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The atmosphere of this week’s episode was a sense of waiting for the cauldron to bubble over. Many of the characters in our tale are in something of a holding pattern, on the brink of greatness or misery, to be decided on the toss of a coin.
Episode 5 pivoted largely around two such players in this game; Daenerys Targaryan (Emilia Clarke) and Robb Stark (Richard Madden), both in command of armies, both with a claim to the Iron Throne, but both finding themselves in very different circumstances.
The juxtaposition of these two opposing threads has a pleasing effect. The action skips freely from sunlit far flung deserts, with fresh untested troops; to muddy, dank and wet conditions, with a battle-weary army threatening to tear itself apart at the seams.
The two heads of these armies contrast starkly in terms of military decision making. The young Mother of Dragons proves a shrewd and liberating tactician. Stark however, is all awash; a hopeful idiot in charge of a grumbling, churning mess of rain-sodden men.
In the capital, weddings are in the air, with little Sansa Stark (Sophie Turner) divided up and bartered with every whim of those plotting at court, completely unbeknownst to her.
Watching her performance and all its vulnerable sense of oblivion, is akin to watching a kitten sit gaily between two mute salivating status dogs, with no idea of the snarling, tearing torment which awaits.
The two remaining Lannisters in King’s Landing, Cersei (Lena Headey) and Tyrion, also appear set to be married off; in order to further cement their father’s hold on Westeros, much to their shared chagrin.
To see them on the receiving end of the deviousness which they employ so well, proves undeniably enjoyable.
Emilia Clarke turns in an excellent performance. The scene in which she discusses slave names with one of The Unsullied is perfect in tone, and carves a deep gash into the soul, where it would have been very easy to veer swiftly into saccharine in less capable hands.
Once again, however; the star turn is The Imp. Peter Dinklage, playing Tyrion Lannister, is one of the finest actors of his generation; he imbues the role with such vulnerability that an ostensibly arrogant, cunning little man, is given almost heroic status.
He weaves between cocksure wit and downtrodden wretch with ease, and contains, at times, such a stench of defeat hanging heavy about him, that a large degree of empathy is felt against one’s better judgement.
Score and sound effects are marvelously employed, with simple tricks used to good effect; blending seamlessly from the fading resonance of haunting chords in the previous scene, into the beginnings of rumbling thunder over Riveran has a mesmeric effect, which breaks the two scenes yet links them also. This sets a mood for a whispered heartfelt exchange before dialogue has even had fair chance to be heard.
Plotting of the show ebbs and flows with consistency, placing equal importance on both small scale circumstance and a grander view over tussles between the many ‘rightful’ claims to the Iron Throne. The pacing is artful and dense, the story spinning out magnificently, with a steady, beaten rhythm.
It is a sure testament to how well crafted Game of Thrones is, that the hour feels like it slips by far too swiftly. We ache to turn the un-turned page, to travel with these familiar companions further, to see through their eyes what is still unseen.
Beauteous, it is. A pause from the monotony of modern life; to beat the drum once more and cheer for the goodness possible in man. This is its triumph. This the true magic at its heart. To sing a song of myth and legend, while reminding us of home.