The past week froze a number of things: sidewalks, streets and student productivity among them. That last bit, anchored in part by aversion to midterms and equally so by the rare opportunity for a snowball fight, has been exacerbated by the return of Frank Underwood.
To begin, count me among the scores of "House of Cards" fans. The show captures the sinister intrigue of our political imagination, and beautifully packages that in archetypal characters for archetypes that probably don’t exist. It’s a masterful job by Netflix, one so masterful that it has begun to alter my viewing—and living—experience.
As a one stop shop for “binge-watching” television series, Netflix’s ability to devour time and wandering thought epitomizes modern media consumption. Ordinarily, and no less effectively, Netflix offers content that has already been released. The opportunity to relive season long investments from shows long gone remains attractive—my sisters' excitement to see me return home from a semester abroad was superseded disturbingly quickly by the arrival Friends on Netflix.
Perhaps the only thing people love as much as instant access is new content, which is why "House of Cards" sets such a unique precedent. Melting away to watch Ross and Rachel duke it out in season three of "Friends" entertains, but nowhere near as much as it did the first time. Settling in for a new season of "House of Cards", however, is like buckling in for a 12-hour movie premier. No drive, no wait and only one monthly fee. Choosing whether to watch in bed or on the couch is the hard part, and that’s a good problem to have.
The appeal certainly resonates with me. I love eating ice cream and watching new stuff, and if I only have to walk five feet to do it, bonus. However, the season three release of "House of Cards" has permeated more than just my entertainment lethargy. In essence, "House of Cards" sets off a sort of meta time bomb—linking together audiovisual media to embellish the viewing experience. Frank Underwood appears on the screen of my laptop when I choose—he appears on my phone, Facebook and commute to West Campus at the president’s leisure.
I woke up Saturday morning, a day after the show’s release, to find three new snapchats on my phone. While one was a friend’s belligerence from the night before, the other two captured President Underwood midstride. A friend from Tulane captioned one of the show’s bizarrely crafted sex scenes with “why?”, while a sophomore sent me a shot of Frank smothered by drawn-on hearts. Logging on to the read The Chronicle that morning offered a "House of Cards" DSG parody. By the time I had reached the library, I had already heard three differing opinions on whether or not the Russian President Victor Petrov would actually be a major character.
The conversation was pervasive, to a startling degree. As much as I wanted to save the new season for my anticipated spring break coma, Duke’s campus, let alone the entire Internet, had no interest in waiting for me. The anticipation that usually builds for each episode from week to week was unleashed in a flash, and everybody who dipped a foot in had no likelihood of coming out. The breakdown conversations that usually occur over lunch the next day have been extended to weeklong dialogue, one that evolves as people progress through the season.
Increasingly, the shift from cinema to television as a source of premier entertainment has altered the viewing and conversational experience. The lavish escape provided by a theater has been replaced by the total cultural immersion of the television room. Portability and multi-functionality make modern media consumption an activity as much as a leisure. Whether or not this is better is inconclusive. However, it’s certainly different.
Knowing that a Vladimir Putin doppelganger was going to arrive at the White House in episode three hardly constitutes a spoiler. Nonetheless, it is indicative of exposure that Netflix is able to capitalize on. When a television series exists outside of its own medium, and with such inescapability, it becomes more than just a production. The hashtags, tweets, articles and more combine to create an experience. While fleeting in any sort of long-term context, it remains overwhelmingly immersive for the week that follows.
Forgive that I’ve only watched three episodes, but for the first time in the series Frank Underwood seems to be struggling with the magnitude of his position. Given that he’s President of the United States of America, that’s understandable. Nonetheless, his scope seems to outweigh his intent, even though that intent is overarching power. Similarly, Netflix has what it wants: a blockbuster television show that captivates its audience for a week at a time. Whether or not that expanse outweighs the experience of its viewers seems out of its hands.
Caleb Ellis is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Tuesday.
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