Game Of Thrones (Season Eight)

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS

Towards the end of the final episode of Game Of Thrones, there’s a moment where Drogon, after a very long shot of his dragon-face where we are supposed to be able to intuit his emotions and thoughts based on nothing more than looking at him, breathes blisteringly hot fire all over the Iron Throne (instead of over Jon Snow, even though he has just stabbed Daenerys while snogging her).  In a short space of time, something as iconic as that seat is transformed from a unique, imaginative, well crafted, revered and original piece of artistry to a hot steaming pile of molten mess.  I don’t know if the producers intended this, but it’s the perfect summation of where season eight fits in with the other series in the Game Of Thrones canon.  It’s still some of the best television ever, but it’s a poor imitation of what has come before it.

Let’s be realistic, though, the final series was never going to please anyone.  Hardcore fans, no matter the ending, were always going to struggle with exactly that: they didn’t want it to end.  In season four, it looked like the storylines could never be resolved, yet season eight dispatches conclusion after conclusion with the nonchalance of a housecat knocking ornaments off a windowsill.  After the peak of season six , and the exceptional contribution of season seven, it really hurts.  Season eight took a long time coming, breaking from the annual cycle of its predecessors only to premiere when it was good and ready.  Again, we didn’t have ten outings to look forward to: there were just six episodes.  But each was nearly feature length.  More budget would equal more entertainment, surely.  But no, Game Of Thrones lost its beauty of being the best use of TV as a format ever, and instead felt like a themed hexalogy of straight-to-TV movies.  At the time, despite needing to witness the biggest event to occur in television broadcasting, I found myself ill-prepared in a non-Sky household.  Each Monday night I would need to voyage across London to different friends’ front rooms to make sure I didn’t risk going into the office the next day without being completely up to date on the latest, until settling on a particular friend whose location, set up and hospitality suited the best.  He’d never even watched the programme but indulged me drawn curtains and complete silence for each subsequent instalment.  I was enraptured to find out how it would all end, and therefore in no frame of mind to give it any serious analytical thought.  But, re-watching this final series for the first time in order to write this blog, I found myself slowing down in my ability to sit through back-to-back Game Of Thrones.  I must have seen season one five times now, yet this second sitting of the eighth series proceeded slowly, losing out to The Walking Dead’s epic tenth season, some Broad City and the last season of Bojack Horseman.

So, what’s not to like about it?  The first thing is that it all feels very rushed.  What unfolds in each episode would have filled a season by earlier standards.  Things could have been drawn right out and nobody would have minded.  Sure, it’s good pacing to build momentum to a final climax, but the characters’ behaviour becomes surprisingly erratic, squandering hours’ worth of foreshadowing with contrived moves that prevent any delay to finishing the stories.  I’ll refer us to two other sources here who go into more detail about the two greatest flaws in season eight.  The first video here from Screen Rant cleverly labours the fact we have no explanation for this rush.  When such clever quality has come before, it seems inexplicable that this would suddenly run out.  The second is an article here on the blog of the Scientific American which attributes our disappointment to a change in the storytelling itself.  Before, Game Of Thrones’ storytelling was sociological: we could clearly see that the actions of Cersei or Daenerys, while violent, were informed by external factors such as their upbringing, the prevalent culture, the environment, belief systems etc.  Sociological storytelling is rarer because it is harder to do quickly, though it often solicits great acclaim, such as our reception to The Wire.  Hollywood favours psychological storytelling, with people doing things because of how they think and feel internally.  Somehow, this pollutant gets into the bloodstream of season eight and makes everything stricken and uncomfortable.  Tyrion, Arya, Jon Snow, Daenerys and even Drogon have to emote at the camera for longer than usual, pulling faces to convey inner turmoil whereas before their actions and words in response to other factors would have clearly shown and justified these moves.  It’s cheap and lazy and less than Game Of Thrones fans deserved.

The internet is already awash with this sort of opinion, so there’s little more to add, but the geek in me finds closure in being able to pinpoint what should have been done differently.  It’s still epically ambitious telly.  The first half of the season builds to and culminates in the final battle against the Night King.  The sense of impending doom and hopeless odds is maintained well throughout, peppered with longed-for reunions among key characters, netting these three episodes higher IMDB ratings and the final instalments (though still much lower than all the episodes before).  It’s no surprise that the Night King comes at night, but I’ll again have to show a lack of originality and join the ranks of those that cursed the battle in The Long Night for being too dark.  I adjusted my screen settings three times while watching it and still had no confidence that I was seeing things properly.  It was only afterwards I realised that I should probably have googled for advice on what settings to apply on a 55” LG OLED, but maybe someone at Thrones HQ could have watched the ep back and realised it was overly concealed by its own shadows.  Nevertheless, it’s still a thrill-fest from start to finish.  We gasp as some of our faves are dispatched (Edd, Berric, Lyanna Mormont, Jorah Mormont, Theon) and cheer when Arya finally ends the whole thing with one stab of the pointy end.  It’s hard to believe it’s over.  Just like that, a problem like the Night King is solved and we’re into the second act, off to King’s Landing to deal with that naughty Cersei.

But it all starts to go wrong again for our Daenerys, with Missandei coming so close to surviving the whole thing and another dragon getting offed.  She’s understandably miffed.  Cue The Bells, the televisual equivalent of the world’s biggest wank as we’re forced to watch King’s Landing get incinerated by a vengeance-mad Targaryen atop a dragon.  Street after street is flooded with fire, burning alive men, women and children, most of whom end up exposed after tripping over Arya while she staggers about for no reason.  She’d be chewing the scenery if there were any left.  Yes, we’re meant to believe that actually Daenerys has been bonkers all along.  Look at her face, yeah, that’s how you know.  She mad.  Oh, she mad.  We lose sympathy for her quickly.  Gone is the Thronesian trope of making us root for morally compromised characters.  We’re now being told clearly who’s a baddie and who’s a goodie.  Peter Dinklage has to act his absolute socks off to bring anything good to the whole sorry affair and Tyrion’s remorse and disappointment are bitterly palpable.  But is he cross about the burning, or just furious to be involved professionally in the whole affair?

Among the burning, you can spot further Hollywood hacks woven into our previously precious story-telling.  I give you: two leading men having fisticuffs.  This ideally takes place amid jeopardy (for example, a collapsing Red Keep).  It’s a pet hate of mine in films and explains my lack of interest in superheroes.  No matter what has come before, the final stakes are decided by enemies punching each other.  It’s just not interesting as the good one has to win eventually.  As King’s Landing gets roasted, Jaime takes on Euron in a dirty beach brawl for the right to get side eye from Cersei.  Upstairs, the Clegane brothers finally have at each other because, by the way, Sandor is much angrier about Gregor burning his face when he was a child than we have realised at any point up till now.  The Hound’s fight with Brienne in season four was elevated above this nonsense by all the genuine baggage each character brought to every bone-crunching punch, but the elaborately choreographed set pieces that play out here leave me so cold I’m surprised they didn’t put out the dragon’s fires.

I’m feeling guilty about trolling this all so much, but I’m not even done.  After so much post-massacre faff (and me wondering where that massive Targaryen banner came from and how any Dothraki have survived this far at all) I almost felt like I would stab Daenerys to death if Jon didn’t hurry up and do it.  There was no guessing, no surprising.  It was coming a mile off, only it was limping and had a leg off.  For this act, Jon Snow, our hero, is banished back to the Night’s Watch.  Now this does get a strong reaction, as it seems like unjust punishment.  But his final shots show him ranging beyond the wall with Wildling kin and we realise he’s now about as done with Westeros as we are.  Everyone decides Bran should be king (he’s not arsed), despite a brief moment of considering parliamentary democracy (LOL), while Sansa at last achieves secession for the North from the other six kingdoms.  Arya is teed up for her spin off, The Amazing Adventures Of Arya Stark, by sailing off the edge of the map, and, with that, we’ve said goodbye to each of the surviving Stark children.

Don’t get me wrong, this is all still an amazing achievement in television.  No show has ever got so big before that its final season could only be delivered through feature-length episodes.  The cinematic ambition is never lost.  Our eyes can still feast on a richly imagined world.  Every shot, every set piece, every scene is carefully executed.  The end of Game Of Thrones is triumphant by anyone’s standards.  But this dazzling doesn’t distract from a damaging lane change.  By dialling down the storytelling craft and hurrying to get things over with, any fan can’t help but feel jarred.  There’s short change in this final visit to Westeros, simply because the standards set before were so high.  Leaving us on an IMDB rating of 4.1, despite reaching 9.9 more than a handful of times, Game Of Thrones is best remembered for its other seasons.  Just pretend it never ended.

Best newcomer

Even as the population of existing characters dwindles, we’re not given anyone new that’s significant enough to mention here.  Instead, I just want to question who the extra ones are back in the dragon pit when the fate of Westeros is decided.  They get to say “aye” I suppose.

Most valuable character

While Arya does indeed save all mankind from death, it’s Jon Snow that ultimately gets left with all the hard jobs.  Galvanising everyone to fight the dead when nobody believes him is one thing, but then having to be the one that kills his own aunt (that he’s in love with) to eliminate her from ruling, and then being punished for it with banishment, all while being the rightful heir, just shows what a stoic martyr he is.

Best death

It’s poor Lord Varys that sticks in my mind here.  Conleth Hill provides consistently understated performances in every season, but he even manages to bring nuance to Varys’s dawning realisation that the queen he’s risked everything for isn’t going to live up to his expectations and be the best choice for the realm.  This is despite the looky-looky nature of the season eight dumbshow that guides us through what is happening with sheer obviousness.  Scheming (for good) till the end, he is led finally to be fried with a final dracarys and we can only be glad that he outlive arch-rival Littlefinger.  Second place: Qyburn getting his head smashed in by the Mountain.  Splat.

Jaw-dropper moment

You can’t get much more Thronesian than a flaming sword, so when Melisandre ignites the blades of Daenerys’ Dothraki hordes as the Night King approaches Winterfell we marvel at this cinematic sequence, if only because it provides some much-needed illumination to proceedings.  What follows is the slow extinguishing of every last flame as Daenerys’s loyal soldiers ride into the fray.  We’re in for a long night.

Game Of Thrones (Season Five)

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS

Alternative titles for this season (not sanctioned by anyone other than me) include Game Of Thrones: The Cersei Years or, of course, Shit Gets Real.  While the nudity and adult content is less gratuitous than it has sometimes erred to be, this series is the murderiest, violentest, religionest, graphicest and twistedest set of episodes yet.  As with each passing year of its by-now snowballing popularity, 2015’s trips to Westeros are lavished in increasing budgets which, rather than detracting from the sociological richness and deep characterisation, enhance the two former elements by bringing them further to life with rich and extensive imagery.  For fans of the show, this season has it all.  And for fans who know that, like winter, season eight is coming, it’s important to feast on this real peak of Thrones before everyone runs out of puff.

While the action of its predecessors saw characters take a lot longer to get around Westeros alone, season five is the start of much more rapid and extensive movement.  Arya goes to Braavos and Tyrion and Varys go to Pentos and finally reach Meereen, while Jaime journeys to Dorne (with Bronn), Sansa ends up at Winterfell, preceding Stannis’s own arrival there, and Jon Snow drags half the Night’s Watch to Hardhome.  Let’s focus on Arya for a bit, as a chance encounter with a coin in season two seems to result in her undertaking the worst work experience ever.  Determined to track down Jaqen H’gar, she petitions the House Of Black And White to let her join their organisation, wilfully sweeping its floors after purging (nearly) all of her material possessions.  And what a place.  I still can’t really work it out.  It seems to function as a sort of multi-faith prayer room (like the ones you see signs for at airports) but with a pool of poisonous water you can be given to drink if you want your dead body washed in an adjacent room, before, I think, your face is hung up in a big underground cavern for use in future assassinations.  Praying and killing: together at last.  Progressing through the training, Arya ends up in an even worse role, if that’s possible, carting unrefrigerated shellfish around a hot port city, before murdering the wrong person.  But, in fact, Meryn Trant is completely the right person, allowing Arya finally to get some more names off her kill list.  The graphic gore of Trant’s death by stabbing feels like just desserts not just for his awfulness since season one, but also his unsettling sexual preferences: beating small girls.  Arya clearly shows she’s one small girl who won’t be beaten.

But it’s our big girl who comes a cropper.  Not Brienne Of Tarth, though (whom we all love and whom the producers of the show seem to love seeing get punched in the face or stomach, mostly in season four), but Queen Cersei.  Sensing her hold of Tommen at risk due to Margaery’s skilled manipulation of her intended, Cersei forms a dangerous pact with the newly emerged High Sparrow.  But he proves to be one old man who simply won’t play her game (of thrones).  While her delicious scheming sees both Margaery and Loras locked away, the tables turn when Cersei herself is held to account for her affair with Lancel Lannister (now unrecognisible).  Enter Septa Unella (who crops up as a parent in Sex Education), showing you don’t need many lines to make a big impact.  Never is this more clearly demonstrated than in the season’s finale, Mother’s Mercy, when Cersei is finally allowed out on remand, provided she walks all the way home naked.  The scenes of her journey make uncomfortable and almost endless viewing, but Unella is there the whole way, ringing her bell, dodging the peltings of detritus, and periodically shouting “Shame.  Shame.”  In fact, this approach is a great process to adopt in the workplace for anyone who needs feedback on their performance.  No office should be without a bell and a shame parade when somebody does something wrong.

Meanwhile, over in Dorne, we have the first introduction of featured characters that I can’t help but find slightly pointless.  With Oberyn’s head smashed in, his paramour Ellaria Sand is set on revenge, despite Prince Doran’s counsel of restraint.  Three of her fightingest daughters support her claim, but their arrival all at once leaves insufficient time to establish any individuality, leaving a banal taste as their motives to act or shove their bare breasts through prison bars descend into an element of interchangeable caricature rarely seen in Westeros.  I could really do without them.

Luckily, at the other end of the scale, there is Jon Snow (at least until he is stabbed to death in the final episode).  Carefully navigating the lawlessness of Caste Black until a new Lord Commander is chosen, it’s our Jon himself who finds himself at the head of the Night’s Watch, thanks to long-time good egg Maester Aemon.  He must then cope with Stannis’s expectations of support for his kingship, and with Melisandre’s insistence he clutch her bare breasts, all while slowly realising that every Wildling he saves from the White Walkers is one that can fight against the dead in the coming battle.  How all the Wildlings got to Hardhome isn’t covered, but Jon must head there with Tormund (whose comedy we haven’t yet fully discovered) on Stannis’s spare ships to bring them home.  There then unravels, in this eighth episode, what is perhaps my favourite sequence in the whole of Game Of Thrones.  Finally, we’re combining dragon-featuring fantasy with an all-out zombie apocalypse.  The tension is high throughout, from the Wildlings’ initial suspicion of the crows, to the slowly-dawning realisation that the Night King has turned up with his army to scout for new recruits.  The sheer panic as the Wildlings run for the walls of Hardhome is chilling, while the sudden silence that follows still haunts me.  As the skeletons invade, a battle unfolds, with Jon, Dolorous Edd, Tormund and the last giant eventually paddling to safety.  But the Night King isn’t bothered.  Just look at the complacence of his expression as he reanimates the battle’s victims on the waterfront just by raising his hands and sort of shrugging nonchalantly while eyeballing Jon.  I’ve watched the episode countless times, and I still find myself struggling to breathe throughout.  In addition, my muscles tense up in angst.  You could remove the sofa from under me and I wouldn’t change position. 

Best newcomer

It’s slim pickings here, so I’m going to go for The Waif, Arya’s workplace rival in Braavos.  She’s basically a dick to Arya the whole time, so she’s only here as my aversion to her is so strong that we have to recognise her effect on the viewer.

Most valuable character

Samwell Tarly is our hero this time around, even though his most heroic turns were in season three.  It’s he who stages an impromptu nomination of Jon Snow in the race for Lord Commander, proving he’s the ultimate wingman in both backing his best pal and trolling the awful Ser Alliser Thorne.

Best death

We need to make more of a fuss about Miranda, Ramsay’s plaything and daughter of the kennel master at Winterfell.  She’s an absolute piece of work, gleefully joining in with Theon’s torture and accompanying her bastard beau when he runs down girls in the forests.  When she intercepts prisoner-wife Sansa on the battlements of Winterfell, an arrow notched, she conducts herself deliciously like the cat who’s got the cream.  But, at last, Theon does the right thing and tosses her over the edge.  Her body hits the ground unceremoniously and we yell at the telly for Sansa and Theon to escape the clutches of the bastard of Winterfell.  Such fun.

Jaw-dropper moment

The Sons Of The Harpy have to be one of the campest terrorist organisations ever seen.  Not content with shiny gold masks and colourful tunics, they move in this oily, sinister way like their going to jazz-hand you to death.  Sure, they’re successful in killing off dear old Ser Barristan and wounding Grey Worm, but their big uprising in The Dance Of Dragons sees a lot of them burned to crisps by Drogon.  But from the moment Jorah Mormont’s spear gets one square in the chest, via the stabbing of Hizdahr zo Loraq (nobody minds), to the sight of Missandei and Daenerys holding hands in fear as they’re convinced they’ve met their end in the middle of the fighting pit, this sequence rivals the Hardhome evacuation for sheer maintained tension and insurmountable peril.

Game Of Thrones (Season Three)

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS

Well, I’m having a lovely time reliving Westeros’s greatest hits – not sure about the rest of you.  We’re onto series number three of this boxset to end all boxsets and, even though I think it’s my fourth time watching it all the way through, it’s still proving to be TV entertainment of the highest quality.  The toppest notch.  If you’ve not kept up, we’ve already done seasons one and two here and here (respectively), so I’ve covered everything that’s brought us to this point, as well as justifying two deviations from the usual mythology of Just One More Episode: openly discussing spoilers and splitting a programme into its constituent seasons.  But where was I?  That’s it: telling you all how happy I am with my choice to re-watch Game Of Thrones.  I can’t go wrong.  Each evening after work, there’s time for one or two instalments of this absolute favourite, before switching at 9.15 to that night’s episode of Love Island (ads fast forwarded, of course).  All going well, I’m in bed for 10pm and ready for the next day’s routine of gym, work, boxsets.  As an adult in London, it’s great to know I’m making the most of the culture the capital has to offer.

Let’s see what our pals in the Seven Kingdoms have been up to then.  Like the second series, these ten episodes continue the downward trajectory into darkness.  King (in the North) Robb’s war takes a number of ominous turns, culminating horribly in his appalling demise at his uncle’s wedding in The Rains Of Castamere.  Yes, let’s get the Red Wedding out of the way then.  This ninth episode (with a 9.9 rating on IMDB) provides a harsh reminder that every character’s days are numbered.  Losing Khal Drogo and Ned Stark in the first series wasn’t just billy-big-bollocksing from the show’s producers (and our source material writer, George R R Martin).  With a bit of knifey-knifey, a whole plotline is extinguished, along with the dynasty of the Young Wolf.  Surely Catelyn Stark, the dear old earnest mum of our favourite Northerners, is spared?  Sadly not, and not even offing Walder Frey’s newest wife in the process can spare her a slit throat at the hands of the new Frey-Bolton-Lannister coalition.  At least she won’t be making any more of those straw-based protection charms for her children, as these have been proven ineffective time and time again.

Nevertheless, this climax is as clever as it is shocking, as we share the pain of the Stark’s surprise.  So rich is the universe of Game Of Thrones that Cersei has already explained the origin of Lannister anthem, The Rains Of Castamere, to Margaery whilst threatening her at Tyrion’s unfortunate wedding to Sansa.  The tale of a family who took on Westeros’s wealthiest and perished is well known.  So when the wedding band (don’t book them for your do as they’ll end up shooting you with crossbows from the gallery) strike up the opening notes to this smash hit, Catelyn knows something is fishy.  And she should know, as she was born a Tully (with a fish sigil – lol).  The moment she peels back Roose Bolton’s sleeve to uncover his chainmail is a delicious reveal and we’re forced to come to terms with the fact we’ll never be able to predict where this show is going.  A foreshadowing of the shocks to come hits us earlier on when Jaime’s sword hand is sliced off.  I repeat: nobody is safe.

Season three is also a season of near misses.  Arya, escorted by the Hound, nearly reaches her mother and brother at the Twins before the wedding disco gets out of hand.  Jon Snow and Ygritte nearly fall off the Wall (though seem to get down the other side with no trouble at all).  Brienne is almost mauled by a bear till Jaime saves her (bringing to life another Seven Kingdoms classic).  Gendry is almost sacrificed by Melisandre until rescued by Davos, who himself almost dies of thirst while shipwrecked.  Theon nearly gets away from Ramsay.  We nearly make decisions about whether we can trust Lords Varys and Baelish.  It’s a lot of action to keep up with, but we’re in the thick of things now, too far to turn back but a long way from an end that, at this point, doesn’t even seem possible.

By this stage, though, there are some universal truths we can acknowledge about the world in which our drama is playing out.  Firstly, every room seems equipped with a jug or decanter of red wine.  The Arbor must have amazing distribution, as no character seems able to enter a chamber without pouring out and chinning some refreshment.  Secondly, someone needs to tell the Westerosi how to make mirrors.  Sansa looks unhappily at herself in what looks like a dirty tray, but this links back to my point about the lack of scientific advancement in the last few thousand years.  Thirdly, there’s always someone available and amenable to ride along carrying a banner aloft.  One-handed riding is an impressive skill, which is a good thing in a world so obsessed with allegiances, unless you’re from the Brotherhood Without Banners, who are too busy hiding in caves to worry about such extravagances.  And finally, without doubt, the Freys have the worst headwear of any family in the show.  No wonder they murder their guests.

We’re left desperate for the fourth season.  Daenerys is liberating slaves but has acquired armies, Joffrey is poised (or poisoned) to wed Margaery, Theon is becoming Reek, Samwell has learned how to kill White Walkers but the Wildlings are rounding on Castle Black.  Bring.  It.  On.

Best newcomer

Meera Reed clinches the title this season.  She might not be able to skin a rabbit as efficiently as Osha, but she looks after brother Jojen so he can tutor Bran while Hodor drags him to the Wall, and beyond.  She’s up for the danger they’ll face there.  And she has amazing diction.  I’m obsessed with the actress Ellie Kendrick, so every scene with her is a triumph.

Most valuable character

I hate to say it, but Tywin Lannister emerges as the main man in this third outing.  His scheming finally pays off in the war against the Starks, plus he out-manoeuvres the Tyrells to force Loras into betrothal with Cersei, as well as making Tyrion marry Sansa.  At the periphery, Shae seethes, but is this just because she can’t resist a powerful old man?  Fixated on his legacy, Tywin won’t even let royal decorum get in his way, relishing in the exquisite moment he gets to send King Joffrey to bed without any supper.

Best death

This is actually the worst death, but I want to call it out as significant due to how overlooked it so often is.  Ros has been with us from the start, bedded by Theon and Tyrion in the North before making her way to fortune in King’s Landing, become a sort of PA to Littlefinger while still dabbling in some light sex work.  Sadly, Joffrey’s idea of eroticism results in her skewered with crossbow arrows and an unsung hero disappears from our screen.  Played beautifully by Esmé Bianco, Ros shows us that decent people simply can’t flourish in Westeros.

Jaw-dropper moment

There are too many to count but stuck in mind is the revolt of the nasty-looking members of the Night’s Watch at Craster’s Keep.  The tension that simmers as he refuses his guests sufficient food and generally acts like a dick when it comes to his wives (who are also his daughters) palpates before our eyes, before patiences run out and he is dispatched along with dear old Jeor Mormont (while his son, Jorah, is lost in petty rivalry with Barristan Selmy in Essos).  It’s a bleak moment, but it sets us up for some much-deserved vengeance later on.  And with that, it’s time for another episode as we journey into the fourth season.