Through Political Theory Daily Review I discovered this very interesting essay by British academic John Gray on America’s role in the 21st century. More specifically, Gray discusses whether the United States can accurately be considered a contemporary empire and the extent to which its posture toward the rest of the world is structured under a coherent imperial framework. Although I often find myself in disagreement with Professor Gray (I take particular issue with some of the philosophical writing he publishes in British periodicals), I’ve found that he has a particular aptitude for taking fashionable modern theories and placing them within the context of historical events and broader reality. His critique of Thomas Friedman’s economic determinism, for instance, was both well-reasoned and well-informed. I’ve yet to read a more intelligent analysis of the limits of the deterministic–and very much technocentrically idealistic–vision espoused by Friedman and others (Gray’s discussion also holds as an effective criticism of the theories of Thomas Barnett, which, while quite popular, are also deeply flawed).
Gray is highly critical of America’s current grand strategy, such as it is, which he rightly views as both ineffective and poorly executed. The most fundamental deficiency, he points out, is that the United States has embarked on an imperial mission (spreading liberal democracy) without a willingness to use imperial tactics. American policymakers have tried to use the short-term application of overwhelming military force in order to accomplish the long-term objective of building new nations with new political characters. Unlike the British of the 19th and 20th centuries, Washington is unwilling to engage in long-term nation and state building. The United States wants to both actively build stable democratic states and not commit to long-term imperialism; these two priorities are simply contradictory.
The comparison between British imperialism and America’s role in the world is also wide of the mark. American bases span the globe, often serving goals similar in kind to those pursued by European colonial powers, but the US is nowhere engaged in colonial rule of the sort that Britain and other European powers established throughout much of the world. European imperialists made a long-term commitment to the territories they annexed. They spent large parts of their lives immersed in the cultures of the countries they had colonized, learning the languages and often forging enduring alliances with local rulers. As well as subjugating and exploiting their colonies they also ruled and lived in them. […]
However, America’s relations with most of the countries in which it stations troops are not long-term relationships of the kind cultivated by the Romans and the Persians. America’s presence is conditional on the shifting pattern of American interests and the contingencies of American politics. When any American overseas military involvement becomes too costly or unpopular it is likely to be abruptly terminated. As a result of this fact, which is taken as axiomatic in both Washington and the countries concerned, long-term alliances with local ruling classes of the kind that enabled empires to endure for centuries in the past are seldom possible.
More succinctly, Gray explains the intrinsic strategic dilemma brought on by current American policy as follows:
There is a larger difference between the role of the American military today and that of European armed forces in the colonial era. European imperialism was an exercise in state-building, and the military forces of the colonial powers usually worked within guidelines framed with the aim of advancing long-term political objectives. In contrast, US forces view themselves and are seen by others as transients and they often act without well-defined political goals. Kaplan reports a National Guardsman in Afghanistan describing his tour of duty: “You get to see places tourists never do. We’re like tourists with guns.” The assumption is that US forces are charged with a one-time mission, and once it is completed they can move on or return home.
The United States is trying to achieve difficult, long-term goals with short-term, ill-advised measures. The use of military force is merely one tool in the greater foreign policy toolkit, and must by necessity be subsumed under a broader grand strategy. For an imperial project to succeed at all, all of the instruments of national power must be used in service of a coherent imperial project, and not relied on individually as ends to themselves. Military force is but one potential component of enforced democratization; economic assistance and nation- and state-building are of equal or greater importance. By decoupling means from both each other and grander ends, rather than crafting a policy of means working in tandem toward ends, the Bush administration has undermined its own program of imperial democratization.
Which is not, of course, to suggest that an imperial project is at all worth pursuing. As Gray wisely concludes, the entire idea of a benevolent imperial America spreading (bungled or not) liberal democracy around the globe through coercion is a dangerously utopian fantasy.
The United States will continue to be pivotal, but it cannot expect its interests or its values to be accepted as paramount. We are moving into a world in which peace will depend on concerted action by several great powers. In these circumstances a revival of realist thinking is overdue. Global security is not served by launching messianic campaigns to export democracy. Nor is it advanced by pursuing a mirage of empire, which even now is melting away.
There is a great much more in the article, and I highly recommend reading the whole thing.
The genre of political drama is home to a number of venerated productions validly considered to be among the ‘greats’ in the history of filmmaking; from the many superb renditions of Shakespeare’s masterly tragedies to the modern television series ‘The West Wing’, the motion picture has proven to be an outstanding format for exploring the great questions of political affairs. The British, above all, have had a strong tradition of producing truly breathtaking political drama, reaching back to the exalted playwright Shakespeare. This cultural affinity lent itself well to the advent of both the cinema and television, giving birth to such brilliant classics as ‘I, Claudius’ and ‘Yes, Minister”. When Paul Seed set out to direct ‘House of Cards‘ in 1990, he faced the formidable challenge of living up to the dizzying standards set by these masterworks.
Political drama is a complex and difficult genre to produce. To be sure, the concept is simple enough: a portrayal of the conduct of political affairs. Yet putting this concept successfully to the screen, capturing the subtlety and reality of political intrigue, requires an extraordinary filmmaker with an uncannily deft touch. Lesser auteurs, try as they might, often fail in the crucial task of simulating human reality, instead developing either ridiculously oversimplified or hopelessly Byzantine representations. Writing the screenplay for a political drama, moreover, requires a perceptive eye and a talent for subtle expression. Exemplary acting, finally, is perhaps the sine qua non of political drama; a spellbinding portrayal of the characters in the production is essential for constructing an authentic vision of politics and conveying to the audience the psychological truths that underlie the great game of political intrigue.
It is often difficult to recall the countless attempts at quality political drama that failed; more often then not, these are quickly canceled from television or swept into the dustbin of cinematic history. When considering the genre of political drama, moreover, the viewer is likely to fixate on the incredible successes that have been put out. One could be forgiven for being unable to recall an example of truly bad political drama. Fortunately (or rather unfortunately for those of us wishing for an equally-magnificent companion to ‘The West Wing’ on American television), ABC is currently running a political drama that certainly qualifies as an embarrassment to the genre. ‘Commander and Chief’ is not only an example of boring television, but its portrayal of the political process is totally bungled at best. To be sure, the acting is sufficiently engaging. But the writers’ gross misunderstanding of such topics as international politics (Invading Sudan over the stoning of a common woman? The President making snap military judgments without understanding and having them unquestioningly accepted?) is disgraceful. The show’s emphasis on the ‘personal’ aspects of the characters, moreover, is quite simply boring, and takes away from any political bite the show could have had.
There are many more ‘Commanders in Chief’ than there are ‘The West Wings’, and it is always a challenge for the people behind a political drama to elevate it to the level of the latter.
‘House of Cards’ the television movie is an adaptation of House of Cards the book, a novel written by British politician Michael Dobbs. Dobbs, who holds a doctorate in defence studies, was a high-standing Conservative party official during Margaret Thatcher’s time in office as Prime Minister; he has held the positions of Chief of Staff and Deputy Chairman of the British Conservative Party. He also worked as a political reporter in Washington during Watergate, and has said that his experiences during that time were influential in writing House of Cards.
The book was well received upon its publication in 1990, and the BBC decided to produce it as a television mini-series. Prominent British screenwriter Andrew Davies was responsible for adaptation. Relative unknown Paul Seed was given the job of director. Sir Ian Richardson, a recently knighted drama actor who alas had not received the attention he deserved, was selected for the lead role. A relatively low-profile cast of actors played the rest of the characters.
Francis Urquhart is Chief Whip of the British House of Commons for the ruling Conservative Party, where his duty is to keep the backbenchers (members of parliament from his party who are not in the cabinet) in line; or, as Urquhart tells it, ‘put a bit of stick about.’ He’s been extremely effective in this role, and expects to be promoted to a powerful cabinet portfolio once the new Prime Minister comes into office (Margaret Thatcher has just stepped down, under her own will no less). The new PM, however, has other ideas, insisting that Urquhart remain Chief Whip. This denial of the power he had previously been promised compels the ruthlessly ambitious Urquhart to plot a meteoric rise to power. The execution of Urquhart’s ingenious, well designed, and utterly ruthless path to the Prime Minister’s seat forms the core of the movie, leading up to the climactic conclusion where he confronts the one person capable of bringing down his scheme like a house of cards.
In adapting the novel to the screen, Davies decided to make a number of small but consequential changes. He hardened the personality of the protagonist, for instance, making him much more effective and engaging. He also added some greater elements of romance in order to heighten the tension of the final confrontation, as well as to explore the character of the protagonist in greater detail. In handling the political process as represented in the book, Davies was forced to gloss over and simplify some elements. He managed to do so in a way that neither detracted from the authenticity of the movie nor reduced the thrill of watching a ruthless operator manipulate the levers of power. Most importantly, Davies changed the ending, ostensibly in order to allow for sequels. While this may be the case (and indeed two magnificent follow-up miniseries were produced), the revision also had the effect of turning what was a mediocre conclusion into a fantastically fitting climax executed to perfection; this reviewer, for one, got chills upon seeing it.
Sir Ian Richardson, veteran British stage actor, plays the role of FU (intentionally named) to perfection; one could be forgiven for forgetting that Richardson is actually acting. His icy stare chills the heart; his utter mastery of facial expression blows the mind. His voice intonation, his poise, and his body language are all perfectly adapted to the role.
And what a role it is. Urquhart is the apotheosis of the amoral political mastermind who knows exactly what he wants and exactly how he’ll get it. He will do anything in pursuit of power, with scarcely a moral scruple to be seen. He’s a keen observer of human nature and knows how the manipulate the British political system with a skill that his contemporaries could only dream of. His understanding of the complexities of Westminster politics lends itself well to his masterfully strategic mind, which is unsurpassed in sheer brilliance. Urquhart is also a master of the art of subtlety and manipulation, able to convince others to do what he wants without ever unveiling his true self. His philosophy is perhaps best expressed in a line he uttered of Mattie Storin, a lover of his who he ruthlessly and coldly exploits to further his political ambitions. ‘She trusts me absolutely. I trust she does. And I, I trust her absolutely - to be absolutely human.’
Susannah Harker, the actress playing Storin, is nearly as effective as Richardson. Her portrayal of an idealistic and impressionable young reporter is pitch-perfect; her t’te-’-t’tes with the latter are imbued with an authentic sense of passion and feeling. She is simply captivating to watch, the audience well knowing that she is being used as a pawn in Urquhart’s game of power politics. Her youthful exuberance, her cruelly manipulated adulation of the Chief Whip is demonstrated to the fullest.
The secondary performances are all rock-solid as well. Diane Fletcher pulls off an absolutely standout performance as Urquhart’s wife Elizabeth in the vein of Lady Macbeth; chillingly enough, she has even fewer moral scruples than her husband. Her encouraging words to Urquhart, her steely resolve, and her utter lack of concern for anything but power make her a joy to watch. Miles Anderson puts in a strong performance as Roger O’Neill, a weak-willed and cocaine-addicted political consultant coldly exploited and then discarded by FU in his quest for power. Anderson does a fine job of capturing O’Neill’s collapse as a person and the intense moral dilemmas that wrack his conscience. David Lyon is similarly effective at portraying Prime Minister Henry Collingridge, a beleaguered figure entirely out of his depth. Colin Jeavons stands out as the thoroughly creepy Tim Stamper, FU’s chief henchman, bullying the Whip’s enemies into compliance. The other actors, in their various roles, all put in good performances that contribute to captivating the audience within director Paul Seed’s seductive world of power, sex, and political intrigue.
The tone of House of Cards is a captivating mix of chilling political drama and biting political satire. The film addresses an issue no less than human nature, yet also functions as a biting criticism of the way politics works. The situations, the complex graves that these politicians cannot help but dig for themselves, are quite entertaining. The private lives of public men, the scandalous and the salacious, humor us with wit and grace; the sorry state of affairs in high government circles, all too human in origin, is satirically savaged with the elegance that only a talented auteur could manage.
This mix of satire and drama, of the funny and the sober, is perhaps best captured by what has become the film’s trademark phrase: ‘You Might Say That, I Couldn’t Possibly Comment.’ Spoken frequently by Urquhart, the statement is meant to convey that the speaker agrees with the other conversant but is prevented from officially saying so because of political exigencies. On the one hand, this makes for powerful drama, with FU leading young reporter Mattie Storin on and expertly manipulating her impulses as an agent of the press. On the other hand it makes for biting satire, mocking the public relations catchphrases that have proliferated everywhere as of late. Interestingly enough, the statement has become popular in British government circles to communicate a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without official commitment.
Cinematographically, this film disappoints. Unlike the acting and plot, the sets and production values are comparatively poor. They fail to add much anything of substance to the telling of the story, and are so bland as to attract scorn from this reviewer. Fortunately enough, political drama is not about set design; it is about characterization and plot. And even more fortunately, Seed proves skilled at emphasizing this angle of the film.
One of the director’s most powerful and compelling techniques is his willingness to disregard the proverbial ‘fourth wall’ of television. The ‘fourth wall’ of a motion picture is that invisible barrier between the audience and the screen that separates the action from the real world; the ‘fourth wall’ is broken when a character dissociates from the fictional world and directly addresses the audience as an audience. This effect can be startling, and used incorrectly can destroy the viewer’s suspension of disbelief. Seed, however, uses the effect to absolute perfection, and in so doing never compromises the viewer’s connection to the film.
Richardson frequently breaks through the ‘fourth wall’, narrating some of the more confusing parts of the story and, more importantly, sharing his thoughts, feelings, and plans. It is Richardson’s superb acting, clearly inspired by Shakespeare’s Richard III but yet original and fresh, that allows this to succeed; indeed, the audience is given a chilling window into the mind of this utterly ruthless politician. Through his erudite musings we learn of his schemes; his cold calculation; and his keen insight into human nature. We learn of power; of corruption; of the cruel realities of Westminster power politics. We learn of the power that one man, one ambitious, amoral, and absolutely brilliant man can wield, and we learn of what drives him to exploit the levers of human weakness.
The production, which is set after the hypothetical retirement of Margaret Thatcher from office, was fortuitously first aired during the real-life 1990 succession crisis in the Conservative Party, when Baroness Thatcher was dramatically forced out of office by dissent within her own party. Indeed, after the initial airing, comparisons between House of Cards and real-life events were quick and voluminous in forthcoming. And there was much to cite; the film is awash in compelling questions and compelling themes.
But there are no easy answers. The viewer is made to sympathize with’nay, root for’FU, a positively perverse result of the director’s power to influence the audience; the dissonance between the desire to see Urquhart win and the brutal tactics he uses in pursuit of his goal is made clear, and yet the viewer (or at least this reviewer) finds it hard to resolve the conflict in favor of either side. Play with the audience’s emotions and beliefs this movie certainly does, and that is an asset to the production.
How is power attained? What does power do to a person? From where is power derived? What is power? These questions and more are all raised, but certainly not answered by, the film. It is up to the audience to draw its own conclusions, to struggle over the perennial questions of politics and human nature that so bedevil the mind. It is a credit to this film that it raises these great questions in such a subtle manner.
House of Cards won a myriad of awards and plaudits, and quite deservingly so. The acting is top-notch, the script is eloquent and well written, and the plot is intricate yet sensible. Perhaps most importantly, the movie is both delightfully (no, exceptionally) entertains and informative. It may not be the most accurate mirror of real-life politics, but this mix of political drama and satire illustrates truths that cannot be denied. All of that said, could this movie possible be at the pinnacle of political drama? Does this film deserve to sit atop the highest pedestal of filmmaking; does it satisfy those high standards?
You might say that, I couldn’t possibly comment.