Believe it or not, TV used to relieve stress.
I remember the afternoons when “Cash Cab” eased the “anxiety” that came with my seventh grade education. I remember coming home from hellish high school cross country practices and getting lost in hour-long blocks of “Seinfeld.” TV always used to be harmless and carefree for me. But now — like an MP3 player, MySpace page or faithful politician — that concept is slowly becoming obsolete.
Today, I binge-watch. I sit in front of my television late into the night and guzzle Dr. Pepper as if it’s the only thing keeping me alive. I watch 11 episodes of “Mad Men” in a row and fight off tears when a season ends. It’s a brave new world of television out there. And we all have Netflix, in all of its addictive, on-demand glory, to thank for ushering in the era of binge-watching.
Now Netflix has really outdone itself.
On Feb. 1, the popular video streaming service released the entire first season of their original series “House of Cards.” The business that makes its money giving TV junkies their fix — and acts as a serial GPA killer — has decided to make its own stuff. They put up $100 million for a first season, signed on David Fincher as an overqualified executive producer and released all 13 episodes at once. It’s like a drug dealer cutting out the middleman.
And if this new thing of theirs is a drug, I almost OD’d in the first four hours. Netflix’s political gem — inspired by a BBC mini-series — is brilliant, gripping television that’s as hard to watch as it is to turn off. There are no flashbacks. Episodes pick up where they left off. The premise and execution are so polished, it feels like a sin to stop watching.
Sure, there are some ho-hum storylines. Some subplots feel a bit melodramatic and more like something from a made-for-TV Lifetime movie. But the few moments of overkill are completely overshadowed by the show’s hyper-stylized, cutthroat tone. The whole thing — from its cinematography to its writing — is steeped in an expected level of Fincher grandeur. Including the acting.
Kevin Spacey is stunning as smooth-talking, House majority whip Francis Underwood. Francis is the kind of guy who could convince a homeless man to buy life insurance. He’s thieving and conniving, and his asides with the viewer are downright chilling. In the pilot episode, when he is told he will not be named Secretary of State, he turns to the audience and spits out his plan for revenge like a damn Disney villain.
His wife Claire (Robin Wright) proudly stands behind his Tarantino-like revenge fantasy, but her loyalty always remains in question. Journalist Zoe Barnes (the beautiful Kate Mara) writes his stories for him but has loyalty issues, too. Really, most people — except for maybe the guy who runs his favorite BBQ joint — do some backstabbing. It’s a messy tale of corruption and greed that’s damn near impossible to stop watching.
I just don’t know what “House of Cards” means for the world. I like to think of myself as a guy who knows his limits, and I watched 13 episodes in three days. Maybe someday every program will be watched in a weekend. Perhaps seasons of television shows will be sold with required safety waivers. Series-binging could really become a competitive sport if we’re lucky.
One thing’s for sure: TV is definitely not what it used to be. I would be lying if I said I don’t miss those days of relaxing afternoons with the boob-tube — although that world’s not gone. It’s just making room for this new one. It’s making room for an age in which marathoning until you puke is cool. It’s making room for the era of butts falling asleep from prolonged sitting. Television is undoubtedly changing and the future is looking borderline dangerous, people.
But if it’s filled with more series like “House of Cards,” I’m okay with taking that risk.
