Kevin Spacey is my best friend. When I see pictures of him - stills from his films, or photographs of him brandishing a cane at the Emmy’s - I feel warm inside. Like, oh you, Kevin Spacey!! What are you like! Obviously Kevin Spacey is not in the habit of associating with tiny English students whose only topic of conversation would be “Can you sing Beyond the Sea again please, Kevin Spacey?” - we made friends only in some cheerful corner of my mind, one that, on finishing the first episode of ‘House of Cards’, decided that, yeah, we were going to get along just great.
'House of Cards' was the reason I got Netflix in the first place. I'd been on a 'The Thick of It' kick and craved seeing more politicians being vile to each other. After a few episodes, I was telling everyone I knew that they really, really had to watch it. It was the combination of a killer theme tune (it's honestly brilliant), slick production values and Kevin Spacey's character, Frank Underwood's way of directly addressing the audience that made me such an evangelist.
The direct address could, and indeed does at times, verge on the pantomime. There is a sense of a weird flamboyance of character development and plot to ‘House of Cards’; by the second, most recent season, events seem to escalate so nighmarishly that you almost have to laugh. Underwood’s asides often sound like teenage poetry, full of odd metaphors and references to the importance of lying. If you watch the show desperate for a realistic portrayal of the American government, you’re going to feel cheated. It’s like reading Shakespeare’s histories instead of academic textbooks about past kings - you go into ‘House of Cards’ wanting to be entertained, not informed. Frank’s whispers occasionally do both, but mainly the former.
It’s this faintly silly direct address that hooks you in, however. It’s transparent in its appeal - Frank’s a secretive character, and you’re the one he’s chosen to tell his secrets to. They are often horrendous. And sometimes, you feel he’s not telling you the most important stuff. But it’s charming, and although you might not root for him, you’ll certainly want to stay on his good side so he’ll keep confiding in you.
Amongst the coldness of Underwood and his quest for power, there’s some moments of warmth. Kate Mara’s character is lovely; she’s aiming high, like Underwood, but there is something infinitely more human about her layers of jackets and her almost meek posture than we ever see in Spacey’s politician. In Season 2, Rachel Posner rises from her victim status to become the person I’m really cheering for in the show. And Season 1’s Peter Russo is delightfully vulnerable; for a brief moment in time, he’s an example of politics with a heart. (It’s a very, very brief moment.)
My standout favourite of ‘House of Cards’' cast of characters, though, is Robin Wright’s Claire Underwood. She has the same hard eyes and bloody ambition as her husband, and if there was a human personification of the programme’s atmosphere, she would be it: striking, cool, unexpectedly fragile in places. I was worried she’d have the sort of vile response from viewers that we see time and time again with TV wives (we’re all thinking of the hideously unfairly-maligned Skyler White here), but Claire seems to be quite popular. As a power couple, Claire and Frank are terrifying, like two predatory animals who’ve decided to hunt as a pair.
Am I still thinking about it? Yes - despite the plot being fairly contained to the world of the show, there’s a hundred tiny things that you’ll see in the news that make you think of it.
How long is it? 26 episodes over two seasons.
Who should watch it? It’s not cerebral the way, say, The Returned is, but it can feel a bit slow at times, with lots of chess-like manoeuvring. IMDB says that “people who liked this” also liked Breaking Bad, and I can definitely see the link.
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