By Jackie Thakkar Oct. 31, 2017
“You see, nothing misdirects public opinion more swiftly than a cushy, closeted LGBTQ sob story,” says Frank Underwood about his coming-out story.
Seated on the President’s desk in the Oval Office, Frank Underwood looks calm, even as the activity around him is chaotic. White House staffers pace frantically as phones ring off the hook. The news reporter on TV bellows, “Startling accusations of sexual assault being made against a two-time Academy Award winner and star of…” Doug Stamper, Frank’s long-time associate, abruptly switches off the TV and proceeds to calmly direct everyone else to leave the room.
As he shuts the door behind them, Doug turns to Frank and asks whether the allegations are true. Frank laughs it off with a casual “This’ll blow over eventually,” in his signature southern drawl.
“Things were different in 1986, Doug. You know how it is,” he continues.
Realising that his boss is completely downplaying the severity of the situation, Doug musters a mild-mannered, “The bad PR is really hurting us.” Frank assures him he’s got things under control. Doug nods dejectedly and leaves.
Frank, now by himself, breaks the fourth wall as he often does and looks directly into camera. “How dare he? After all those years of keeping shut, he thinks he can just Weinstein me? Me! Oh no! You got another thing coming, Anthony boy.” He looks away and begins to type furiously on his laptop. The picture-in-picture text reads, “I have a lot of respect for Anthony Rapp as an actor.”
Frank breaks the fourth wall and looks directly into camera. “How dare he? After all those years of keeping shut, he thinks he can just Weinstein me?
He turns to the camera again and coyly states, “You see, nothing misdirects public opinion more swiftly than a cushy, closeted LGBTQ sob story. The tabloids will lap this up faster than fanboys can Google Star Trek: Discovery.” He finishes his letter and lights a cigarette.
A few hours later, Frank is on the rowing machine when Doug interrupts his workout. Frank stares at him with a smirk, expecting news of how he’s gained public support. Doug informs him, “We’ve lost Netflix, sir.”
Underwood doesn’t even glance at Doug. He resumes rowing, this time with a cold intensity. The music begins to crescendo. Netflix will pay.