I remember the night the final episode of "The Fugitive" aired. I was depressed for days. I tried to distract myself by watching other shows... but I was a pathetic basket case. I suppose my life was always defined by television: not birthdays or Bar Mitzvahs or weddings or family events or the births of grandchildren. So that makes me either a total loser with no life or some esoteric quirky spirit like Edie Beale who defined her life in unique ways. A turning point in my life was the film "Gidget." I sat in the Argo movie theater in Elmont and watched that movie three times on one bleak Saturday afternoon and hoped I would meet Moondoggie at Capri Beach Club.
I have planned some coping strategies for tonight's traumatic final episode of "Game of Thrones." I will watch past episodes from previous seasons because it is like a form of time traveling. And there they all will be: all the characters in previous episodes looking younger and behaving like they are still living within a version of "Groundhog Day." Dany will be alive, so will Cersei and Jamie. And even Hodor will be alive and well. Ah, the sweet solace of reruns in all their delusional glory.
The "Game of Thrones" final episode to the series is called "The Iron Throne." It is just another episode and nothing special. Final episodes are supposed to knock it out of the park, they are supposed to have a jaw-dropping twist or shock. This final episode was forgettable with nothing special to make it a memorable final episode to an outstanding series.
I wanted the series to end with a fast forward to the future: to see the real George R. R. Martin sitting next to a Christmas tree on a cold snowy December night reading a book called "The Song of Ice and Fire" to his grandchildren. I wanted to see him close the book and say to the children that it was the story of his ancestor Samwell Tarly who lived long long ago in a land called Westeros. And then, fade to black.
I think back to some of the great final episodes. I recall "Six Feet Under" and "The Bob Newhart Show" or "St. Elsewhere," that led viewers to believe the entire series existed in an autistic child's snow globe. Even "Mad Men" ended with a brilliant moment that made the audience think that Don Draper wrote that phenomenal Coca Cola ad with the song "I'd Like to Buy the World a Coke."
But "Game of Thrones" had no "snow-globe" moment and Westeros did not exist in a child's imagination. It was not a dream and Jon Snow did not wake up in a Soviet Gulag and Sansa was not an old woman daydreaming in a nursing home in Brooklyn.
And that is why I believe the final episode of "Game of Thrones" was a fail. Where was the beef? Was that all there is? Where was the "boo" moment?
I think I will watch reruns of "The Twilight Zone." Those episodes are my comfort food. I may even try to contact Billy Mumy and ask him to wish Season 8 of "Game of Thrones" into the cornfield. I mean really: how great would it have been if the final scene was Arya on that ship ripping off a face mask to reveal Rod Serling?
© Marjorie Levine May 20, 2019 2:03 AM EST
