Catch up TV: House of Cards, Banished and James Brown: Mr Dynamite

Missed the TV moment everyone’s talking about? Alastair McKay looks at the shows you should have watched (and still can) and gives a serial update
He's president: Frank Underwood has got everything he ever wanted
Alastair McKay6 March 2015

It wouldn't do to confuse House of Cards (Netflix) with reality. Even in its far tamer BBC version, the show underlined its artifice by allowing its central character, the conniving Francis Urquhart, to leer out of the screen and address the audience, thereby making them complicit in his deceptions. The Kevin Spacey House of Cards is true to that impulse, though the knowing gurns of Frank Underwood are, for the most part, unnecessary seasoning on a dish that is already rich.

But there is a problem in this third series: Frank is president. He has everything he ever wanted. True, people died along the way, friends were sacrificed. But he sits in the Oval Office, with nothing to aspire to except a legacy. Frank is an optimistic psychopath, or - if we’re kind - a psychopathic optimist, so he’s not going to be bothered with that, as the whole notion of legacy implies that the glory days have passed.

Happily, all is not well. Frank may have assumed the presidency but he has done so as a result of the scandal he manufactured, and has no mandate. His party, the Democrats, don’t want him to go for re-election, and the ambition of his wife, Claire (an Armani ice sculpture of Lady Macbeth), is such that she was never likely to be satisfied with a ringside seat.

Dramatically, that’s a harder sell than the naked pursuit of power, and the series takes a while to jumble its ducks. As a politician seeking to inspire, Frank has a sincerity problem. You wouldn’t buy a used bicycle from him. Not with that hair.

The show strikes some honking notes in its depiction of international politics, too, as Frank jostles improbably with his amoral mirror image, the Putinesque Russian president Petrov (Lars Mikkelsen). He’s a crap tyrant, Petrov, prone to saying things like: “You see, Mr President, I want the Lexus, and you’re trying to sell me a Lada.” Nor is it plausible that Pussy Riot would be invited to a US/Russian state dinner, or that a First Lady would imperil international relations because of a sudden attack of conscience, as Claire (Robin Wright) does. But this is where we are. (Full disclosure: I’ve only watched six episodes so far. That’s what it took to make me want to keep watching.)

Banished

In Jimmy McGovern’s Banished (BBC iPlayer), a group of convicts are starving in New South Wales in 1788, where they are overseen by a hapless group of English colonial soldiers. For moral guidance, there is a whey-faced man of the cloth, played by Spud from Trainspotting (Ewen Bremner).

This is McGovern, so morality is everything, even if the conflicts are on the stark side. “You wish me to flog a woman, sir?” says the token decent soldier. “A whore,” grunts his carefree commanding officer. The decent lad is still not keen but is encouraged to “lay it on” or face execution himself. This life and death stuff is brightly drawn. It feels like a cross between Roots and The Onedin Line. That isn’t necessarily a criticism.

James Brown: Mr Dynamite

In the States, the HBO documentary James Brown: Mr Dynamite (BBC iPlayer) has been criticised for omitting uncomfortable truths about the Godfather of Soul. But forget that. It’s a fine film, and worth it for the clips from the 1964 Teen Awards Music International Show, where Brown - outraged that he is below the Rolling Stones on the bill - unleashes an extraordinary feat of song and dance. Mick Jagger, who produced the film, has the good grace to admit that he copied Brown’s routine but never got near its artistry.

Serial Box

JK Rowling’s attempt at a state-of-the-nation address, The Casual Vacancy (BBC iPlayer), ended better than it began. Perhaps that’s because its cartoonish aspects settled down, even if the central mystery - the identity of the gossipy ghost - petered out in favour of a bleak finale that reportedly left Rowling herself in tears.

In fact, Sarah Phelps’s TV adaptation was less grim than Rowling’s novel but it was no surprise to discover that the moral centre of the tale was Krystal, the bolshie single mum. Did it expose the smug hypocrisy of English village life? Not really. But Michael Gambon’s Dickensian hallucinations were fun, and Keeley Hawes did enough as a jolly nymphomaniac to disguise the fact that this was a kitchen-sink drama about the closure of a methadone clinic.

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in