Two episodes in, and it’s starting to become clear what type of Sunday night period drama Upstairs Downstairs wants to be…

An atypical one.

Where other such dramas – let’s not mention any names – are content to play up the soap elements with a nod and a wink to their own preposterousness, Upstairs Downstairs bats with a straight face.

There are no daughters of the house seeking Pride and Prejudice-style matches; no schemers or backstabbers below stairs. There’s barely even the whiff of under-the-counter scandal – a conscientious objector here; a secret lover there. But the sort of outrages, or miscarriages of justice, that titillate and make indignant the Sunday viewing audience are conspicuous by their absence.

Instead, the drama presents us with the ultimate outrage, the ultimate obscenity – and one it would be grotesque to sentimentalise: Kristallnacht, the plight of Jewish refugees and the kindertransport.

Considering how well the characters and relationships of the original Upstairs Downstairs are embedded in the memories of the TV viewing audience, and how misty they have become with nostalgia, it’s a surprise to be reminded that Upstairs Downstairs is not, and never was, just mob-caps and boot polish and deference. This political sensibility was always there.

But it’s Rule No. 1 of period drama that the relationships must always come first, and in this, the revived Upstairs Downstairs pales in comparison to the original.

Ed Stoppard’s Sir Hallam Holland certainly looks the part. He’s the sort of man who seems built for an Art Deco salon, channelling the spirit of a 1936 Olympics poster. But he’s also something of a charisma-vacuum, having spent most of the past two episodes running around trying to convince men in suits to change their damn minds. Can’t they see Hitler’s a bloody wrong’un? John F. Kennedy is writing a thesis on it, for heaven’s sake!

[Rule No. 2 of period drama – the greater the number of cameos by historical figures, the greater the risk of appearing like a Two Ronnies parody, only without the audacity or wit.]

As leading man, Stoppard doesn’t quite cut the mustard – and is, in any case, acted off the screen by Blake Ritson as the Duke of Kent, who knows how to twinkle with this sort of material.

But, the ever-glorious Alex Kingston aside, it’s not the upstairs characters who really interest. All credit to him, JFK has got this one sussed and chases after the downstairs action on the spurious pretext of a dicky tummy.

Presumably for him, like us, there’s only so much talk of appeasement he can take before reaching for the Gaviscon.

That he should be received by the bosomy embrace of Anne Reid is entirely apt, as, if anyone embodies good old-fashioned maternal wisdom, it’s her.

We at CultBox love Anne Reid. If she’s not getting electrocuted in the bath on Coronation Street, or being roughly taken by Daniel Craig in The Mother, she’s on the receiving end of Thelma Barlow’s mithering in Dinnerladies.

Quite frankly, we’re not really that interested in her violet macaroons, or her squabbles with ‘tinpot martinet’, Mr Pritchard (Adrian Scarborough). Such sub-plots are only an excuse to see good actors bluster and mock indignation.

But we’d much rather watch Scarborough and Reid in action than hear more grim-faced talk of Europe on the precipice of war.

Upstairs Downstairs may be more serious-minded than that rival period drama. But it’s also – whisper it gently – much less fun.

Aired at 9.30pm on Sunday 26th February 2012 on BBC One.

> Buy the Series 1 DVD on Amazon.

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