‘House of Guinness’ Episode 4 Recap: Joffrey Takes Manhattan

Let’s hear it for Jack Gleeson. The Irish actor cemented his place in television history in his first major role: the smug, sadistic, sociopathic, cowardly, completely insufferable boy king Joffrey Baratheon on Game of Thrones. He returned to his studies after that, acting only sporadically until very recently. 

God, am I glad to see him back. His character here, the archetypal Irish trickster Byron Hedges, makes use of many of the same traits that made Gleeson’s portrayal of Joffrey so menacing — the twinkle of glee in his eye, the tight-lipped smile of someone harboring a secret — but harnesses them for good instead of evil. Well, if not good, then at least Guinness.

This episode of House of Guinness features a lengthy interlude following Byron’s misadventures as a newcomer to 1860s New York, which the show recreates as impressively as it has Dublin. After nearly getting stomped out by the Bowery Boys — a protection racket masquerading as firemen, as likely to set them as put them out — Byron is rescued when he stumbles into the Irish part of town. 

There, he persuades his cousin William Randall Roberts (Moe Dunford), the head of the Fenian Brotherhood in the city, to back Guinness’s expansion play. Why would he do this, despite the fact that the Guinness family are Protestant Unionist Conservatives? Because Byron is just that damn persuasive, and Gleeson makes you believe it. (Well, that, and the beer is pretty good. Sorry, but I’m an Irish American from New York, and these people knew their audience.)

Back in Dublin, the episode kicks off with the grand wedding of Arthur Guinness and Lady Olivia Hedges (no relation to Byron, at least I’m pretty sure). The pair are incorrigible together, getting hammered and making impolite remarks about all their guests…except Mr. Rafferty, whom they more or less invite to a threesome later that night. (It’s unclear if he takes them up on their implicit offer.)

The worst of Arthur’s behavior is saved for his Fenian guests, Patrick and Ellen Cochrane. Unaware that they’d even been invited, Arthur himself stomps over to throw them out before they make a scene, thus ensuring a scene is made. (Accusing them of incest sure doesn’t help.) It takes Ellen and Edward — to whom Arthur gives a full-on “I knew it was you, Fredo” kiss of betrayal over this stuff — to cool down their respective siblings and make a deal. The Fenians will keep Arthur’s secret and lend their support to Guinness’s business plans in exchange for slowly but steadily increasing support for the Republican cause by Arthur in Parliament. 

More interesting to me here, though, is the chemistry between Edward and Ellen. I mean, yes, this was a plot twist that you could see coming halfway down the Liffey, but even so, it’s the deft way writer-creator Steven Knight’s script teases their interest in one another out of them that makes the moment snap. Edward has already been rejected that night by Adelaide Guinness (Ann Skelly), a marriageable cousin who resents being “a name on a list”; separately, he’s on record in front of Arthur as saying Ellen’s an intelligent, capable person who knows how to do business. In the process of razzing him for striking out, Ellen reveals she hasn’t gotten married yet because she’s been waiting for a man who respects her. 

And — snap — just like that, the attraction snaps into place for both of them. With certain obvious exceptions, they’re exactly what they’re both looking for. It’s a fun moment, adorably played by Louis Partridge and Niamh McCormack. 

Unfortunately for the both, Arthur leaves the meeting unsatisfied. He comes up with a different plan for victory: straight-up buying votes, using a stupid scheme involving train tickets that’s already the talk of half the town. Edward begs him to cut this shit out and see reason; in response, Olivia tears him to shreds as a younger brother cursed to labor and toil while the older brother enjoys the fruits of Empire. He washes his hands of the both of them at that point.

But the thing is — and it’s impressive that this show got me to see this side of things at all — Arthur isn’t just some reflexive, unthinking bigot. I mean, he is, but he’s not just that. He really seems to believe in the things his father believed in, he’s in fact moved to actual, sincere tears of sadness at the thought of Fenians undoing the family legacy. There actually is some principle involved beyond his own advancement and hedonism. (His cheap but lavishly decorated apartment for romantic assignations is pretty awesome, to be fair.)

Yet that only goes so far, right? Arthur will honor his father’s legacy — but he won’t embrace running his father’s beloved brewery, let alone his (presumably even more beloved) heterosexuality. Like all reactionaries, Arthur picks and chooses the parts of the past that are to be defended at all costs, blithely disregarding the ones that would inconvenience him personally.

That said, he sure looks good even as he’s running around being a Tory moron, doesn’t he? The camera is a great fan of actor Anthony Boyle, whose face holds afternoon light like few others. The show finds all kinds of reasons to show the man in repose, as if that is Arthur’s natural mien. Perhaps it is. 

The cool thing about House of Guinness is watching it find the right holes for each of its pegs, so to speak. Just as Arthur is a natural recliner, David Wilmot’s pimp character Bonnie Champion is a fitting vessel for yelling unhinged dialogue like “You give the people beer, Mr. Guinness! I give them babies! And on Sunday, we rest!” through the rain. 

Similarly, I’d found Fionn O’Shea oddly unsympathetic as the junkie black sheep of the family, Benjamin, but now I realize that’s deliberate: The moment he’s sobered up for a stretch of time and given a little respect as an officer, he immediately jilts his love-besotted Lady Christine for the proper mate of his Aunt Agnes’s choosing…if they reopen the question of his income, that is. It’s an expertly done heel turn that would make a wrestling promoter jealous. (It also makes it likely that Lady Henrietta St Lawrence, played by a barely recognizable Elizabeth Dulau from Andor, will make further appearances as his arranged bride, which is great news.) I’m not sure what the final brew will be here, but the ingredients for a damn fine one are all in the mix.

Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about TV for Rolling Stone, Vulture, The New York Times, and anyplace that will have him, really. He and his family live on Long Island.