'The West Wing,' 'House of Cards,' and the Politics of Schadenfreude

The rise of President Donald Trump may easily seem like the biggest bifurcation of our politics in a generation, but myriad ingredients were brewing in popular culture before Trump emerged from the vat. One of the clearest contrasts comes in the aesthetic and narrative choices made by two dynastic political shows, The West Wing and House of Cards, specifically in their respective optimism and cynicism regarding the political process in Washington.

Airing from 1999 to 2006, Aaron Sorkin’s The West Wing mainly positioned itself in contrast to the George W Bush White House. Sorkin’s walk-and-talk dialogue style became the staple of the show, but fans stuck around for its aspirational tone. The West Wing strived to find what was best about America and public service, as imperfect as its public servants themselves may always be. Petulant and dogged characters like Josh Lyman (Bradley Whitford) and Toby Ziegler (Richard Schiff) were not easily likeable, but their love for their country and the presidency was undeniable.

The show also featured strong female characters, particularly the intrepid Press Secretary C.J. Cregg (Allison Janney) and indomitable First Lady Abbey Bartlet (Stockard Channing), who consistently struggle and prevail through sexism and unfair gender expectations. Cregg in particular demonstrates the pace and vigor required to serve one’s country in the White House, and the toll it takes on one’s personal life.

The military in The West Wing is also problematized, with Admiral Percy Fitzwallace (John Amos) consistently wrestling with the human cost of America’s role in the world, and frequently reminding President Josiah Bartlet (Martin Sheen) of the consequences of inaction on the global stage.

Ultimately, The West Wing rejects the politics of cynicism in favor of embodying the gravitas and deep responsibility of the presidency, warts and all. The viewer is always hooked to see how much progress the protagonists can make against the odds, not how far they can fall.

Beau Willimon’s House of Cards, however, thrives on the politics of cynicism and even schadenfreude—finding pleasure in the pain of others. The show’s pilot opens to an examination the notion of pain, with its hero, Frank Underwood (Kevin Spacey), finding a dog suffering on the street after being hit by a car. With the driver having fled and Underwood’s body guard gone to notify the owners next door, the congressman is left alone with the ailing dog. His ensuing monologue establishes the ethos of the show, debuting seven years after the finale of The West Wing.

“There are two kinds of pain. The sort of pain that makes you strong, or useless pain. The sort of pain that's only suffering. I have no patience for useless things,” Underwood says before strangling the dog to death.

Besides giving a foreboding warning of the highly consequentialist attitude of Underwood—where the ends justify any means—the pilot’s monologue focuses on pain for a reason. The show takes its most important overture to introduce that it’s not only Underwood who takes pleasure in the pain of others, but also the viewer who will take pleasure in the downfall of Underwood and all those who lie in his wake.

As Shankar Vedantam noted on a recent edition of NPR’s “Hidden Brain,” schadenfreude is rarely demonstrated openly in society—with the notable exceptions of politics and celebrity culture (see the Britney Spears episode of South Park, where stars are sacrificed in "harvest" as a kind of pagan ritual for the public good). Despite some—mainly West Wing fans—arguing that politics didn’t used to be that way, House of Cards posits that by the middle of the Obama Administration, we have entered a post-empathy political atmosphere.

While the audience eagerly awaits each of Underwood’s moves, his machinations are solely centered on the downfall of others for his own advancement—with the possible exception of elevating the status of rookie-reporter Zoey Barnes (Kate Mara), but the DC metro ends up having a say in that later.

Whatever the next hit political drama entails may change the conversation, but for now, the polis cannot help but binge watch the suffering of others and think that the game is played that way, and even perhaps that it should be. But in the realm of the should, The West Wing shines brightest, leaving open a timeless ideal for this country that will outlast its oversized cellphones and pagers. The 2018 midterms, for some, promise a new generation of members of Congress who come from different walks of life than those before them. One can only hope that the same may be true for the next showrunners, and that public service can be more than binge-worthy schadenfreude.