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In a word: strategy. What makes Game of Thrones such great entertainment is the knottiness of Martin’s story, sure, but also the artful way Benioff and Weiss choose to unspool it. And the sumptuous “Two Swords” was one of the finest examples to date of the elegant way they course out a meal. Think of the appetite-sparking tartness of Jaime’s reunion with his sister/lover Cersei: he with his gold hand, she with her stone heart. Or the dense chewiness of the lopsided Sansa/Tyrion/Shae love triangle. The once ribald Imp is falling deeply in love with responsibility, which, to Shae, is as good as falling in love with Sansa. Not that Sansa would even notice, or care. The once-pampered princess’s epic, self-starving grief (OK, she’s still pampered — do you know how many people in Flea Bottom would riot for a pigeon pie?) appeared like an impenetrable wall, even icier than the one to the north. Ser Dontos’s gift seemed to be the only thing that lifted her spirits. But I wonder if she took it as a sign of her enduring value or for what it really was: a sentimental gesture binding together two ruined houses. Baubles are valuable for Margaery’s wedding. When it comes to addressing the side effect of real life known as misery, they’re as useless as an honest man in the Red Keep.
The episode ended with the reclamation of a third sword: Needle, the thin blade given to Arya by Jon Snow before everyone’s world turned to wildfire. D.B. Weiss directed the hour, and he used claustrophobia and sound to imbue the final tavern showdown with all the delicious tension of a classic Western: Polliver’s thickheaded provocations, the clink of mugs, the gulp of ale, the crying of a woman, the slow, inevitable sizzle of the Hound’s temper. When the violence was over, five men lay dead — the last of whom, Polliver, was dispatched in brutal and theatrical fashion by Arya herself, who recited the words Polliver had once used on her friend Lommy back on the road to Harrenhal. She then pierced Polliver’s throat, a smile flashing on her face as the man died drowning in his own blood.
At the premiere screening of the episode, the crowd of jaded journalists and society types erupted into cheers at this moment, and the adrenaline was undeniable: Finally, a Stark fights back! Arya gets her revenge! The Hound gets his chickens! But look deeper, and an ugliness begins to pool just beneath the blood. Arya is still a child; watching her kill someone, even a prick like Polliver, shouldn’t feel so exhilarating. I hope her buddy comedy with the Hound plays out for a few more weeks at least, if only so that she might learn something other than how to hold her nose around an unwashed knight.
“A man’s got to have a code,” the Hound said just before the stabbing started, echoing another beloved killer who once prowled HBO’s schedule. Left unsaid is that a successful man’s code ought to be one of his own devising, not an outdated oath to a higher power like the one Jaime Lannister swore, or the hot-tempered swearing of revenge that may now have blinded Arya. These are the sorts of oaths and codes that leave little room for fulfillment, let alone survival. In the moment, they can provide armor against the chaos of the world, but they soon reveal themselves as straitjackets. Not all games are worth playing.
[Note on these recaps: I have not read the books, and I have no intention to do so. My goal is to analyze and enjoy Game of Thrones strictly as a television show. So please, no spoilers or “I told you so"s in the comments, OK? OK!]
http://grantland.com/hollywood-prosp...ind-the-blood/
The episode ended with the reclamation of a third sword: Needle, the thin blade given to Arya by Jon Snow before everyone’s world turned to wildfire. D.B. Weiss directed the hour, and he used claustrophobia and sound to imbue the final tavern showdown with all the delicious tension of a classic Western: Polliver’s thickheaded provocations, the clink of mugs, the gulp of ale, the crying of a woman, the slow, inevitable sizzle of the Hound’s temper. When the violence was over, five men lay dead — the last of whom, Polliver, was dispatched in brutal and theatrical fashion by Arya herself, who recited the words Polliver had once used on her friend Lommy back on the road to Harrenhal. She then pierced Polliver’s throat, a smile flashing on her face as the man died drowning in his own blood.
At the premiere screening of the episode, the crowd of jaded journalists and society types erupted into cheers at this moment, and the adrenaline was undeniable: Finally, a Stark fights back! Arya gets her revenge! The Hound gets his chickens! But look deeper, and an ugliness begins to pool just beneath the blood. Arya is still a child; watching her kill someone, even a prick like Polliver, shouldn’t feel so exhilarating. I hope her buddy comedy with the Hound plays out for a few more weeks at least, if only so that she might learn something other than how to hold her nose around an unwashed knight.
“A man’s got to have a code,” the Hound said just before the stabbing started, echoing another beloved killer who once prowled HBO’s schedule. Left unsaid is that a successful man’s code ought to be one of his own devising, not an outdated oath to a higher power like the one Jaime Lannister swore, or the hot-tempered swearing of revenge that may now have blinded Arya. These are the sorts of oaths and codes that leave little room for fulfillment, let alone survival. In the moment, they can provide armor against the chaos of the world, but they soon reveal themselves as straitjackets. Not all games are worth playing.
[Note on these recaps: I have not read the books, and I have no intention to do so. My goal is to analyze and enjoy Game of Thrones strictly as a television show. So please, no spoilers or “I told you so"s in the comments, OK? OK!]
http://grantland.com/hollywood-prosp...ind-the-blood/
Yeah. Don't say anything though. No hints either way.
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