I can’t stand bloody Game of bloody Thrones

BOOBS, violence, boring conversations and more plot lines than you can poke a stick at, Game of Thrones is actually the worst, writes Jeremy Cassar.

I KNOW, stick those Whiterunners (or whatever you call those racist thingumabobs) on me then force me to scale some impenetrable, Trump-ian wall while simultaneously tossing me insults in fluent Darth Reiki.

By the end of this piece, friends and family may delete my contact from their devices. I may tar each and every career prospect in my desired industry, and perhaps destroy any future chance of falling in love and experiencing the honour of contributing to the continuation of the human race.

If it helps, the intention is not to unsettle a single soul, but to purge before I burst — to get this off my untoned, unarmoured chest once and for all.

My name is Jeremy Cassar and I cannot stand Game of Thrones.

BEGIN RANT

I watched the entire first season. Granted, this was back when I lived in this creepy terrace where goblets of wine kept appearing in my immediate area — a phenomenon that ended by season two’s premiere — but that’s largely immaterial.

During that first season, I was in awe. Transfixed, even. But probably not for the reasons you might expect. It wasn’t the story, or the sudden shocks of blood, boobs and taboos.

The awe came from the fact that only a decade since the Sopranos-led television boom, someone was paying someone else to make a small-screen production of such ambition and scale. GoT broadened the technical scope of what was possible on the small screen.

So, full respect to HBO, the courageous creators, and Martin’s world-building skills, but once my amazement wore off and I engaged with what was going on behind the sheen, I began my four season-long journey from mild annoyance to outright disdain.

It takes a lot of money to make GoT (about $6 million per episode), so kudos for that. Picture: Macall B. Polay / HBO

BLAH BLAH ... SEX ... BLAH BLAH ... VIOLENCE ...

As any good Electroconvulsive therapist would note, shocks are more effective when separated by carefully measured stretches of time, and you can’t rely on them as a cure-all.

From the outset, shocks were established part and parcel of the GoT kingdom. We met a premiere season where kids are thrown out windows for witnessing incest, protagonists are offed in penultimate episodes, and nudity and baby dragons go hand-in-hand. Solid water cooler material.

Alas, by the time we reached the infamous Magenta Wedding, I barely batted an eyelid. My brain was trained in the ways of GoT jolts, and I’d come to sense the signposts leading up to them. I guess you can say the show had become predictably unpredictable, and what was once a daring and depraved aspect had grown into a yawn-worthy, indiscriminate ingredient.

Take away these shocks, and what’s left? An endless series of dull, expositional Kingdom-related conversations that talented writers and actors do their best to make sound important; back-and-forths that are essentially sexier versions of my mates discussing the intricacies of an expanded strategy board game.

If Daenerys didn’t have a love interest and get naked every now and again, would the story itself be any good? Picture: Foxtel

GAME OF MUSICAL CHAIRS ... IN SLOW MOTION

I do not give a single OH&S-violating armrest about whose arse ends up on that ridiculously impractical chair, and as that’s the topic on the tips of every character’s tongue, I therefore do not do not give a Dire Wolf turd about any of the characters, their feelings, or their fates — nude dragon whisperers and sexy border patrolman included.

Maybe I’d grow more invested if the thorny throne were made of solid diamond or pure doughnut, or if it contained a hidden portal to another, less self-serious dimension. But why all these seemingly significant conflicts over what looks like the oversized hedgehog out of a conceptual art school’s end-of-year showcase?

Let’s pretend that these information-based exchanges of dialogue were actually interesting. We’d still have to deal with the fact that all but a few characters speak in the same high-school Shakespeare, International English accent. You know the kind; that faux-pompous, over-enunciated speech pattern that rookie actors presume lends their lines more gravitas?

MORE PLOTS THAN A POST-WAR CEMETERY

I’m all for stories with many strands, but good television structure requires focus and restraint, or you won’t have enough running time to dig past the surface.

New aspects of the Game of Thrones world are introduced so often, it almost feels as if the scripts (and hence, the books) opt for coming up with additional shit because they can’t add any more dimensionality to the cardboard characters or boxed-in situations.

For example, whatever happened to Bran and that creepy old dude in the tree. How is that relevant to anything?

It would come as no surprise if in a future episode, an underground island rose from the depths of the Shivering Sea, populated with friendly dead spirits made of fire who travel south and swear allegiance to the closest group, handing over complete servitude as portable human heaters (and of course, regaling their masters with unnecessary stories of the newly-risen island’s sordid history).

While the screenwriters have done an objectively groundbreaking job of trying to tame the beast that is a fantasy book series and rein it into a linear, episodic story, there are still too many strands — many of which are tied to abrupt ends or left to dangle — for me to want to grow attached to any one storyline.

This plot twist was also a bit random. Picture: Macall B. Polay / HBO

BOOBS

Hey look ... boobs!

I am, as most people are, whether or not they’d like to admit it, a true admirer and card-carrying fan of the naked human form. I also welcome nudity and sex on screen, however explicit, if it serves the spirit of the work.

GoT’s reliance on flesh furnishings may come straight from the book — heck, it could come from documented Ancient Roman history for all I care. But in a television show, over-reliance on the carnal always comes across as unimaginative, and even a little insecure — as if the creators don’t have enough faith in the story they’re telling and feel the need to maintain the show’s “explicit” reputation.

Though at the same time, considering how boring many of the conversations are, I understand the temptation to play them sans costuming or mid-intercourse.

Gotta go. I have 15 minutes to liquefy this laptop, tell my high-school sweetheart that I never stopped loving her, and use the bathroom, as the Witness Protection Program’s Roger Winter is coming.

For anyone who is interested, Game of Thrones Season 6 premieres Monday April 25 at 11am on Foxtel.

Jeremy Cassar is a screenwriter and novelist from Sydney.