Eight Hours Into Binge-Watching House Of Cards Season Three


This is my life now. Just House Of Cards. House Of Cards forever.

S3 is undulating along, so many plots, counter-plots, subtexts, infratexts, metaphors, allegories and outright “HEY, THIS IS WHAT OBAMA IS DOING, GEDDIT? GEDDDDDITTTT?”

Will there ever be any better dramatic television than this?

Very doubtful.

Again, House of Cards is an embarassment of riches. There is not a single weak performance or unconsidered line. Obviously, you can read it as Macbeth and that’s valid because, in all honesty, what’s changed since then and now? Sex and addiction, power, corruption and lies? No, they’re the same.

The immediacy of setting, the fact that so many of us are familiar with US politics because the US is the dominant cultural and military force in the world today, this closeness is what makes the blade all the sharper. We can draw on all the old tropes; Jackie O. and Watergate, LBJ and scumbag Nixon. We can be smug and feel like insiders on the joke, getting the sly references the equally geeky writers throw in to tease us.

Moreover, even if the specifics of House of Cards seem melodramatic, we know the generalities are true. In fact, one could make a case that this drama underplays sex in the Oval Office, government money being siphoned for covert ops, US involvement in “regime change” compared to actual, documented fact.

Well, it’s 3.45am now. I paused it to write this. I’ve just cooked some sausages, fuck knows why. Perhaps because I haven’t eaten for hours and I’m hungry, I don’t really know any more. This job in Underwood’s office… the things I’ve seen, man. I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m cut out for it?

Sometimes it feels like it’s not even real. Like I’m just a robot or somebody watching it all on a screen from miles away.

Better go, POTUS needs me…