To Play the King

There is much more drama here, much deeper character development and, of course, the whole story has a whole new depth than that of its predecessor 'House of Cards', which everyone seems to prefer. That was mostly humorous, very light entertainment.

I found this one far more rewarding due to the above. Gone was the inevitability and lack of challenge of 'H.O.C.'. Here the main character has to plum to real depths to achieve his aims.

Onto the gripes: Primarily, the pacing is a real problem. It struck me that the first three episodes were little more than exposition, establishing the situations of the story, a three-hour Act One. Nothing really happens, story-wise, until the final episode.

The presentation of the homeless was at times a little trite, although it was amusing to confirm my suspicions about Emma Bunton's acting skills.

I did not find the ending forced at all. In fact, the means are far more convincing and difficult to pull off than any of the maneuverings of 'H.O.C.'

What carries this serial through really is the relationship between Urquhart and Harding. Although clearly an echo of that of with Storrin in 'H.O.C', it does not seem out of place; here is something with strange, emotional, dark and disturbing undertones.

This mini-series is the second in the three adapted by Andrew Davies from Michael Dobbie's books. It is less of a romp than the first, `House of Cards', in which Francis Urquhart (Ian Richardson) gets to the top of the slippery pole by various underhand means; in fact he is now secure as prime minister and leader of the conservative party. He has, however, a problem with the king, a Prince Charles-type figure, who is not prepared to be a mere figurehead but aspires to be the conscience of the nation. This of course simply will not do and Francis and the king are soon on a collision course. The result is inevitable, and once again `F U' leaves bodies in his wake.

The king's angst is wonderfully realised by Michael Keaton, though he does seem a bit intelligent for a member of the present British royal family. Again, the supporting actors are delightful, with Colin Jeavons, the man born to play Uriah Heep, creepily unctious and then coldly furious as Stamper the Whip, who Francis rejects for higher office. Diane Fletcher as Elizabeth Urquhart continues smoothly in her Lady Macbeth role and there are some great clown characters such as the two princesses (not a million miles from Diana and Fergie) and the gallant Sir Bruce, editor of the `Daily Muckracker,' played with boozy enthusiasm by David Ryall.

Towards the end the show weakens a bit, and the final explosions are rather contrived. It is interesting, though, how an able, ruthless character like `F U' attracts supporters – there are plenty of people more than happy to carry out his orders, like Corder, his security man (Nick Brimble). The King, on the other hand, is supported by nice people, but like him, they become victims.

The relationship between hereditary monarch and elected prime minister is an important one, and Dobbie has to be commended for drawing attention to it; his bleak conclusion is that the King, who once could do no wrong, can now do no good. That's a pity, for someone needs to exercise some supervision over the `F U's' of this world. Once again, this is good entertainment, if not such a romp as the first series.

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.