NOTE: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS. And frankly if you haven’t worked your way through 13 hours of programming when there’s no football on then I can’t help you.
Netflix’s “House of Cards” showcases some of America’s top acting talent: Kevin Spacey as conniving and craven House Majority Whip Francis [Frank] Underwood; Robin Wright as his wife, Claire, who is the only woman we can imagine as a match for Frank; and the engaging Cory Stoll (he nearly stole Woody Allen’s “Midnight in Paris” as Ernest Hemingway) as puppy dog-eyed substance abusing Congressman Peter Russo.
Yet, for as riveting as many have found the series it falls short of the mark. Why? Because it’s power pales in comparison to a superior version: “House of Cards (UK),” a BBC series launched in 1990.
The skeleton of House (US) and House (UK) mirror each other. An ambitious and loyal politician named Francis is spurned for promotion. He then levels the world around him—betrayers, pawns, and civilians alike—to obtain ultimate power. But that’s the end of the comparison.
Kevin Spacey also nearly matches the original Francis—Ian Richardson—in managing to be purely and diabolically evil while also charming and fun to watch.
But something is very wrong. Simply, where the two series converge the story crackles; where they diverge full episodes fall flat.
House of Corpulence
House (UK) weighed in at a slim and trim four episodes totaling four hours. House (US) bloats the same essential plotline to 13 one-hour episodes. Somewhere between Francis’ betrayal by his masters and his masterstroke betrayal of his oppressors, the authors of House (US) went searching for nine additional hours of intrigue. They found instead:
- Francis at his college reunion with his likely former gay lover;
- Claire’s vanity non-profit that doesn’t actually seem to help anyone (even Francis);
- Claire’s menopause and blatantly obvious metaphors such as running through graveyards;
- The intricacies of sleeping with your rather boring and very young Congressional staff member;
- The electric clash that is a bunch of labor lawyers negotiating teacher performance measurements; and, who could forget,
- The fact that Teamsters will eat anything if they’re on the street protesting for a union of which they aren’t even a member (and Majority Whips also make outstanding waiters).
Reviewers have noticed the problem without seeing the cause because many don’t even realize or note that House (US) is not an original work. When series developer Beau Willimon and company stray from the far superior source material what we’re left with is a script less compelling than some of the worst episodes of Frontline (which is often far more compelling that many of House (US) episodes).
House (UK) sparked two sequels: To Play the King (1993) and The Final Cut (1995). Neither matches their predecessor but both are of higher quality than House (US). In total, the BBC trilogy totaled one fewer hour than the entire first season of its American cousin. But in that twelve hours we spanned Francis’ career from the moment a promised promotion was denied him to his very last seconds of a decade-plus reign as prime minister of Great Britain, Scotland and Northern Ireland. After 13 hours of Cards (US), Francis is out jogging with his wife rather than strolling down Pennsylvania Avenue to the White House to claim the vice presidency.
This isn’t to say that Willimon shouldn’t have had the courage to develop House of Cards as a longer series for U.S. television. There would have been room for many more twists and turns in Francis’ rise to power. But like a bad crab cake half of the series is little more than greasy filler when what we really want is the meat.
For the Love of Politics
There’s a critical difference between House of Cards (UK) and House of Cards (US) and their respective protagonists, Francis Urquhart and Frank Underwood. House (UK) was authored by people who love politics. House (US) was written by people who hate it.
It can easily be argued that Francis Urqhart is far more evil than Francis Underwood. Urqhart is of the manor born, aristocratic, and sees the world as divided between those born to hold power and the generally useless.
Underwood is simply a backwoods politician who has climbed the greasy pole. He uses people but he’s not on high looking down at the scurrying ants below and not caring if one of them just stops moving. That would be Urqhart, not Underwood. But Underwood’s commonality is what makes him less compelling. The message is, “Oh this politics is such a dirty, dirty business and these politicians are no better than petty thieves.” But who wants to watch 13-hours about petty theft? When Underwood is up to his grand designs House (US) sparkles. When he’s in the muck like a common criminal, it’s little more than old ABSCAM footage (look it up, kids).
The difference is really a difference of love. Do you see politics as a noble profession that often attracts the ignominious? Then you’re enjoying the adventures of Urqhart, who you’re riveted by because you can’t wait to see how far he will go in his search to maintain power and if anyone of the good and decent characters involved will have the nerve and talent to stop him (see The Final Cut for that answer). If you hate politics you’ll enjoy Underwood because he confirms all the worst things about Washington that you were already thinking. If the authors worked in Washington they probably worked for the wrong people.
To Willimon and the others who gave us Frank Underwood I say: Don’t hate the game; hate the player. We do not need a dramatized and heavy-handed version of Schoolhouse Rock.
Realism is Overrated
The late Ian Richardson’s portrayal of Chief Whip Francis Urqhart is best described as deliciously evil. He is rooted in reality (the original series got a ratings boost in part because current events – the fall of Margarer Thatcher – mirrored its storyline) but he is Shakespearean and larger than life. We can have fun with him because he is not too real, too close to home, or too likely to come to pass.
Spacey’s portrayal of Frank Underwood – with one exception – is common, human failing and run of the mill badness. He’s too believable. His Capitol and his Washington are too real. For the most part, realism is what fails Cards (US) because not even National Education Association executives likely want to watch a dramatized collective bargaining negotiation.
House (US) suffers from an addiction to accuracy that is laudable (wait, there’s no Metro station in Georgetown) but that is really little more than titillation for smallish Washington politicos.
The signs outside Congressman Russo’s office look just like the real signs! They almost got the entryway of the Whip’s office right! It’s really neat that it’s one way heading north on Independence at evening rush hour!
This is Hill porn. It is designed to make people in Washington think pretty people in Hollywood are actually paying attention to them. And it is largely useless.
Congress is about as self-obsessed an institution as you can find other than the couple of blocks that sit between Exchange Place and Pine Street in Lower Manhattan. The difference is that Hill staff are rewarded with the ability to drop names rather than cash and attend cheap happy hours in place of hiring Lil’ Kim to play your Halloween party. Wall Street also gets better movies made about it.
By watching Francis Urquhart stand astride Commons making his puppets dance on strings is more entertaining because it’s divorced from our loathing of our own politics, which are actually no better or worse than that of any major modern post-industrial power (we could be Italy, folks – embrace our gridlock as preferable to inevitable and repeated collapse and dysfunction).
House (US) is a good and entertaining piece of work. We would have been better served with a program that invested less in set design and more in writers who understand politics and the fact that even the darkest dramas also come with humor and heart. Otherwise we’re just staring into an abyss of bile, fecklessness and doom. That may describe Washington today but that doesn’t mean we need a 13-hour dramatization of it.
Merril Hoge is a Douchebag 