It starts well, but then it degenerates, sort of decaffeinated Blade runner, I expected more
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Agree, I lost interest after like 15 mins
Review by Andrew Bloom
VIP9Be kind to your giants. Be kind to your dragons. Be kind to your enforcers and lieutenants and underlings and the little people who, unbeknownst to you, loom quite large. Because these individuals have power, power that you may not recognize, power that you may take for granted, but power that may be turned against you or which you may find yourself sorely needing at some point.
No one is kinder, if cautious, on that front, than Tyrion. His quiet scene with Dany's two remaining dragon was the highlight of a fairly-action pakced, eevntful episode for the simplicity and ension in the moment. perhaps Tyion is uniquely suited for dragon training, for earning the trust of superior beasts. He is, after all, someone who has had to get by on disarming people with his wits and charm rather than with his sword, and as he noted when we first met him, he has a particular appreciation for the unique and broken things across Westeros.
So when he approaches those dragons, tells him that he is their friend, that he came to unchain them, and shows that he respects and admires them, they grant him their approval. They lean down and allow him to remove the iron around their necks. it's a moment fraught with tension (bookended with Tyrion's trademark hilarious bon mots), where the fact that at any moment, these massive creatures could turn their heads and snap up Tyrion like drumstick makes Tyrion's subtle bravery in even walking into that cave noteworthy. It's shot in shadow, making the dragons seem al the more hallowed and important, and Tyrion all the smaller in the process. But Tyrion's always someone who could see the power coming from unexpected places, who's been able to cut through the haughtiness of his last name and understand when things big and small were coming to upset their apple cart. He's as good a symbol as any for someone who recognizes strength, who respects what other people disregard or fear, and finding out how to earn respect, or at least survive because of it.
The opening few scenes of the episode each feature large, powerful men who are capable of inspiring fear, and who possess the physical strength that gives men some measure of power in the harsh environs of Game of Thrones. The first is Hodor, whom Bran sees in a flashback to his father's youth, speaking and moving around and dismissed as a stable bo. bran is dependent on Hodor, to move, as a silent protector and companion whom, in many ways, he's taken for granted. Bran has used him for combat, treated him as more of a tool than a person, but he starts to realize that there is, or at least was, more to Hodor.
Then the episode tacitly contrasts Bran and Hodor with Cesei and Robert Strong. While Bran uses his giant to help, to do what he cannot in terms of transportation and movement and the like, Cersei uses hers as protection and for vengeance. The reanimated brute destroys a brewhouse braggart in the alleyway behind the pub for daring to besmirch his lady's name. His imposing visage is put forward against the King's Guard, and intimidates the lot of them, even as they stand their ground. It's clear that while Hodor is a gentle creature, someone who arose from some trauma but retained a sweet disposition and became something helpful and useful for good, Robert Strong is his opposite, a reconstituted Frankenstein who is only a weapon, a hulking implement of war created only to wreak havoc.
But there's a third giant to be considered -- a real one. When Ser Davos and his loyalists are protecting Jon Snow's body, when Thorne's men are banging down the door, and the threat feels very real and very intense, in come the wildlings, with Wun-wun in tow. Initially, there is simply a standoff. But one foolish member of the watch shoots an arrow at the larger than life warrior, who proceeds to manhandle his attacker, smashing him across Castle Black's walls, and prompting the traitors to drop their weapons in fear. A giant who knows what he's doing, who's in control of his actions, can be the middle ground between Hodor and Robert Strong -- a powerful being who can put himself on the side of justice.
But it's not Wunwun alone who ensures that Jon stays in one piece long enough to be resurrected. It's the Wildlings he let in past the gates, who earned his respect. They represent the power of the people, the idea that there are many below the station of the noble families of Westeros who, nonetheless, band together and represent a threat and a power that stands poised to upset the established order.
That idea is present in Jamie's tense confrontation with the High Sparrow. Jamie is understandably upset at the man who had the woman he loves imprisoned and humiliated, and he threatens to leave the Sparrow bleeding on the floor of the Sept. Jamie is a man who's seen enough horror to question whether there's anyone to look down on him for what he's itching to do. He's been an interesting lens through which the show has examined morality in the brutish world of the show, and his godless threats are another interesting wrinkle. But just when he threatens to make good on his promise, he finds himself surrounded by the sparrows. The High Sparrow tells him that they are nobody, the lowest dirt of the kingdom, and yet he too speaks of them with an aura of quiet power, that nothing banded together can amount to something to put fear into even the most seasoned warrior.
That scene also touches on a key theme running through "Home" -- family. Jamie is protecting his sister, protecting the people who share his name. It's also what his son is ashamed of having failed to do. Tommen's had little development thus far, but he gets two meaningful scenes here, one of many in the episode between a child and a parent. He tells his father that he carries a deep shame for not being able to do more to protect his mother and his wife. He is a young man put in an impossible position who realizes that despite the fact that he is nominally the most powerful man in the world, he feels utterly powerless to do anything, and he cannot forgive himself for that.
That's also what makes his scene with Cersei so important. When he finally goes to apologize, Cersei hears him and tells him it's fine, but Lena Heady plays the coldness there perfectly. She speaks as a mother who loves his child, but is very very disappointed and hurt by his actions. And then he spills his fears out in front of her, he tells her that he needs her help, that he is weak, and he needs her to show him how to be strong. Despite her pain, despite her resentment, despite her frustration, Cersei cannot say no to her last living child, her little boy, and contrasted with her earlier curt acceptance of his apology, when she embraces him and reassures him, she truly means it.
Unfortunately, the scenes between parents and children are not nearly so loving in the rest of the episode. When Yara confronts her father about their losing battle, he dismisses her. He chastises her. He refuses to see reason, and then, faced with another family member, he is tossed to the waves. Balon hasn't shown himself to be much of a father, goading Theon into the events that led to his downfall, and ignoring his daughter's harsh but important truths. The old kings are dying, the heads of the old houses are dropping like flies, and those who refuse to adjust to the new realities find themselves quickly buried.
Roose Bolton is another lord sent to meet his maker, but he, unlike Balon, is dispatched by his own child. It's not surprising that Ramses had a cotningency plan in the event his father gave birth to a male heir. It's surprising that he would put it into place so soon. There's legitimate sweetness when Roose tell Ramses that he will always be his firstborn son, which just makes the ensuing murder all the more striking. And of course, Ramses being Ramses, he leaves no stone unturned, brutally killing his stepmother and brother in a sequence that could have conveyed the same cruelty with half the lurid detail. Even so, it's a scene of the love between a parent and a child being torn asunder by the harsher forces that abound as people like Ramses grope for power.
Melisandre spends much of the episode wondering if she has power. She's spent the bulk of the show as an agent of the Lord of Light, and now she's doubting herself, her vision, her abilities, the things by which she defined herself. She wonders if the lord has taken his favor away from her. And Davos tells her that he's heard tell of gods from hither and yon, but he's seen her power, and something greater, something more important, needs it.
So she sets to work. She cleans Jon Snow's wounds. She performs the ritual. She says the incantation. And yet we are led to believe that it's not her spell, not her tricks, not her forgotten tongue that raises the dead and returns the power. It's one simple utterance -- "please" -- a symbol of humility, of desperation, of need, of recognition that power can be taken for granted and just as easily slip away.
The trusted men and women in the room slowly slip away. One-by-one, they wait and hope and eventually step out of the room. It's a masterful sequence that draws the expectation and the methodical beauty of the Red Woman's work out in a series of warm images of tranquility. We know what's coming. The story demands it. But Game of Thrones takes its time; it lingers, it lets us drink in the fire-lit room while everyone waits with baited breath, let's us hear the splash of the water as it cleans the wounds of our fallen hero, lets us sit with anticipation as the show forces us to hold on, to pause, and breathe.
And then he breathes. This messianic figure--betrayed by his disciples, laid out in the traditional form of new testament suffering and repose, and then resurrected in the hopes that he might save them--comes back to life. It's strong imagery for the show to tap into, but it couches it in the larger themes of "Home." Power can come from strange, unexpected places, from simple men, from large men, from little men, from free folk, from dragons, from parents and children, from sparrows and red witches, from bastards and carpenters. Treat them all well; one day your life, your very being, may depend on them.
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@andrewbloom That was a great read and summary, makes me excited for next episode (yes, I'm catching up!)
