3 out of 5

Created by: David Benioff and D.B. Weiss

Covers through season 3

I had stayed away from GoT based on my assumptions about it – the name of the series, the premium network – I assumed I’d be watching a mash-up of the fantasy trend (Lord of the Rings) with the period piece trend (Downton Abbey – that is, soap opera dressed up in fancy gown) all glitzed up with the nudity and violence allowances that come with cable.  And what I heard from the show’s supporters didn’t really convince me otherwise.  Even when cool comic guy Ed Brubaker tried to spin it as a noir story – I screwed up my eyes doubtfully and kept on watching Turtles cartoons.  When the fourth season posters finally dragged me in (tip o’ the cap to good marketing – same thing happened with the appealing posters for Strike Back season 4), I will admit to being fully surprised by the tight scripting and strong characterizations I was introduced to in the first season.  The sex and violence were there, of course, but there as part of the genre – while one could make the argument for what is and isn’t necessary to tell a story, the visuals never felt out of place with the overall tone and themes.

We seem to be following the steadfast and altruistic Ned Stark (Sean Bean), Lord of Winterfell, as he’s asked to become the Hand of the King – essentially the voice in lieu of the chief, or the principle adviser – after the previous Hand’s passing.  It’s not so desirable to uproot his family, but it’s his duty, and so it goes.  But King Robert (Mark Addy) – married into the power-hungry Lannister family – has developed questionable practices as he’s aged, leading, right away, to disagreements as to how the kingdoms should be run.  Combined with some outlandish actions on behalf of the Lannister’s, and season one wraps us in a a sobering and risk-taking account of Ned’s tricky balance of power, leading the show to a more stern and terse political road than expected.

But: things change.  One thing GoT does bravely is move on.  Each season has some rather shocking moments that aren’t belabored or used as cliffhangers, but rather delivered rather straight-forwardly as the consequence of the preceding actions.  By keeping these moments away from being used as “keep watching” tactics, GoT further solidifies itself as being in it for the long run, and not just for the shocks.  Despite many viewing hours allotted to watching the Starks, the Lannisters, and later the Greyjoys and further clans clash and squabble, seasons are generally bookended by reminders of an all-out looming war with a “haven’t been seen in a 1,000 years” army of ‘White Walkers,’ zombie-esque ice creatures from beyond the kingdom’s border, protected by a giant ice wall appropriately called… The Wall.

While this storytelling style – one of observation, not directly casting us on any one character’s side – is absolutely part of the uniqueness of the show, after you’ve had the rug very purposefully yanked from beneath you on a couple occasions and realize that originator Martin and our showrunners intend to make us aware of the impermanence of all things, it becomes less likely that we’ll root for or against a person or event because we’re just there to watch as things unravel.  This is where Brubaker’s noir comparison comes in, except that successful noir, I feel, has to earn our attachment so that twisting the knife hurts, whereas GoT’s is out for blood from near the start.  Combine this with the common TV problem of expansion – a successful first season means a wider palette for the second season, which means we’re suddenly watching a wider spread of characters and events with a lower percentage of aspects to which we connect, all handled by a wider cache of writers and directors with different styles – …the end results are the gorgeously produced and well-acted subsequent seasons of Game of Thrones, which are exceedingly watchable (and I remember character names, a rarity for me and TV so you know they’re doing something right) but with the same remove that Walking Dead must deal with (for opposite reasons – that we know that some core characters will always go on): I plop down each week to watch but accept that I’m not really invested in the characters so much as just entertained.  If I felt that was GoT’s goal, then my rating would be higher, but this is at odds with the heavy tone of the show, which ends up lending some big moments (such as the conclusion of season 3) an almost darkly comic edge – I smile, say “well that’s that,” and then it’s time to move on to the next episode.

Thus, it’s an instance of an average rating not meant to be a deterrent: GoT is a great show to watch.  But it is closer to my original assumptions (soap opera + magic) than I realized, albeit presented in a very alluring package.