The final film of the franchise gives viewers a chance to say goodbye

“Like a hot water bottle on a cold night”, “Downton Abbey” has “long been a great comfort to us Brits”, said Dulcie Pearce in The Sun.

In the first episode of the TV drama, in 2010, the aristocratic Crawley family learnt about the sinking of the Titanic; then, over six series and two feature films, we followed them and their servants through the First World War and the influenza pandemic. Now, it is time to say goodbye.

This final film opens in London in 1930, where Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery) has scandalised polite society by divorcing her husband; then her American uncle (Paul Giamatti) arrives at Downton with a slimy friend (Alessandro Nivola) to confess that he has lost the family fortune in bad business deals. Of course, the Dowager Countess (played so memorably by the late Maggie Smith) is gone; but we are reminded of her via lingering shots of a huge portrait in the hall.

Other things, however, are reassuringly familiar, said Brian Viner in the Daily Mail. Elizabeth McGovern “still simpers her lines”, as Lady Grantham, instead of speaking them. “Mr Barrow’s personality transplant remains firmly in place.” And Mr Carson, though retired, is still fussing over the cutlery. As for the plot, well there isn’t a proper one; instead, we have multiple storylines: Mr Molesley has written a film; Noël Coward turns up, with a plan to use Lady Mary’s divorce as the basis for a play; Mrs Carson is running the village fair.

The plodding script is too reliant on characters walking into rooms to announce plot points, said India Block in London's The Standard; the film is almost hypnotically dull; and it grips ever tighter to its deeply conservative vision of a rosy past “that never was”. Still, fans will no doubt relish this chance for a final wallow in Julian Fellowes’s warm bath."

by Tom McTague

Why did the United Kingdom leave the European Union? Perhaps, said Michael Gove in The Spectator, “it might be better to ask why did it ever join?”

In this “panoramic history of British – and continental – politics from 1942 to the present day”, Tom McTague sets himself the “formidable task” of explaining the “two most consequential decisions” of the post-war period: to join the European Economic Community in 1973, and to leave the EU 47 years later.

While much of the focus is on high politics, and “elite figures” such as Charles de Gaulle and Harold Wilson, the book is also a “history of ideas” – which traces the intellectual currents that led to the initial quest for European integration, and the later rise of euro-scepticism. Despite this being a debate that has “polarised politics and shattered friendships”, McTague, to his credit, remains above the fray, and gives both sides a fair hearing. “It is hard to think of many books which leave one admiring both Edward Heath and Enoch Powell more.” The result is “authoritative, original and wise”, and essential reading for anyone wishing to understand contemporary Britain.

McTague opens his narrative, rather unexpectedly, in Algiers in late 1942, said Dominic Sandbrook in The Times. There, three figures were present who would play a key role in history: Churchill’s representative in north Africa, Harold Macmillan, who oversaw Britain’s first application to join the EEC in 1961; the French bureaucrat Jean Monnet, a founding father of the European project; and Powell, then a “Nietzsche-obsessed” intelligence officer who would become the first prominent euro-sceptic. Over the “thoughtful and richly provocative” pages that follow, McTague describes how Britain was drawn into the “Continental club”, but never with much enthusiasm: for most of its politicians, EU membership was a “regrettable necessity”. Such half-heartedness, he shows, ultimately paved the way for Brexit.

It is when dealing with the Brexiters, and where “their ideas came from”, that this “spirited study” really excels, said N. Piers Ludlow in Literary Review. McTague offers illuminating portraits of euro-sceptic intellectuals such as Maurice Cowling and Roger Scruton, and “skilfully sets out” how their ideas were embraced by the Tory Party. Yet his grasp of earlier periods is less assured – such as the influence of Britain’s commonwealth interests on its European policy. As a result, this book is very good at explaining Brexit; but it isn’t quite the “broad history” of Britain’s 

Italian designer who revolutionised the business of fashion

Presiding over the fashion empire that bore his name for 50 years, Giorgio Armani, who has died in Italy aged 91, was one of the most influential designers of the late 20th century, said The Times.

At the start of his career, in the 1960s, he had spotted that members of the middle classes had different aspirations from their parents. Members of this postwar generation rejected the stiff conventionality of the past, and yearned instead for comfort, ease and understated luxury. His first great innovation was to deconstruct the traditional tailored suit, by removing canvas linings and thick shoulder pads, lengthening the coat and moving buttons. Armani suits were soft, slouchy and fluid, designed to suit lean, muscular men who didn’t need tailors to disguise the shape of their bodies; he described them as clothes that “give confidence without defining personality”.

Then he turned his attention to the women who were increasingly breaking through glass ceilings in the workplace – creating for them soft, elegant suits, in muted palettes, that would help them project authority without sacrificing their femininity. “I realised that [women] needed a way to dress that was equivalent to that of men,” he said. “Something that would give them dignity in their work life.”

The Armani label prospered in the aspirational, materialist 1980s, aided by some clever marketing. The designer had been quick to see the potential when the sexy clothes he created for the peacocking character played by Richard Gere in the hit film “American Gigolo”, in 1980, caused a sensation, said Vogue. (His suits became even more famous when they were worn by Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas on the TV show “Miami Vice”.) Back then, film stars were not often given outfits by designers; on the red carpet they wore their own, or co-opted the film’s wardrobe department to find them something. But Gere had carried on wearing Armani, and in 1983 Armani opened an office in LA to showcase his wares to Hollywood stylists, said The Guardian. Being “dressed by Armani” turned out to have a remarkable impact, said The New York Times. 

By then, Giorgio Armani had nurtured several “brand extensions”, including sunglasses, swimwear and watches. He also opened lower-priced lines such as Armani Jeans, Emporio Armani and Armani Exchange, to run alongside his premium ones, and moved into new markets, notably in Asia. Understanding that what he was selling was not so much clothes as a vision for a lifestyle, he later expanded into homeware, restaurants and hotels, where guests could eat off Armani plates and sleep under Armani sheets.

His extension strategy was risky: other designers undermined their brands by licensing too many products. But Armani – a perfectionist who kept tight control over every aspect of his business – succeeded in maintaining prestige, while selling in vast volume. He said he wanted to make people “look better”, and he wasn’t even troubled when counterfeits emerged. “I am very glad that people can buy Armani, even if it’s a fake,” he once said. “I like the fact that I’m so popular around the world.” 

By 2001, Armani became the first designer to have a solo retrospective at the Guggenheim. In the 2000s, he became the first designer to ban models with a body mass index under 18, and the first haute couturier to launch a new collection online. As his wealth grew, the perma-tanned designer bought multiple houses, and a succession of superyachts, where he entertained A-listers and fashion royalty; but he seemed to live mainly for his work, especially after the death of his long-term romantic and business partner Sergio Galeotti, in 1985, from Aids-related causes. He once said that he sometimes longed for weekends to end, so that he could get back to his offices in Milan, a city he turned into a rival to Paris on the fashion map. In Italy, where he was revered, he was known as “King Giorgio”.