House of Cards: “Chapter 14” (Episode 2.01)

I was disappointed with the general reaction to House of Cards’ first season because, while many seemed to enjoy the show, it was always put a tier below more “serious” dramas, like Mad Men and Breaking Bad and the few other universally beloved shows. But then, House of Cards wasn’t for everyone, and it wasn’t as easy to like. The show’s first scene featured its protagonist, the anti-hero Frank Underwood, killing a wounded dog and telling us (yes, us, directly) that what he was doing was morally righteous. It was sick and sad, sleazy and campy, beautifully shot and frighteningly acted, making it a perfect prelude for what would come. But no, certainly not easy to digest or appreciate.
The shooting style David Fincher set down in the first two episodes of the show became its guiding path, not just for how House of Cards looks but also how it’s written and acted. Expressionism was the guiding light, or perhaps lack of light, that kept the show’s wheels running. Realism was only there insofar as it could keep the story running, but really this was a dark morality play, an indictment of American politics drawing from both The Manchurian Candidate and Richard III in a struggle to understand why the system, as it stands right now, is broken. And unlike other anti-hero shows, House of Cards was also a “network” show, as focused on the web of conditions that allow Underwood to rise in power as it was the man himself. The apparatus clicked for me instantly, likely for the same reasons that many dismissed it. The theatricality and artifice were tokens of a cold, intelligent show rather than one fueled by emotional intensity—while they’re both horrible men, Frank Underwood couldn’t be more unlike the progenitor of the genre, Tony Soprano. Its central metaphor was a chess game, but what often gets forgotten when considering this analytical way of viewing the world is that quite a lot of people, pawns and otherwise, end up dying in the game, even when it’s played perfectly.
Unfortunately, the first season also ended poorly, though it’s not a huge surprise that it had trouble maintaining the momentum once one of the greatest living directors could no longer stay on the set. After Peter Russo’s death, Zoe Barnes went through an about-face and became more concerned with the possible scandal surrounding his death than anything else. Her personality shifted unrealistically, and the show succumbed to a few of the pitfalls of this chess game-based writing, adapting her character to fit the storyline rather than the other way around. The season petered out, and while there were many great moments between Frank and Major Dad himself Raymond Tusk, ultimately the focus on moving the story overwhelmed the central logic of the show (for fans of the Game of Thrones television show this will feel all too familiar).