Produced only a few months before Margaret Thatcher's resignation as Prime Minister of Britain but set years ahead in the future, House of Cards introduces us to one of television's most charismatic murderers. Francis Urquhart (Ian Richardson) is the "Chief Whip" of the conservative party. He's the backbone, the figure of authority, the man who "leans on" people for the good of the government, or as he puts it likes to throw "a bit of stick around." Rumors are stamped out beneath his cultured heel. When he calls, people listen. Many believe him to be the most powerful man in England, since he knows everything about everyone in the business. Every dirty little secret or indiscretion, to either be hushed up or leaked out to suit his political purposes. You do not mess with Francis Urquhart.

Which is why the newly elected Prime Minister's decision to snub his suggestions for change in the House comes as such an unwanted surprise. Having promised Urquhart a high-ranking position in government for his assistance in getting Henry Collingridge (David Lyon) elected, the official does an about-face and leaves him Chief Whip. "You're more useful to me throwing stick about," he explains. Urquhart smiles and promises his allegiance but inside burns with fiery indignation. His wife Elizabeth (Diane Fletcher) reminds him who's in control of the House. Why not seek to undermine Collingridge and slowly work his own way into the position of Prime Minister? The idea has merit and Urquhart wastes little time in setting up cunning traps, using all the delicious little secrets he's learned over the years. A man's cocaine addiction. Another's passion for beautiful women. An alcoholic.

One of his pawns is the beautiful young reporter Mattie Storin (Susannah Harker), who begins to suspect a conspiracy among the House to bring down the Prime Minister. With his backstabbing charm and winning personality, Urquhart manages to garner her trust completely. Little does she know she's being used to further his Machiavellian schemes for power. Though it sounds ultimately serious, House of Cards is a mordantly funny satire full of greed, corruption, and ambition in the highest forms of government. The symbolic use of a literal rat scrounging around London -- from outside Matte's apartment to the steps of Parliament -- brings a rather arcane sense of humor to the melodrama of the piece. The writing for this production is unique, since the audience is asked to become Urquhart's fellow conspirator. Having him turn and address the camera with a series of coy little smirks, fluent comments (including "What an idiot!" and "Our plans are coming along nicely, don't you think?") and occasional reprimands could have sunk any other production. Richardson, who received three awards for his performance, carries it off beautifully. Though he's a conniving, brutal, dangerous little blackguard, we cannot help feeling some empathy and support for his cause. His farce of false modesty is blatantly obvious to those of us who know him, yet charming and humble in the face of his supporters. "Me, as Prime Minister?" he remarks with remarkably genuine surprise. "Oh, no, no... I'm just the back boy!" All the while he's setting old comrades up, making devious little arrangements for scandal, and professing his undying allegiance to the rapidly sinking Prime Minister.

Political satires come with their heavy share of language, scandal, and deception. This has an overdose of both, including some drug use, a few allusions to gay sympathies among Parliament, and many instances of blackmail. The violence is the least problematic, involving a near car collision (the driver is intoxicated) and a shot of a woman falling off a roof. She hits a van below and slides to the pavement. Windows are broken in a reporter's house to scare her off. Language is surprisingly raw for a televised production, involving at least six abuses of Jesus' name, an equal number of GD, several of Christ, two of the term "d*ckhead," and various strong and mild profanities (d*mn, bloody, hell, and the s-word). One member of Parliament has a cocaine addiction which Urquhart exploits in order to use him as a political pawn. The man is seen snorting it on several occasions. Rat poison is blended with crack to create a deadly mixture. These elements could be overlooked in the face of such a fascinating character study, but unfortunately sexual implications run rampant through the four hours. A woman is used to set up an official who later runs for Prime Minister. Urquhart covertly inquires of her boyfriend if she's for rent, then sets her up so he might record the liaison and use it later for blackmail. We hear the recording played back over an agonizing three or four minutes while breakfasting with the official and his angry wife. ("I'm not surprised," she confesses, "after all it's how we met.") Though nothing explicit is ever shown, plenty is overheard, talked about, and considered.

The most troubling element comes with Matte's involvement with Urquhart. Early on his wife (a perfect modern Lady MacBeth if ever there was one) mentions that she'll be conveniently in the country if he needs to assure himself of his reporter's trustworthiness. He graciously thanks her and proceeds to do just that, though the relationship is initiated by Matte. She implies she would do "anything he asked her to," mentions how attractive he is, and weasels her way into his bed while his wife is out of town. They're shown meeting numerous times in his wife's absence, always going upstairs together. A flashback momentarily shows them in a compromising position (with an obvious body double for Richardson). The most eerie thing about this relationship is her insistence on calling him "Daddy." The affair is referenced numerous times. The odd thing about it is how easily Richardson manages to close the age gap. He's "old enough to be her father" yet the audience accepts their adulterous relationship without a bat of the eye. We briefly see a nude body being closed into a morgue refrigerator. The ending is also twisted and sinister. The production is fascinating from a political standpoint, and anyone who enjoys analyzing villains will find Urquhart the ultimate fiend, but the emphasis on sexual immorality and the foul language is unfortunate. At least, "You might think that, but I couldn't possibly comment."