From Gloucester to Gaffney:

A Comparative Examination of Richard III and Frank Underwood

It is no great secret that modern writers constantly reference, incorporate, and adapt elements from the work of Shakespeare. The Bard’s presence (arguably, omnipresence) in drama and literature means that his work still finds life and relevance in the present day. One recent link back to Shakespeare exists between his Richard III, likely written in 1592, and House of Cards, a Netflix-produced television drama, first aired in 2013. This wide temporal gap is bridged by striking commonalities concerning the two stories’ leading men, Richard of Gloucester and Frank Underwood.

These parallels are apparent early in the trajectories of both characters. Frank and Richard both climb the ladders of political power using Machiavellian methods, leveraging their relationships, cunning, brutality, and mastery of language to manipulate their way to the top. In either case, this climb is set into motion by bitterness: for Frank, it was the denial of a promised promotion to secretary of state; for Richard, it is his inability to “prove a lover” in the newly-established peacetime which made him “determinèd to prove a villain” (1.1.28–30). What differs significantly at this point is the milieu, with Richard III being set in England, shortly after the war of the roses, and House of Cards taking place in Washington, D.C., in modern day. These settings anchor both works within a political climate that is entirely real to the intended audience. Populating these environments are complex webs of relationships and titles (again, real positions) which provide the structure for either protagonist to manipulate, therefore linking the two works as expositions of the nature of power and corruption. These larger themes, however, are explored primarily through Frank and Richard, as audiences are intended to react most potently to them. Viewers of either drama, regardless of time frame, react to elements common to both men.

On the most basic level, Frank and Richard are defined by their ambition and ruthlessness. The stories of either one’s rise to power consists mainly of ruining or ending the lives of others for personal gain. With their Machiavellian sensibilities and limited displays of remorse, they are more villain than hero, yet their positions as protagonist demands that viewers consider them more deeply than the average bad guy. They are intriguing, even likable, villains. Part of this audience investment is accomplished through the use of asides, a dramatic technique in which a character speaks directly and exclusively to the audience. This device is closely associated

with Shakespeare, but more unusual on television, and constitute another link between characters, as our first impression of both men is formed through striking asides. The choice to use the aside creates a rapport with the viewer; the viewer is no longer just watching, they are also being confided in. This brings into focus the psychology of these individuals, and, by corollary, the psychology of evil.

The frequent asides also showcase another important shared trait: a mastery of language and persuasion. The impressive manipulations achieved by Frank and Richard require more than mere political clout and cold blood, and both men know that. Language is frequently weaponized by both characters. For instance, both characters use discourse to win over grieving individuals who had previously blamed them for the deaths of their loved ones: Richard seduces Anne after killing her husband and father-in-law, doing so “in her heart’s extremest hate / With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,” and “The bleeding witness of her hatred by” (1.2.424–26). Similarly, Frank delivers an unconventional sermon to reenter the good graces of two constituents who believe his “peachoid” is responsible for the death of their daughter (Chapter 3 29:01). In this speech, he passionately mourns the death of his father, even quoting proverbs and exclaiming “I hate you, God!”, shocking the congregation (29:50). Frank reveals in a later aside that he didn’t truly lament his father’s death, and the eulogy was a pure drama to play on the sympathies of the crowd.

This ersatz piety recalls Richard at two places. Firstly, he says the following after his confrontation with Margaret:

“I clothe my naked villainy / With odd old ends stolen out of Holy Writ, / And seem a saint when most I play the devil” (1.3.340–44).

His comparison of himself to the devil, which reocurrs throughout the play, is particularly interesting as it illustrates the hidden agenda of Richard III, whose patrons wanted to legitimize Tudor reign by demonizing Richard (17th Century audiences would’ve noticed parallels between Richard’s depiction and the Avarice figure in morality plays). One might also note how he acknowledges himself as an actor, as he does later when visited by the Lord Mayor, wherein he pretends to have been interrupted in holy meditation, using a prayer book and clergymen as “props of virtue” (3.7.94–98). During this same scene, he rejects his nomination for king once, before calling back the mayor to accept. This employs a sort of reverse psychology to convince onlookers that he is not greedy for power (which, of course, he is), and may remind viewers of Frank’s orchestration of Donald Blyth’s martyrdom and feigned-reluctant acceptance of control over the bill (Chapter 2 10:25).

What is important in these scenes is the acknowledgement of the self as an actor, and therefore the division between private self and public self. This division is reinforced by the asides (which allow us to contrast the private thoughts with public action), Richard’s interest in his attire and appearance (shared to some extent by Frank in his suits), and Frank’s awareness of public image. Of course, Richard has to grapple with deformity where Frank does not, which allows Frank to appear innocuous when Richard is instantly pegged as monstrous. Richard’s schism between selves becomes particularly dramatic just before the final battle, when he confronts himself, asking if he fear, hates, or loves himself (5.3.194–201). These seem to be the first pangs of conscience in Richard, though the characters surrounding him do show remorse, such as Tyrell and the murderers (Claire following her downsizing acts as an analogue).

The examination of these two multi-layered characters and their complex trajectories, through similarity and opposition, offer a robust study of the effects of power and ambition on one’s world and one’s soul.

Works Cited

“Chapter 2.” House of Cards. Netflix. 1 Feb. 2013. Television.

“Chapter 3.” House of Cards. Netflix. 1 Feb. 2013. Television.

Shakespeare, William. Richard III. Ed. Jonathan Bate and Eric Rasmussen. New York: Modern Library, 2008. Print.