“Game of Thrones” Season 7, Episode 1 Recap: Dragonstone, Sweet Dragonstone – The New Yorker
Is it just me, or is âGame of Thronesâ getting to be a lot of fun? Last nightâs Season 7 premiÃ¨re jumped right in, beginning not with some noble
slog through icy effects and mysticism but with our old friend revenge,
served in goblets. Walder Frey, the Stark-murdering bastard we saw Arya
kill at the end of last season, is having a party. âYouâre wondering why
I brought you all here,â he barks. âSince when does old Walder give us
two feasts in a single fortnight?â Well, he doesnât. Even if Frey
werenât dead, heâd have P.T.S.D. about dining halls. Itâs shape-shifting
Arya under that face, insulting him even as she inhabits him! Well done,
kid. She serves everybody wine, lavishly identifying them as âevery Frey
who means a damn thingâ and âthe men who helped me slaughter the Starks
at the Red Weddingââthereâs a lot of exposition in this episodeâand
then, as they drink, she begins to enumerate their crimes.
Comprehension, or at least alarm, begins to dawn on the faces of the
assembled, because of Aryaâs provocative remarks and also because their
insides are melting. (Between her gallons of poisoned wine and her
labor-intensive son-filled murder pie, Aryaâs getting to be quite the
chef.) âLeave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe!â she says,
smiling, and then ripping the Walder Frey face off. Hello, little wolf.
She tells one of the survivors of this mayhemâa startled young woman
nearbyââWhen people ask you what happened here, tell them the North
Remembers. Tell them Winter came for House Frey.â Delicious. Cue titles!
Oh, itâs good to be back, spinning madly across those ancient-style maps
and gleaming armillary spheres. The rest of
Season 7, Episode 1ââDragonstoneââ proceeds in a jolly combination of
plot advancement and plot explanation, with visual glories and horrors
accompanying. In the showâs two final, shortened seasons, much has to
happen: throne-jockeying is reaching a fever pitch now that all the
ships are pulling into Westeros, dragons are a-flapping, White Walkers
coming for us all. We encounter them after the titles: the Great Deathly
Inevitable. In an eerie scene, the worldâs least fun army clatters
along, all bones and dead horses and cosmic clouds of snow. Is one of
them Ed Sheeran? No, worseâone is Wun-Wun! Oh, dear Wun-Wun, noseless
and grim. Sorry, old fellow. In the next scene, we see Meera and Bran
approach the Wall, warning of Walkers, and be admitted through.
Meanwhile, Jon Snow, stubbled pinup King of the North, is with his
assemblage of nobles and co-strategists, talking about dragonglass and
feminism. Dragonglass kills White WalkersââWe need to find it, we need
to mine it, we need to make weapons from it,â he says, lustilyâand women
need to help drill and fight. Young Lyanna Mormont, backing him up on
the idea of women being warriors, continues to kick ass and draw
respectful nods; then they decide that the Free Folk will defend the
Wall and sort out who gets to occupy which castle. âYou want us to man
the castles for you?â Tormund Giantsbane says, in his sole
non-eyebrow-wriggling scene in several episodes. âLooks like weâre the
Nightâs Watch now.â But should the Umbers and the Karstarks, who have
been iffy compadres, get to stay in their castles? Jon says yes, Sansa
says no, and the room gets awkward, with its sole smile coming from
Littlefinger, for whom Snow-Sansa dissent is like Love Potion No. 9.
Meanwhile, in Kingâs Landing, Queen Cersei is having a map of the Seven
Kingdoms painted on the floor. Thatâs a good moveâlast year, I ordered
one in the mail, and it didnât show up till the season was over. Cersei
canât afford to take that kind of chance. The floor map makes her look a
little crazy, but whoâs around to judge? Just Jaime, and God knows heâs
seen everything. Cersei and Jaime have a chat over the new floor map,
involving more exposition than any relationship could or should handle,
and the resulting dialogue isnât exactly Edward Albee.
âOur little brother, the one you love so much, the one you set free, the
one who murdered our father and our firstborn son,â Cersei saysâTyrion,
to you and meâis sailing with Daenerys across the Narrow Sea, she tells
him. She walks around the map, identifying where all their enemies are:
basically, the whole floor. Jaime responds that their son King Tommen
committed suicide last season.
âHe betrayed me!â Cersei says. At first, this response seems petty,
sure. But remember âShame!,â the High Sparrow nightmare, and the
garbage-chucking? Oy. Theyâre both right. Cersei goes on to say that
since the Freys have been murdered (news travels fast!), the Lannisters
need reinforcements. And theyâre running out of not only Lannisters but
allies. Cue Euron Greyjoy and his makeover! Next thing we know, we see
the worldâs sexiest bunch of ships, as if Cobra Kai from âThe Karate
Kidâ were a fleet of boats.
âThe Greyjoys! You invited the Greyjoys?â Jaime says. Poor thing.
Nobody wants to have the Greyjoys over. Itâs just Euron, the new king of
the Iron Islands, she assures himâsheâs thinking of marrying him. Jaime,
I encourage you: get out of this hellhole. Go find Brienne of Tarth,
build a romantic hut for two, and open a nice defending-and-avenging
business. Up in the Throne Room, where they have an audience with Euron,
Cersei has open flames and candles all over the place. (We get it, we
get it! You murdered everybody with fire.) What does Euron have to say
Oh, plenty. The new and improved Euronâshorter hair, perhaps a touch of
eyeliner, fitted black clothingâlooks like a coked-up Pacey Witter starring in a production of âSpring Awakening.â And heâs got a bit of
Paceyâs roguish joie de vivre. He explains that his niece and nephew
have taken some ships and allied with Dany, the enemy. Itâs nothing
compared with what Cerseiâs been through, he says. âBut stillâit bothers
me.â He spreads his arms wide and smiles. Since their disloyal relatives
are all fighting for the enemy, he says, beaming, âI thought we rightful
monarchs could murder them together.â The camera cuts to the Mountain, impassive
within his giant bucket head. Euron and Jaime dislike each other, so
Euron brags about how many hands he has.
âTwo good hands,â he says, waving âem around.
âYou murdered your own brother,â Cersei says.
âYou should try itâit feels wonderful,â he says. Heâs fun, all right.
Then he runs off to get Cersei a âpriceless gift.â âI wonât return to
Kingâs Landing until I have that for you,â he says. What on earth will
it be? Somebodyâs head or appendage? The Hand of the (other) Queen?
Gendry jumping out of a cake? Unclear. In the books, reportedly, Euron
is pure evil, so black-hearted that he makes Ramsay look like Shirley
Temple. Here, theyâre trying to make him a good-timey sort of evil. We
I had high hopes for Samwell Tarlyâs Citadel adventure, as did Sam Tarly
himself. Inevitably, because Sam is an unlikely hero, and because
âG.o.T.â likes to Reek Greyjoy us once in a while, our dreams of books
and skylights were dashed, and the Citadel scenario turns into a literal
fartfest. In perhaps the least jaunty montage of all time, we see and
hear Sam glopping around his new home, amid chamber pots, latrines,
revolting stews, and more chamber pots. Did I mention the retching?
Thereâs lots and lots of retching. John Bradley may get a special Emmy
for retchwork. I donât know exactly what Samâs job isâhe also shelves
huge books in the library, rolls carts, and assists with autopsies. If
nothing else, it makes me more appreciative of the summer I spent at
Back at Winterfell, thereâs still a bit of va-voom between Raised
Eyebrows Giantsbane and Lowered Eyebrows of Tarth, who have a fun, weird
little moment in the courtyard that ends with Pod getting shoved into a
snowbank. The chemistry between Littlefinger and Sansa, on the other
hand, is a snowbank. Sheâs clearly had it with his bullshit, which is
a relief. But Iâm confused: for a sleaze and a powermonger, Lord Baelish
is not putting his heart into the wooing thatâs instrumental to his
plan. He was obsessed with her mother; sheâs young and beautiful; whatâs
the problem? His plan seems to be coldly stating his case unconvincingly
and insistently. Is this effective? It is not. Littlefinger had a big
win recently, when he saved Sansa and her family from certain death, but
heâs lost some steam. He needs to regroup.
And I need to regroup, or at least try to stop cringing, after the scene
that follows, in which Arya horses up to Ed Sheeran, who is singing in
the woods in the Riverlands with his soldier buddies. Ed Sheeran is
wearing armor and a cape, but heâs still got the same old Ed Sheeran
face and the same eerily combed orange hair, and heâs singing an Ed
âPretty song,â Arya says.
âItâs a new one,â he says, smirking ickily. She sits down and gets
handed a rabbit on a stick and some blackberry wine. What
could be a scene that helps us empathize with Aryaâs particular
isolation and unusual adolescence is derailed by depressing
celebrity-crush awkwardnessâEd Sheeranâs jarring presence is about as
natural as Davy Jones on âThe Brady Bunch,â saying âHow âbout the flip
side?â If they had to have
Ed Sheeran on, couldnât they have made him the guy getting an autopsy at
the Citadel, or one of the lesser Freys, writhing and clutching his
guts? Another question: When Aryaâs trotting around the woods all alone,
why does she wear her own face? Iâd muscle around in a Clegane face,
grunting and stealing peopleâs food.
The Hound, a.k.a. Sandor Clegane, stars in the episodeâs most mystical
and mystifying sceneâespecially for those of us who have only a dim
memory of his travelling companion. Beric Dondarrion, you may or may not
recall, is the co-leader of the Brotherhood without Banners, along with
Thoros of Myr, who has brought him back to life several times. (You
knowâthat guy!) Travelling north, Dondarrion and the Hound revisit a
farmhouse where a farmer and his daughter had once given Arya and the
Hound shelter, and the Hound had stolen the farmerâs silver; now, it
seems, they have died of poverty-related starvation and murder-suicide.
Oof. After a philosophical chat, Dondarrion, a fire worshipper, makes
the Hound, who already hates fire, stare into some flames and have a
vision, and he doesâit involves ice, the Wall, and a castle. George R.
R. Martin recently made a spoiler-ish remark about all of this that makes me fear fire as much as the Hound does.
Remember Jon Snow talking about dragonglass? Well, well. Look whoâs
found the mother lode. Casting aside his retching and chamber pots, Sam
Tarly has sneaked into the forbidden section of the Citadelâs library,
stealing a big old ring of keys, and he and Gilly, with kid in tow, are
poring over books. One of them tells him where thereâs a huge trove of
dragonglass: Dragonstone! Itâs almost too easy. Heâs got to tell Jon
Snow! But how? And guess what else he discovers, back with his cart and
his buckets of slop? The horrible grayscaled arm and sultry lovelorn
voice of Jorah Mormont! âHas she come yet? The dragon queen,â he pants.
The plot thickens. (Now, enough with the poop, showrunners. Point made.)
Nobody can deliver a glorious ending like Daenerys, whether sheâs
walking through fire, being borne aloft by crowds chanting her name,
flying on a dragon, or God knows what else. (Dramatic drumbeats are
inevitable.) In this episodeâs final scene, Dany and her rowboat of
intimatesâTyrion, Varys, Grey Worm, and Missandeiâare rowed up to the
sandy shore outside Dragonstone, ships trailing behind them. The
Targaryen homestead, forbidding and gray atop a steep cliff, is not
unlike like Castle Grayskull: big, giant dragon heads, scary doors, the whole shebang. Home at last!
We hear majestic singing, proceed through the grand entryway, examine
the busted-up throne room and the tiny ship models. Dany smiles her
placid smile. Sheâs the most sensible Targaryen to inhabit it in a
while, and she knows it. âShall we begin?â she asks. Why, yes, we shall.