Francis Underwood is a bad, bad man.
He's so bad that the fact that he's not real doesn't matter all that much. Francis Underwood is so bad, it transcends reality.
Underwood is the imaginary (if there's a God in Heaven, anyway) "hero" of "House of Cards," a fictional (please, please. PLEASE be fictional) mini-series detailing his connivances and manipulations as a U. S. congressman from South Carolina. A more appropriate residence for him would be the Underworld, but apparently there is no congressional district there.
In the space of just two seasons, Underwood has (spoiler alert) managed to worm his way into the highest seats of power on the backs of anyone who will stand still long enough for him to stick a knife into them.
Despite his incredibly oily charm and ability to get virtually anything done, as long as it advances his cause, Underwood does have one endearing quality (sort of). He loves his wife, Claire, who is equally terrifying and who brings to mind a beautiful snake, just before it swallows a mouse.
Of course, Frank being Frank, his expression of that devotion is somewhat unique. "I love that woman like a shark loves blood" is, I believe, how he put it. Wow. And you thought the guys at Hallmark knew how to sling the mushy stuff.
I learned all this in, basically, a one-week period during which the lovely Mrs. Smith and I binged-watched the entire two seasons of "House of Cards." That's about 26 hours of television. There are actual political careers or marriages that haven't lasted that long.
I'm not proud of that.
I am, however, somewhat surprised. Because, up until I fell under Frank and Claire's wicked spell, I wasn't much of a TV watcher. I wasn't anything of a TV watcher.
It's a product of my childhood, really. My dad's career meant we spent a lot of time in places where TV picture quality was pretty sketchy or the shows in a language I didn't understand.
By the time we actually got somewhat reliable cable, I was sort of out of the habit of watching. And then I went to college and didn't have a TV. Or, much in the way of clean clothing. And then I graduated and couldn't afford a TV with a screen any larger than a Pop Tart.
Then I got married, and had other things to do. And then we had kids (which is probably related) and I got to spend all my time driving, carrying or chasing them around. Which means just about every program from "Captain Kangaroo" to "Dancing with the Network Stars" is pretty much a blur for me.
And then they invented streaming. In a TV sense.
Now, thanks to years of technological advances whose generators certainly never envisioned it would be wasted on "Family Guy" marathons, I can sit in the relative comfort of my living room and watch any particular TV series until the writers and producers say "uncle" and all the stars have been dragged off to rehab.
The thing is, all this technology has made watching TV – one of the least-productive, laziest things a person could do - even lazier.
At one point, if you wanted to watch a movie, you had to get up and, you know, actually go to a movie theatre. Then, as science marched on, you could go to a movie rental store, wander the aisles for hours and finally rent the only film they had left, which typically starred Steve Guttenberg and some talking animals.
Then you could go a convenience store, stand in line at the DVD rental machine and hope you weren't involved in a domestic incident while the couple ahead of you tried to decide between "Big Truck Chainsaw Demonic Possession III" and "When Harry Met Sally." (Funny, she really didn't look like a big truck or a chainsaw fan ...").
Now, you can watch hours and hours of cat videos or terrible Irish police dramas (interchangeable, really) without stopping, all from the comfort of your home and with no more effort than it takes to push a button. And wait for the movie to download. And push it again, because the show was "buffering," whatever that is. And go find the power cord because you let the battery run down. And try to find the series again, because you had to power up. And try to remember whether you're on episode four or five, or if there is even a difference.
Really, it's too much. There ought to be a law. Wait, I know just the guy to get one passed. A congressman named Underwood.
Commentary on 04/03/2014