House of Cards

At first I couldn't stop telling myself that it seemed like I was watching a dumbed-down version of "The West Wing."  At times, the first season attempted to remedy this by throwing in a few paragraphs of jargon regarding education or energy policy. But I soon found out that I was the dumb one. Season 2 of Netflix's "House of Cards" featured a thrilling quorum debacle in which Frank Underwood, played by Kevin Spacey as a man of haunting ambition, navigates. The scenes are fascinating and intelligent. Gone were the certain silly moments that all too easily induced eye-rolling, like when Claire, played by Robin Wright, learns of Frank's adultery and calmly asks what good it will bring them. (Incidentally, they tell us that the Underwoods are not meant to be the Clintons.) In its place were trade wars with China, cyberterrorism, and an energy crisis.

"House of Cards," the groundbreaking Netflix show, seemed at first to take itself a bit too seriously, seeing itself as almost Shakespearean. Ian Richardson (himself a Shakespearean actor) played the character in the original British series with a certain amount of lightness bordering on conviviality; just compare the opening music to both and you'll notice an obvious difference in tone. Perhaps that's a sign of the times; our television heroes today seem to be Walter White, not Jeb Bartlett. "House of Cards" can be good fun, but it can also be toxic. Such are the times.

Underwood, our anti-hero protagonist in an era of television anti-heroes, is a Democrat. The reason is obvious: avoid criticism and make the show transparent. Why bother making him a Republican when just about any viewer--liberal or conservative--would shout allegations of bias? In an era of such pessimism, there's a feeling of a plague on both our houses. Underwood being a Democrat was the only choice. But there is an additional question: why make him a Southern Democrat when there hardly is a thing anymore? The answer is provided in David Sirota's fascinating interview with show creator and head writer Beau Willimon:

There's a catchphrase in the British version where Francis Urquhart [Richardson's character] says, "You very well might think that--I couldn't possibly comment." It was something I wanted to resurrect in a couple of places as an homage. It just felt wrong to do "House of Cards" and not have that line exist somewhere. The problem I ran up against in my mind, is that this is not the way Americans talk, it is not idiomatically part of our vernacular to speak with that diction unless you put it in the mouth of someone with a South Carolina upcountry accent. Then it rolls of the tongue and kind of works.

My dad's side of the family is from South Carolina, and I know that accent well, and then it got me thinking about what Frank Underwood's story might be. The American mythology is that anyone could be president--you could be from a town called Hope and be president--so I thought him coming from a small town and coming from nothing is a much more American tale, as opposed to coming from aristocracy, which is much more a British political trajectory.

And so I asked my dad if there is a small town in South Carolina that would be appropriate and he mentioned Gaffney, which, of course, is perfect. It was represented for years by a Democrat, John Spratt. Underwood is in no way like Spratt, but the fact that a Democrat represented a mostly rural district in a mostly red state is fascinating.

How so?

It speaks to a way that Southern politics works differently than other places; it is a lot more about personal relationships and connections you make. You have a tradition of Southern Blue Dog Democrats being a lot more conservative than many of their peers from elsewhere...a lot of them historically seem to vote as though they should be in the Republican Party, but because their father was a Democrat and their father's father was a Democrat, they are a Democrat.

That means politics there has been, up until recently, less about party affiliation, and that means stuff there is inherently more political as opposed to ideological. I found that to be appropriate for Francis Underwood--someone who doesn't define himself by party of ideology, but operates on personal connections and traverses the political web as a free agent.

Underwood may be a free agent, but he's also a sociopath (and these folks agree). Just look at these common traits of a sociopath and it becomes crystal clear: superficial charm, absence of nervousness, untruthfulness, lack of remorse. egocentricity, inadequacy for love and a sex life that is impersonal and trivial. Frank.Under.Wood. Look at this quote: "Sociopaths, as mentioned previously, can also be dangerous, especially when they feel they have been wronged in some way." Underwood has been wronged--his rejection of being nominated for Secretary of State in the first episode--and so he becomes quite dangerous indeed. (For more on the psychology of Francis Underwood, click here.)

Spacey, as exceptionally talented as he is, does not do accents well. His Southern drawl here is as bad as it was in "A Time to Kill" two decades ago. The character at first is practically two dimensional, so much so that he frequently and annoyingly breaks the fourth wall to have a chat with us, and it's not until Chapter 8 that we see that there's something actually there. Part of me thinks that's the point, that it's meant to symbolize the facade that just about every politician seems to exhibit, or that it's meant to demonstrate that Frank Underwood is a farcical character in a farcical show. I haven't figured it out yet. Nonetheless, despite his accent, he is commendable and also supported by an exceptional cast, most of all Wright as Claire. Her performance is haunting, and yet she is surely the more sympathetic of the two--watch her powerful (and slightly untruthful) interview in Season 2 for an example. Providing the show's most interesting character as Pete Russo, a recovering alcoholic congressman who can't seem to do anything right, is Corey Stoll. There hardly is a bad performance anywhere in the show--also great are Michael Gil as the president, Michael Kelly as Underwood's tough as nails chief of staff, Rachel Brosnahan as a former sex worker caught under Underwood's grasp, and Gerald McRaney as a multimillionaire energy tycoon doing battle with Underwood.

It may seem that my criticisms will make me conclude that this is a show that I don't like to watch. That is totally untrue. I can't think of another show that features such crisp cinematography (by Igor Martinovic, Eigil Bryld, and Tim Ives) and hauntingly beautiful music (by Jeff Beal). I complained that the show takes itself too seriously, but actually there are often shows that don't take themselves seriously enough. There's an enormous amount of effort, skill, talent and thought in "House of Cards," and is reminiscent of that wonderful line in Oliver Stone's "Nixon." When the title character looks up at a portrait of his old adversary, John F. Kennedy, he mutters, "When they look at you, they see what they want to be. When they look at me, they see what they are." "The West Wing" might be what we want our political system to be; "House of Cards" might simply be what it is.

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Mitt

On October 3, 2012, the day of Governor Mitt Romney's triumphant defeat of President Barack Obama in the first presidential debate before the election, I wrote a forceful (to the say the least) article on why I thought Obama should be re-elected over Romney. It was mostly an editorial on reasons I thought Obama was more or less effective as our leader--healthcare, economic stimulus, taking out Bin Laden, LGBT issues, etc. were all covered. The article practically skipped any mention of his opponent, save for the final paragraph. Calling him a "weak opponent," I issued the usual charges: Romney is a flip-flopper. Romney is "severely conservative," as he put it. Romney is bad for the country. "It's not his far-right conservatism, his omnipresence of position changes, or the dire state of our economy and standing in the world should he become president that frighten me," I wrote. "It's his character."

Romney, at that time, disgusted me. His 47 percent comment, addressed here in Gregory Whiteley's new documentary about Romney's campaigns for president, was one of the most blood-boiling comments I had heard from a presidential nominee. I regret questioning Romney's character, and one part of the article I also regret is in reference to Romney's car elevators. The revelation, first revealed in a Politico article from May 12, 2012, opened with this: "At Mitt Romney's proposed beach house, the cars will have their own separate elevator." In the documentary "Mitt," we see a behind-the-scenes moment with Romney and his family, who complain about then-Senator (and now Secretary of State) John Kerry criticizing the Romney family's car garages. "That was because of my wife's MS," one of his sons tells Mitt to say, "you A-hole."

A simple Google search did not show results suggesting Mitt Romney had in fact installed the garages for his wife, Ann, due to her multiple sclerosis. But there's no reason not to believe the defense. The point is that if the defense is true, then criticizing assistance for those with disabilities is further evidence that we're living in hyperpartisan times and that we ought to be ashamed of ourselves. And so Whiteley's documentary does not aspire to be combative, like Michael Moore's "Fahrenheit 9/11," or thoroughly thought provoking, like Errol Morris' "The Fog of War." The aim of this movie is simply to show you the behind-the-scenes of both of Romney's campaign, and perhaps for you even to like one of the most unlikable candidates for president in recent memory. In regards to the second goal, it's actually effective.

How lucky Whiteley was when the Romney family approved of the making of a documentary about his first campaign for president back in 2006; surely he could not have imagined that this would in fact be a six year journey, an intimate portrait unlike that of any other candidate in 2008 or 2012. We are reminded of the fascinating race that was 2008; the Democrats, with their history-making candidates, and the Republicans, awkwardly trying to show the country they weren't George W. Bush. At the time, you will recall, the nomination seemed to be Rudy Giuliani's for the taking (Rudy Giuliani?), and John McCain, who initially started as Giuliani's main opponent, kept sinking and sinking and sinking. Romney stood as sort of the most credible conservative alternative, yet conservatives were very suspicious (and rightfully so) of Romney due to his frequent flip-flops. Romney, aware of this perception, tells his advisers and family members that he is the "flipping Mormon." Watch McCain's sucker punch, seen in the documentary, to Romney, mockingly calling him "the candidate of change."

But also consider Romney's response. He tells McCain that the "I know more about foreign policy than you do" argument is flawed. Romney was right. The first presidential debate between McCain and Obama focused on foreign policy, and yet not only did Obama actually beat McCain, but McCain lost the election, largely because of the Iraq War and the economy. The point I'm trying to make is that Romney is seen frequently in this documentary as a very astute candidate. He humbly calls himself a flawed one, one who doesn't really fit the Republican mold, and yet time after time in this film he is right. 

One time he was wrong however, is the actual election night, which is where our film opens. He doesn't have the president's number. Why would he need it? To concede, of course, and yet he hasn't even written a concession speech. Think of previous failed candidates--Mondale, Dukakis, Dole--they all knew, as everyone did, that they were going to lose. Romney, on the other hand, apparently really thought he was going to win, and who can blame him? After all, he probably was listing to the wrong pundits. (Next time he should read the greatest book on presidential elections, "The Keys to the White House.") One particular scene that I enjoyed was the very final one. I won't reveal it, only to say that it answered a question I'm sure many have had about losing presidential nominees: where do they go when they lose? In this scene, Mitt and Ann Romney seem content, about as content as someone can be who lost two consecutive presidential elections. But they're alive, as are the beautiful members of their family. Life goes on. The long day closes. 

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Lee Daniels' The Butler

Hollywood has a sad history of dumbing-down movies about race (think of how the Oscars have rewarded movies like "Driving Miss Daisy" instead of "Do the Right Thing"). With one glance at "Lee Daniels' The Butler," you might think this is the case. Instead, we have a film that more or less plays it safe, but ultimately provides a compelling and moving story of bravery and the art of challenging the status quo.

Before I get carried away, I need to say that "Lee Daniels' The Butler" is a movie that will be nominated for everything, and the cast will easily be rewarded. Forest Whitaker has never given us a bad performance, and he continues that streak here as the main character. He plays Cecil Gaines, a successful butler in a hotel who is offered a job as butler to the White House. These are incredible achievements for Gaines, particularly considering that he escaped from a terrible environment headed by malicious crop farmers in Georgia. In his portrayal, Whitaker's performance is everything it needs to be. It's simple when required, yet simultaneously potent. Even small moments, like when he tells President Eisenhower that he did not go to school but instead grew up on a farm, are perfectly delivered. And Whitaker has great support from his other cast members. I'm sure Oprah Winfrey is proud of her extraordinary career on television, but if she had made a career in movies, she would easily be one of the greats. As Cecil's faithful yet bored and frequently drunk wife, she knows exactly the right notes to hit. She is powerful when she needs to, as during the tear-jerking scene in which she sends her son off to college, and humorous as well; what else could bring a smile faster to one's face than Oprah in 70s attire dancing to disco music?

Whereas the heart of this movie is a hard-working man and a witness to history, it's also a story about not only Cecil's troubled relationship with his oldest son, but also his absence in the house. This vacuum provides for a lot of drinking and smoking for Winfrey's character, Gloria, and her vulnerability to a drunk, womanizing neighbor, played by Terrence Howard. David Oyelowo (you might recall him in a very different role in "Rise of the Planet of the Apes") is the oldest son, Louis, who is almost insulted by his father's affection for the presidents he serves (and their, according to Louis, halfhearted and weak measures to push for civil rights). Whitaker is also joined by Lenny Kravitz (one of Daniels' stars in "Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' by Sapphire") and Cuba Gooding, Jr. (in his best performance in years) as butler colleagues of Cecil's.

I imagine that a lot of the talk before, during, and after the film has centered on the portrayal of the presidents Cecil serves. I, like probably many others, was skeptical.  There was an awkward laugh as Robin Williams first appeared as President Eisenhower, a role that provided him only several scenes and zero (intentional) laughs. But eventually, the audience bought it. But Severus Snape as Ronald Reagan? I adore Alan Rickman as much as everyone else, but perhaps this is the most miscast role. Still, for the most part, the players do an effective job, even if they don't look exactly like the presidents they play.  

The film's politics is not necessarily visualized through the ideologies of the presidents portrayed, but by the criticality of its subject. This is a movie that understands the parallels between then and now, gently reminding its audience that while things have improved, we are not yet to the promised land. At first, it seems that it embraces the dumbed-downness I was worried about. It's somewhat annoying how "Lee Daniels' The Butler" employs the mythos of Americans' perceptions of their presidents: Richard Nixon, played by John Cusack, comes across as slimy and paranoid. John Kennedy, played by James Marsden, is youthful and boyish, while his vice president and successor Lyndon Johnson (Liev Schrieber) gives commands to his aides while on the toilet (and it's Cecil who has to fetch him his glass of prune juice). Ronald Reagan (Rickman) is a kind, grandfatherly man who asks Cecil to mail his letters with money in them to people who write explaining their financial struggles (but there's no mention of how Reagan often cut those struggling people's welfare benefits). So at its core, it seems like it embraces the very "see no evil, hear no evil" philosophy of its protagonist.

But the movie is actually much smarter than that. Screenwriter Danny Strong (who won an Emmy for writing the HBO movie "Game Change" about the 2008 presidential election; you may recognize him as an actor from "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and "Mad Men") deserves credit not only for his creativity (the story is only loosely based on the real-life story of White House butler Eugene Allen) but also his powerful dialogue and characters. In some ways, his screenplay embraces the polite, soft version of history, that radicalism of all kind should be shunned.  But he understands, for example, that there is no such thing as a good segregationist, for if they couldn't be on the right side of some of the simplest moral questions, how could they be right on anything else? Vanessa Redgrave's performance as young Gaines' mean old boss demonstrates this. When Gaines' father is shot, instead of seeking the law and making sure that justice was served, she orders the other black folks to dig a whole and, without hesitating after the gruesome act, assures young Gaines that she's now going to teach him how to "be a house nigger."

So this is not so much a film about politics but a film about history, one which is destined to be played in schools around the country, as it should. Teachers have a responsibility to show this movie to their students. I was a bit disappointed that there weren't more young people in the theater (though it was the second day back to school during the early evening, so I don't blame them for not being at that particular showing). The theater instead was filled with mostly elderly audience members, many of whom whispered to each other as they watched, probably reminiscing about the different historical events seen in the movie. (Say what you will about young whippersnappers in theaters texting, but at least they not only know that it's their phone going off, but they also know the actual procedure to turn them off.)

I haven't even mentioned the wonderful direction of Lee Daniels. With such an ambitious project on his hands with so many elements to juggle, it would be easy for any director to drop the ball. Daniels does not, and provides a worthy follow-up to "Precious." It's one of the year's best movies, and I greatly look forward to his next film.

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