Saturday, March 2, 2013
DOWNTON ABBEY: SEASON FOUR, EPISODE ONE Posted by John Kenney (THE NEW YORKER)
The great house bustles in preparation for dinner. We see a quick montage of downstairs, as the staff prepares the courses.
Mrs. Patmore mixes a pudding as Daisy tends to a roast that’s just come out of the oven.
Does this look done to you, Mrs. Patmore?
Why is it I have to do everything in this kitchen myself? (walking to Daisy) Here, let me see that knife?
As Daisy hands the knife to Mrs. Patmore, Daisy’s hand slips, stabbing Mrs. Patmore seven times in the neck, chest, and arms. Mrs. Patmore falls to the floor, pulling the roast and pan with her, bleeding profusely, dead, covered in red-bliss potatoes. Daisy, horrified at the accident, backs up and slips on the roast, falling, and hitting her head on the open cast-iron stove door. She, too, is dead.
Enter Mrs. Hughes.
This is no time to be lollygagging around, Mrs. Patmore.
A beat as Mrs. Hughes realizes.
MRS. HUGHES (cont.)
Enter Jimmy, in a huff, followed by Thomas, red-faced, followed by Alfred, confused.
JIMMY (to Mrs. Hughes)
He touched my bottom again.
My hand slipped as I was reaching for something.
Yeah, his bottom.
There’ll be no more talk of bottoms or touching in this house.
Mister Carson won’t be too happy about having a lie down now, Daisy.
I’m afraid they’re dead.
But I was going to ask her to Badger Counting Day in the village tomorrow.
MRS. HUGHES (heavy sigh)
There’ll be no more badger counting for these two I’m afraid.
What are we going to do about the roast? Mister Carson’s waiting.
Jimmy, help get that roast and those little potatoes on a charger and get them to the dining room. Alfred, move the bodies outside. Thomas, stop touching Jimmy. Heavens. Am I the only one who realizes we have a dinner to serve?
All scramble as we
LORD GRANTHAM’S ROOM—SAME TIME.
Mister Bates dresses Lord Grantham for dinner. After a time…
You’re awfully quiet tonight, Bates.
Forgive me, my Lord. I’ve no right to be. I shall turn in my resignation now if I’ve displeased you.
What seems to be the matter, old chap?
It’s Anna, m’Lord.
Nothing serious, I hope.
She’s dead, m’Lord.
It can’t be.
I’m afraid it’s true. Hit by a lorry in the village this morning. Dragged a great distance. I’d asked her to post a letter from me to her.
My dear, dear man. A senseless tragedy. And a seemingly senseless errand.
Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/shouts/2013/02/a-working-draft-for-the-first-episode-of-downton-abbey-season-4.html#ixzz2MQPHeuWT