“The Guinness Storehouse,” like the famous Dublin brewery, begins with the disclaimer “Inspired by true events,” which is another way of saying, “Don’t believe everything you see.” Or “Dragnet”-“SPeak” The words are not changed, and we have no desire or obligation to protect the innocent. This is a drama, and in any case, you can’t slander the dead.” The framing may be correct, but the portraits are imaginary.
The constant names in the series, which premieres Thursday on Netflix, belong to the four children of Benjamin Lee Guinness, whose grandfather created the signature porter in 1778. They are Arthur (Anthony Boyle), Edward (Lewis Partridge), Anne (Emily Fearn), and Benjamin (Fionn O’Shea). It’s 1868, and the recently deceased Benjamin Lee has left the brewery in equal shares to Arthur, who has been away from London for five years, losing his accent and finding peace, and Edward, who has pretty much run the place. Anne, a single woman and married, is basically left out; and Benjamin, who has a problem with drink and gambling, is given a small allowance because, as his late father put it in his will, “I feel it wise not to burden Benjamin with the temptations that come with fortune.”
As you can see here, neither Arthur nor Edward, whose professional expertise is limited to signing documents and occasionally walking around his factory—you won’t learn anything about how Guinness is made—seems capable of running a brewery. But all that really matters to the show is that each is a tortured romantic and will have to find a way to thrive in their uneasy, unspoiled partnership.
Indeed, as a viewer seeking entertainment rather than enlightenment, it’s best to treat these characters, however closely they are tied to the real people whose names they bear, as entirely fictional. Of course, there are also characters mixed into the business who have no actual counterparts and, given their fates not written in the books or Wikipedia pages, are subject to the whims of series creator Steve Knight (“Peaky Blinders,” “A Thousand Blows”), creating opportunities for suspense that might otherwise be lacking.
Chief among these acts are Sean Rafferty (James Norton), the Guinness family fixer, a handsome brute who pleases the ladies, and the beautiful, brilliant Ellen Cochrane (Niamh McCormack), a Catholic firebrand who sees a better path to Irish independence than throwing stones at old Guinness’ hearses like beer barrels on a fire; for some reason, the Fenians, epitomized by Ellen’s “Bonehead” brother Patrick (Seamus O’Hara), a gridlocked presence and no-motion advertising, have decided that Guinness’s target audience (rich, Protestant) will get them somewhere.
James Norton as Sean Rafferty in “Guinness World.”
(Ben Blackall/Netflix)
Beyond the politics, the family squabbles, and the not-so-worrying fate of the family business—I guess you can still order a Guinness—the main concerns of this historical melodrama, this fat opera, if you will, make hearts beat and breasts bulge. Skeptical about meeting Edward in a spirit of restraint, Elena feels an electricity sparking between them, and vice versa. (Even more believable is that Edward also has eyes for his cousin Adelaide Guinness, played by Ann Skelly, who has none of it for him. Well, we’ve all seen that story.
But wait, there’s more! In this narrative, at least, Arthur is gay, which is a problem for him as a person living in a super-religious country in the late 19th century and as a product of his family and their ilk. If his orientation becomes known, it’s suggested, the world will stop drinking beer, and the family will be forced to subsist on the millions of pounds they have in the bank and whatever they can scrape together from the several properties they own across the country. (Whenever modern figures are mentioned, the subtitles on the screenshots translate the amount into its 2025 equivalent, just so you understand how outrageously wealthy these people are. The series’ budget isn’t enough to make that readily apparent.)
Arthur’s “complication,” which is no secret among his non-judgmental siblings, has made him a) a target for blackmail and b) someone who needs a wife right away, especially since he’s about to run for his late father’s seat in Parliament. Enter Aunt Agnes Guinness (Dervla Kirwan), the storyteller of Yentas and the marriage prospect Lady Olivia Hedges (Danielle Galligan), who is quite happy to settle for maximum freedom and modicum, and who curses in the most ladily manner. (But really, F-WORDS and Sh-Words are flying everywhere in this show.)
And what about Anne, who is beset by a degenerative disease and a less-than-sexy clergyman husband? She sublimates her romantic heartache into urban renewal and other good works. (In fact, the family had a philanthropic bent, and the company was so far ahead of its time in treating its employees well, including pensions beginning in the 1880s—it’s getting a moment here—and providing medical care for staff and their families that much of this country still hasn’t caught up. They were less advanced, however, having been Catholic for many years.)
What else? There’s a curious hobbit character named Byron Hedges (Jack Gleeson), an illegitimate cousin who arrives to sell himself as someone who represents their interests in America, where Edward wants to expand; we get a few scenes set in New York. There’s Potter (Michael McElhatton), the droll, dry butler who looks down on the latest Guinnesses but remains loyal, as any butler would. And Bonnie Champion (David Wilmott), a charismatic crime lord who’s also involved in the company’s export business.
There’s nothing subtle about “The Guinness House,” which makes its points in declarative sentences—sometimes laced with Irish-y prose—and gives its characters barely a moment to relax and enjoy their porter, spiking the soundtrack with aggressive contemporary Irish rock and rap to keep it exciting for the people of 2025. The show may border on cornball; the characters are the kind you might have seen in popular dramas in 1868. Good Crais, as they say there.
