"The Gentlemen" Is Basically An 18thC Morality Tale

Which is why it's better than the movie from which it sprang

(Spoilers for both TV and film versions of The Gentlemen, in addition to the Samuel Johnson novel Rasselas, below.)

Just in case you’ve been trapped in a cellar somewhere, hiding under a rock, or just out there living an authentic, fulfilled life — the TV show of the moment is definitely 3 Body Problem. Described cruelly but correctly by Delicious Tacos as “Chinese They Live”, it’s a turgid and self-important CGI-infested slog where the important characters are all Strong Powerful Diverse Non-White Girlbosses who are constantly being Mansplained To By The Patriarchy. I’m going to finish it, because why not, but the general effect of the thing is like watching the actors from a Benetton fashion shoot read ChatGPT mishmashes about psuedoscience in fake British accents.

A much better choice, also available on Netflix: The Gentlemen, an eight-episode series developed by Guy Ritchie from his film of the same name. I wanted to like that movie more than I did; it suffered too much from some studio mogul’s decision to shoehorn five very much of-the-moment stars (Matthew McConaughey, Colin Farrell, Charlie Hunnam, Jeremy Strong, and Michelle Dockery) into a script that would have been better expressed by Ritchie’s normal cast of British character actors. Thankfully, the TV show has no such constraint, and is infinitely better for it. With a single exception to be discussed below, the casting is a true joy, and all the better for showcasing three actors who haven’t had much exposure to American audiences.

The excellence of The Gentlemen, however, is much more than simply who plays whom. Rather, it is Ritchie’s decision to hide the oddest thing behind the million-dollar wardrobes, intricate falling-domino plotting, and casual ultra-violence, namely: a morality play that would be familiar in both content and outcome to educated readers of the eighteenth century in general and readers of Samuel Johnson’s The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia in particular.

Both Rasselas and The Gentlemen open with the notion of succession. In the former, the idle but intelligent Rasselas escapes from a “happy valley” to expand his knowledge of life in order to adequately succeed his father, the King Of Abissinia. In the latter, Captain Edward Horniman is recalled from his UN peacekeeping duties when his father dies, at which point he is informed that he, rather than his dissolute older brother Freddy, will be the next Duke. As is usual nowadays, the estate is in terrible financial trouble — or is it?

In short order we learn that the dukedom is being sustained by a massive marijuana grow-op, managed by gangster Susie Glass on behalf of her imprisoned father Bobby. Miss Glass, played in impeccably icy fashion by the vivacious but not beautiful Kaya Scodelario, serves as tour guide and educator to the new Duke as he learns the business. He’d like to get the operation off his grounds, but there are problems, of course. Freddy has debts held by unsavory people. An American billionaire wants to buy the estate, and is willing to play dirty if it forces Duke Edward’s hand. And Bobby Glass does not view their arrangement as one which might be subject to revocation.

Johnson’s Rasselas is forthright in its central question; the prince openly muses on “the choice of life” and the best way to achieve happiness. The Gentlemen is subtler, but by the fifth episode it’s obvious that the same question is being asked. Edward Horniman might have been to the manner (and the manor) born — but was he also born to be a gangster? And how can he reconcile the responsibilities of the former with the violent delights of the latter?

The bulk of Rasselas concerns the prince, his sister Nekayah, and his tutor Imlac visiting various eminent personalities who have each chosen what they feel to be the best possible life, only to fall short in one manner or another. Similarly, much of The Gentlemen follows Duke Edward and Susie Glass, who is a bit of a sister and also a bit of a tutor, observing various personalities in the criminal world, each of whom has a fatal flaw of one sort of another. In both works, the implication is clear: in order to be happy, the hero must learn from their mistakes and gain the understanding he needs to properly earn his throne. The world is filled with people who are unwilling to seek additional understanding, and it takes an enlightened aristocrat to ask the questions.

It’s worth digressing for a moment to talk about the absolutely gorgeous setting and costuming of The Gentlemen. Oddly enough, this short and crime-centric series does more to establish the raw desirability of a proper British estate than did the much longer-running, and navel-gazing, Downton Abbey. Much of the plot concerns the grounds outside the main building, which are said to be twenty times larger than NYC’s Central Park. It’s easy to see why the Duke wants to keep his dukedom.

And the clothes! According to the Guardian, the show has single-handedly caused a revival in traditional English tweed, and it’s easy to see why. A lot of subtle messages are expressed via clothing. Edward and Freddy wear their posh togs effortlessly, while the gangsters Bobby Glass (Ray Winstone) and Stanley Johnston (Giancarlo Esposito) are just a bit too careful (or, as the kids say now, try-hard) about their tailoring. I adored all of it, especially the bespoke stuff, although there is one unfortunate error that caught my eye: in the first episode, Freddy removes his sportcoat and we see the silk square of a clothier’s logo in the lining. Proper Savile Row coats, as your humble author knows to his unjustifiable expense, have completely clean linings, with no brand or logo. Surely Freddy doesn’t buy off the rack! With that exception, I saw nothing to criticize. The costuming is in general brilliant and you can immediately know quite a bit about each character from how he is dressed.

The same is true of the watches, which in 2024 are a primary physical way by which men express their wealth and standing. Duke Edward wears an British Forces-approved Bremont watch on duty and in his early days as Duke, but indulges himself in a gold Patek Philippe Nautilus as he dabbles in drug-lord-ism. In a remarkably deft and realistic scene, he is relieved of said watch by some unpleasant Jamaican gangsters. The message being conveyed: he’s not ready to play in that league. About halfway through the series, much is made of a vintage Patek worn by Winston Churchill and now owned by Stanley Johnston. His personal curator has demanded he have a duplicate made for public wear, but he won’t have it. “I don’t deal in fakes,” Johnston notes, dryly. He tries to make a gift of the Patek to Susie Glass, but she rejects it sharply: “Watches are for retirement,” she snaps. “You’ve got your timing wrong.”

Johnston’s timing, and his ambition, constitute the engine that drives The Gentlemen. He delights in his ability to purchase the accoutrements of a gentleman, which includes everything from Churchill’s Patek to a sexual dalliance with a European princess, played in lovely fashion by the five-foot-eleven Gaia Weiss, but he insists that he is fundamentally superior to his new friends. “They live in a zoo,” he tells Susie Glass, “while we live in the jungle.” The assumption here — and it’s one that any eighteenth-century reader would understand — is that he fuses the advantages of Duke Edward’s grace and Susie Glass’s viciousness to live in a new and superior way. Surely it won’t be long before he effortlessly disposes of his rivals, either via violence or strength of purse.

At their ends, Rasselas and The Gentlemen diverge — or do they? Prince Rasselas, having learned as much as he can, returns to the Happy Valley to await his ascension. Duke Edward, however, makes a play to succeed Bobby Glass as the marijuana kingpin. Superficially different, in truth he’s doing the same thing. It requires both the knowledge he’s gained in the previous seven episodes and his aristocratic droit de seigneur, coming to terms with the fact that he is the descendant of men who took what they wanted by violence. “We live in the zoo,” he drawls, “but hunt in the jungle.” He offers Susie Glass full partnership, which she accepts. And, of course, he wins his war, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake and executing an opponent while locking eyes with Miss Glass in a scene that is both romantic and utterly unpleasant.

Oh, and he gets his watch back, by force, rehabilitating an old family friend in the process.

While Samuel Johnson would no doubt frown at the graphic nature of The Gentlemen — his only play, Irene, featured a death that was implied offstage rather than shown onstage, as his theater advisor wished — I think he’d approve of the rest. Like Rasselas, Ritchie’s series is aggressively pro-youth, and portrays the “wisdom” of elders as far from perfect. This was mildly controversial three hundred years ago, when the rashness of young people was often seen as a danger to be controlled rather than a resource to be utilized. And it’s counter-culture once again in a Hollywood culture that seems obsessed with preserving the careers of older “action heroes” at the expense of their legitimate successors. (Think Liam Neeson, or Robert De Niro.) Everyone in this TV show is between 10 and 15 years younger than their movie counterparts. Thank God. Let’s get back to the cinematic universe in which Sean Connery was “too old” for Bond at 39, rather than the one where Daniel Craig was 53 for No Time To Die and only got kicked off so they could cast a Person of Color for future opportunities.

Rather amusingly, both Johnson and Ritchie also appear to share some royalist sentiments. When was the last time you saw a movie where the aristocrats were the good guys? More pertinently, when was the last time you saw an aristocrat actually beat a commoner in a face-to-face match of strength or even wit? Samuel Johnson believed passionately that “the Great” deserved their place in society, as a stabilizing force if nothing else. This show, too, seems to suggest that the “breeding” of aristocracy can be positive. It’s the precise opposite of Saltburn, in which a clever prole destroys an aristocratic house.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so satisfying for your humble author, who vastly prefers a hereditary upper class over the modern “meritocratic” one, to watch. And Ritchie delivers down to the last scene, in which Bobby Glass and Stanley Johnston enjoy a steak beneath the open roof of Glass’s rather unique prison. He’s bribed millions to have the setup, but there are still guards. In other words, it’s a zoo. Where he and Johnston live, while Duke Edward earns money in the jungle. Both men are impeccably dressed. “I can guarantee the quality of the cuisine for at least another year,” Glass tells Johnston.

“Ah, Johnston replies, “that’s lovely. One could do a lot worse.”

“Spoken,” Glass notes, “like a true gentleman.”