All Game Of Thrones Gave Us Was A Decade Of Memes
Judging the entire series based on this episode alone, I would be surprised to learn that the Game Of Thrones creators are not a bunch of Men’s Rights Activists trying to destroy feminism from within the industry, one terribly written episode at a time. If, by any chance, these fellows are not consumed MRAs, then, at least, they have an insidious hate towards what I would assume they refer as “The Females”. And they show it proudly on their sleeves.
There is only so much social ostracizing one can take in a lifetime. For what it seems like a considerable chunk of my life, I have been actively avoiding anything branded Game Of Thrones from both social and real life media. I just didn’t find any reason to watch it. Or cared enough to ask the internet to surmise it. Other than the fact that it just didn’t seem to be interesting to me, whenever a cultural object manages to be so omnipresent that you just HAVE to watch it in order to be considered even remotely sociable, I get away from it. Yes. I am that kind of asshole.
But then came the memes.
Almost a decade of memes.
And while it was easy to avoid them for eight or so years straight without any noticeable hitch in my “social” life – or lack thereof –, its last episode was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Everyone was talking about the finale. Avengers: Endgame had become irrelevant by this point in time. My Facebook and Twitter feeds were consumed by discussions about the ending. Even the Google newsfeed on my phone had forgotten that the universe had any other topic to discuss. I couldn’t even go to a restaurant because the waiters hinged their ability to serve me food on the fact that I talked about the show with them. Game Of Thrones had, finally, become inescapable.
Best part was: no one, absolutely no one, seemed to like it. Everyone had proclaimed the last episode ever as one of the worst endings in TV history. They hated it with the same vitriol I used to hate the people who were constantly trying to force me to watch it. And this, my dear reader, was the thing that managed to pique my interest. For the first time in forever I wanted to watch Game Of Thrones.
I needed to see it. I needed to see with my own eyes how bad it was, revel in it for pleasure.
But was I ready to, presumably, waste my life watching eight entire seasons of a show that did not seem to cater to any of my interests? Heavens, no! I merely wanted to see something burn to the ground before my very eyes as soon as possible. And, as such, I managed to find that one friend who does not mind sharing their login details and prepared myself to stream all 80 minutes of the Game Of Thrones finale. And I was going in blind.
I was ready to either laugh at how incompetent everything was or to freeze my face in a constant expression of “what the hell is happening?”. I was simply not prepared for what was to come.
As Dewey Wilkerson so eloquently put it in 2004: “I expected nothing and I’m still let down.”
We begin the epic finale with a shot of some sad men walking among the ruins of a city. Peter Dinklage in character as medieval Peter Dinklage walks among the wreckage of a city, being aghast at the dead children and fallen bricks that accompany the dour feeling of winning a war via the best cheatcodes Age Of Empires has to offer.
He is sad. The men behind him are sad. That one guy with the charred back that walks nonchalantly in the opposite direction these guys came from is sad. According to the music, I should also be sad. And, while dead children is not one of the things that brings me joy, the lack of context allows me to feel nothing.
After enjoying more and more millions of dollars spent solely on recreating what dead people look like, medieval Peter Dinklage finds his way into a basement. In here, he finds the bodies of two people beneath a pile of bricks. I imagine the showrunners meant this to look like the ceiling fell over these two human beings, squishing the life out of them, albeit without blood.
However, they forgot to report this need to the production design team, seeing as, the piles of bricks notwithstanding, the entire ceiling structure, as well as every single column in sight, is completely intact save for a couple “there was a brick here once” holes here and there.
So, unless these two anonymous corpses were swimming in a river that suddenly turned into evil debris that used itself to cause blunt force trauma on everyone involved, I cannot even begin to fathom how this makes sense. Nor do I know who any of these people are, for that matter. But Peter Dinklage cared. And he proceeds to do his best Darth Vader’s “NOOO!” impression for the cameras in their honor.
Meanwhile, Emilia Clarke is seen giving a victory speech for her troops. Emilia Clarke is smiling. Her CGI dragon is smiling. The troops beneath her are smiling. The music composer, however, is not. For whatever reason, the soundtrack decides to play dour notes to emphasize how awful this situation is.
This should not be happening and I should fear it, fear her. She is evil despite talking about freeing slaves and uniting the entire world in a happy embrace of freedom. This is the first time misogyny decides to rear its ugly head front and center. Not with words, nor actions, but with music. “Dear viewer”, it says, “this is a woman in power. Fear her. She should not be here. She lacks the needed penis to rule”.
Emilia Clarke’s Dany Is The Only Likeable Character
This is also the precise moment I realize this world functions under anime logic, since people are able to perfectly hear and see even the tiniest of actions from hundreds of feet away, as if it that was a thing regular people did all the time. A dwarf threw a pin into the ground? Why, of course every single person 4 miles around saw it with Eagle Eye perfection! Why? Can’t you? So, realistic is not a word that I’d use to describe this show so far.
Having settled the “women are not fit to rule” theme subtly, the writers, talking through their characters, then proceed to barrage us with a 20-odd minute drawn out dialogue scene where two men complain about the woman in power. They try to say it with complicated words and silly metaphors, but, at the end of the day, it is but two men complaining about a woman in power. Specifically, the “why her?”.
As if that was not enough, their lines are so forced and unrealistic that I thought we were only a “but, remember, my friend, the women have the hormones, and the hormones block the brain, and without the brain, you cannot think” to be entirely sure that I was watching an Alex Jones produced video about how white males have it worse than ever in this day and age. These two men give no reason as to why they hate Emilia Clarke other than “well, she was born like this, so…”.
30 minutes in and the only likeable person in this whole thing is Emilia Clarke…
…who is then promptly killed by one of these two angry men…
…who turns out to be her lover
…who killed her while they kissed.
Wow. So not problematic. It is also definitely not a sign of internalized misogyny to the max. Especially since we are clearly supposed to feel bad about the straight white male who was “forced” to kill a woman. He is the real victim, you guys. Poor straight white male. Poor, poor straight white male, who had to find the single most vulnerable moment he could create in order to get rid of the woman in power.
He had to do it. He simply had to commit feminicide. He had no other choice. Aren’t your hearts broken right now? Thankfully, he managed to free the world from a woman in a position of power. No one deserves that. Finally, straight white males all around the world can rest knowing that only penis-bearers decide the fate of the world. As it should be.
Emilia Clarke’s dead prompts her CGI dragon to appear. Somehow, despite knowing that she died telepathically, the dragon feels the need to smell her corpse to confirm that she, in fact, has perished. The huge-ass blade visibly protruding from her stomach is not a dead-giveaway, apparently. Dragons are either blind or severely stupid in this universe.
It has to smell her lack of mortal soul because, obviously, dragons sleep without breathing and spurting blood from several orifices. That’s the norm. And, despite seeing just one other human being right next to her, a guy sporting the guiltiest of faces, the dragon decides to burn down the iron throne instead of the killer because, even though this creature NEEDED TO SMELL EMILIA CLARKE to know she had died, it understands human symbolism enough to know it was the system, not the guy who killed her.
You cannot make this up.
There’s only one way to describe this.
The Moment Game of Thrones Writers Gave Up
And, even though this is but the halfway mark of the episode, this is the moment the writers completely gave up. What follows is a bunch of things happening just because. I could describe these events in detail, but if the people who got paid to craft them clearly didn’t care at this point, why should I?
The second half of the episode resembles a The Simpsons joke where they would mock hack writers not having a clue about how to end a story – in other words, do their job. This is on par with Leonard Nimoy saying “my work here is done” after having but one line of dialogue in the entire episode, but done with a straight face. People rejoice about the lack of a woman leading them since men are now free to be men. There’s a joke about horses voting because democracy is as stupid as the people in this universe.
There’s a joke about how it would be better to fund more brothels in the city before fixing the sewers. And, to top it all off, medieval Peter Dinklage, in handcuffs, gives a 90’s cringe speech about the importance of good stories – SEE HERE “IRONY” – in order to make a crippled guy selected as the new king. Because even a guy in a wooden wheelchair whose own sister mocks because his penis doesn’t work would be a better ruler than a woman for these people.
Men. Clearly the superior race.
So, in the end, the eight year long question of who will rule the iron throne gets reduced to a pathetic “and eventually the person who was crowned was… oh, let’s say, Moe.” #Rewarding
Screw this show.
Screw its treatment of the females.
Screw its lack of care.
This was the big finale of the biggest TV show in years? Give me a break!
The Season Finale That Never Was
This isn’t any “Walter White might have died as a result of his crimes”. This isn’t any “and after all, Ted Mosby was actually in love with Robin and decided to go get her”. This isn’t any “and then, all of the friends had to leave the apartment where they spent the best years of their lives”. It isn’t even a “then Dexter became a lumberjack and was so happy he stopped killing”.
This is a bunch of characters solving one issue while creating seventy-four more issues on the way. This is how not getting closure of any kind feels like. This is your best friend randomly leaving town in the middle of the night without saying a word and without ever contacting you ever again. This is the question “yes but why?” over and over again. This is the writers getting bored and calling it a day in order to cash their check as soon as possible.
This is a season finale not a series finale.
You know you’ve failed when the ending of The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochy Show is way more dignified than yours.
Watching this episode made me angry, almost unbearably so. And I don’t even like the show!