Last night, I started rewatching the first season of House of Cards with a friend who had only seen the British version. I’d forgotten the American House of Cards begins with Kevin Spacey strangling a dog. We got about 20 minutes in when my friend couldn’t take it anymore. “Could we please watch the British one? I want to show you the British one. It’s so much better,” she said. So we bailed on Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright in favor of Ian Richardson and Diane Fletcher. I rather preferred it.
Obviously the British version is better. I’ve only seen an hour of it and its superiority is already clear. It’s funny, unlike earnest, humorless America. The acting’s better. The buildings are better. The central tension is better. Lacking all of the British version’s wit, the central tension in the American version is: Is he a good guy or a bad guy? God, what a simple, ridiculous, Puritanical, stupid tension. That’s the same tension as Breaking Bad, that’s the same tension as The Lion King, that’s the same tension as A Few Good Men, that’s the same tension as Star Wars. It’s the same tension as the fucking Bible! Zzzzzzzzzzzz.
The central tension in the British one (which, again, I haven’t even watched fully—but here’s my opinion anyway!) is: Is he an orchestrator or a manipulator? What’s the difference between the two? How does wit complicate things? The humor is a heavy varnish, coating everything. It shines everywhere, from the overt jabs to the subtle super-British visual gags (like the uncommented upon salad-plate-sized blue ribbons on the coats of the politicians who’ve just won some award). Even more than I’m looking forward to the American season three, I’m looking forward to finishing the British version.
But! But I am still very much looking forward to the next stage of the trashy, smoldering, thin-brained, addictive American version. Sometimes—more often than I would like, and always unexpectedly, when I am walking down the street minding my own business, or strolling through a park, or perambulating down the aisle of a grocery store—I’ll think “Zoe Barnes.” Out of nowhere. Just those two words. Zoe Barnes. Oh, god, Zoe Barnes. Anyone who’s made it through the second season will be with me on this. Poor Zoe Barnes.
The third season of the American House of Cards drops tomorrow. God bless Netflix for dropping a whole season at once. This one-at-a-time shit with Girls is killing me. To get you in the mood for Kevin Spacey’s over-the-top perfidy, here’s a pitch-perfect perfidy parody:
