Sunday night's episode of Game of Thrones was . . . incredible. It's bound to be one of the most controversial episodes of television ever made. I loved it and hated it and I think it could have been the perfect culmination of everything this show ever set out to do, if only they'd earned it. If only HBO had taken the time necessary to get to this insane moment of fire and blood. If only they'd earned this, it would have been perfect. I loved this episode. I was enthralled from the very first frame to the lats. And yet . . . the credits rolled and left me feeling cheated. The abbreviated edition of Game of Thrones was perfect in every way except for the fact that it felt so . . . . abbreviated. So many stories. So much potential. So many threads on the loom, endlessly weaving.
We reach the end without ever quite reaching. This was a magnificent episode of television that never quite earned its magnificence. I'm not quite sure how else to describe it. Like some facsimile of a great story, this was television that had everything perfectly placed, perfectly constructed and blocked out, but never quite deserved the emotional high points. Tonight's episode was far more epic and emotionally poignant than the Battle of Winterfell and the half-baked villain of the Night King. Cersei was, in the end, a weeping mother. As Daenerys Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, laid waste to the city of King's Landing, there was never really any question of who would win and who would die. Drogon burned everything in sight. The real question is what it means now that the queen of ashes has taken the Iron Throne.
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