Even in an era where most households subscribe to multiple streaming services, the Sunday night time slot of an HBO drama series is still significant. The network introduced “prestige” television with The Sopranos and The Wire, shows of depth that featured better writing, performances, and filmmaking than a majority of the theatrically-released films of the decade; Game of Thrones later proved that blockbuster events were possible on the small screen, while comedy shows like Veep and Curb Your Enthusiasm eroded the line between reality and fiction. While streamers like Netflix and Apple TV+ chased above-the-title talent, HBO cultivated a creative environment in which supposedly “niche” shows like Succession and Barry could be perceived as mainstream.
Sunday is now the home of The Last of Us, a gruesome, emotionally devastating post-apocalyptic tale that’s teetered closer to reality than sci-fi/fantasy; it was the direct follow up to the third season of The White Lotus, which ended on such a cynical note that the first two iterations of Mike White’s satirical anthology series looked comical. The tail-end of 2024 saw the debut of The Penguin, an engrossing prequel to The Batman that went to great lengths to prove its titular character was a complete psychopath, and not the type of brooding anti-hero that could lead a redemption arc; those who managed to stick around through all six episodes of Dune: Prophecy were met with a different type of torment, as the lifeless sci-fi mystery captured none of the same wonder that had been prevalent within Denis Villeneuve’s terrific films based on the Frank Herbert novels.
Four considerably “challenging” shows in a row has indicated that the June return of HBO’s The Gilded Age is designed as a “cleansing” period in which viewers may be entertained by the indulgence of escapism. Created by British playwright Julian Fellowes, The Gilded Age is the heir-apparent to Downton Abbey. While Downton Abbey was mostly contained to the confines of a single family and their lavish estate, The Gilded Age has featured a tapestry of families that intersect during the clash between “old” and “new” money at the end of the 19th century in New York City.
The selection of the time period was strategic on Fellowes’ part, as it allowed him to sidestep any complicated events in American history that may have sullied the show’s wish fulfillment. The gap since the end of the Civil War has allowed The Gilded Age to normalize the appearance of African-Americans in formal society, in what has felt like a direct rebuke to a recurrent criticism of Downton Abbey. Nonetheless, international conflicts such as the Spanish-American War are still far enough away that The Gilded Age hasn’t yet had to cope with the United States as a global superpower.
Despite an elevated scale and significant budget increase in comparison to Downton Abbey, the events of The Gilded Age are more isolated; New York City isn’t just presented as the centerpiece of culture, but as the only place in which aspirations of artistic success or social advancement could be entertained. While money is integral to the characters that lead The Gilded Age, it’s also provided the viewers with the opportunity to adjust their level of investment; while quarrels over the partisanship of the New York Opera might make for entertaining television, the misfortune of a protagonist won’t inspire the same period of grief that has followed each shocking death on The Last of Us or The White Lotus.
It’s a challenge in 2025 to ask viewers to sympathize with the anxieties of the aristocracy, and Fellowes seems aware of the uphill battle that The Gilded Age has faced. Although the series has only glibly acknowledged the plight of the working class that was ostracized in the midst of the industrial revolution, The Gilded Age has still identified the insidious ways in which prejudice has affected every level of society; educational reform, homophobia, and diversified healthcare have all been areas of focus. Nonetheless, The Gilded Age has also celebrated an era in which growth was still attainable. When 5th Ave. and its towering infrastructure is still treated as a novelty, it's hard to not be swept up by nostalgia.
The Gilded Age has also recognized that it must distract viewers who could poke holes in its facade of importance, which has resulted in a sprawling ensemble no less dense than that of Deadwood. Broad archetypes aren’t a hindrance if smart casting is involved, and in the case of Christine Baranski as the socialite Agnes van Rhijn, the perspective of a stubbornly aging matriarch is a good source of comic relief. Although a more earnest performance by Cynthia Nixon has left more to be desired, The Gilded Age has also served as an interesting vehicle for career revivals; 1990s mainstays Bill Irwin, Jeanne Tripplehorn, Nathan Lane, and Robert Sean Leonard all had memorable guest roles.
The standout of the series so far is Carrie Coon as the headstrong baroness Bertha Russell, whose belligerent attempt to infiltrate the higher levels of society has offered the series its most dynamic case study in class relations. Coon may have been better with more nuanced roles in The Leftovers and Fargo, but her ability to deliver Fellowes’ spitfire dialogue is the show’s drawing factor. Perhaps it's disappointing that so much time, effort, and talent was dedicated to a costly soap opera, but The Gilded Age has designed a model that’s made to last.