The Gilded Age season 4: High drama, low stakes equals the most pleasurable but nonsense TV
The Gilded Age has perfected the formula of high drama and low stakes, which is why it’s one of the most pleasurable shows to watch.
In the first episode of the new season of The Gilded Age, there is a lavender marriage wedding, a near-death aristocratic childbirth, a forbidden sexual tryst, runaway horse-drawn carriage, a meddling future mother-in-law, and plans for an upcoming presidential dinner.
Oh! And a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it cameos from Matt Damon and David Letterman, who cross the street in their finest tops hats as a couple of extras.
That’s a lot to cram into one 56-minute block, but it’s also the perfect example of how The Gilded Age has perfected its formula of high drama and low stakes, a creation that is unmatched by anything else in terms of how pleasurable it is to watch while being a totally nonsense TV show.
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The Gilded Age is primarily centred on the Russells, a new money clan modelled after the Vanderbilts, the van Rhijns, their old money neighbours, and a raft of players in their circle and their staff, some fictional and some based on historical figures such as J.D. Rockefeller, Caroline Astor, Mamie Fish, J.P. Morgan and even Oscar Wilde.
The production screams cashola as much as the onscreen characters with its lavish set designs and elaborate costumes, eye candy for anyone who appreciates the details, the televisual equivalent of walking through the V&A in London.
The lives of the privileged are great entertainment fodder, whether lemming after their riches and opulent surrounds, such is the case with Bridgerton, or not-so-secretly loathing their decrepit souls, a la Succession.
But there is still usually a universally relatable emotional connection to these people whose existence resemble almost nothing of our own. Yet we all know what it’s like to fall in love or to be desperate for the approval of a family member.
The packaging might be wealth and luxury, but the core of it is stories about relationship dynamics and personal angst we all recognise.
But The Gilded Age is somehow removed from that. While the contours of some of its emotional beats tip its hat at a shared humanity, it feels like that’s not its purpose.
Maybe it’s because it’s so deliberately mannered, every clipped word or horrified look has an artificiality to it.
Whether the tension is underpinned by life-or-death survival after a character is shot in close quarters or if the ambitious new money socialite Bertha Russell’s calling card will be accepted by reigning grande dame Mrs Astor, it feels the same.
Later this season, one’s opinion about snow white or cream table cloths will have major consequences.
Because the show treats each plot point with the same weight, no matter how significant or trifling.
On any other show, it would be the mark of bad filmmaking, but on The Gilded Age, it’s what makes it so distinctly delicious. It doesn’t titillate, it’s doesn’t provoke. No matter what’s happening, it won’t evoke a stress response. It’s the ultimate smooth-brained experience and that’s why you can’t stop watching it.
It’s so satisfying. It’s enthralling in a way that almost nothing else on TV is.
People often talk about the reality genre as guilty pleasure TV, because they know it’s (more often than not) trashy, but they love it anyway. They love the outrageous behaviour by these so-called actual people who are permitted to act in a way that would never pass muster in the real world.
It’s either a vicarious expression of our own suppressed internal feral ratbags or the joys of defining yourself as morally superior by pointing at a ghoulish caricature of a human and smirk, “at least I’m not that”.
The Gilded Age is guilty pleasure TV in an entirely different sense. You neither envy the characters nor judge them. You’re not even necessarily that invested in them – except maybe whether Morgan Spector as George Russell is looking his beardiest best.
It’s the gratifying spectacle of everything-all-the-time but without the anxiety of being overwhelmed. High drama and low stakes means that you never have to decide for yourself if something is actually important, you just have to ride the wave.
It’s one big soup tureen where Peggy Scott’s, a young Black woman, burgeoning literary career, former footman Jack’s inventions, Bertha’s grit, Agnes’ haughty traditionalism and Gladys’ ducal romance all combine as one delightful dish.
Each ingredient on its own is not that impressive, but as an ensemble, it’s a culinary masterpiece you can’t quite comprehend. You just know it tastes so damn good.
The Gilded Age is streaming on Paramount+
