The Gilded Age 302 Recap: Rumors, temperance, and the return of the reality index!
Chris Rovzar, co-writer of the iconic Gossip Girl recaps at NYMag, returns for a one-night-only reprise of the signature series.
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I may be going out on a limb, but I’d wager that there’s significant overlap between fans of The Gilded Age and Gossip Girl. At their core, they are basically the same show—just set a little over a century apart.
Which is why I suspect that I’m not the only one who remembers eagerly awaiting New York Magazine’s sharp and witty “reality index” recaps of Gossip Girl back in the early 2010s. Here’s how it worked: The co-writers, Chris Rovzar (now editorial director of Bloomberg Pursuits) and journalist Jessica Pressler, would break down the episode, awarding points whenever the plot felt real and taking points away whenever the show seemed laughably implausible. The tally at the end would reveal just how realistic—or ridiculous—the plotlines were.
When I thought about recapping The Gilded Age, I knew just who to call: My friend Chris, to see if he would be game for a one-night-only reality index reprise. He was kind enough to indulge me1 as we excitedly tuned in to learn the fate of Gladys, last seen trying not to trip over her carpet bag as she escaped East 61st Street.
Faker than George Russell eating steak off a wooden plate.
The episode starts with Adelhaid running around the Russell manse looking for Gladys. There are dozens of people who work in that house. How could that girl, all dolled up like Carrie Bradshaw going out to smoke a cigarette, have possibly escaped out the front of the house unnoticed? We have no evidence that she even knows how to open the front door! Minus 10.
There’s no way the shrewd Aunt Agnes would have been “shocked” that her family doctor would refuse to treat Peggy. She would have seen the issue coming a mile away and headed it off at the pass by threatening him with some obscure consequence (“You’ll see to this girl or I’ll tell the world what you did under the bleachers at Saratoga in 1874!”) right when he walked in the door. Minus 7.
“I hesitate to pull rank, but my great-grandfather signed the Declaration of Independence,” says Mrs. Carlton to Bertha. “What were your ancestors doing then, I wonder?” The sentiment is right, but no one would have said “pull rank” in the 1890s. Sometimes in this show you can tell the exact moment when the writers forgot to delete their own ChatGPT prompts. Minus only 4, because Bertha actually has no response to this and it’s a nice moment.
George Russell bails out JP Morgan because his Metropolitan Bank is about to have a run on it, but Russell needs Morgan’s money to finance his railroad dreams. Who has the money and the leverage here? You just know this is going to unspool like Succession, where every episode has some meaningless financial instrument everyone is yelling about over speakerphone (in this case, telegram) but no one actually seems to understand. Least of all, the writers. Minus only 5 because we probably won’t understand it either.
It feels very unrealistic that Bertha would leak her daughter’s engagement to the paper before it happened. It’s very socially risky, and if there are two things Bertha knows, it’s 1) how to turn a dyed ostrich feather into a helmet, and 2) that Gladys, the human incarnation of a deflated egg soufflé, is an utter flop. She’s going to let her down on this one. Minus 8.
If all of the staff knows that Gladys ran away, then THAT would be in the gossip columns. Minus 15.
Much to do is made over the fact that Larry Russell won’t take the footman Jack to the investor meetings over Jack’s alarm clock invention, and then in what is probably the show’s quintessential trope, the problem is solved offscreen and all the potential drama is avoided without any reward or justification. “Oh, that problem? It’s gone! No need to find an interesting way to solve it – the writers just got bored with it.” Did Julian Fellowes forget what made Downtown Abbey so fun to watch? It would be like if Mr. Pamouk didn’t die, he just walked out of the house the next morning and left Lady Mary a Derek Jeter gift basket. Minus 5.
Every man who enters Peggy’s life is hot, uniquely successful and eligible. Minus 20 because, sorry, Peggy’s life would be way harder than it is and it’s almost deranged to pretend otherwise. And also, girl has got a lot going on! Why is the only excitement in her storyline about dudes trying to adjustle her bustle?
The whole suit-making situation with Larry and Jack debating Tom Ford-style jacket lapels feels very unlikely. First of all, they’re clearly the same size, couldn’t Larry have just lent him an old suit? (Minus 2.) And second, the last person to lecture anyone on understated elegance is Larry Russell, whose house is filled with more gold than the current Oval Office—and whose mother takes sartorial cues from tropical birds. Minus 7.
Would Aurora Fane really have adjudicated for Agnes so boldly in the power struggle over the servants? This is the only time she’s ever had a spine that wasn’t held up by her corset. Minus 4.
Sorry, where the hell did that other Astor sister come from? Minus 1.
Mrs. Astor wouldn’t be so forthcoming as to compliment Mrs. Russell’s success with the Duke. Let us not forget that Mrs. Russell stole the Duke and sealed the fate of Mrs. Astor’s beloved Academy of Music just a few months ago! Where is Mrs. Astor’s signature icy chill? Minus 8.
Larry and Marian make such a fuss about keeping their relationship a secret and then they make out in a carriage with windows on LITERALLY ALL SIDES. ON THE STREET WHERE THEY BOTH LIVE. BETWEEN THEIR TWO HOUSES. Minus only 5 because this is absolutely the only interesting thing Marian has ever done.
Bertha threatens Mrs. Carlton: “Let me speak clearly. If you keep this up, Mr. Russell will see that Billy never gets another job. And we will disinherit Gladys.” She should have ended at the first part; Mrs. Carlton knows she would never disinherit Gladys—not because she loves her, but because she seems to think she’s her only chip in this damn poker game. (See below, re: Larry.) Minus 5.
Marian is delaying her official courtship of Larry for absolutely no reason at this point. This is Emily in Paris levels of nonsense relationship chicanery. She’s 100% going to screw it up by waiting, which should be realistic because she’s screwed up all of her other relationships—but in this case her aunts know what’s up, and at some point they’d pull a Carole Middleton on the whole situation. Minus 2.
No way would Peggy’s dad have confronted Mrs. Van Rhijn in her living room and blamed her for not helping his daughter fast enough—she helped plenty fast, Peggy had a cold, and she’s fine. Doesn’t he know the real plotline here is the hot doctor? Minus 3.
There’s no way Aunt Agnes would have encouraged her secretary to take a bunch of time off to go to Newport. Not because the secretary was Black. Because Aunt Agnes is a horrible boss. Minus 7.
In real life, Bertha’s son would be the apple of her eye, the one she would move sun and stars for. So why does she not seem to give a damn about who he is dating or what he’s doing anymore? Everyone else has noticed that he and Marian are an item, but Bertha is seemingly oblivious. She doesn’t even think it’s odd that at a supremely important, family-only dinner with the Duke of Buckingham, Larry randomly brought along Marian. “Tonight at supper we are deciding the forever fate of our family. Oh, you want to bring the random kid from across the street to join? Ok, sure.” Minus 10.
Speaking of that scene, show is getting to be like Jaws. You wouldn’t know how to feel if the soundtrack of raging violins didn’t tell you. Minus 3.
We were hoping that Billy Carlton wouldn’t fold his hand so soon–or at least, pick a better spot to dump Gladys than in the servants’ courtyard! Minus 8, because his historical counterpart, Winthrop Rutherford, had much more stamina when trying to woo Consuelo Vanderbilt.
Total: -139
Realer than Marian denying Aunt Ada’s temperance pledge (because even Saint Marian couldn’t get through a dinner at that house without a glass of wine).
Larry bursts into his mother’s bedroom to tell her Gladys is missing. Bertha is more flustered by the unexpected wake-up call than the news about Gladys (plus 5) and then directs Larry not to call the police (plus 5) because actually she is the sheriff in this town.
When coming to save their daughter Peggy at the Van Rhijns’, Dorothy Scott, Peggy’s mom, wants to go in the servant’s door and her husband wants to go in the front door. The doctor goes in the front. Plus 5.
The doctor gives some bullshit about hot water for Peggy’s feet for the cold. Her dad, the pharmacist, makes her a witch’s brew with morphine and acacia. Everyone just keeps asking for more hot water. Plus 10. Medicine used to be so easy.
When the doctor leaves and Peggy’s parents are left in the Van Rhijn living room, probably the first time a Black family has ever been there, Cynthia Nixon has that simpering smile of the person who just fucking loves it when things are about to get truly awkward. Plus 7.
When she goes to retrieve Gladys from the Carltons, Bertha dresses like Cookie Monster going to war. Plus 3.
In the end, there was zero point to Gladys’ runaway escapade. She arrived at the Carltons at 2 am, stayed up all night, didn’t get engaged, and then immediately obeyed Bertha’s order to wait in the carriage to return home. Minus 2 for the writers, because this should have been so much better, but also plus 5, because of course, Gladys.
“Stop being theatrical” Bertha scolds, rolling her eyes at Gladys. “I only want to live my own life!” Gladys squeaks back. Sorry, can we go back to how she’s dressed as Amelia Bedelia? Plus 10
Kelli O’Hara is so good. Very few actual bad things have ever happened to anyone on this show—at least nothing that’s lasted more than an episode. It’s nice to see someone acting so honestly as their world crumbles to the ground. Someone go ask Patti LuPone what she thinks of this performance. Plus 5.
The flowers everywhere are peonies, which are seasonally correct for the era and for late spring. Plus 1.
Agnes’s petition that she tries to make the staff sign is utterly unhinged and the sign of a megalomaniacal authoritarian regime to come. Plus 10.
All of the staff love hooch (plus 3) and don’t want to sign the temperance pledge, except the horrible Miss Armstrong—that one girl in the sorority house who always complains about the noise at night because it’s keeping up her pet hamster. (The hamster is named Brussels Sprout, but not in a fun way.) Plus an additional 3.
Clock Twink—er, Jack—sheepishly asks if he can technically still drink outside the house if he yields to Ada’s temperance pledge. Plus 5, because we’ve all bargained with ourselves at some point. (Cigarettes don’t count in Europe, right?)
Larry and Marian nearly kiss under the stairs, but don’t, and Marian walks out from under the stairs guiltily rubbing her lips as though they did anyway. Plus 5 because wait until she hears about what Larry used to get up to with Laura Benanti.
Clock Twink wants to wear pocket squares and wide lapels. Plus 2, because he’s gearing up to be a showman not unlike A.T. Stewart.
Aunt Agnes offers to pay Dr. Kirkland but is relieved to learn Mr. Scott picked up the bill. Plus 3. Isn’t it fun having Aunt Agnes be broke?
John Adams is back—and hotter than ever! And he still… loves Oscar? He sees his ex looking horrible and suddenly he’s right out there quoting Wicked: “Oh really Biq, would you do that for me?” “I would do anything for you, Ms. Galinda.” John broke up with Oscar because he wasn’t being serious about the two of them being gay together; he should have closed the door and never looked back. But what gay man can resist the sexual allure of an ex who’s at rock bottom? Plus 10.
Mrs. Astor sees Aurora’s oversized Ken Doll of a husband with Mrs. Lipton and immediately knows what’s going on – “Do I gather that you’ll be spending more time in Newport?” – before leaving. Plus 10.
“I am not your Aunt Agnes anymore.” Well done. Plus 11
We’re sorry, but Aurora’s husband is a pretty-faced little himbo bitch. Plus 20.
These women all deserve better. Aurora Fane and Mrs. Carlton have Tonys, for Christ’s sake–and they just get let down by weak men. Even Gladys, an actual tadpole transformed by a witch into a human heiress, should be fought for by somebody! Plus 10 because unfortunately this feels very accurate.
When asked if the Duke would sign the temperance pledge, Aunt Agnes replies that he’s English — his allegiance is to the queen and to the bottle, not necessarily in that order. She does have a point! Plus 7.
Total: +153
Okay, so this one felt more real than it did fake—and honestly, this season is feeling a little more fun. If they can figure out a way to keep a dramatic storyline going for more than two episodes, then we might actually be cooking with gas here! (Just kidding. Cooking with gas doesn’t come until the early 20th century.)
And special thanks to proofreader extraordinaire, Cub Barrett! We really like to keep it in the family here at Second Story.
This was outstanding! I loved every sentence
"Why is the only excitement in her storyline about dudes trying to adjustle her bustle?" was truly perfect.