One of the biggest questions, going into this latest season of House Of Cards, is whether events off screen will overshadow those being transmitted by broadband to homes around the world. Perhaps that's the wrong way of putting it. The real question is not whether the fortunes of Trump, Clinton, Sanders, Rubio and co. will be more vivid and loud than those of Mr and Mrs Underwood, but by how much. It's an election year, and an especially disruptive and unusual one at that, so the task that befalls the makers of House Of Cards is how to make their show stand out when there's a real life drama playing out like a technicolour Bayeux Tapestry on everybody's TV screens anyway.
It would be reasonable to describe much of American politics as soap operatic, were it not for the fact that the livelihoods and security of millions of people depend on the outcome (and also, if I'm honest, if it wasn't for the fact that British politics had certain Coronation Street tendencies of its own). Nevertheless, many of the tropes that House Of Cards plays so well are drawn from the heightened dramatic arena of the Beltway and yet so much of it remains enjoyably domestic.
First, the politics. In fiction, as in life, it's primary season and President Underwood is running for reelection. That is, he's running for election. His position in the big chair is the product of his ascendancy after the impeachment of President Garrett Walker, while his former office of Vice President was also the outcome of some nefarious scheming. This is the first time we've seen Underwood face the intense political bloodsport of the American voting process. With enemies in his own party and beyond (as well as some opponents even closer to home), the President has his work cut out. As the incumbent, he gets to enjoy the advantage that Presidential life and resources offers but also the significant disadvantage of having a rather demanding day job.
Following the trend of the last season, Frank appears almost trapped by power; he can project it, (and project it well. Just watch how he is able to summon people to him without their assent or even their knowledge) but he's still reduced to a static position in the middle while more mobile characters work for and against him in his surroundings. The cast of powerful and competent underlings and antagonists, among them the returning Doug Stamper Jacky Sharp, Remy Danton and Heather Dunbar (now officially a rival to Frank), is augmented by the arrival of Neve Campbell as LeAnn Harvey, a consultant and exponent of 'old-school tactics' who helps Claire to seek her own position outside her husband's shadow and create her own power base.
Frank is, as ever, something of a lonely figure. Not to mention an angry one. His temper is starting to get the better of him and, while the controlled manipulator of the early seasons is still there, there's a growing sense that he's starting to lose it. It's hardly surprising - anyone with that much personal power must find the things that they cannot control to be especially irritating. Of course, his emotional state is also simultaneously the symptom and the cause of his marital difficulties. Claire Underwood's role has increased yet again and as husband and wife begin to circle one another like hyenas, a new dynamic emerges.
The addition of Ellen Burstyn as Claire's formidable mother adds a strong touch of Southern Gothic that makes a fine contrast with the brisk DC gloss and draws an even sharper distinction between Frank and Claire. Their partnership (a term that now seems far more accurate than 'marriage') has shown significant strain before, but this season offers a more thorough exploration of their lives, once separate and now dividing again. This is an exquisitely slow meditation on a relationship and is proving to be the show's defining concern. I, like many people, had expected House Of Cards to follow the focus of its parent programme and examine a man's dastardly rise to power. It isn't quite that. The rise to power, completed very early on, is proving to be a mere component in a story that is both larger and smaller. We appear to be firmly in phase 2 of a very long story arc that has the relationship of the First Couple at its heart and for which political matters act simply as context and dramatic decoration. The 'house' of the show's title is neither the White House nor the House of Representatives, but house in the heraldic sense of the domestic institution. Its certain collapse is no less tragic for having this narrower focus and the drama is all the more powerful for that. This is marriage as tragedy and we're getting to see every painful step downwards.
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