*This review will not include overt spoilers for season six of House of Cards and will only discuss the effectiveness of its plotlines, both new and old.*
It’s early morning, still dark, on a quiet street on the outskirts of Washington DC. Several large brownstones line the sidewalks. Here is where the almost-elite exist. Wealthy families with a particular allotment of stature, all in a row. Frank Underwood is outside his property. He stands over a wounded neighborhood dog, placating him. We’ve heard the crash, but don’t know the severity of the animal’s condition. Frank does. He grew up on a farm in South Carolina, and euthanasia is not too foreign or drastic a concept for the politician. He explains this to us—his first of many soliloquies to the camera in the diary that represents his rise. Sirens blaze in the distant image, as officers discuss the implications of the hit-and-run with the dog’s masters.
“There, no more pain…” he consoles the shepherd as he liberates him from his anguish.
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