House of Cards: Season 5, Episode 1 - Homecoming of terror

Alert: If you haven't watched the previous seasons of HoC, this review will contain spoilers that you may want to avoid.

"Watch out for each other and watch each other, to keep us all safe and sound," says Claire Underwood in a chilling message addressing the nation. Thus begins the first episode of season 5, aptly titled 'Homecoming of Terror'.

The Underwoods' problems are far from over, even though a full year has gone by between Seasons 4 and 5. To recap, by the end of Season 4, Tom Hammerschmidt writes a Herald article detailing Frank Underwood's murky journey from being Congressional Whip to becoming POTUS, radicalised domestic terrorists execute an American citizen on national television and Conway steadily gains ground in an election that seems almost over for the Underwoods. 

The Season 5 pilot is off to a promising start, befitting of its title, with Frank turning up the rhetoric in the House, for war against terror. It is quite a scene out there, as Frank derails the House agenda in order to push his own, much reminiscent of the Frank from seasons past, only louder, larger and more dramatic than ever before.

However, the episode does sag in between. Claire defends Frank about the Herald article in what seems to be a very defensive interview, while Hannah, the perfect wife and mother of that promising Republican candidate goofs up even though it turns out favourable for Conway. As Tom Yates puts the viewer to sleep with some unnecessary appearances and boring dialogues in his sleepy voice, Macallan and LeAnn have a heart to heart that leads nowhere. For a few minutes, it feels like the director owed one each to all the characters and hence had to figure out a dialogue or two for each of them. Except, except, for that one meeting on policy decision between Cathy Durant and the POTUS, which seems to have been picked straight off the real world.

As we get into the last 15 minutes of the episode, the set-up gets craftier and more intricate. Terror can be manufactured on home ground, especially when it is the necessary condition to regain and hold on to immeasurable power. Some of these scenes towards the end are unreal, and send a shiver down the spine, of how possible and probable it is to create stories that can be fed to people in order to dial up the fear in their hearts. 

While there seems very little chance of a second innings for the POTUS, the stage is set for the Underwoods to fight this battle like none other they have fought before, using the considerable resources at their disposal. As Claire and Frank sign off, the viewer knows that this is going to be one riveting season of twists and turns, and perhaps, it isn't yet time for the deck of cards to come crashing down.

Overall, it is an episode worth watching, of a season worth the year long wait!

Frank Underwood is coming to India with the television premiere of House Of Cards Season 5 on Saturday, 3rd June, 5 PM onwards, only on Zee Café! For more details, check out the Zee Cafe Facebook page here.

#HOConZCafe

Free spirit, literally!

(post submitted to Indispire on IndiBlogger.in under the Offbeat & Personal -> Weird category)

I died yesterday, at my desk in office. The funeral was this morning in my home town. Yeah, it beats me too. In order to shove me into an electric crematorium, which will eject an urn of ashes two hours later (it is all very procedural these days), I don’t understand why my family had to spend tons of money flying me (rather, my body) to my hometown. Sentiments, apparently.

All I can hope is that some of my Jet miles were used for the flight. Wait, is that possible? Can one’s miles be used, on oneself, after one’s death? That’s a pertinent question.

I strangely feel very non-sentimental now, the antithesis of who I was, a sentimental, young fool, in life. It is an insane feeling, being detached, not just from the body, but from feelings and sentiments. For instance, I would have broken down in tears just at the sight of my mother being unhappy, let alone shedding buckets of tears and staring into nothingness all at the same time. Now, I just think she is making a big deal about nothing. I don’t like this new me, this robotic, unfeeling me, that doesn’t take her mom seriously.

My phone is lying there, almost about to die. No one is looking at it. Come on people. Get going. Charge it. Use it. It cost me 50K in real life.

Ok, I have spent too much time seeing all these tears. It is time to travel across to office to see whether it is business as usual there. At least, no one will be crying. One good thing about death is that you are so light you can travel with the wind and that too, at the speed of the wind. Since you don’t have a body to carry around, you don’t have to wait in long security lines at the airport or board rickety old buses to get to an aircraft, or get frustrated with the flight getting delayed due to air traffic congestion. The perks are attractive, I must say.

Office is looking morose. At least my desk is. No one seems to have occupied it, perhaps for fear of falling down dead. They haven’t even moved my laptop out of there. And, I know my company very well. They would have wanted to retrieve all the data ASAP. They seem to be taking this superstition thing seriously, huh!

There are hushed conversations at the vending machine, about how a girl died at her desk due to over-work. Come on! I wish I could speak to you guys and break that myth right now. No one dies of over-work. People only get brain hemorrhages when they work too hard and then go into comas. Are you wondering how I know that? I have been speaking to a lot of people who died yesterday and are hovering around, in hopes of catching a glimpse of their alive near and dear ones. One guy was a top neuro-surgeon in life. He died in the operation theater yesterday, presumably of over-work. He told me. I won’t get into the details now; we can have such in-depth discussions when you join us.

Ok, this has got boring. My colleagues are predictable. They are now fitting frameworks and structures to analyse possible causes of deaths of women my age so that they can publish a report on it. Get a life, guys. 

Let me potter around to some of my friends’ houses. Maybe, they would have moved on. 

No. No luck there either. Too much crying, too much depression. Real life is depressing me, man.

Let me go to some of the crematoriums to join my brethren in trying to figure out what exactly I am supposed to do now. I so hate this inaction, coupled with observing incessant criers.

I hope we can head to heaven or whatever place it is, where angels will welcome us and we can float on clouds and play Scrabble and b***h about humans.

Ah! Looks like dreams don’t die when we die.