I don’t want a version. I want a vision.

House of Cards

Season Three

(SPOILERS) Has House of Cards gone off the rails? Was it ever really on them? You have to wonder, given the way the magnificent coldblooded, gloating conceit of Andrew Davies’ original BBC adaptation of Michael Dobbs novel(s) has given way to a show in which the psychopaths touch, feel, grieve and display compassion. It’s possibly a function of the expanded series format, and a crumbling of the start, middle, end trilogy template, but Beau Willimon’s version increasingly feels like a meaner version of sanctimonious, do-gooding The West Wing, which isn’t meant as a compliment.

House of Cardsremains a gorgeous-looking, immaculately produced series, with outstanding performances form Kevin Spacey and (particularly) Robin Wright (not that she’s rewarded, in terms of the risible descent of her character), but the jet black humour has descended to the point of unkempt melodrama, casting about for new plotlines to fill time while the rudderless ship saps the potency from its once virile and virulent leads (even the to-camera asides have diffused).

The warning signs were there last year with the attempts to locate an issue-led subplot for Claire Underwood. But still, the Shakespearean coupling and mutual support between Frank and Claire remained rock solid, in a Macbeth without the madness sense. Doubtless the layering of the characters is at least partly a consequence of the investment the actors are allowed in the show’s development; Spacey is a producer, Wright a three-time director. They’re not necessarily the best judges of what works tonally or in plotting, though. The missteps in Season Three are particularly extravagant ones, such that you wonder if anyone quite has a grasp on what they’re making any more.

I might opine that the show would be a more interesting one if it hamstrung power-crazed Frank by ushering him into the Oval Office only to learn he has no say at all, under the edict of those pulling the strings behind the scenes and overt corporate interests. There are intimations of the latter, of course (such and such senator is the pocket of a particular company, say), and the comment “Sometimes, I think the presidency is the illusion of choice” but, instead of giving Frank anyone to really push against when he reaches the highest office in the land, the writers fall back on fashioning moveable obstacles as place markers. Of course, the argument is that House of Cards isn’t really a political show, it isn’t a satire; it’s simply about the lust for power. Unfortunately, it betrays itself as something else when it staggers into an extended plotline about the Russian premier or gets sidetracked into exploring emotional arcs when there’s a whole lot more meat to be found elsewhere.

There are some decent ideas being played with in terms of Claire’s role re: her husband, but the wisdom of incorporating them in this show with this premise is questionable. Claire should be the icy power behind the throne, unflinching and unmoveable when confronted by any problem or obstacle her more impulsive partner faces. Instead, she’s been considerably weakened by the introduction of her own desire for attention and overt reward. This is, to an extent, commented upon by Frank in the final episode, that she knew the bargain she was entering, but being self-aware about it doesn’t make the idea any better. Claire comes across as petty and small-minded with her demand for an ambassadorship that makes her husband appear nepotistic. She then acts in a wholly short-sighted and impulsive manner in her subsequent decisions to speak out when political prisoner Corrigan hangs himself and then not show for Frank’s nomination speech/choice to leave the White House in the final episode.

Again, it’s not as if the writers aren’t aware of the trap they’ve set themselves, and Frank’s explosive confrontation with Claire in the finale is the kind of fiery behaviour we’ve been waiting for all season. But withdrawing from the position that these characters are a couple of shrewd, calculating sociopaths who will stop and nothing to get what they want and replacing it with a couple with standard foibles, jealousies and tiffs reduces what makes the material special in the first place. There’s a scene where Claire forces the Russian ambassador to meet with her while she’s sitting on the toilet; it’s supposed to be a taking back of power by the patronised and belittled woman, but like so much of this season it comes across as contrived and trivial. The writers have hobbled her. The scene in the finale where she is sitting in Frank’s office is presumably designed to have Hillary-esque significance (soon after she is told she’d be a good president), but it’s difficult to care when she’s been so systematically disassembled her.

It’s much the same with Frank and Thomas Yates (Paul Sparks), the author he hires to write “America Works”. It’s the decision of someone who lacks Frank’s calculated, tight control. He seems sloppy and foolish to reveal his secrets to this man (to even consider intimacy with him), and it’s the decision of writers bending over backwards to manoeuvre their antihero into a dramatic situation rather than staying true to his dark nature. His America Works idea also feels like an only-in-TV invention, even if the repercussions of its enforcement have some currency.

Elements of the Middle East peace talks plotline that takes up much of this season are quite well played, but it only ever feels like a distraction from Frank really getting his hands dirty. There’s a lot of fun to be had watching Lars Mikkelsen’s icy cool Viktor Petrov, showing mettle and resolve Frank lacks. In particular, his honing in on Claire as Frank’s weak spot is almost a meta-way of discussing the failings of the season as a whole (Claire is a “much better First Lady” than an ambassador). But the plotline generally is a diversion, and it’s only when the focus returns to Frank jostling for leadership that the Season Three actually get a kick up the arse and remember where its at.

So Frank against the ropes, being told he isn’t wanted as president, and the machinations that result as Jackie Sharp (Molly Parker, excellent as ever) and Heather Dunbar (Elizabeth Marvel) throw their hats in the ring, are a reminder of how good and twisty the show can be; sides change, deals are hatched and ploys are pulled off or fail (notably in this season, when Frank shows his ire, first towards Jackie and then Claire, it has exactly the opposite effect to the one he intends). Generally though, when Dunbar or journo Kate Baldwin (Kim Dickens) cite how venal and ruthless Frank is, they’re flattering him. This is a show stooping to have Frank go and seek advice from a priest and then spit on a statue of Jesus that proceeds to topple over. It’s as clumsy and unsubtle as the production values are flawlessly glossy.

Season Three doesn't really hit a groove until the eleventh episode and the presidential debates, and then the possibility that Doug will give Claire’s journal to Dunbar (“I’ll slit her fucking throat in broad daylight” is Frank at his expressive best). The finale is a bit of a fumble, though, with the conclusion to the seemingly interminable Doug recovery/search for Rachel plotline in sharp focus. It’s one that really didn’t need an entire season to play out (Michael Kelly is great, but that goes without saying).

Hopefully the fourth season can get back to Frank being really evil, since that’s the show at its coal-hearted best. We don’t want to see Frank and Claire touch and feel and empathise, it’s the opposite of who they should be. There’s also the concern that there may not be that much further to go with the series generally. Even the original was considerably better during the climb to power than in the holding of it. If Season Four goes further down the route of manufacturing sub-West Wing lash-ups of real world political scenarios it will be beyond hope of righting itself, squandering its potential in a toothless middle ground.

Your Mickey Mouse is one big stupid dope!

Enemy Mine (1985) (SPOILERS) The essential dynamic of Enemy Mine – sworn enemies overcome their differences to become firm friends – was a well-ploughed one when it was made, such that it led to TV Tropes assuming, since edited, that it took its title from an existing phrase (Barry Longyear, author of the 1979 novella, made it up, inspired by the 1961 David Niven film The Best of Enemies ). The Film Yearbook Volume 5 opined that that Wolfgang Petersen’s picture “ lacks the gritty sauciness of Hell in the Pacific”; John Boorman’s WWII film stranded Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune on a desert island and had them first duking it out before becoming reluctant bedfellows. Perhaps germanely, both movies were box office flops.

If I do nothing else, I will convince them that Herbert Stempel knows what won the goddam Academy Award for Best goddam Picture of 1955. That’s what I’m going to accomplish.

Quiz Show (1994) (SPOILERS) Quiz Show perfectly encapsulates a certain brand of Best Picture nominee: the staid, respectable, diligent historical episode, a morality tale in response to which the Academy can nod their heads approvingly and discerningly, feeding as it does their own vainglorious self-image about how times and attitudes have changed, in part thanks to their own virtuousness. Robert Redford’s film about the 1950s Twenty-One quiz show scandals is immaculately made, boasts a notable cast and is guided by a strong screenplay from Paul Attanasio (who, on television, had just created the seminal Homicide: Life on the Streets ), but it lacks that something extra that pushes it into truly memorable territory.

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

Piece by piece, the camel enters the couscous.

The Forgiven (2021) (SPOILERS) By this point, the differences between filmmaker John Michael McDonagh and his younger brother, filmmaker and playwright Martin McDonagh, are fairly clearly established. Both wear badges of irreverence and provocation in their writing, and a willingness to tackle – or take pot-shots – at bigger issues, ones that may find them dangling their toes in hot water. But Martin receives the lion’s share of the critical attention, while John is generally recognised as the slightly lesser light. Sure, some might mistake Seven Psychopaths for a John movie, and Calvary for a Martin one, but there’s a more flagrant sense of attention seeking in John’s work, and concomitantly less substance. The Forgiven is clearly aiming more in the expressly substantial vein of John’s earlier Calvary, but it ultimately bears the same kind of issues in delivery.

In a few moments, you will have an experience that will seem completely real. It will be the result of your subconscious fears transformed into your conscious awareness.

Brainstorm (1983) (SPOILERS) Might Brainstorm have been the next big thing – a ground-breaking, game-changing cinematic spectacle that had as far reaching consequences as Star Wars (special effects) or Avatar (3D) – if only Douglas Trumbull had been allowed to persevere with his patented “Showscan” process (70mm film photographed and projected at 60 frames per second)? I suspect not; one only has to look at the not-so-far-removed experiment of Ang Lee with Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk , and how that went down like a bag of cold sick, to doubt that any innovation will necessarily catch on (although Trumbull at least had a narrative hinge on which to turn his “more real than real” imagery, whereas Lee’s pretty much boiled down to “because it was there”). Brainstorm ’s story is, though, like its title, possibly too cerebral, too much concerned with the consciousness and touting too little of the cloyingly affirmative that Bruce Rubin inevitably brings to his screenplays. T

Haven’t you ever heard of the healing power of laughter?

Batman (1989) (SPOILERS) There’s Jaws , there’s Star Wars , and then there’s Batman in terms of defining the modern blockbuster. Jaws ’ success was so profound, it changed the way movies were made and marketed. Batman’s marketing was so profound, it changed the way tentpoles would be perceived: as cash cows. Disney tried to reproduce the effect the following year with Dick Tracy , to markedly less enthusiastic response. None of this places Batman in the company of Jaws as a classic movie sold well, far from it. It just so happened to hit the spot. As Tim Burton put it, it was “ more of a cultural phenomenon than a great movie ”. It’s difficult to disagree with his verdict that the finished product (for that is what it is) is “ mainly boring ”. Now, of course, the Burton bat has been usurped by the Nolan incarnation (and soon the Snyder). They have some things in common. Both take the character seriously and favour a sombre tone, which was much more of shock to the

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

Say hello to the Scream Extractor.

Monsters, Inc. (2001) (SPOILERS) I was never the greatest fan of Monsters, Inc. , even before charges began to be levelled regarding its “true” subtext. I didn’t much care for the characters, and I particularly didn’t like the way Pixar’s directors injected their own parenting/ childhood nostalgia into their plots. Something that just seems to go on with their fare ad infinitum. Which means the Pixars I preferred tended to be the Brad Bird ones. You know, the alleged objectivist. Now, though, we learn Pixar has always been about the adrenochrome, so there’s no going back…

You ever heard the saying, “Don’t rob the bank across from the diner that has the best donuts in three counties”?

2 Guns (2013) (SPOILERS) Denzel Washington is such a reliable performer, that it can get a bit boring. You end up knowing every gesture or inflection in advance, whether he’s playing a good guy or a bad guy. And his films are generally at least half decent, so you end up seeing them. Even in Flight (or perhaps especially in Flight ; just watch him chugging down that vodka) where he’s giving it his Oscar-nominatable best, he seems too familiar. I think it may be because he’s an actor who is more effective the less he does. In 2 Guns he’s not doing less, but sometimes it seems like it. That’s because the last person I’d ever expect blows him off the screen; Mark Wahlberg.

Do you know that the leading cause of death for beavers is falling trees?

The Interpreter (2005) Sydney Pollack’s final film returns to the conspiracy genre that served him well in both the 1970s ( Three Days of the Condor ) and the 1990s ( The Firm ). It also marks a return to Africa, but in a decidedly less romantic fashion than his 1985 Oscar winner. Unfortunately the result is a tepid, clichéd affair in which only the technical flourishes of its director have any merit. The film’s main claim to fame is that Universal received permission to film inside the United Nations headquarters. Accordingly, Pollack is predictably unquestioning in its admiration and respect for the organisation. It is no doubt also the reason that liberal crusader Sean Penn attached himself to what is otherwise a highly generic and non-Penn type of role. When it comes down to it, the argument rehearsed here of diplomacy over violent resolution is as banal as they come. That the UN is infallible moral arbiter of this process is never in any doubt. The cynicism

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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