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PBS’ Downton Abbey was only ever an elegant soap opera dressed in period costume, but, following the recent closure of the fourth season, it appears as if the show has finally abandoned its pretensions and fully embraced itself within the genre.

It comes as a little bit of a disappointment. The first season, set between 1912 and 1914, appeared to be aspiring to something greater. Viewers were introduced a set of intriguing characters (upstairs and downstairs) and plot themes centered around class division, the general uneasiness surrounding the time period just preceding WWI, and cultural changes taking place at the turn of the century. The efforts of the first season were well-rewarded with a strong viewership and countless awards for both its writing and acting. Viewers hoped that the following seasons would be a little like the AMC show Mad Men in maintaining its historical accuracy along with strong storylines and character arcs.

But whatever its initial aspirations, subsequent seasons of Downton just could not reach the high bar set by the first season, with unbelievable plotlines and characters becoming more and more commonplace. Regardless, fans still clung to the show. Whatever the series’ shortcomings, the world of Downton is irresistibly charming. (Maybe it’s the clothes.)

The just-ended fourth season, though, takes the cake for implausible plot threads and shallow characterization.

To be fair, this season was going to be rocky from the beginning. For the past three seasons, the backbone of the story has been centered on the relationship between Lady Mary Crawley (daughter of the Earl of Grantham who is current owner of Downton) and Matthew Crawley, her very distant cousin and heir to Downton. However, at the very end of season three Matthew was killed in a car accident (an actor’s contract is as good as a Grim Reaper), leaving Mary, not to mention the show, in a bit of a lurch.

Writer and creator Julian Fellowes attempted to make up for Matthew’s noticeable absence by introducing three drab and hardly distinguishable suitors, with little success. (Even Mary herself seemed bored with them.) Outside of this tedious storyline, there were multiple instances during the season where Fellowes appeared to be taking plots from a basic soap opera’s playbook: an unexpected pregnancy, a mysterious disappearance, a juvenile love triangle downstairs, and a case involving blackmail.

Suffice it to say, the only storyline that seemed to matter this season was the fallout resulting from the rape of Mary’s maid Anna by a visiting valet. Regular viewers of the show were shocked at the initial event, which was no doubt Fellowes’ intent as Anna has remained a fan favorite since season one. (Equally appalling was Tom Branson’s rape that occurred in the same episode, but this [regretfully] did not receive due attention from Downton’s viewership.)

However, the handling of this storyline was mismanaged from the get-go. Rather than taking the opportunity to explore Anna’s perspective and personal development following what happened to her character, the plot instead centered on the potential actions of her husband who, we are lead to believe, would be so infuriated over what happened to his wife that he would inevitably murder the rapist (and thence be sent to prison, etc.) So Anna spends most of the season silent about what happened to her, while viewers are meant to be more concerned about her husband and whether he will attempt to seek his own closure.

Besides implausible storylines, even some of the strongest characters of Downton were horribly reduced. For instance, Thomas, the evil butler, had been outed last season (increasing viewer’s sympathies for this otherwise dastardly character) but this storyline was completely dropped, maybe even forgotten. Meanwhile, Tom Branson – the former fiery Irish rebel – was forced to re-tread old “adjustment to aristocracy” plotlines.

And then other characters were treated merely as backdrops. Cora, for instance, did nothing of significance this season except, as quipped by the Washington Post, tilt her head and give “a legal-in-Colorado smile” during any conversation. Even the Dowager Countess (played by the excellent Maggie Smith) was reduced to one-liners at the dinner table and not played to her full force. (Given Smith’s acting chops, this was a real pity.)

Still, there were glimpses of the old Downton in season four that sparkled through the (very) muddy plot. Part of what made Downton so rewarding in earlier seasons was its constant celebrations of loyalty, love, forgiveness, and hard work. Those themes still persisted in season four. One of the most poignant scenes of the season took place in the nursery where Lady Mary, Isobel Crawley, and Tom Branson (all grieving for the loss of a spouse or a son) reflected on their losses and experiences of love, commenting, “Aren’t we the lucky ones?” Additionally, the developing mother-daughter relationship between Mrs. Patmore and Daisy was also well done.

Overall, yes, season four was unremarkable. Yes, it appears that the series is near the end of its run. And yes, it is disappointing that, given the brilliance of its first season, Downton could have been great. But, given that it has clearly asserted itself as one, there’s no reason not to sit back in your armchair and enjoy the show exactly for what it is: a good ol’ fashioned soap opera with beautiful clothes.

Courtesy of collider.com — Courtesy of hypervocal.com

As one of the biggest pop culture phenomena of the decade, it is hard to argue with the statement that zombies are everywhere. From cult classics like 28 Days Later and Dawn of the Dead, to comedic satires like Shaun of the Dead, and the recently released Warm Bodies, it would only stand to reason that the small screen would soon adapt the genre to an ongoing dramatic series. The Walking Dead, based on the graphic novel series of the same name, is Hollywood’s attempt at feeding our culture’s insatiable hunger for all things gruesome, twisted, and undead.

When the series began two and a half years ago, the story had observable momentum and strength. The first episode was almost seductively powerful as it followed the hero, Rick Grimes, who woke up from a coma to a post-apocalyptic Georgia after “the outbreak.”

The audience is just as mystified as Rick as they watch him exit the abandoned hospital he has found himself in and walk through rows of bodies laid out across the ground. As the camera pans out, viewers soon realizes the true enormity of the situation when the rows of bodies become fields upon fields of them, covered in white sheets and completely covering the town he once called home.

As he tries to make sense of these shocking surroundings, he happens across his first zombie, or “walker,” as they are later coined. This female zombie is missing everything below her belly button, and thus can only snarl at Rick as he passes, reaching out with graying and rotting hands toward sustenance.

The episode continues with a bewildered Rick finding his home deserted and in shambles, his wife and son nowhere to be found. A man and his son then take him in while he recuperates, and this is where more of the situation is explained to him. The man points out his wife who “turned” as she aimlessly walks the streets with the rest of the undead, and explains that he cannot bring himself to kill her.

After acquiring guns and ammo, he decides to head to Atlanta in search of his family. Before the episode ends, we see him find that first zombie woman, look her square in the face as she snarls and thrashes at him, and puts her out of her undead misery with a bullet in the brain. These incredible and haunting sequences formulated an immediately dark and powerful tone for the show, and were an undeniable factor in its success.

With only six episodes, the first season was short but powerful. In fact, I would argue that the one and a half seasons to follow still have not lived up to brilliance of the first. The second season was stagnant, with story arcs that lasted for six or seven episodes that could have been better told in just one or two. The characters were so underdeveloped and their motives so unclear that I often found myself annoyed with them. With a few exceptions, particularly the mid-season and season finales, the second season as a whole was underwhelming.

The third season, while still problematic in some areas (particularly in regards to character development), has finally begun to rectify many of its second season faults. With the introduction of a new villain, the Governor, and a few other new characters like the ninja-sword-wielding-and-pet-zombie-toting Michonne (you would need to see it to really understand just who, or rather what, she is), and with only a few dry plotlines, the forecast of the series as a whole is finally looking bright.

Despite its faults, this show manages to harness a genre that, more often than not, has been difficult to take seriously. Somehow it manages to deliver a convincing and terrifying apocalypse as a result of a completely unrealistic situation. While doing this, it still manages to explore deep ideas and problems, like the complexities of the human condition, the struggle to hold onto hope in a hopeless world, the inherent value of life and how the destruction of the social institution as we know it can change that, and the simple question of the importance of interactive human relationships. The formal artistic attention to cinematography, the very serious subtext, and the mere excitement of a horror series are all reasons to look past the show’s definite shortcomings and to tune in every Sunday evening at nine on AMC.