Rumors are circulating that Joffrey is not only politically illegitimate but biologically disgusting if the kid keeps wantonly spilling blood, a peasant revolt could sweep him from power. He rejects her counsel at every turn and asserts his power like an evil little boy asserting dominion over the world’s biggest playroom. This is classical film storytelling, at once terse but unhurried, and confidently executed.Īs mentioned, the hideous brat Joffrey, the eldest son of the late King Robert, is running the seven kingdoms with the advice of his mother, Queen Cersei Lannister (Lena Headley). Somebody ends a scene by looking up at the comet cut to a shot of the comet pan down to reveal a different location and a new set of characters, and boom, we’re on to the next thing. The constant talk and action related to the change of seasons lets the characters discuss the allocation of resources and the immediate needs of their people and their armies in an organic-seeming way, while the shots of the comet in the sky let the storytellers cut from one subplot or region to another without making too big a deal of it. And they succeed, thanks partly to a simple but ingenious device of having many of the characters in the opening episode fret about the coming of a potentially very long winter and the presence of a comet in the skies. Weiss, who wrote the scripts, have to find engrossing ways to set the scene for us again and explain who’s who, no small task with a world this populous. Taylor, who directed the first two episodes, and showrunners David Benioff and D.B. Based on the first four episodes of season two - which I won’t parse in detail because I don’t want to spoil anything, and because that’s a job better left to postshow recaps - Game of Thrones has decided to stick with that aesthetic. In my original review of the series, I likened it to a sword-and-sorcery equivalent of The Wire or Deadwood: a plot-packed epic about a whole society that throws a lot of information at you and expects you to keep up. But the trashier moments stand out because the show is so judicious elsewhere. Near the end of episode two, there’s a scene in which a bitter rival for the throne diddles a female adviser on a tabletop inscribed with a scale model of the kingdom they hope to conquer together it’s as if they’re enacting a fan fantasy about crawling through the screen during the opening credits map sequence and getting busy. There are exceptions, of course, and they’re often extravagantly lurid. Sometimes a given scene plays out long enough to explain exactly what’s happening, but other times it cuts things short just as, or immediately before, a pivotal moment occurs.
Game of thrones season 2 series#
But this throwaway moment also emphasizes that for all its gore, nudity, and other groundling-friendly spectacles, Game of Thrones is a ruthlessly efficient series that usually prefers to make its points and then jump to the next moment rather than linger. It’s a grimly funny touch, a sight gag, really this sort of violence is so common in Westeros that not only does the crowd at the joust not make a big deal of it, the show doesn’t either. The episode’s director, Alan Taylor, cuts to a wide shot of the body being removed as a man with a bucket and a sponge walks into view to clean up the blood, then cuts away again before the cleanup can start. Then some attendants appear to drag the corpse away. One fighter knocks the other off a high perch and he lands on the ground with a sickening crunch. Prince Joffrey Baratheon (Jack Gleeson) - illegitimate king, product of incest, and all-around horrible person - is overseeing a jousting match that’s part of his “Name Day” celebration. There’s a moment in the opening episode of season two of Game of Thrones that sums up its distinct brand of storytelling.
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