miss Edmunds didn't become an item - why, they've hardly met. As for Daisy and Andy, I would certainly like to see her married to someone, after all her footman troubles. It doesn't have to be him, though. When Daisy said "I could do a lot better an' all" I was inclined to agree with her.

There is talk of setting the Downton film ten years after the final episode, as Maggie Smith doesn't want to continue as the Dowager Countess. This would allow the Dowager to pass on - or die, as she herself would robustly put it - off-stage, and for the mourning period to be safely over by the time the film starts.

Sooo?

So, there would be a Downton Abbey film without the Dowager Countess! Come on!

Look, I know she's the show's most popular character, but while I have nothing against the Dowager, I would be able to bear her absence for my own part. She was great when interfering in the other characters' storylines - like Mary's love life, say - but her own plot lines were more feeble. And the epigrams started to pall a bit somewhere in series four; in the last series, I thought the best lines went to Mary and Mrs Patmore.

It would only be reasonable if one or two of the other oldies were goners as well, if we are to fast-forward as far as ten years into the future.

Mmm, I see what you mean about making sacrifices. What about Carson? He wouldn't want a long inactive retirement anyway. And Lord Merton - sweet as he is - thought he'd had "a good innings" in 1926. If he were to have died after a few final blissful years with Isobel, surely that would be all right.

But everyone would be older. And we'd be in the boring Thirties. And there'd be Nazis.

Ten years on does sound a lot. Five would do it, surely. On the other hand, ten years on, we'd be able to see Sybbie and George as adolescents, which would be fun - Sybbie would even be old enough for her first crush. The original actors could still convincingly play their characters (except the children, that is!), even if they're a little older - after all, in the first series, most of them acted characters considerably younger than their own age. And the Thirties aren't all about Nazis, Fascists and Communists. It would be dramatically rewarding to see how Mary tries to make as sure of George's safety as she possibly can in the event of a future war (to her father's disgust), but otherwise the film could steer clear of World War Two themes without much effort - Gosford Park did, and that was set in the Thirties too. And thankfully, none of the Downton regulars is much at risk of being seduced by Nazism, or even the homegrown Fascist variety.

By the way, I hope you realise that a Downton Abbey film does not mean that Thomas is going to get any? If there is anyone less likely to score than a gay Yorkshire butler pushing forty in the Twenties, it's a gay Yorkshire butler pushing fifty in the Thirties.

Not necessarily. Look, how does this sound? A corrupt government or army VIP, himself no spring chicken, with influence in recruitment matters promises to make sure George gets a cushy job in the event of a war if Thomas puts out. Thomas, not thinking it too much of a hardship, complies, with Mary's morally anguished encouragement. But the new footman (Andy having left to become a farmer) doesn't care for the arrangement as he's infatuated with Thomas himself, so he shops the VIP to the latter's superior who happens to be the Duke of Crowborough...

Oh, I give up.