It’s not often I write about TV. Just like everything else I take pen to page about, there’s a plethora of other sites that will talk about TV shows. However, I’m going to make an exception here as this weeks Game of Thrones episode that good, that shocking, and carried that much emotional resonance that I literally can’t stop thinking about it every time I see a door.
Yes, of course, I am talking about the death of Hodor. That lovable, lovable, Hodor. Before tonight, I didn’t know just how much Hodor meant to me. The only character without an ulterior motive, the only character that you could trust, and perhaps most importantly the only character who’s allegiance and loyalty never wavered, even though I like to think he knew what was coming.
As a reader of the books, I’ve been enjoying not knowing what is just around the corner this season. But the manner of the death of Hodor is something that I could never even have comprehended. It’s also something that I think carriers infinitely more gravitas the way that it was portrayed on the screen. The overlays of sounds, the very shouting of “hold the door” combined with that haunting soundtrack heightened the emotion of the whole damn thing.
This hit harder than Rob Stark. This hit harder than the moment when everyone though Glenn died in The Walking Dead. God dammit it hit harder than when Sun and Jin blew up on that submarine in LOST.
Now while on the topic of LOST, I hope that the show doesn’t morph into something more J.J. Abrams that GRRM. There’s been lots of talk on this wonderful internet of ours about everything basically being Bran’s fault. Where this is a theory that I would kind of enjoy, as I think he is a smug little douche, I think it would detract from the plot line as a whole. If Bran set’s everything in motion, from driving The Mad King up until what I will coin The Hodoring, it basically makes everything else a secondary factor, and the story deserves more than that.
Hodor, will be missed, and his mauling by a horde of zombies should not be belittle by further playing around with time loops and incessant theories of butterfly effects. Watch it. Mourn it. Remember it. Hodor it. But let it’s magnitude ring true, no revival by a red priest, no bringing back Hodor as a wight. Let him Hodor in the great Hodor in the sky, and move the story on.
Goodbye, my giant, breakfast loving friend.