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After a dud of a third season, Netflix’s House of Cards is back with a vengeance. Kevin Spacey’s Frank Underwood is as calculating as ever and Robin Wright’s Claire, who’s become one of TV’s most dimensional female protagonists, has safely secured herself as this season’s bona fide lead. There’s just one — well, two — problems: I binged it already. And now all I want to watch is The Americans. Why? Frankly, the latter kicks the former’s ass. Not only as a political drama, but also as an analysis of marriage.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m a huge House of Cards fan. I mean, who else can say they binged the entire third season in a little over thirteen hours? Flaws and all, I adore the series for its unparalleled performances and tireless efforts to shock and awe through two ruthless combatants who, at times, like to keep us in the dark as much as they do each other. It’s a sophisticated soap opera with an exemplary cast and… Well, that’s about it. The political trials and tribulations examined throughout the series don’t necessary hold the same weight as the criminalities involved, creating an obvious schism between show and viewer. Sorry, Beau Willimon, but I simply don’t buy Frank Underwood as a patriot when he’s sending Doug off to bury the last thread of their murder. Pick one or the other.

Yet, I have to remind myself House of Cards is dirty, soapy fun even if it doesn’t always know it. That’s one up we have on the Underwoods. Speaking of the two as a unit, however, is where the real gripes come in as a TV devotee. The relationship between Frank and Claire isn’t nearly as developed as you might think; despite how much the series has shifted to focus on their marriage. I know this because I watch Elizabeth (Keri Russell) and Philip Jennings (Matthew Rhys) grapple with their own complications on The Americans every spring. Their struggle to survive, not only as Soviet spies living in Washington D.C. but also as a married couple, is undeniably more authentic and emotionally taxing than their political drama counterparts’.

I have a few of theories as to why this is, but let’s get the obvious out of the way: Keri Russell and Matthew Rhys are a couple in real life. They didn’t start the series as an off-screen unit, but as production rolled on, work spilled into play and the rest is history. There’s even a real-life baby on the way. Yet, not to discredit their TV fairy tale romance, but the chemistry between Elizabeth and Philip Jennings has seeped through the screen from the opening scenes of the pilot back in 2013 and has carried through to its now fourth season. Which brings me to my next theory.

I speculate that I get more out of The Americans as a political crime drama because it’s really about the uncertainty of a relationship. I didn’t grow up in the ’80s. I couldn’t possibly recall the paranoia of the Cold War. But creator Joe Weisberg and executive producer Joel Fields aren’t necessarily here to give us a history lesson. Their series is about complications that transcend any given era. The Americans is a brutal, often heartbreaking look at the power of passion and the detrimental effects it can have on two people in it for the long haul as examined through the lens of two Russian-born spies whose staged marriage has slowly blossomed into something far more complex; complicating their roles as colleagues, as parents, and as immigrants.

House of Cards, meanwhile, has tried to develop Frank and Claire as husband-and-wife after analyzing their relationship as conniving teammates for two seasons straight. Then Season Three came along and we were forced to watch them endure a rough patch without any context, any history to latch on to, or any believable chemistry. We understand how the Underwoods work as co-workers out to achieve the same goal (world domination, more or less), but not as two people who may have loved each other once upon a time. Or ever. The Underwoods’ marriage feels like a business transaction — one that’s helped them climb social and political ladders, undoubtedly — but no more and no less. Frank loves Claire “like a shark loves blood,” as he so adoringly stated in the series’ pilot, yet their marriage is more a symbiotic reliance than it is an emotional bond.

Because The Americans began as an analysis of marriage and has remained consistent in its mission, the series carries more weight with it as navigates the criminal side of things. Suddenly, we’re not only emotionally invested in Elizabeth and Philip, but also in their loyalty to Mother Russia. When the passion for their work is rooted in the fibers of their romance, the Jennings’ world becomes unnervingly correlated: things are complicated at home, therefore work often takes a turn for the dangerous.

This isn’t a plea for anyone to stop watching House of Cards. It’s a plea for more people to appreciate The Americans. Precisely because Weisberg and his team are achieving something in their less popular, rarely discussed series that Netflix’s staple has been desperately trying to accomplish for four seasons now: a crime show with a soul. The Americans has known what it is from day one: a dissection of marriage with the Cold War as its backdrop. It’s proven that dramas that focus on the deep-seated nuances of relationships can have as many twists and turns and heart-stopping moments as an intentionally shocking shows like House of Cards without losing its vision or watchability as a political crime series. All I can say is, good thing I watched House of Cards prior to The Americans Season Four premiere on March 16. Because now that I have the Jennings’ drama to look forward to, there’s simply no comparison.

[Stream House of Cards on Netflix]

[Catch up on The Americans on Prime Video]

Photos: FX, Netflix