Oliver Davis reviews the sixth episode of Game of Thrones Season Four…
The Laws of Gods and Men.
Directed by Alik Sakharov.
Written by Bryan Cogman.
Davos
Davos Seaworth (Liam Cunningham) really is one of Westeros’ nice guys. Despite his best friend, Stannis Baratheon (Stephen Dillane), locking him away in a dungeon for months on end; the ironic notion of him holding the King’s hand position whilst missing four fingers; and that everyone assumes he was a pirate, he maintains his cheery disposition. “A smuggler, Your Grace/Lordship/Crazy Woman in a Red Dress” he patiently corrects them all.
The semantic difference has become a pretty neat running gag as of late, and hopefully he’s winning over more viewers with every scene. His awkward bromance with Stannis doesn’t hurt, either. Rather than flat out lament Davos’ suggestions, Stannis subtly contorts his cheek, or screws up an eyeball. Anyone else would be tied to a makeshift Wicker Man on the shores of Dragonstone, but an endearing respect sits between the two. One lovely moment in the episode’s opening scene has Davos regale a story from his smuggling days. He’s excited with nostalgia and ready to embark on a yarn, but Stannis’ glare cuts him short. Just a slight chew of the tongue and Davos falls silent.
The two have been on a jaunt across the Narrow Sea to Braavos, home of the Iron Bank – an institution that has been mentioned with increasing frequency during recent episodes – to ask for the Westeros equivalent of a payday loan*. Last week’s installment revealed how indebted the Lannisters are to the Iron Bank, and the funding of Stannis would act as an insurance policy.
After an impassioned speech from Davos, which doubled up as a series recap of Westerosi politics (Tywin’s too old, Tommen’s too young, Jaime’s too killy and Cersei’s too nutbags), Tycho ‘Mycroft’ Nestoris (Mark Gatiss) approved. Stannis is back, baby. Hide your bastards.
Theon
There are many distressing elements to Game of Thrones, be they baby slaughter, or raping your sister beside your son’s corpse – but few are as unsettling as the character transformation Theon (Alfie Allen) has suffered. Imprisoned by the sadistic Ramsey Snow (Iwan Rheon), his formerly cocksure self has been systematically broken down and recreated as Reek.
It’s a complete destruction of identity. There are echoes – although of a very different tone – of Shane Carruth’s Upstream Colour, and that film’s treatment of personality. The idea of what a person really is, when everything that makes them who they are is flayed away, is a tremendously unsettling concept.
And much like the other narrative threads in this episode, Theon’s section isn’t all talk; there’s a healthy amount of action, too. After the Greyjoys have stormed the Dreadfort to free Theon, they turn to find Ramsey topless and flecked with streaks of blood – not his own, of course. Seeing Botlon’s Bastard in full flow, stabbing, deflecting, confidently dodging, is terrific; the first showing of what he’s physically capable. But, as indicative of the episode’s quality, this isn’t even the standout scene. This next one is…
Tyrion
Tyrion’s (Peter Dinklage) trial, for the killing of King Joffrey (R.I.P.), is finally underway, and occupies much of the episode’s final third. Initially, it’s a scene of stares: Jaime Lannister (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) guiltily gaze at his brother in the docks; Cersei (Lena Headey) glares at anything that moves; and Tyrion defiantly looks ahead. It’s like a Sergio Leone movie.
Each witness is another insult to Tyrion; they pedal distorted truths of his character. He plotted to kill Joffrey with his wife, Sansa Stark; he stole poison from Maester Pycelle’s (Julian Glover) apothecary. Varys’ (Conleth Hill) is a particularly painful testimony, a man Tyrion once considered a friend. But this is just a game to the eunuch, although he plays his hand regretfully.
The scene builds expertly, focusing on Tyrion’s downcast reactions throughout, a pot ready to boil over. He’s such an empathetic fan favourite, that you feel every lie, each outrage as a slight against your own character. Dinklage’s performance is outstanding.
During the brief recess, Jaime reveals to Tyrion that he will be granted mercy if he pleads guilty and sent to the Night’s Watch. All he has to do is stay quiet, then confess. The escape is there, a slight respite is afforded; our Imp will be safe.
Then the prosecution calls Shae (Sibel Kekilli), Tyrion’s former lover. He barely croaks out, “Shae, please don’t” as her testimony begins. It’s heartbreaking, made worse by the court’s laughter. Every private utterance they had shared, the genuine emotion and love they had felt, is laid bare to King’s Landing. He was her Lion; she once ****** him like it was his last night on this Earth. The audience sniggers.
The entire sequence is paced perfectly by the time Tyrion eventually decides not to play his father’s games. Decisions like this can often feel out-of-character or forced, but the slow assassination of Tyrion’s personality, the lies and omissions of his achievements in King’s Landing, outrage just enough. He can deal with all that, he can swallow his pride. But not with Shae. Whether by jealously, or Cersei’s purse, she has betrayed him. His concluding outburst is as cathartic as it is bittersweet. Our Imp has surely doomed himself.
His cliff-hanger choice of ‘trial by combat’ echoes that of the event’s in series one where Bronn first stepped up to defend him. Will the sellsword save him again; his brother, Jaime; or some new champion?
An Aside…
Series four so far has been incredible, arguably better than the source material. George R. R. Martin’s books ‘A Game of Thrones’ and ‘A Clash of Kings’ are magnificent, the sort of work that would always lose something in adaptation. But from ‘A Storm of Swords’ onwards, the books became bloated and overly reliant on shock material. The forth book, ‘A Feast for Crows’, is horrendously frustrating, focusing only on half of the series’ characters (no Arya, Jon Snow or Tyrion).
The omens for the television series are much better. Showrunners David Benioff and D. B. Weiss seem aware of the books’ faults, merging characters, or devising more efficient, less self-indulgent scenes. The changes are mostly minimal – Jaime being coached by Bronn rather than Ilyn Payne, for instance, creates an infinitely more engaging dynamic – but highly effective.
Long may they reign.
*Your First Born APR.
Oliver Davis is one of Flickering Myth’s co-editors. You can follow him on Twitter (@OliDavis).
