Um Kopf und Krone

Following his appointment as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Francis Urquhart is rather plagued by guilt over the actions that got him there, while at the same time lacking a challenge to stimulate him in the way his political rivalries once did. This changes as the new King of England decides to throw his social conscience into the political ring, and as FU takes on a new 'slave' to inspire him and to tutor. The King's simplistic sentimentalizing of the plight of the poor leads FU to perhaps underestimate him, while he also remains unaware of the presence of a tape of his rooftop meeting that ended the previous series.

There is a certain meanness and cynicism in this BBC film that is perhaps lacking in the US version, and this second part of the House of Cards trilogy continues with that. The viewer remains drawn into FU's world and decisions in a way where we are confronted by his cold maneuvering, and this continues throughout the episodes. This time the opponent is the new King – a very thinly veiled version of Prince Charles; the reality of this power struggle is perhaps not totally convincing, but to be fair the previous episodes were fine to play up the cynicism in return for giving up a bit of realism. The plot plays out quite nicely, although it must be said that the show does benefit from only having 4 episodes and not the longer run that the US version has.

Outside of this, the series does rather repeat the model of the previous serial in that it places a young woman in FU's circle, sees an influential Afro-Caribbean woman playing a key role and also has a vulnerable male press role. It does have a certain familiarity to it, although mostly it does work on its own rights. The various plot twists and turns do not always convince; in particular the frequent bombings and the fate of some characters and devices go a little further than fits even the internal logic, but these are held together by the consistent spirit of meanness it has. A big part of that is Richardson's performance, which is attractive while also being repellant – much like his to-camera discussions which challenge the viewer to judge him. Equally good are Kitchen, Aldridge, King, and Farrrell – albeit that they have shadows of the previous series in their characters. Jeavons plays it well so that he builds from his position gradually and in a way that makes sense.

Generally the series works well because of how nicely scripted it is with a cynicism that applies across the political spectrum of all those involved. This is delivered with a certain drollness and a narrative that engages even if aspects of it feel repeated from the previous series.

'To Play the King', an adaptation of Michael Dobbs' novel of the same title, is superb as we are invited by the protagonist, PM Francis Urquhart to watch as he attempts to cling to his position of absolute power. Ian Richardson as the unscrupulous right-wing premier is magnificent and the cast are brilliant; stand-outs including Colin Jeavons as Stamper and Michael Kitchen as the socialist King.

Urquhart's direct-to-camera moments are memorable and the viewer can't help but admire the person we should in actual fact loathe. The action is at a break-neck pace and the plot builds up to a satisfying climax.

Is it better than House of Cards? As Urquhart would say:

"You might very well think that, I couldn't possibly comment."

Compared to the first House of Cards, this is a retread of familiar ground, far-fetched in spots, and fizzles out in the 'explosive' finale. It is still fun to watch, and together with Cards, a great primary text.

The narrative tension arises from the fact that the protagonist—Francis Urquhart, now Prime Minister after the events of the first one—is both an actor inside the story and the capricious narrator who in telling it attempts to control that story and his environment, Lolita-wise. (which Ian Richardson has not only known, as anyone in his trade can be expected to, but actually played on the stage, in Albee's Broadway version as apparently Nabokov himself)

We are roped in the story, by Urquhart making the camera a co- conspirator on his side.

This could have been of more interest than the first. The issue of co- conspiratorial viewing more ambiguously rears its head here, because mixed with parliamentary intrigue, the great deceiver is beginning to show signs of doubt and remorse, but knowing him to be a demagogue, can we trust him? Is he lucidly toying with us? Do we open up? It all comes back to Lolita, the seduced younger woman, his mirrored nemesis the current Chief Whip. It is good material, a good text to work from.

Alas, the same problem persists as in Cards.

Urquhart's doubt grows from memories of the first film, the whole Mattie Storin affair. If you haven't seen Cards, he has done something horrible even by his standards, and tormenting visions begin to seep into and disrupt his control.

Now there are two types of film when dealing with cinematic memory, mostly distinct of each other.

Films where memory is a narrative device and the reminiscing self fetches the images as insight into some past story, a category of which this is a part of, and can be relied on for a good jigsaw but hardly much else. Hitchcock usually worked in this way.

And films, much fewer, where true to the function of memory, images steal into the story as insight of the narrating self, images not always in the right order or logical that partly create the self. All the great films (as well as Lolita) fall in this latter category.

So the narrative is clean and logical, which the British do better than anyone. The acting is fine, Richardson above all. But, there is no reason whatsoever for Urquhart to be truly confiding to the viewer, especially now that we see aspects of Urquhart he does not control. Everyone else is being lied to, uncertain and fumbling, but we are not. This is as if Lolita was just a chronicle of mischiefs, missing layers.

The sequel to House of Cards opens with the coronation of King Charles (many years before his real-life ascendency to the throne.) It is implied that this takes place in the near future of 1993, probably some time between 1994-96.

Britain under Urquhart has become frighteningly authoritarian. Violent crime is rampant, and often seems directed by the government. The security services are willing to gun down, or plant explosives to kill, enemies of the government at the Prime Minister's whim. It is even suggested that a bomb may be in place in the vehicle of everyone connected with Urquhart, ready to detonate if needed. Despite this, Tim Stamper believes that the police could be trusted to fairly investigate serious allegations about Urquhart, implying that law enforcement has bifurcated into the ordinary police and another branch made up of Urquhart's personal army, and that there may a tension between the two.

There's a chilling moment when Princess Charlotte (representing a rough caricature of Sarah Ferguson) reveals that not only does she have shocking stories about those close to her, but that she has also been threatened with an 'accident' if she publishes them. It is also stated that much of the media is fixed in favour of the government.

Ian Richardson continues to play a deeply fascinating portrayal of Urquhart as a convincing manipulator and deceptively sympathetic figure on his face. I constantly have to remind myself that the tyrant is a liar and a murderer, when he talks fondly about Mattie Storrin, for example.

The main downside is perhaps the slightly ineffective in-universe opposition to Urquhart's rule. Neither the King nor his allies are shown to have any coherent of specific ideas for a better Britain. The King rather feebly tells a family in poverty that 'something will be done'. FU's relationship with Sarah, and the King's brief encounter with Chloe are perhaps also unnecessary. David Mycroft's coming out as gay is handled progressively for the time, although he is ultimately still forced out of his job, which is unthinkable now.

The final act contains what may be Urquhart's greatest ever political manoeuvre in humiliating his adversary: on the day before the general election. But even after that, will Urquhart be able to do what he needs to do to remain safe still?

A very worthy sequel, gripping throughout, and with significant historical interest. 9/10.

Although weaker than House of Cards, To Play the King is consistently entertaining, perhaps more so than the other parts of the trilogy, which ended with The Final Cut.

Francis Urquhart has been PM (played by the wonderful Ian Richardson) for some time now, and he now faces a challenge in the new King (a compelling impersonation of Princes Charles by Michael Kitchen), who's views on Britain conflict wildly with Urquhart's. Added to this, Urquhart is engaging in an affair with Sarah Harding (Kitty Aldridge), a pollster, and seriously getting on the wrong side of his oldest friend and Chief Whip/Party Chairman Tim Stamper (played by Colin Jeavons, who almost steals the show from Richardson), who has incriminating evidence concerning Urquhart's involvement in the death of journalist Mattie Storin.

To Play the King carries on the Urquhart trilogy with great confidence. Despite the fact that it came three years after House of Cards, all of the recurring cast slip back into their roles with ease. The location work and music are also outstanding. However, the real weakness with this production is that Andrew Davies' script goes over old ground. The dialogue is naturally superb, but Urquhart's relationship with Harding is thin compared to the one between him and Mattie, and the ending strangely lacks the emotional edges of the other two in the series.

That said, To Play the King is highly enjoyable, and worth checking out if you were a fan (and who wasn't) of House of Cards.