Class over Crime? The Whodunit as a Vehicle for Class Criticism in Gosford Park (2001) by Wenke Röschmann

Though the plot revolves around a murder at a hunting weekend set in the British countryside, the aspect of the crime itself seems to move into the periphery of the narrative, allowing space for the actual central theme of the film: the many characters and their interclass relations. ​American director, Robert Altman, boldly claimed: “I don’t call it a whodunit so much as I call it a who cares whodunit” (Altman and Fellowes) when describing his film, Gosford Park (2001), which combines the genre of British heritage films with the classic whodunit narrative (Dalrymple 2). Indeed,  as viewers, we might sympathize with this quote when considering the critical social undercurrent of the narrative. 

Set in the 1930s, the film explores the beginning of the end for the British class hierarchy and hints at the class criticism that is to follow. But does this focus on class mean that the crime element of the film is unimportant or even redundant? Arguing that the whodunit is merely an accessory to the plot does not suffice because it functions as a vehicle for the whole narrative and enables the class criticism Altman employs.

     Today Gosford Park is often seen as a prequel to the television series Downton Abbey (2010), with both productions sharing the screenwriter Julian Fellowes as well as a similar setting—but their resemblance does not go far beyond that. Despite the equal focus on historical accuracy in Gosford Park, with its grand decorations and extravagant costumes, the attention to detail is not used to romanticize class but to criticize it (MacKinnon 4). Throughout the film, the strict dichotomy between the upper and lower classes is striking—take, for example, the stark and apparent contrast between the lavishness of the upstairs rooms and the dull interior of the servants’ quarters (MacKinnon 28). The relationship between the classes is never presented as acceptable to the viewers, with the inequality so obviously displayed that it borders on satire. The very first scene, set on a gloomy and rainy day, shows us young Mary (Kelly Macdonald) training to become a lady-in-waiting and her mistress, Lady Trentham (Maggie Smith), on their way to the hunting weekend. In the middle of the road, Mary must leave the car to assist her mistress, being soaked in the rain in the process, while Lady Trentham remains dry and warm inside the vehicle—a clear statement that sets the tone for the rest of the film. Moreover, upon arrival at the country estate, all servants are informed that they will only be known by the name of the “upper stairs” person they came with and not by their real name. This suggests that the only notable thing about them, which constitutes their identity during the weekend, is the person they serve, i.e. their master or mistress.

     The film attempts to subvert this class system, not just through satirical scenes but also by making the lower-class characters key to the narrative. Not once in the film do we see an “upstairs” person when there is not a “downstairs” one in the room (Altman and Fellowes). What we learn about the upper classes is entirely through what Mary and the other servants observe or discuss. Altman’s decision to put the servants at the centre of the narrative is conscious, supported by the even balance of high-profile actors among both classes. The result is that each character is thoroughly characterized and given their own agenda, even agency, in the film. Therefore, when the host, Sir William (Michael Gambon), is killed, it is almost impossible for us to guess the perpetrator.

     Here is where the importance of the criminal element becomes apparent: such a plethora of characters is typical for Altman’s works but only possible in Gosford Park because the whodunit narrative calls for many actors, or rather, suspects (Dalrymple 3). In many of the seemingly unimportant corridor and stairwell scenes, we, along with the servants, become privy to the scandalous lives these characters lead, particularly in the upper classes whose primary mode of entertainment is to gossip about and blackmail each other. The beautiful clothes and lavish dinners hide an intricate web of lies, secret affairs, and financial issues, which certainly qualify as motives for the murder and stoke the viewer’s suspicions. They lead us away from the real culprit, who ultimately turns out to be a servant.

     Mary, who functions as a focaliser for the viewer from the first scene onwards, takes on the role of a “surrogate-detective” (MacKinnon 27), as the real detective (Stephen Fry) is not able to get to the root of the crime. We follow Mary as she solves the murder, and through her eyes, we become detectives by proxy. The whodunit not only enables us to look into the dark underbelly of the lives of the upper-classes but gives us the ability to do so through the eyes of the servants—a change in perspective which allows the viewer to sympathize with their viewpoint and perhaps build stronger connections to the working classes than in traditional whodunit narratives. This is a point that is only highlighted when the real reason for the murder is revealed: a visiting valet discovers that he is the illegitimate son of Sir William after a secret affair with the housekeeper is brought to light. Growing up an orphan after his mother was forced to give him up, Robert Parks (Clive Owen) wishes to kill his father. In an attempt to avoid her son becoming a murderer, Mrs Wilson (Helen Mirren), his mother, kills Sir William by poison so that he is already dead when her son attempts to murder him. This crime is committed not out of hatred but motherly love—an act which turns out to be not severe enough for presecution, heavily implied by the crime being left ‘unsolved’ at the end of the film. This ending is unlike the traditional whodunit, but fits perfectly in line with the sympathetic class portrayal of the working class in Gosford Park.

The film ends with the vast majority of the characters never discovering why or by whom Sir William was killed—an ending which certainly “satirized or subverted the detective narrative” (Dalrymple 7). This narrative is not about the murder itself but, on the contrary, what the crime allows us to see—which is, in this case, social inequality. By giving the role of the detective to a servant, the films will enable the viewer to look deeper into the actions of the classes and guess at their possible motives—motives which the characters themselves may never be fully aware of. Gosford Park employs the whodunit and its generic conventions to form a world with many multi-layered characters and intricate relationships, where the crime may move into the background but nevertheless functions as a vehicle that enables the satirical class criticism.

​References
Gosford Park. Directed by Robert Altman, 2001.
Altman, Robert and Fellowes, Julian. Gosford Park. Interviewed by Charlie Rose. 1 Dec. 2002, https://charlierose.com/videos/9799.
MacKinnon, Matthew. Upstairs, Downstairs: Locating Gosford Park Within the Critical and Cultural Context of British (Heritage) Cinema. 2006. Carleton University, Master’s Thesis.
Dalrymple, James. “Gosford Park, the ‘Altmanesque’ and Democracy.” Études Britanniques Contemporaines, vol. 57, Nov. 2019. OpenEdition Journals, https://doi.org/10.4000/ebc.7888.

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Wenke Röschmann is currently pursuing a Bachelor’s degree in English and American Studies and History at the University of Bamberg. Her interests range from the Gothic Novel to Modernist literature, with a growing interest in early Crime Fiction.