Like JRR Tolkien’s Middle-earth story, the last 25 years of American television can be divided into several eras. First there was the era of prestige TV, dominated by authors and antiheroes, reinterpretations of classic film genres in the style of the 1970s, works on Dickensian narratives designed to induce reflection, and appointments with HBO on Sunday nights.
It was succeeded by the era of TV to the fullest, where streaming platforms proliferated and competed to produce as much content as possible, in a constant, repetitive production dominated by B+ imitations of the biggest hits of the prestige TV era.
More recently we are entering a third era, the era of pharaonic television. Streaming services are downsizing and bundling productions.
Everyone is looking for the small-screen equivalent of the big movie productions that supported the studios in the American summer – an expensive production, made for large audiences and that will generate subscriptions for their platforms. That could mean spinoffs of existing film franchises, like the Marvel and “Star Wars” productions on Disney+.
It can be a historical fantasy that appeals to the general public, like “Bridgerton”, a multiracial romance with touches of sensuality, from Netflix. Or experiments with sci-fi or fantasy epics hitherto seen as impossible to film, such as Isaac Asimov’s “Foundation” and Robert Jordan’s “The Wheel of Time.”
We now have two experiments grand enough to shape the trajectory of the entire era: the near-simultaneous releases of HBO’s “House of the Dragon,” the prequel to “Game of Thrones,” and “The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power.” , Amazon’s bid to monetize the history and mythology of Middle-earth.
Hundreds of millions of dollars were spent on these productions — much more by Amazon than by HBO — and their success could push fantasy into the cultural territory occupied by superhero films, the genre that now dominates spending and box office sales. Hollywood.
As a person who has always read fantasy works, I am ambiguous about this perspective. On the one hand, any cultural alternative to the suffocating tyranny of the Lycra-clad super-beings seems something to be welcomed, and fantasy, in all its variations, offers much richer narrative possibilities than DC and Marvel (I won’t defend that claim – it is self-evident), especially in a world where television platforms are willing to extend their costly narratives for five, ten or 20 hours.
On the other hand, the only fully successful case we’ve had of big-budget fantasy storytelling is Peter Jackson’s groundbreaking “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, which debuted more than 20 years ago. HBO’s “Game of Thrones” was an impressive feat for six seasons, despite being marred by its pornographic treatment of violence and sex, but its conclusion was an epic failure.
Other fantasy productions, even when they were commercially successful, tended to be either bland mediocrities (like Amazon’s “The Wheel of Time”) or bloated catastrophes (like Peter Jackson’s “Hobbit” films). And as understandable as the commercial calculus is, the fact that some of the biggest budgets have been reserved for spinoffs by Tolkien and George RR Martin hints at a future in which fantasy films succumb to decadence and repetition, without truly achieving greatness beforehand. from that.
So, a lot will depend on whether “House of the Dragon” and “The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power” show quality in line with their costs. I’ve watched the first six episodes of the first and the first two episodes of the second, and the answer so far is that they both reveal something of that quality, yes — but in a way that, unfortunately, is divided in such a way that each expresses some of the virtues of the genre but is not complemented by the strengths of the other.
As a general rule, great works of fantasy offer a conjunction of two narrative modes: the mythical and metaphysical, on the one hand, and the political and historical, on the other. On one level, the clash between good and evil, gods and heroes, the decline or return of magic, the specter of apocalypse. On another level, in the shadow of the greater conflicts, the struggles and mishaps of kings, princesses and common people being fought and suffered with all the usual human confusions and shades of gray.
Tolkien’s Middle-earth and George Martin’s Westeros are often described as sharply distinct examples of fantasy world-building. The first is the more traditional heroic epic, marked by the devotion and ideals of medieval chivalry. The second is a more violent and realistic (or, in his view, more vulgar and nihilistic) portrait of a pre-modern society.
Although the differences are evident, the sagas of the two fantasies are more similar than the caricature suggests, and both bring versions of the two-level narrative that I have just described.
“The Lord of the Rings” is haughty and sexless, to be sure, but it doesn’t lack characters in different shades of gray, nor does it lack dynastic details or political intrigue. Many of his flawed and fallible figures—from Boromir and his father Denethor to Grima Serpenttongue and his treacherous master, Saruman—would easily fit into the landscapes of Westeros.
The same could be true of admirable but still complex characters like shield maiden Eowyn. Tolkien both celebrates and undermines hierarchy; its most important heroes are a man born to be king and a servant of low status, coming from an insignificant place. And the “Ring” drama itself is a sharply modern portrayal of vice and corruption; there is more uncompromising psychological realism in the Smeagol/Gollum narrative arc than in any of George Martin’s characters.
Meanwhile, Martin’s novels, despite their spirit of demystification and their sex scenes, still rely — at least in their unfinished form, I must say — on traditional conventions of good versus evil, metaphysical conflict, and apocalyptic danger. The Starks of Winterfell reveal more flaws in leadership and judgment than Aragorn, son of Arathorn, but are still recognizably heroic when compared to most of their political antagonists.
The Lannisters, the Starks’ great rivals, have their complexities and their chances of redemption, but Cersei Lannister and her son Joffrey are more vicious villains than most of Tolkien’s human characters. When Daenerys Targaryen frees the slaves of Essos, the consequences are mixed, but the act itself is clearly magnanimous. When the White Walkers threaten to plunge the world into an endless winter night, the threat is Sauronesque, not morally ambiguous in any way.
But in the new TV spinoff, so far, the divergence between Tolkien and Martin seems much more marked. “House of the Dragon” is set in a Westeros past with more dragons but no threat of a magical apocalypse, and its early plots are mostly about politics and court intrigue — Targaryen versus Targaryen, this time, not Stark versus Lannister, and neither faction inspires any special moral empathy on our part.
The intrigues are deftly plotted, the performances are strong, and the world has a lively atmosphere not seen in many fantasy productions. But the story has a problem that can be described as “so what?”: it’s all Machiavelli against other Machiavelli, with no outsider to identify with and no unambiguous moral trump card at stake. In that respect, the new series is closer to being a caricature of the previous one: it has an abundance of dragons, nudity and cynical realpolitik and a dearth of moral and metaphysical frameworks. As a result, the intrigues run the risk of becoming boring and the violence of being nothing more than an empty spectacle.
“The Dragon House” has the opposite challenge. Set back in time in Tolkien’s legendary universe, the series is set in a time that is far more magical and mythical than the world of “The Fellowship of the Ring” and “The Two Towers”. The initial episodes excel in painting on this canvas; unlike some extravagant productions based on computer-generated images, you can see where all the money went. But the visual beauty of the elven and dwarven realms needs the contrast of mortal feats, personal and political, to humanize the myth, and the new series has yet to find that foundation.
So what each of the two series needs is a little more than the other has in abundance. Martin’s stew needs an extra pinch of Tolkien and vice versa.
There’s enough talent involved in both productions to make them interesting, even if they fail to accomplish the synthesis I’m suggesting. But considering they are setting the tone and direction for an entire television era, “interesting” is an understatement. We want them to realize the full potential of their genre, building creations that, in their heights, their depths, and their human importance, feel as complete and purposeful as ours.
