As we near the Season 3 premiere of Netflix’s flagship series House of Cards, I found myself interested in looking back on the first 26 episodes of the show. Were there moments I didn’t quite catch in my initial viewing? Would I see things differently a year removed from my self-imposed weekend bingefests? Would I finally understand anything involving the Chinese trade relations subplot from Season 2? (Nope.)
Upon its initial release, I was drawn to the show largely because David Fincher was producing and directing the first two episodes. I had no preconceived notions of what the show was or would be about, simply that it dealt with politics -- and by extension, the grasp for power -- in Washington DC. The first season started stylishly and confidently. We were introduced to Frank Underwood as he casually euthanized a dog in the streets; and as he looked into the camera to address the audience in the first of his many pithy asides, the message was clear: This man will do anything to get what he wants. Hang on for one hell of a ride.
In the first season, Frank’s machinations for control of the Vice Presidency largely involved manipulating lesser pawns. This served as a great presentation of Frank’s cunning and ruthlessness -- there were very few moments in which Frank was outdueled or outmaneuvered -- but as a dramatic tool, it neutralized any sense of risk and left the season narratively flat. When every enemy’s as easily dispatched as a phone call and a well-placed monologue, is there any tension left?
The less-est of these pawns was Peter Russo, a Pennsylvania Congressman with an unshakeable knack for prostitutes and liquor. Yet, Russo proved to be far from a caricature of failure. Our first introduction of Russo actually revealed a genuinely caring and sympathetic single father who was falling in love with his secretary, Christina. Despite his weaknesses, Russo represented the moral and idealistic heart at the center of an otherwise ruthless show. Faced with the dilemma of testifying against the closure of a shipyard or abandoning his hometown supporters -- all at the behest of Frank nonetheless -- Russo’s struggle with both the moral and pragmatic factors in this decision rang true. He was by and large the only character who considered the consequences of his actions or his impact on those around him. He was not simply in politics for a power grab; he had real personal stakes -- trying to raise his children alone while building a relationship with someone important. In a bumbling antelope unaware of the stalking lion sort of way, Russo’s demise was a necessary narrative counterpoint to Frank’s ascension. Russo’s vulnerability, ambivalence, and sacrifices kept the season from spiraling into a full-fledged satire. He clearly wouldn’t survive.
One character that not only learned how to survive, but thrived, in the political arena is the show’s Lady Macbeth, Claire Underwood. Equally cold and calculating as her husband, Claire began as a strong, ruthless pragmatist. Her first task was to terminate half of the employees at her water charity due to budget constraints. After firing the necessary personnel -- and in particular, terminating an old employee who would knowingly struggle to find a new job in the current market -- Claire demonstrated that she not only accepted the impact of her actions, but understood the reason they were necessary. Yet after this initial introduction, Claire spent large portions of the season dealing with vague struggles at her water charity. Doing what specifically? I’m not entirely sure. It’s an overlong and clumsy plotline that never really went anywhere (even Wikipedia agrees: “She seems to use her charity to cultivate her own power and influence, yet its ultimate purpose remains unknown”). Upon my repeat viewings, Claire jumped out -- to my surprise -- as an oddly blank character except for a few select episodes. Even her subplot later in the season -- one in which she absconds with old flame Adam Galloway -- seemed to reveal very little behind her cold exterior. There were brief moments of glimpsing doubt, of repressed desires, that hinted at a darker past but nonetheless, she returned to Frank as the same woman, one who existed not so much as a full character as much as a sounding board for Frank. Her deepest and most intriguing scenes of the season took place at her and Frank’s smoking window, as they billowed smoke into the night air and plotted how to topple Frank’s next victim. It was in these moments when I couldn’t help but see Claire as the very cigarettes she smoked -- fleeting, light, and weightless.
This brings me to Zoe Barnes. Let’s talk about our favorite intrepid reporter. In the pilot episode, Zoe, on a quest to make journalism relevant again, introduced herself to Frank with a low-cut top after Frank checks her out in public a la President Obama. Frank quickly struck a tit-for-tat professional (and personal) relationship with Zoe that at best, seemed murky. Zoe clearly benefited from having an anonymous political insider feed her proprietary information; but what did Frank get? The show seems to contend that through Zoe, Frank gained control of the media. He installed a puppet that he could control who would say exactly what he wants in front of the cameras. Considering “media” is an extremely broad categorization that spans countless platforms and mediums, Frank’s purported benefit is an argument that’s vaguely demonstrated, at best, and completely preposterous, at worst.
Subsequent to Russo’s death, Zoe began to go rogue, believing (rightfully) that Frank was responsible. Banding together with fellow journalist Janine and Lucas, who had barely existed as characters prior to being roped into Zoe’s rampaging investigation, Zoe began rocking the boat far too much for Frank’s liking. This resulted in the Season 2 premiere’s biggest shocker -- Frank tossing Zoe in front of a subway. In many ways, Zoe’s death not only marked the engine that would propel the second season -- after Frank dispatched Russo, he felt enough remorse to pray at church; after Zoe’s death, it was clear Frank no longer felt anything -- but also represented writer Beau Willimon’s chance to improve upon last season’s flab. In theory, the chance to streamline the show’s cold machinations with deliberate terminations of characters that had worn out their usefulness should be good; in practice however, this change was not always pretty.
Let’s touch on the process by which Willimon tied off the story for Zoe, Janine, and Lucas: A subway. Cashew the guinea pig. The deep web. Data Crusader?
Oh boy. The fewer words I spend on these things, the better. It’s clear Willimon got the mileage out of these characters in the first season and had to find a way to phase them out as quickly as possible. Zoe thrown in front of a train? Brilliant. Janine retreating back home? Functional. Lucas taking on the moniker “Data Crusader” and being tapped by the FBI after exploring the “deep web” -- whatever that is -- for proof of Frank’s hand in Russo’s death? Then failing and landing in jail? Not the best. In fact, pretty bad.
Let’s forget this clumsy transition ever happened and move on to better things.
As someone who was largely underused in the first season, Claire began to take on far more interesting shades of characterization. The irrelevant water charity subplot was quickly excised; gone too, seemingly, was Claire’s dalliance with Adam until it reemerged as a blackmailing tool. At first, I groaned at the prospect of Claire retreading past territory with Adam; but upon the realization that Adam now posed a threat to the Underwoods -- and thereby aligning Frank and Claire against a common enemy -- this plotline delivered some truly intriguing performances. It was a rare dramatic confluence of political maneuvering and personal vendettas; and it was one of the highlights of the second season.
Season 2 also introduced Claire’s most revealing and poignant subplot yet -- her reluctant reveal of a past abortion. More interestingly, Claire felt compelled to lie about the reason, despite indicating no moral issues with abortion. Instead, upon realizing the opportunity to avenge being raped years earlier, she pegged the abortion on General McGinnis. This admission not only served to highlight Claire’s cunning and ruthlessness, but also reveal some rare history to her character. We’ve always seen her as the cold, albeit supportive, wife to Frank; but we had never seen her truly vulnerable. With lights glaring and cameras in her face, Claire sat confidently in her chair and exposed herself to the nation in a way I did not expect. More appropriately, this subplot forced Claire to fight this battle on her own as Frank was locked in his office due to an anthrax scare. It was the most appropriate way of revealing the dark details to Claire’s past; and I applaud the show for going down that road with poise, eloquence, and confidence.
One plotline I have yet to truly figure out is Doug Stamper’s. Beginning in the pilot episode, Stamper’s character existed as the fixer for Frank, someone who would take care of any business that needs taking care of. He was the one who bribed Russo’s prostitute, Rachel, to stay out of sight. He pulled strings to ensure Russo would take the fall, that Lucas and Janine would disappear. But beyond handling the dirty work, Stamper was not so much a character as much as another tool in Frank’s arsenal -- a statement that is true for more characters in the show than not. Then beginning in the second season, Stamper’s role seemingly shifted to babysitting Rachel and subsequently, falling in love with her? I assume the point of this subplot is to illustrate the dangers in leaving loose ends, especially loose ends that know too much. Yet by the end of the season, Doug’s romantic addiction to Rachel has left him in a pool of his blood -- perhaps dead? -- with Rachel on the run. Uh oh. Not unlike the catalyst for Russo’s downfall, could Rachel ultimately bring down President Frank Underwood?
This brings me to President Walker, a blank slate of a character that essentially only existed to be nudged and cajoled and manipulated by Tusk and Frank in what I presume to be a contest of Who’s The Better Manipulator? I understand Willimon’s desire to create a malleable figurehead in the White House, but wouldn’t it have been more interesting to see Frank directly wrestle power away from the most powerful man in the free world? The true antagonist of the second season was never President Walker, it was Raymond Tusk. And through some convoluted maneuvering that dealt somewhat with trade relations with China -- I’m still not entirely sure I understand this plotline -- Tusk failed and Frank ultimately dethroned the President of the United States with a bluff. The trickery and balance to pull off the faux-altruism in Frank's final typewritten letter was undeniably deft, oscillating dangerously between camp and sympathy; and Willimon wrapped the intrigue with enough eloquence and grace to cover any serious questions. House of Cards was never a conventional action series so Frank shouldn’t necessarily directly confront the President, I understand -- why fight when you can lie and sneak and bribe? -- but by making Frank both the hero and the villain of his story, Willimon can't seem to gin up any worthy adversaries.
Some friends have pointed out that many of my observations highlight exactly what Willimon is ultimately trying to do. And it’s mostly true. This is a political show; there will be backstabbing and lying and cajoling. And the people playing these games will be shallow and conniving and merciless. Willimon largely constructs ciphers in place of characters -- here’s the corporate sellout, here’s the easy prey, here’s the ambitious reporter -- as conduits to demonstrate Frank’s manipulative powers. Characters in House of Cards are often little more than pawns in the Underwood chess game. There is nothing wrong with this construct -- one could argue Game of Thrones also does this, to varying levels of effectiveness. But as a flagship series, and with talented minds both in front and behind the camera, I expect the next season to dig deeper into what makes these characters not just symbols, but rounded people. What do they fear? What do they care for? What are their faults? How will they fuel their own demise? In this house of cards, I’m looking forward to exploring new dimensions.
Upon its initial release, I was drawn to the show largely because David Fincher was producing and directing the first two episodes. I had no preconceived notions of what the show was or would be about, simply that it dealt with politics -- and by extension, the grasp for power -- in Washington DC. The first season started stylishly and confidently. We were introduced to Frank Underwood as he casually euthanized a dog in the streets; and as he looked into the camera to address the audience in the first of his many pithy asides, the message was clear: This man will do anything to get what he wants. Hang on for one hell of a ride.
In the first season, Frank’s machinations for control of the Vice Presidency largely involved manipulating lesser pawns. This served as a great presentation of Frank’s cunning and ruthlessness -- there were very few moments in which Frank was outdueled or outmaneuvered -- but as a dramatic tool, it neutralized any sense of risk and left the season narratively flat. When every enemy’s as easily dispatched as a phone call and a well-placed monologue, is there any tension left?
The less-est of these pawns was Peter Russo, a Pennsylvania Congressman with an unshakeable knack for prostitutes and liquor. Yet, Russo proved to be far from a caricature of failure. Our first introduction of Russo actually revealed a genuinely caring and sympathetic single father who was falling in love with his secretary, Christina. Despite his weaknesses, Russo represented the moral and idealistic heart at the center of an otherwise ruthless show. Faced with the dilemma of testifying against the closure of a shipyard or abandoning his hometown supporters -- all at the behest of Frank nonetheless -- Russo’s struggle with both the moral and pragmatic factors in this decision rang true. He was by and large the only character who considered the consequences of his actions or his impact on those around him. He was not simply in politics for a power grab; he had real personal stakes -- trying to raise his children alone while building a relationship with someone important. In a bumbling antelope unaware of the stalking lion sort of way, Russo’s demise was a necessary narrative counterpoint to Frank’s ascension. Russo’s vulnerability, ambivalence, and sacrifices kept the season from spiraling into a full-fledged satire. He clearly wouldn’t survive.
One character that not only learned how to survive, but thrived, in the political arena is the show’s Lady Macbeth, Claire Underwood. Equally cold and calculating as her husband, Claire began as a strong, ruthless pragmatist. Her first task was to terminate half of the employees at her water charity due to budget constraints. After firing the necessary personnel -- and in particular, terminating an old employee who would knowingly struggle to find a new job in the current market -- Claire demonstrated that she not only accepted the impact of her actions, but understood the reason they were necessary. Yet after this initial introduction, Claire spent large portions of the season dealing with vague struggles at her water charity. Doing what specifically? I’m not entirely sure. It’s an overlong and clumsy plotline that never really went anywhere (even Wikipedia agrees: “She seems to use her charity to cultivate her own power and influence, yet its ultimate purpose remains unknown”). Upon my repeat viewings, Claire jumped out -- to my surprise -- as an oddly blank character except for a few select episodes. Even her subplot later in the season -- one in which she absconds with old flame Adam Galloway -- seemed to reveal very little behind her cold exterior. There were brief moments of glimpsing doubt, of repressed desires, that hinted at a darker past but nonetheless, she returned to Frank as the same woman, one who existed not so much as a full character as much as a sounding board for Frank. Her deepest and most intriguing scenes of the season took place at her and Frank’s smoking window, as they billowed smoke into the night air and plotted how to topple Frank’s next victim. It was in these moments when I couldn’t help but see Claire as the very cigarettes she smoked -- fleeting, light, and weightless.
This brings me to Zoe Barnes. Let’s talk about our favorite intrepid reporter. In the pilot episode, Zoe, on a quest to make journalism relevant again, introduced herself to Frank with a low-cut top after Frank checks her out in public a la President Obama. Frank quickly struck a tit-for-tat professional (and personal) relationship with Zoe that at best, seemed murky. Zoe clearly benefited from having an anonymous political insider feed her proprietary information; but what did Frank get? The show seems to contend that through Zoe, Frank gained control of the media. He installed a puppet that he could control who would say exactly what he wants in front of the cameras. Considering “media” is an extremely broad categorization that spans countless platforms and mediums, Frank’s purported benefit is an argument that’s vaguely demonstrated, at best, and completely preposterous, at worst.
Subsequent to Russo’s death, Zoe began to go rogue, believing (rightfully) that Frank was responsible. Banding together with fellow journalist Janine and Lucas, who had barely existed as characters prior to being roped into Zoe’s rampaging investigation, Zoe began rocking the boat far too much for Frank’s liking. This resulted in the Season 2 premiere’s biggest shocker -- Frank tossing Zoe in front of a subway. In many ways, Zoe’s death not only marked the engine that would propel the second season -- after Frank dispatched Russo, he felt enough remorse to pray at church; after Zoe’s death, it was clear Frank no longer felt anything -- but also represented writer Beau Willimon’s chance to improve upon last season’s flab. In theory, the chance to streamline the show’s cold machinations with deliberate terminations of characters that had worn out their usefulness should be good; in practice however, this change was not always pretty.
Let’s touch on the process by which Willimon tied off the story for Zoe, Janine, and Lucas: A subway. Cashew the guinea pig. The deep web. Data Crusader?
Oh boy. The fewer words I spend on these things, the better. It’s clear Willimon got the mileage out of these characters in the first season and had to find a way to phase them out as quickly as possible. Zoe thrown in front of a train? Brilliant. Janine retreating back home? Functional. Lucas taking on the moniker “Data Crusader” and being tapped by the FBI after exploring the “deep web” -- whatever that is -- for proof of Frank’s hand in Russo’s death? Then failing and landing in jail? Not the best. In fact, pretty bad.
Let’s forget this clumsy transition ever happened and move on to better things.
As someone who was largely underused in the first season, Claire began to take on far more interesting shades of characterization. The irrelevant water charity subplot was quickly excised; gone too, seemingly, was Claire’s dalliance with Adam until it reemerged as a blackmailing tool. At first, I groaned at the prospect of Claire retreading past territory with Adam; but upon the realization that Adam now posed a threat to the Underwoods -- and thereby aligning Frank and Claire against a common enemy -- this plotline delivered some truly intriguing performances. It was a rare dramatic confluence of political maneuvering and personal vendettas; and it was one of the highlights of the second season.
Season 2 also introduced Claire’s most revealing and poignant subplot yet -- her reluctant reveal of a past abortion. More interestingly, Claire felt compelled to lie about the reason, despite indicating no moral issues with abortion. Instead, upon realizing the opportunity to avenge being raped years earlier, she pegged the abortion on General McGinnis. This admission not only served to highlight Claire’s cunning and ruthlessness, but also reveal some rare history to her character. We’ve always seen her as the cold, albeit supportive, wife to Frank; but we had never seen her truly vulnerable. With lights glaring and cameras in her face, Claire sat confidently in her chair and exposed herself to the nation in a way I did not expect. More appropriately, this subplot forced Claire to fight this battle on her own as Frank was locked in his office due to an anthrax scare. It was the most appropriate way of revealing the dark details to Claire’s past; and I applaud the show for going down that road with poise, eloquence, and confidence.
One plotline I have yet to truly figure out is Doug Stamper’s. Beginning in the pilot episode, Stamper’s character existed as the fixer for Frank, someone who would take care of any business that needs taking care of. He was the one who bribed Russo’s prostitute, Rachel, to stay out of sight. He pulled strings to ensure Russo would take the fall, that Lucas and Janine would disappear. But beyond handling the dirty work, Stamper was not so much a character as much as another tool in Frank’s arsenal -- a statement that is true for more characters in the show than not. Then beginning in the second season, Stamper’s role seemingly shifted to babysitting Rachel and subsequently, falling in love with her? I assume the point of this subplot is to illustrate the dangers in leaving loose ends, especially loose ends that know too much. Yet by the end of the season, Doug’s romantic addiction to Rachel has left him in a pool of his blood -- perhaps dead? -- with Rachel on the run. Uh oh. Not unlike the catalyst for Russo’s downfall, could Rachel ultimately bring down President Frank Underwood?
This brings me to President Walker, a blank slate of a character that essentially only existed to be nudged and cajoled and manipulated by Tusk and Frank in what I presume to be a contest of Who’s The Better Manipulator? I understand Willimon’s desire to create a malleable figurehead in the White House, but wouldn’t it have been more interesting to see Frank directly wrestle power away from the most powerful man in the free world? The true antagonist of the second season was never President Walker, it was Raymond Tusk. And through some convoluted maneuvering that dealt somewhat with trade relations with China -- I’m still not entirely sure I understand this plotline -- Tusk failed and Frank ultimately dethroned the President of the United States with a bluff. The trickery and balance to pull off the faux-altruism in Frank's final typewritten letter was undeniably deft, oscillating dangerously between camp and sympathy; and Willimon wrapped the intrigue with enough eloquence and grace to cover any serious questions. House of Cards was never a conventional action series so Frank shouldn’t necessarily directly confront the President, I understand -- why fight when you can lie and sneak and bribe? -- but by making Frank both the hero and the villain of his story, Willimon can't seem to gin up any worthy adversaries.
Some friends have pointed out that many of my observations highlight exactly what Willimon is ultimately trying to do. And it’s mostly true. This is a political show; there will be backstabbing and lying and cajoling. And the people playing these games will be shallow and conniving and merciless. Willimon largely constructs ciphers in place of characters -- here’s the corporate sellout, here’s the easy prey, here’s the ambitious reporter -- as conduits to demonstrate Frank’s manipulative powers. Characters in House of Cards are often little more than pawns in the Underwood chess game. There is nothing wrong with this construct -- one could argue Game of Thrones also does this, to varying levels of effectiveness. But as a flagship series, and with talented minds both in front and behind the camera, I expect the next season to dig deeper into what makes these characters not just symbols, but rounded people. What do they fear? What do they care for? What are their faults? How will they fuel their own demise? In this house of cards, I’m looking forward to exploring new dimensions.
