‘House of the Dragon’: Let’s (Not) Do the Time Jump Again
The Games of Thrones prequel is a shiny, good-looking, empty shell of a show.
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Games of Thrones (GoT) is destined to be remembered as both a seminal moment in television entertainment and one of the biggest crash-landings in the history of TV shows1. It’s first few seasons approached a level of brilliance rarely achieved in any format, much less TV—it was so good people who had zero interest or affection for fantasy as a genre tuned in every week2. All credit due to George R.R. Martin, who’s complex, detailed character work and careful plotting in the novels gave the show shape and direction. You can tell how integral Martin was to the show despite not being very hands-on, because the moment the showrunners ran out of published novels everything went to shit, and went to shit rapidly.
But! We are not here to shit on the GoT finale, which was ... terrible. We’re here to talk about the unexpected followup series, House of the Dragon (HoD). Set 172 years prior to the events depicted in GoT, HoD details a succession crisis in Westeros modeled on The Anarchy in real history. We’re once again in the bloody, grimy world of vicious nights, vague magic, and casual rape, plus there’s tons of dragons this time. Also some really bad hair. Like, really bad3.
The show is based on Martin’s book Fire and Blood, and as such has a bit of a challenge: The main point of the story is the civil war that breaks out between members of House Targaryen, but it takes some time to set up that civil war, which results in two very bad decisions: One, the show races through about 20 years of history, using time jumps between episodes to get to the violent goodness, and two, they re-cast two key roles midway through in order to age up the characters for … reasons4.
The end result is a show that is well-directed, not badly written, and designed stylishly. It’s also a show you can’t possibly care about5.
Feeling 22
House of the Dragon slowly orients its focus on the rivalry between Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen (Milly Alcock/Emma D’Arcy) and Lady (later Queen) Alicent Hightower (Emily Carey/Olivia Cooke). Rhaenyra is named heir to the throne, then her bestie Alicent marries Rhaenyra’s father, the King, and bears him two sons who would have been his heirs if not for the Princess. Alicent’s father impresses upon her the danger she’s in: Because the kingdom is loathe to accept a woman as ruler, many would throw their support behind her (which would really be supporting her sons) in a coup, which means Rhaenyra will inevitably move against her, probably slaughtering her and her children in order to protect her own (this is Westeros, after all)6.
That’s fine as far as setting up conflict goes, but the show makes the questionable decision to swap out actresses for these two roles midway. Rhaenyra and Alicent are about 15 when the show starts, but after a 10-year time jump they’re both obviously supposed to be in their mid-20s7. Milly Alcock is 22, and Emily Carey is 19. Somehow they’re believable playing 5 years younger, but not 5 years older? Nothing against Cooke and D’Arcy, who are terrific, but this is kind of a stupid decision, in part because there’s really no justification behind it (you could easily age up Alcock and Carey with costume, makeup, and other stylistic choices, not to mention that obscure art called acting)8 and in part because it adds to the other bad decision this show wallows in: Speed dating characters.
Who Are You?
Because the first half of the show is all about time jumps, watching it is often like being some sort of god for whom human lives are pitiably short9. Characters flicker across the screen so rapidly you can’t form any sort of bond with or opinion of them. Often you find yourself squinting at the screen, head cocked, trying to remember if you’re supposed to know who, say, Larys Strong is and/or care at all about his desires and motives10.
This robs the story of most of its emotional heft. In GoT, character relationships and conflicts were nursed over the course of dozens of episodes, so when a Red Wedding happens or when Tyrion murders his father it lands. The viewer is engaged and surprised, and catharsis is achieved. When Larys Strong murders his father and older brother in horrible fashion, you just sit there and try to remember who all these people are. It just moves too fast to the big moments, building its set-pieces on sand.
Rhaenyra and Alicent are given the most attention, so by episode 6 you actually have some idea of their history and the reasons behind their growing hostility towards each other—and then the show undermines even that small anchor by swapping out the actors. This has the effect of stealing away some of our understanding of the characters; Alcock and Carey had established a House Style for their roles, physical tics and reactions that formed a whole. Suddenly having new performers shocks us out of our suspension of disbelief. It’s like heading out to meet your friends for a drink and a whole bunch of strangers with vague physical resemblances show up instead, insisting they’re the people you know11.
This happens elsewhere, too. We first meet Laena Valeryon (Nova Foueillis-Mosé/Savannah Steyn/Nanna Blondell) as a 12-year old, so re-casting her as she ages makes a little more sense. But we only see her in her adult form in one episode, for a grand total of about 20 minutes of screen time—screen time which ends in a largely inexplicable act of self-harm12. Between being portrayed by 3 actors and being an adult person for such a short time, the viewer simply has zero connection to the character and can’t even begin to guess at her horrifying thought processes.
Now, the story is structured as a history, so the alternative to this kind of super-fast, time-jumpy pacing might have been a lot more scenes of deliberations in the Small Council13 which might not have been scintillating television. But one imagines a group of smart writers could have found a better way to move the story along without skipping over all the actual story in favor of bare-bone plot points—or body-snatching two major characters because somehow we wouldn’t believe a twenty-something actor playing a ... twenty-something princess? It’s bizarre.
Of course, HoD has excellent CGI dragons, which goes a long way. I myself have five cats, which is kind of the same thing.
Next week: The Old Man plays a weak trick.
Someone evil should take the time to insert sped-up scenes of the characters walking Benny Hill fast in-between scenes to demonstrate all the “fast travel” bullshit that show engaged in during its final season. Actually, Benny Hill-style fast action would improve just about any TV show or film.
For example, my wife, who regards anything with a whiff of swords and sorcery to be the desolate domain of nerds and weirdos, was enthralled by GoT.
This show is doing a lot of good work repairing my own damaged self-confidence when it comes to my own terrible hair. And that is a heavy lift, my friends.
Let’s talk about the fact that HoD continues the old tradition of casting English Folk as villains. Something about those accents, the paleness, and the implied dental deficiencies has doomed the English to portraying Nazis, Grand Moffs, and evil incestuous royals (admittedly, not as much of a stretch) for all eternity.
Am I considering “A Man You Can’t Possibly Care About” as the title of my memoir? Yes, and it’s very hurtful.
House of the Dragon also trades heavily in the narrative device known as frustration through poor decisions. In others words, it’s entire plot hinges on everyone making the absolute worst decision possible at every single turn. If one person simply hesitated for three seconds and made a more considered choice, the series would end with a title card proclaiming 3,000 years of peace. That this lack of good decisions actually accurately reflects real life does not make it a good story.
If the show was truly accurate in regards to its medieval times setting, they would both also probably be dead.
It’s true that the actors playing the male children are also swapped out, but they play (so far) a much smaller role in the story, and most of them start off as much younger, so it’s not so noticeable.
Now I want to write a story in which time jumps at an exponential rate. So, the first time jump would be 10 years, then 5 years, then 2.5, etc. The last few sentences of the story would encompass like 27 years of time in as many words.
This is how I approach people in general. Every time one of you shows up in my field of vision or on my phone screen, there is a desperate deep dive into my subconscious seeking any clue as to who the hell you are. It’s a problem.
Reactions to this vary. Are these dopplegangers buying drinks? I’ll allow it. Are they expecting me to buy drinks? I will hunt down their alien seed pods and burn them all.
I swear to god there is a page of script for the episode where she commits suicide by dragon that just reads SCENE TO COME or maybe is just a post-it note that says DON’T FORGET TO EXPLAIN SUICIDE AT SOME POINT.
Which is saying something, as the show is already 33% Small Council scenes.
Re-casting key roles... Is that what doomed 'Last Man Standing'? Oh wait, maybe it was the writing...
I may be the only person on earth who watched the first few episodes of GoT and thought, “This is all kind of exhausting,” and switched to cartoons.
Also, quick reminder: when we got together for drinks Janet was buying, so no need to hunt down and burn my pod.