NOTE: This piece was originally published on Critics at Large on February 20, 2013. If you wish to comment, please do so there.
On February 1st, the entire first season of the new American version of House of Cards became available on Netflix worldwide. In light of these unique circumstances, I should emphasize that this post only contains very minor spoilers for the first of the show’s 13 episodes.
Some critics, like
the AV Club’s Todd VanDerWerff, fear that this new model
could undermine what makes great television so unique. He makes a fascinating
case, and I do understand his concerns, but right now it is hard to deny that
(creatively at least) television is thriving in all of its forms. Claims that
this is a revolutionary moment, or that House of Cards’ success or
failure is the test case for all such experiments, are, in my mind, overstated.
Moreover, Netflix’s experiment is ongoing: over the next few months they will
launch Hemlock Grove, an
Eli Roth-produced supernatural thriller, and Ricky Gervais’ Derek, currently airing on Channel 4
in the UK and which will run exclusively on Netflix in the US and Canada. And
most excitingly, in May Netflix will host the highly anticipated fourth season
of the famously cancelled Arrested Development.) Ultimately, I’m of the opinion that any
and all ways of producing television are good for television. New models, old
models (be they original web series, DirectTV,
or the like), all that matters is that good TV is being made and made
available to viewers, however it happens. As Alan Sepinwall describes in his recent book, television’s last great revolution was in large part due to the
chaotic televisual space of the time – with broadcast networks struggling to
etch out a space in response to the ever growing (basic and premium) cable
universe, and cable channels eager to show that they could do something
entirely new.
The original House
of Cards (a three-part trilogy which aired in the UK between 1990
and 1995) was a darkly comic political thriller set in halls of British
Parliament in the days after Margaret Thatcher’s resignation. The series is
remembered for its Shakespearean tone, and the signature conspiratorial and
fourth-wall breaking asides of its main character (a device series creator
Andrew Davies also applied in his brilliant 2001 modernization of Othello). Setting the story in 21st century Washington is an inspired idea, and the UK series has
aged remarkably well – its insights into the sinister underbelly of national
politics have only grown more prescient in the intervening decades (see
the recent political circuses around the troubled Senate confirmations
of Susan Rice and Chuck Hagel for just two recent examples). The BBC
series starred Ian Richardson as Francis Urquhart, the fictional Chief Whip of
a struggling, but still governing, Conservative party with an untested leader.
With playwright and Oscar-nominated screenwriter Beau Willimon (The Ides of March) at the helm, the American Netflix series has Kevin Spacey playing
Frank Underwood, a 22-year veteran of the U.S. House of Representatives and the
Majority Whip for the newly elected House Democrats.
In
this, the new series broadly the original series’ storyline, though the
American version has more time to flesh out our protagonist’s universe. The UK
original ran in three 4-episode seasons (in other words, a one-season story arc
in the British series was told in four hours, with the entire series requiring
only twelve hours, while the first season of the American series has a
luxurious 13 hours to tell its tale. As a result, secondary characters are
given much more screen time in the new series, most notably Frank’s wife Claire
(played by Robin Wright),
his young journalist protégée/co-conspirator Zoe Barnes (Kate Mara), and the
poor benighted Congressman Peter Russo (Corey
Stoll, Midnight in Paris) who quickly becomes a
pawn in Underwood’s complex plans. Stoll shines in the role even in the
earliest episodes, but it is Robin Wright who makes for the most compelling
viewing. Her recent film roles – see, for example, Moneyball or The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo – have been so brief as to almost
qualify for cameo status, but in House of Cards, she demonstrates her
right to the centre stage. (Her next movie role, the lead in Waltz with
Bashir director Ari Folman’s The Congress, has been on my “most anticipated list” for
over two years now.) In the UK series, Francis’ wife Elizabeth is more like his
externalized id than a genuine character – playing Lady to Francis’ Macbeth, giving
voice to his bruised ego, his ambitions, and his darker inclinations. Claire
Underwood, on the other hand, is a high profile Washington power broker in her
own right, and her ambitions would seem to equal her husband, even if her nerve
is not quite as steely as his.
In the British series, these conspiratorial asides aren’t
merely a nifty exposition technique – they are also an opportunity to give the
viewer a taste of the protagonist’s charisma, pulling us into his world as much
as providing a deeper context for it. Urquhart’s charm, in evidence as much in those soliloquies as in his interactions with others, effectively
ensures that the audience follows him to far darker places than they would have
otherwise been comfortable. But what is revealed by Underwood in those structurally
similar asides is a disdain for other people that regularly crosses the line
into psychopath territory, as when he imagines that he can only get through his
weekly meeting with House leaders by imagining their "lightly salted faces frying in a
skillet.” There is a vicarious pleasure in being the confidant of these
delicious bon mots, but they don’t engender much sympathy for the
character.
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| "You might very well think that. I couldn't possibly comment." – Kevin Spacey stars in House of Cards, on Netflix |
On February 1st, the entire first season of the new American version of House of Cards became available on Netflix worldwide. In light of these unique circumstances, I should emphasize that this post only contains very minor spoilers for the first of the show’s 13 episodes.
A
little over a year ago, Netflix launched its first original program, making the
first season of Lilyhammer available to its subscribers. The Norwegian-American
co-production was big hit in Scandinavia and a moderate critical success here
in North America (it’s light, but uniformly
enjoyable, fare). It was by no means a quiet rollout, but compared to the press
and enthusiasm of the Kevin Spacey/David Fincher produced House of Cards,
in retrospect Lilyhammer seems almost like an open secret. (A second
season of the Steven Van Zandt series, it
is worth noting, goes into to production in March).
Last January, when Lilyhammer was first being rolled out, there was some talk about Netflix’s entry into original programming, and even more talk in recent weeks since House of Cards’ much publicized launch on February 1st. Certainly, House of Cards deserves the press – it is actor Kevin Spacey (American Beauty) and director David Fincher’s (The Social Network, The Girl with theDragon Tattoo) first foray into television, and it is much more ambitious both narratively and artistically than Lilyhammer, but all talk of revolutions notwithstanding, it isn't likely to herald a new age of television by itself. But let’s just say this: House of Cards is worth watching. What else does a viewer really need to know?
Last January, when Lilyhammer was first being rolled out, there was some talk about Netflix’s entry into original programming, and even more talk in recent weeks since House of Cards’ much publicized launch on February 1st. Certainly, House of Cards deserves the press – it is actor Kevin Spacey (American Beauty) and director David Fincher’s (The Social Network, The Girl with theDragon Tattoo) first foray into television, and it is much more ambitious both narratively and artistically than Lilyhammer, but all talk of revolutions notwithstanding, it isn't likely to herald a new age of television by itself. But let’s just say this: House of Cards is worth watching. What else does a viewer really need to know?
 |
| Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright |
But fifteen years
later, traditional network television (with its long seasons, regular ad
breaks, and set episode length) is still producing some great shows in both
comedy and drama. Basic cable networks like FX and AMC (both have commercial
breaks, though AMC has fewer ads than most other outlets) are producing some of
the best shows on television, and HBO and Showtime continue to make themselves
worthwhile to their subscribers. Cable hasn’t yet proven to be the death knell
of the broadcast networks, and Netflix’s great experiment won’t likely even
register as a blip on the television universe, at least immediately.
As a viewer I am actually
extremely grateful for what outlets like Netflix bring to the table. In one
day, Netflix unrolled all 13 episodes of House of Cards’ first season
(complete with French dubbing and subtitles for the bi-lingual Canadian
audience). I, an inveterate downloader, do still enjoy having control over my
viewing pace, but to be honest my TV binge sessions are getting rarer and
rarer, and I’m finding that I rarely wish to watch more than two episodes of
even my favourite shows in a single sitting. (Some are just too dense to be
absorbed that way, and others I want to relish at a slower pace.) For my money,
rather, the most intriguing novelty of House of Cards is that Netflix
makes it possible to watch it and the classic BBC series it is adapted from at
the same time. The greatest gift the Netflix model gives us a richer and more
educated television audience, and for that it deserves all the praise that can
be heaped upon it.
 |
| Ian Richardson as Francis Urquhart on BBC's House of Cards |
Despite the
significant differences between the British and the American government models,
whips can play similar roles in both systems. Unlike the Democratic or
Republican house leaders (roles currently held by Nancy Pelosi and Eric Cantor,
respectively), the whips aren’t often in the news, playing a largely unseen
role in the running of the House. They speak to party representatives more
often than the press. (And you are unlikely to even know their names, unless he
or she happens to be your congressional representative.) Whips are essentially
the managers of their respective party’s legislative agenda, and it’s likely
you’ll only hear about them when they do their job poorly. Frank Underwood does
his job exceptionally well, though he’s eager to move on from his longtime role
as a political functionary, a job he rather cynically describes as “clear[ing] the pipes and keep[ing] the sludge moving.” But such a promotion is not meant to be: one of the first actions
of the new President-elect (Michael Gill) is to unceremoniously break his campaign-season
promise to appoint Underwood as his new Secretary of State. “Welcome to
Washington” as Underwood puts it. This last betrayal sets Underwood in motion,
using all his political will and influence to gain power and wreak a little
vengeance in the process. While he previously sought power through supporting
politicians on the rise, now he is out to take them down.
 |
| Corey Stoll as Congressman Peter Russo |
The compelling
secondary characters aside, at the end of the day this is a story about one
man, a story which in many ways he is telling us himself. And whatever the
strengths of the new production, it is almost impossible for me not to
continually compare Richardson’s
Francis Urquhart to Spacey’s Frank Underwood, and it is in this comparison that
the cracks in the new series begin to show. Richardson’s undeniable charisma
carries his series, and you have no doubt that he is capable of what Urquhart
succeeds in doing. Francis Urquhart blackmails colleagues and has them walk out
of the room feeling grateful for his generosity. Frank Underwood doesn’t pull
off anything comparable, and his power is largely powered by threats and an
almost animalistic presence.
To put it bluntly:
Spacey’s Frank simply isn’t a likeable as Richardson’s Francis. Francis, for
all the excess of his storylines, is often almost loveable in the role.
Fincher’s direction and Willimon’s scripts frontload a lot more menace to the
character of Frank a lot sooner. (The show’s first minutes have Frank
spontaneously euthanizing a recently injured dog, just below the frame, as he
calmly justifies the action to the viewer. The cold, quiet rationalizations
that be provides leave the viewer immediately uneasy.)
 |
| Kate Mara as Zoe Barnes |
Moreover, and I
think this departure more than anything influenced my relative lack of sympathy
for Frank: in the UK original, it isn’t simply a broken promise that sets
Francis on his path, but the legitimately poor decision on the new Prime
Minister’s part to ignore Francis’ advice regarding a post-election cabinet
shuffle. (Their party had just barely retained power, and had lost more than 70
of its 100-seat lead in the recent election.) Francis is clearly more shocked
by that decision than by the broken personal promise. But in the new series,
Underwood seems driven almost entirely by personal ambition and affronted
pride: the unvarnished ambition and a naked drive for vengeance isn’t balanced
by even the smallest hint of public duty (albeit perverted by arrogance or
ego). Spacey’s character, while never boring and often a delight to watch,
edges far closer to psycho territory than Urquhart ever did, whatever Urquhart
was called to do to achieve his aims. The strength, for example, of AMC’s long
running Breaking Bad lies in the show’s knack for keeping our
loyalty with Walter White, even as he takes darker and darker turns – the
British series does the same think for Francis Urquhart. But in the American series I was taken
back to my experience of the early seasons of Damages, and that feeling
that even in this day and age, at least for me, there is
perhaps such a thing as too much snark and sardony (which both Microsoft Word and the OED
now tell me is still not a real word). The risk is that even though as you may enjoy the ride, if
you can’t love the characters just a little bit, you won’t care very much about
the destination. (In the end, Damages
finally became too cynical a show for me to regularly return to.) In House
of Cards, I want to be following Frank not merely because he’s the motor of the
story, but hopefully because he bears the show’s (perhaps dark) heart. In the early
episodes, there are a few tantalizingly hints that Underwood has some
blood flowing within him, and I’m more than happy to give him a baker’s dozen of my hours to
find out.
In
other words, watch House of Cards: both of them. Not
only are they both politically interesting shows, and good television to boot,
but the fact that they are both simultaneously available to viewers on Netflix
gives every viewer of television the ability to do the same kind of
back-and-forth comparison and analysis that has long been the purview of only
professional critics (or those with a large budget for DVDs). Netflix has given
us another good show, and along with that, perhaps, a key to the nature of what
might real be involved in the new shift in television; it’s not going to be a
revolution in what we watch, or the medium through which we watch it, or even
when we watch it. It is going to be a revolution in how we watch.
Hopefully it will give television viewers a deeper and more nuanced
appreciation for the history and development of television –and it will
certainly make for intriguing conversations at the water cooler.
