In the air, ruins of American democracy

My experience in cultural journalism has always helped me reflect on mass culture. Films, series, and novels can help us understand the anxieties of our time, provided they are supported by an engaging plot, based on well-developed characters capable of creating a certain empathy – without that, nobody can endure it. Another essential point is a clear understanding of the historical context itself.

I'm an avid viewer of "House of Cards" and "Homeland." Anyone who has watched or is watching these two series on Netflix knows what I'm talking about. They are well-made productions that hold your attention thanks to well-crafted scripts—and undeniably talented actors.
The backdrop for both is present-day America. House deals with American politics, while Homeland is set against the backdrop of the Iraq War. In peace or war, the common thread running through both series is the same – the ruins of democracy in the United States. The citizen has no power whatsoever over what happens to their country.

Many people like to identify the main character of House of Cards as an unscrupulous politician involved in reprehensible operations, and immediately draw associations with a moralistic view of Brazilian politics. I disagree. House of Cards goes after the money of large corporations that drives politics in the United States and most of the world. In the first episodes, you might even think the protagonist is an unscrupulous scoundrel and that the story boils down to that. In subsequent chapters, it becomes clear that he is nothing more than a more skillful trickster than the others, who has better understood the rules of a game that is far beyond his competence. What is described there is the workings of public life dominated by contributions from private companies that sponsor electoral campaigns, an anomaly that reaches a grotesque level in the United States – which the series portrays very well, without losing its humor or suspense.
The great works of mass culture have traditionally served to test and confirm the values ​​of a society—the love of truth, transparency in state affairs, individual rights, democracy itself. What we see in television series are versions of a situation of historical ruin. The starting point is that the old values ​​no longer hold sway and the public sphere has transformed into a free-for-all.
The barbarity that was once easier to accept in science fiction is at the heart of the attitudes and events in stories where people dress like us, talk like us, and even have sex in the same way – in both, it's worth noting, women also take the initiative.

In Homeland, the only character capable of acting on legitimate convictions and feelings that we would define as human is a CIA agent who suffers from hallucinations and cannot maintain her mental balance without taking a lot of medication. In a narrative where torture is frequently depicted in various forms – in that historical period, it was legalized by decree of George W. Bush – she is able to say "we don't do that" when she receives the suggestion to violently attack a prisoner.
In House of Cards, there isn't even a single character who comes close to this situation. The closest thing, perhaps, is a small-time ghetto thug who reformed himself by cooking pork ribs for the protagonist. And that's it.
One of the strongest symptoms of this strange synchronicity between what is seen on screen and what happens in real life is the ease with which both series attract and engage viewers. These are situations that should cause bewilderment but instead contribute to engagement. They reinforce the feeling that they are a pure reflection of reality – and this, when the series ends, is the most worrying thing. There are no real heroes. The best that fate has in store for people is survival.