Okay. The day has finally arrived. The episode that A Song of Ice and Fire readers have been
simultaneously gagging for and dreading in equal measure has been and gone. One
of the biggest, most shocking game-changers in the entire series has finally
unfolded onscreen. And we can all breathe a collective sigh of relief alongside
our howls of anguish because, for the most part, it’s a beaut. Oh and we
don’t have to keep our lips firmly sealed for the Unsullied amongst us
anymore. Huzzah!
So, the Red Wedding. Nice day for it, huh? Sorry. No more Billy Idol
jokes. Promise. Inevitably, just as with
Blackwater Bay ,
Benioff and Weiss aren’t going to please everyone. There will be howls of
derision from book readers on the downplaying of Grey Wind’s role, the
very presence of Lady Talisa (she doesn’t exist!), the fact that the
drummers are actually talented and, perhaps most importantly, Cat’s
catatonic state prior to her execution. It is this criticism that I have the
most time for – the others seeming relatively insignificant or
contradictory to the aims of the narrative structure. Her breakdown upon
witnessing Roose murdering her son is one of the most visceral, harrowing
moments in A Storm of Swords (for
non-book readers: she claws at her own face, screaming wildly) and it’s a
pity they chose to eschew it. Michele Fairley would undoubtedly have done a
fantastic job portraying this and it would have added an extra layer of horror
to what is ultimately a fucking terrifying sequence. However, I’d sooner
they went for an extreme reaction as opposed to, say, having her just burst
into tears, and it does make perfect sense in the context of her
characterisation. Catelyn now, quite literally, has nothing left. She’s
spent; done. Her initial scream of anguish gives way to a hollow emptiness as
her whole world is swept out from under her. And that’s after she slits the throat of a –
probably – innocent girl. In the end, it’s still frightfully
powerful stuff, desperately intense. Fairley is Emmy-worthy here; her monologue
sends chills down the spine, tears flowing from the eyes, jaws thudding to the
floor.
And therein lies the key to the episode’s brutal success: its
ability to shock. The wedding’s ultimate endgame is barely hinted at for
the duration of the first forty-five minutes, Benioff and Weiss
preferring to abandon some of the foreboding signposts that Martin planted in
his novel which clued readers in to the possibility that something was amiss.
This can be a difficult pill to swallow for the Sullied among us; some of the
horror of those chapters is in the sense of dread that we collectively
experience and how that is then realised in the most horrifying way. However,
the technique of disguising the events, of minimising the extent to which the
betrayal is telegraphed, is equally as effective; one need only look to the
Twitter, Facebook and forum comments from Unsullied readers in the aftermath of
the episode’s airing for evidence. This is a genuinely leftfield moment,
a suckerpunch from nowhere unlike, quite probably, anything else you’ve
seen on television. Well, except Sean Bean’s beheading (and thank you Game of Thrones for that jawdropper too).
The script lulls us into a false sense of security with a series of softer exchanges
between other characters in various antecedent scenes and even injects a
glimmer of hope through the success of Grey Worm, Jorah Mormont and Daario in
Yunkai (a somewhat blunt victory this, although the fight sequence is superbly
choreographed and that’s some fantastic bloody make-up). And the wedding
build-up itself is equally as light-hearted in tone; while there is a modicum
of tension in the initial scene with Lord Walder, it soon gives way to
something unpleasant rather than
foreboding. It’s a truly fantastic scene this with some A* performances,
particularly from David Bradley who just relishes every rich line of dialogue
he’s given (indeed, his mannerisms and inflections during the massacre
lend it even greater weight later in the episode).
But then it happens. ‘The Rains of Castamere’ begins, the
doors are bolted shut and we’re into ten (or so) minutes of bloodshed and
horror. Ten minutes that cannot fail but to leave you battered, bruised and
war-torn. Ten minutes that you’ll be thinking and talking about for days,
nay weeks, nay until the next season of the show rolls around. David
Nutter’s direction is, quite frankly, first class, making perfect use of
jump-cut and mise en scene to
capture the messy chaos of the proceedings. Crucially, this is no holds barred
stuff; Nutter doesn’t shy away from depicting the brutality, he tackles
it head on. So the Freys stab Talisa in the stomach. And then they do it again.
And again. And again. And then so many times you that there is absolutely no
question of that unborn infant’s mortality, let alone her own, and
suddenly, we’re in shock. So much so in one case (actually, probably many
cases) that a viewer and commentator has opted to abandon the show altogether.
Each to his or her own. I can understand that this may be too much for some to
stomach but this is A Song of Ice and Fire,
not Lord of the Rings. The people
of this world can be cruel and callous and if you think any different,
you’re watching the wrong show. It isn’t a step too far; it’s
a tone-perfect addition to the original text. It sits just right next to the
crossbow arrows, the commencement of the slaughter outside the Twins, Grey
Wind’s execution, Roose’s “the Lannisters send their
regards” (how good is Michael McEllarton here?) and that final shot in
leaving absolutely no question that this is the end of the line for Robb
Stark’s war. He is dead, his bannermen (for the large part) are dead, his
wife is dead, his unborn child is dead, his mother is dead. It’s
terrifying, it’s unfair, it’s unexpected, it’s everything we
are conditioned not to expect
from television drama. And for that, it’s worth every shred of praise
that can be heaped upon it. And I’ll offer one more: the callous,
unremitting final moments, couched in silence, in which Catelyn stands broken,
and a nameless Frey approaches her from behind and slits her throat. Sickening,
yes, but superbly brave all the same.
Having re-read that last paragraph, it does sound a little bloodthirsty
and rather like I’m relishing all this gore, but then, it’s hard to
praise horror without coming across like some sort of sadist. Let’s move
on. Bran and Rickon. A sweet, sweet parting scene with some real acting chops
from Art Parkinson. Bravo. Queenscrown – excellent stuff. Nutter’s
direction is wonderfully tense here and thank the Lords, Benioff and Weiss
finally, finally engage with the
concept of Warging and give the audience an insight into just what
Brandon is capable of.
There are minor details that are different but in large part, Summer and
Shaggydog’s assault on the Wildlings and particularly, Bran’s
warging into Hodor is straight from the novels (also loved “stop
Hodoring!”) Isaac Hempstead-Wright plays this whole sequence beautifully
and props also to Thomas Brodie-Sangster who continues to prove that he is just
perfectly cast as Jojen Reed. Outside the tower, Kit Harrington and Rose Leslie
are fantastic as Jon is faced with his biggest challenge yet and at last, we
get Orell’s eagle attack which leaves our bastard boy with a bit of a
scar. I was on the edge of my seat during all of this which is saying something
when you know (pretty much) what happens. What else? Oh yes, Sam and Gilly come
across the Nightfort; I’m reserving comment on this until close of play
next week due to potential spoilers. And, of course, Arya. Poor, poor Arya. So
close, yet so far. Congratulations to Benioff and Weiss for making this
as achingly tragic as it is in the novels and also for some truly sparkling
dialogue between her character and Sandor in the run-up to the main event.
Credit is also due, I think, for choosing to abandon the novel’s little
narrative trick of leaving us all thinking she may have died too when the Hound knocks her unconscious.
That may have been a step too far for the show, to be honest.
So. ‘The Rains of Castamere’. Quite probably one of the
most shocking episodes of television you’re ever likely to witness. Sure,
it’s not quite how *I* would’ve done it, yes, there are a few
changes that I would question and okay, some omissions that, in an ideal world,
I’d love to see included. But, do you know what? Fuck that. The episode
achieves its aims, it captures the essence, the heart and most of the detail of
Martin’s vision perfectly and it does for Unsullied show-watchers what
the novel has done to so many readers over the years: it leaves you brow-beaten, shell-shocked, heartbroken. A tour de force, then,
and an hour of TV you’ll never forget. (10/10)
