Edward “Eddie” Horniman, the 13th Duke of Halstead, occupies a very large house in the country. He possesses pectorals that could rival a luxury sports car, wears plus-fours expansive enough to house his entire kennels of gundogs, and yet – despite his material abundance – our man is aggrieved.
“Four hundred years ago, this estate spread out as far as the eye could see,” Eddie solemnly informs his groundskeeper Geoff (Vinnie Jones) during an aerial sweep across manicured lawns. “But it’s been diminished. Year after year. Generation after generation. First came the apologies, then came the shame, then came the contraction. I want it all back!”
Of course he does.
Guy Ritchie’s The Gentlemen has returned for a second series on Netflix, and those familiar with the director’s oeuvre will find precisely what they’re expecting: fistfights, copious profanity, men in tweed shaking their fists while shouting variations of “faaackin’ ‘ell” into the middle distance. It’s comfort food for those who enjoyed the first instalment, even if the energy that once crackled through Ritchie’s earlier work has mellowed into something approaching clock-watching aimlessness.
Eddie’s Grand Ambitions
The last time we encountered Eddie, portrayed with bewildering blankness by Theo James, he was submerged in cannabis cash after partnering with Susie Glass (Kaya Scodelario) to oversee the drug operation her crime family had concealed beneath the aristocratic estate.
Now, the beefcake duke craves more. Specifically, he wants to sever ties with Susie and her bulbous patriarch Bobby (Ray Winstone), who have maintained him in a debt-shaped headlock ever since bailing out Eddie’s financially reckless brother Freddy – played with scene-stealing vigour by Daniel Ings, who remains the finest thing in this production by a considerable distance.
Additionally, our hulking hero intends to venture into international drug trafficking via an Italian deal with notorious “boss of bosses” Marco Moretti (Sergio Castellitto). And crucially, Eddie aspires to become a hereditary peer. This prestigious status would enable him to influence legislation decriminalising marijuana while simultaneously parading across his grounds in a cape the dimensions of Sussex.
Highlights and Low Points
Scattered throughout the eight episodes are moments that genuinely entertain. There’s a thrilling motorcycle chase, some tangled intrigue surrounding a coveted Botticelli painting, and a gloriously unhinged performance from Hugh Bonneville as Lord Hawthorne – a man who delightedly announces “I am being greased!” upon receiving a bribe.
Meanwhile, Ray Winstone’s Bobby continues issuing commands while perpetually positioned between his sauna and hot tub, apparently striving to become the first fully amphibious cockney.
At the centre of this chaos sits Theo James’s Eddie, an enigma wrapped in a yawn. His face remains frozen in perpetual neutrality – whether by design or simply because the character lacks any meaningful interior life. One suspects Eddie functions less as a fully-realised person and more as “a wardrobe of beef in cufflinks,” contributing little beyond drawling about profit margins while reducing the local wildlife to ammunition.
The Comfort of Familiar Territory
There’s something strangely reassuring about Ritchie’s unwavering commitment to his particular vision. In these turbulent times, his fetishisation of the aristocracy and fascination with uninhibited wide-boys offers a peculiar kind of stability. The director clearly worships at the altar of empire-era entrepreneurship, and The Gentlemen serves as his extended love letter to that mythology – not to mention a love letter to himself, given how thoroughly the series recycles his established formula.
That said, the series drags. For all its international scheming and oi-oi-saveloy geezerisms, viewers may find themselves yearning for movement. In Bobby’s memorable phrasing: “gerra faaackin’ move on.”
The Gentlemen is now streaming on Netflix.
Why it Matters
Ritchie’s series occupies a peculiar position in contemporary television – simultaneously criticised and consumed with apparent enthusiasm. While The Gentlemen offers nothing approaching sophisticated storytelling, its very predictability provides a strange comfort. In an era of prestige television demanding constant subversion and innovation, there’s value in a programme that knows exactly what it is and delivers it with polished confidence. The series’ success (evidenced by this second season) suggests audiences crave familiar pleasures, even when those pleasures involve wealthy men in tweed complaining about diminished land holdings. Whether this represents a concerning retreat into comfortable nostalgia or simply harmless entertainment remains open to debate – but the numbers indicate viewers have made their decision.
