The English will never tire of gripping, serious, emotional dramas where (1) naive futurists attempt to deprive servants of the simple joys of working all day to free nobles from the task of dressing themselves, and (2) old rich white men demonstrate their deep personal worth and lasting strength of character by scheming to keep commoners away from their forty thousand acre estates and prodigious incomes.
And, thanks to PBS purchasing mass licensing and distribution rights to anything that has an imperial accent--and is, therefore, "cultural"--every single American taxpayer will ensure that the British love for churning out homages to caste never ends.
Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. He's still a lord, but since you're now "free," he rules indirectly through the books and movies that tell you how to live.
Whose cruelty is it when lifelong servants, struggling to survive in their employment, trip and backstab one another to improve their own standing in the eyes of cruel, capricious, all-powerful employers? If a healthy and vastly wealthy grown man decides he can suffer the indignity of having a handicapped person clean his soiled underwear and fluff his pillows at night, has that man proved that he is a giving person? The lessons of lords are, as ever, that your existence is due to their courtesy, and you should be grateful for the chance to sleep five hours a night in a tiny room on the vast estate you spend your life maintaining for their arbitrary social pleasures.
That fetid stink coming from across the pond isn't merely from the organic cotton diapers of the little tumour named after the Butcher of Ireland and George Dubya Bush.