Exploring House of Cards Through Richard III

 

Though I finished and reviewed Richard IIInot long ago, I didn’t get around to comparing it with House of Cards as I’d planned.  Until now!  Having read one and watched the other, the common threads between the two stories are clear, especially between the two main characters.

 

Both Richard and Frank have the whole “smartest, sneakiest guy in the room” thing going on, further accentuated by their frequent asides to elaborate on their plans or scorn the stupidity of others.  Obviously, both have their eye on the highest seat in the land and have no qualms about how they attain it.  Plus, it’s not a simple matter of taking out one person – there’s an entire series of hoops to jump through, which requires a complex, multifaceted plan of carefully-balanced wheels within wheels.

 

I had to stop and think for a moment about Richard; though he, like Frank, is certainly fond of intricate manipulations that usually end which his victim destroying themselves, that’s largely his weapon of choice in his own play.  Earlier in the tetrad, he’s much more overt in his takedown of his opponents.  He’s openly hostile, relishing in battle and personally killing a number of his enemies.  I realize, though, that someone needs different tactics for destroying their own family from within than for crushing an acknowledged foe.  There’s no real call for Richard to play nice with the Lancasters, but he’s part of the house of York.  He lives among the people who are in his way – brothers, nephews, and so on – and can’t afford to just commence with the bloodshed.  So, he gets clever and underhanded, instead playing them all like chess.

 

In a way, I suppose Frank is the same.  He can be more openly combative against the Republicans because they’re the opposing party (though he still has to conceal his less legal activities,) and the Democrats enjoy reaping the benefits of his mercenary methods.  However, when he’s gunning for the people above him in his own party, he has to do it subtly.  He has to nurture their trust, isolate them from all voices but his, and gradually undermine them until they’re backed into a corner and can’t escape.

 

Not that the two characters are entirely the same.  There’s Frank’s wife Claire, a partner in Frank’s aims as he is in hers, and the sense of warped vindication that plays a role in Frank’s desire, not just to supplant President Walker, but to eviscerate him.  The biggest difference to me, though, is Richard’s much-talked-of physical deformity.  Throughout his play and the ones preceding it, other characters mock his “monstrous” appearance and cite it as proof of his internal blackness.  Frank, on the other hand, looks every bit the politician.  There’s nothing readily apparent about him that people sneer at.  I almost wonder if future episodes will use his bi-(or possibly homo-)sexuality to touch on this angle.  It’s not visible or evident, but that’s more the political game of today, isn’t it:  secret scandals coming to light and eroding a public figure’s foundation.  It might be an interesting way to go, especially since the show really doesn’t vilify Frank’s sexuality (which definitely relieves me) – there are plenty of other reasons to vilify him.  If anything, his scenes of same-sex attraction seem more honest and less opportunistic than his scenes of opposite-sex attraction and take tiny steps toward humanizing him.  For someone to try and use it against him would be much like people disparaging Richard for physical conditions over which he has no control.  I can’t decide if it’d be obvious, irritating, or intriguing, but I’m curious about the idea.  Sigh… how many months until season 3?

In Defense of Fanny Price (Mansfield Park)

 

I’ve brought up Fanny before – the bad rap she gets among Austen heroines, the difficulty adaptations have in presenting her in a compelling way, and my own assertion that she’s actually a deceptively strong young woman.  Since most of the digital audiobooks I can readily get from my library are classics, I just finished an unabridged reading of the book, and I’m reminded that Fanny is even tougher than I tend to give her credit for.

 

I’m in the habit of focusing on Fanny’s natural shyness and her reticence around her wealthier cousins.  For someone who likes to stay in the background and is loath to disappoint anyone, it takes a good deal of fortitude to stand up to Sir Thomas, and even more to hold her ground.  Fanny goes through a lot over the course of the book, and she wouldn’t be able to do it if she weren’t as strong as she is.  However, adjectives like “timid,” “meek,” and “quiet” don’t cover her circumstances.

 

Fanny is brought to Mansfield Park at age 10, plucked without ceremony from her family in Portsmouth, no indication of when she’ll see them again and no gentle introduction to the finer life of the country.  She comes of age alongside cousins who are considered inherently better than her, not simply because they’re the children of her biased guardians, but because they’re of “better blood.”  They’re the children of an aristocrat, and in Fanny’s world, that has far-reaching consequences.  Before Fanny is brought to them, Sir Thomas puzzles over how they’ll raise Fanny and his children, especially his daughters, to understand the difference in their rank.

 

It turns out there’s no difficulty there.  As soon as Fanny comes under the tutelage of Maria and Julia’s governess, the girls start laughing over their cousin’s ignorance, mistaking her lack of knowledge and education for stupidity.  In nearly every aspect, they find her wanting compared to them, and their Aunt Norris is always pleased to encourage and magnify these distinctions.

 

Additionally, Aunt Norris is the chief offender when it comes to treating Fanny like a glorified servant.  While Maria and Julia are expected to be accomplished and lovely with few other responsibilities, Fanny is the gofer, the seamstress, the gardener, and whatever else she’s needed to be.  There’s an ugly, unspoken implication that Fanny must earn her keep for the Bertrams’ charity of taking her in, and Aunt Norris maintains a steady stream of derogatory insinuations about Fanny’s alleged ungratefulness while at the same time believing anything that benefits Fanny (which Fanny herself never asks for) to be an unnecessary expense or hardship.

 

This is everything that’s been coloring Fanny’s opinion of herself and her place in the family.  In a way, it reminds me a little of Dido in Belle, in that she’s held to different rules than others in the household, and she has a close proximity to privilege without being able to really access it.  Now, when Fanny’s shyness is added to this mind-warping soup of inequality, is it any wonder that she’s demure and reluctant to speak her mind?  This is a young woman who’s been systematically beaten down throughout many of her formative years.  How much more amazing, then, that she still braves Sir Thomas’s disapproval, that she makes a stand and says, “No – I will not be dictated on this point.”  On the surface, she may seem weaker than Elizabeth Bennet, for example, but if she doesn’t reach as high, it’s only because she’s reaching from so much lower down.

Favorite Characters: Nan Astley (Tipping the Velvet)

 

While I thought this miniseries was just pretty good, I’m all about its main character.  Nan is right up my alley – she’s smart and adventurous, she’s brave when it comes to love, and even though her life is so often a mess, she just rolls up her sleeves and keeps going.  Definitely a terrific heroine.

 

Bildungsroman tales are usually good for main character development, and Tipping the Velvet happily obliges.  It’s wonderful to watch Nan’s journey, both from Brighton to London and to a greater, truer understanding of herself.  We meet her as a bright, unpolished small-town girl, sort of vaguely discontented but not quite aware of it.  She works as expected in her family shop, she stays in her small world, and she goes disinterestedly with a boy because that’s what you do.  She assumes that love is something that just happens in the background, nothing worth all the songs about it.

 

Until she goes to the music hall with her family and sees Kitty for the first time.  Onscreen, you can practically see her dividing her life into two phases from that moment:  before Kitty and after.  I adore her early reactions, because she doesn’t realize what’s happening.  She doesn’t know she’s in love; she’s never felt it before, and I suppose it doesn’t occur to her that she could fall in love with a girl.  As such, there’s no shame or secrecy or wrestling with forbidden feelings.  Rather, her regard is open and artless, and this somewhat shy girl bubbles up with talk of Kitty at every chance she gets.  What she feels is a revelation for her, and she simply has to share it with anyone who will listen.  I love that, that innocence and simplicity before she’s taught to be covert with her affections.

 

She’s so awkward and sweet in love.  She throws herself into it with the most headlong abandon, though, as I said, she learns to conceal it (barely – she says and does the “proper” things in public, but her adoration radiates from her eyes and her smile.)  She’s daring, and she gets burned more than once, but even when she’s been torn up by someone who’s careless with her heart, she pulls herself out of it.  She carries on, and after she’s had time to lick her wounds and buck up her courage once more, she throws herself into love again.

 

I’m so impressed with her boldness.  Obviously, it takes a lot of nerve just to be herin the 1890s – to love women, to challenge ideas of gender expression.  It’s thrilling to see how comfortable she becomes in her own skin when she starts dressing in boys’ clothes, so much more confident and more genuinely the person she wants to be.  And I don’t mean specifically from a gender perspective.  I mean, to do and say everything her shyness and shaky self-esteem ordinary prevent.  And beyond that (and her aforementioned courage in love,) she’s brave in so many other ways.  She leaves the only home she’s ever known to venture into the big city, she pursues and seizes a career on the stage, and during her leaner times, she keeps herself alive, putting one foot in front of the other and forever on the lookout for a way to improve her fortunes.  The woman is a boss.

The Crow Road: Episode 3 - “Fergus” (1996)

 

There's a great clarification in this episode, about the necessity of stories.  Kenneth talks about how the people of Scotland are made of their stories, that they've fought and sometimes died to protect them, and that it's the only thing they can really leave behind.  That's what keeps pulling Prentice's narrative into the past, examining the pieces that made him.  And it's why he needs to make sense of Uncle Rory's writings so badly.  More than just to find out what happened to him, Prentice needs to learn the stories Rory has hidden – because if he's died, or even if he just remains unfound, the stories will be lost along with him, and what will be left then?

 

Prentice, in “Fergus,” is trying to sort through everything that fell upon him in episode 2.  More than ever, he needs to make sense of things.  He's “waiting to interview the chief suspect: God,” but he's not getting the answers he's looking for.  He can't hear God speaking to him, and Rory's most telling tales are locked inside ancient floppy discs he can't get into.  That's probably the hardest part for Prentice – that he knows they're there, but he can't see them.

 

PC continues to be used effectively in brief appearances.  There's an excellent flashback in this episode that tells you a lot about him as a writer, and about the relationship he had with his brother Kenneth.  Really, the flashbacks are always reliably good.  I'm less sure about the bits when he pops in on Prentice's subconscious.  It feels a little like a cliched storytelling device.  I dolike, though, that he isn't especially wise or profound in these scenes, but simply himself.  I also like that Prentice isn't overly concerned that his uncle occasionally takes up residence in his head.  He's never surprised to see Rory, never worries that he's going mad.  He just asks questions, justifies his own actions or lack thereof, and sometimes argues.  I imagine it's probably a lot like what their relationship would be if Rory were still around.

 

Warnings

 

Add in a brief scene of violence.

The Crow Road: Episode 2 - “Kenneth” (1996)

I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's something I'm really liking about The Crow Road.  The main performances have a great, human quality, and the drama moves in such a quiet way.  I like the exploration of the different characters' religious beliefs.  Kenneth – Prentice's father, whose atheism is much talked about – peddles fairy stories and pourqoui tales.  Prentice's Uncle Hamish has divorced himself from traditional organized religion and forged his own cracked form of faith; his prayers for God to smite the ungodly, from the Khmer Rouge to people who buy puppies before they're sure they can handle the responsibility, get some of my biggest laughs each episode.  And of course, there's Prentice himself, who isn't sure what he believes but desperately wants something bigger than what he can see.

 

In “Kenneth,” Prentice's mission to find out what happened to his Uncle Rory proceeds by fits and starts.  He's acquired a box of Rory's old writings, a confused jumble of fancy and fact littered with hints about his secrets, his unknown fate.  But Prentice, like most young people, is composed largely of confusions, concerns, and hormones, and life keeps getting in the way of his search.  There are troubles with school, with love, and with Kenneth (with whom Prentice forms one half of a stubborn feud,) and even the Rory Prentice conjures in his head can't keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand.

 

Still, progress is made.  Among Rory's papers are accounts of a shared childhood secret, a pivotal hunting trip.  A mysterious stranger has knowledge that points to something larger.  A few pieces are starting to slide into place.

 

Again, PC is used not liberally but well.  A portrait is gradually forming of Rory, built out of his own writings and Prentice's memories.  I think I'm fondest of the scenes that come out of the accounts he's written.  There's an awkward dinner scene that practically squirms with discomfort, and a post-hunt smoking session is perhaps the truest look we've seen so far as to what Rory is (or was?) like.  

 

*          *          *

 

And on a different note, can I just say:  no series 8 until autumn of 2014?  Good grief, Moffat, what are you doing to us?  Not including the 50^th anniversary and the Christmas special, that will make it more than a yearbetween seasons.  Remember when the split-season was introduced in series 6, and it was supposed to be so great because we’d never go more than 3-4 months without new Who?  Now, we’re getting fewer episodes at a time and still having the long wait.  Ridiculous.  I get that Moffat’s busy, and I’m excited that new Sherlock is on its way, but if you can’t devote Who the time it needs, then maybe you shouldn’t be running it.

The Crow Road: Episode 1 - “Prentice” (1996)

 

What drew me to this miniseries?  PC aside, it houses an army of familiar Scottish faces.  There are the Who veterans, Dougray Scott (from “Hide” earlier this year) and Bill Paterson (Professor Bracewell from “Victory of the Daleks.”)  David Robb, Downton Abbey'sDr. Clarkson, gets in on the fun, and this episode includes a (very) brief appearance by a young Sean Biggerstaff, best known as Gryffindor's Quidditch Keeper.  That's just too much Scottish goodness to pass up.

 

My appetite was whetted further when I saw Bryan Elsley's name pop up in the opening credits as the writer.  Granted, The Crow Road is based on a novel, but my enduring affection for Skinsruns deep.  This first episode drops us into a story carefully stitched together from strands of memory and imagination, whose characters are moved by both God and magic.

 

“Prentice” is named for its narrator, a young man in search of an anchor.  Prentice McHoan keeps being touched by loss – his aunt, his friend, and his grandmother have all passed in recent memory, and his uncle disappeared years ago.  The story roughly follows a line that begins with his grandmother's funeral, but Prentice slips often and effortlessly into flashback, sometimes leapfrogging several times back through the annals of his past before resurfacing.  He doesn't seem to know what to make of any of it and pans memories for evidence of meaning.

 

Even Prentice's plan of forward action calls for looking back:  before she died, his grandmother directed him to find out what happened to his vanished uncle.  In the coming episodes, Prentice will no doubt probe the circumstances surrounding the disappearance and try piecing together his uncle's life the way he does his own.  Time will tell what picture he can form.

 

Since PC plays Rory McHoan, the uncle most noted for being gone, I don't have too much to say yet.  Despite his absence, though, he remains very present.  Prentice's memories glimpse at an aspiring travel writer with a drive too large for a small village.  Numerous conversations prove him to be on everyone's minds, and they all have their own belief whether he's still alive.  He even appears in Prentice's subconscious, occasionally interrupting his nephew's inner monologue to argue, advise, or flaunt his unspoken secrets.  I'm looking forward to piecing him together.

 

Accent Watch

 

Scottish, along with most of the cast.

 

Recommend?

 

In General– I'll revisit at the end of the miniseries, but so far, I'd say yes.  I'm a fan of the narrative structure, the rootable protagonist, and all the weighty conversations.

 

PC-wise – Too early to tell – I haven't seen enough of Rory yet.

 

Warnings

 

Sexual content – discussion and two short sex scenes – plus swearing and recreational drug use.

Rab C. Nesbitt: Series 1, Episode 0 – “Seasonal Greet” (1988)

The character Rab C. Nesbitt apparently originated as a recurring character in a sketch comedy show and was eventually given his own sitcom.  The titular Rab is the belligerent patriarch of a low-income Glaswegian family.  The show actually bears a strong resemblance to Shameless:  drunken rants, attempted benefit fraud, regional accents.  Just replace the explicit content with a laugh track and, it seems, you have Rab C. Nesbitt.

 

In the pilot Christmas special “Seasonal Greet,” Rab, finding himself short of cash, decides to denounce Christmas.  You know, on principle.  He refuses to buy gifts, tears down decorations, and rails against all manner of holiday cheer.

 

As part of said railing, Rab staggers down the high street and goes head-to-head with everyone he meets:  charity collectors, buskers, sidewalk vendors, and a street preacher played by PC.  Rab repeatedly heckles every attempt the preacher makes to spread the good news.

 

Not much to say here.  PC’s in one scene, and he doesn’t have much to do.  Preach, be on receiving end of rude remark, valiantly try to continuing preaching, repeat.

 

Also, a head’s up:  the accents in this show are intense.  Thick, broad, Glaswegian comedy accents, with regional slang to book.  I really had to listen to understand what was being said, and I still missed the occasional sentence entirely.

 

Accent

 

Scottish (in case you couldn’t figure that out from the above paragraph!)

 

Recommend?

 

In General– Not in my opinion – I didn’t really care for it.  Super-broad sitcom acting, and the characters didn’t particularly interest me.  But the show ran for nearly ten seasons in Britain, so it was obviously popular.  Make of that what you will.

 

PC-wise – For completists only.  Just one scene, without a lot to do.

 

Warnings

 

Despite the Shameless similarities, it’s fairly tame:  some light swearing, drinking, and general law-disregarding behavior.