Titled “Keep It Together,” Episode 5 of this wobbly season appears to have taken its own titular advice. This is everything I want out of a Rain episode: tender, tense, romantic, emotional, rapidly escalating, and utilizing its sci-fi horror in its smartest and most horrifying way since the season began.

I reviewed the strong fifth episode of The Rain Season Two for Decider.

So there was this show, Game of Thrones; maybe you’ve heard about it? Early in the run of this little-known cult favorite it became apparent that despite taking place in a vaguely medieval, vaguely northern European setting, few characters were wearing—hang on, I need a moment to come to terms with the fact that I’m about to talk about something this dorky—the appropriate headgear.

The armored knights rarely wore full helmets and visors. The folks who lived in wintry areas almost never wore plain-old hats. In both cases, were we being strictly realistic about the science of combat and climate, this would increase the mortality rates of the characters by a preposterous amount. In neither case did I care.

Why not? Because it’s silly to care about that kind of thing. For the most part, anyway. You’re dealing with fantastic fiction here, the umbrella term for science fiction, fantasy, magic realism, horror, superheroes, fairy tales, basically anything where stuff happens that can’t happen in real life. You have to suspend disbelief, and you have to determine where your boundary for that suspended disbelief lies. Human emotion, human behavior, that kind of stuff you want to keep realistic, or at least related as directly as possible to our own, so that the story can communicate. Hats? You’re watching a show with ice zombies. You can let the hats go.

(If you’re doing straight-up historical fiction, maybe that’s another story, but you still need to able to tell the goddamn actors apart. There’s a reason all the mask and helmet and cowl-wearing superheroes wear such colorful and distinctive costumes, and it’s not because they’re all fashion plates.)

I say that to say this: In “Save Yourself,” the fourth episode of The Rain‘s shaky second season, the lead security goon for the Apollon corporation—not Kira, a semi-main character at this point, but some other guy who looks a bit like Euron Greyjoy from that other show I mentioned and who’s popped up in a supporting role before—breaks into the compound where our heroes have been hiding out with heavily armed team, and he’s the only one not wearing protective headgear. Considering the fact that they’re attempting to capture Rasmus Andersen, who’s a human virus bomb, this would increase his chances of dying considerably. What I thought about it this time was this:

He’s not wearing the headgear? Ridiculous!

Why the change? Because while all fantastic fiction requires suspension of disbelief, and while “Don’t sweat the small stuff” is a solid rule of thumb to follow when reading or watching it, you need to be kept in a mentally non-sweaty mood. The weaker the work, the less you’re getting by way of compensatory value in terms of ideas, images, writing, acting, all the things that make shows or movies or whatever of any genre worthwhile, the more likely you are to start noticing people’s hats. In that light,The Rain Season 2 might as well be a ad for a haberdashery.

I reviewed episode 4 of The Rain Season 2 for Decider.

“It’s Rasmus. He’s exploding!” —The Rain Season 2, Episode 3

“Can’t you hear how insane this sounds?” —The Rain Season 2, Episode 2

Loud and clear, The Rain. Loud and clear.

After a beautifully understated first season, Netflix’s once-promising post-apocalyptic thriller hits the halfway point of its second go round with a thud. Ironically titled “Stay in Control,” this episode appears to show a series that’s almost completely lost track of what made it compelling viewing in the first place. The grim but humane magic of its initial run is slipping right though its fingers.

I reviewed episode three of The Rain Season Two for Decider.

After a beautifully understated first season, Netflix’s once-promising post-apocalyptic thriller hits the halfway point of its second go round with a thud. Ironically titled “Stay in Control,” this episode appears to show a series that’s almost completely lost track of what made it compelling viewing in the first place. The grim but humane magic of its initial run is slipping right though its fingers.

I reviewed the third episode of The Rain Season Two for Decider.

When I picture the deaths of Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons, the first word that comes to mind is obscene.

The dragons are technical filmmaking achievements of a scale and quality never before seen on television. They are emblems of high-fantasy spectacle with real awe and real bite, in a field now dominated by literally and figuratively bloodless blockbusters. Most guttingly, they are symbols of the wonders of the natural world, pointlessly destroyed by merchants of death. For all these reasons, their killings made me want to look away … which is exactly why I felt the need to look closer. And the survival of the third, greatest, and last dragon in the Game of Thrones finale made that need impossible to resist.

Surviving the deaths of his siblings, Drogon leveled King’s Landing at the behest of his master and mother, killing countless thousands. Yet after her death, freed from human control for the first time in his life, he appears to decide against further devastation in favor of escape. He flies away and his future is unknown.

But while the minds of these dragons remain a mystery, what they symbolize can be sussed out more readily. With two of the creatures killed by two very different enemies and the third taking off on its own, the departures of the dragons track with the trajectory of the show’s final season. As such, they serve as legends on a map of the future. Two paths say, “Here be dragons.” The third is wide open.

I wrote about the deaths of Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons and what they symbolize for Vulture. Many people have called this the best writing I’ve ever done on the show, and I tend to agree.

There’s no way around it: I do not like this development at all. I don’t like the way it makes Rasmus even more of a superhuman dark-messiah figure. I don’t like how it pushes the boundaries of plausibility established by the series up until this point. I don’t like how it looks, as a visual effect. I don’t think it fits with the show’s quick yet fundamentally gentle and restrained tone. It just…doesn’t work. Not even having it unleashed under powerful circumstances—Sarah, grieving her brother and their friends, begs Patrick to kill her, and the virus emerges when she enters his room—can salvage it. My hope is that the show itself isn’t irrevocably infected as well.

I reviewed the second episode of The Rain Season 2 for Decider.

There’s no way around it: I do not like this development at all. I don’t like the way it makes Rasmus even more of a superhuman dark-messiah figure. I don’t like how it pushes the boundaries of plausibility established by the series up until this point. I don’t like how it looks, as a visual effect. I don’t think it fits with the show’s quick yet fundamentally gentle and restrained tone. It just…doesn’t work. Not even having it unleashed under powerful circumstances—Sarah, grieving her brother and their friends, begs Patrick to kill her, and the virus emerges when she enters his room—can salvage it. My hope is that the show itself isn’t irrevocably infected as well.

I reviewed episode two of The Rain Season 2 for Decider. It’s a mess.

Bran, Arya, Sansa, Jon: In their final destinies, the heirs of House Stark all defy their house words, “Winter Is Coming.” After showing us a nightmare for eight seasons, Game of Thrones finally dares to dream of spring.

I reviewed the series finale of Game of Thrones for Rolling Stone. I loved this show, and I owe it so much.

I’m not quite sure what to make of The Rain’s new season premiere. Oh, the stuff I loved the first time around is still there: the cast (in addition to the Andersen siblings, Jessica Dinnage as the cherub-cheeked Lea and Mikkel Følsgard as Simone’s love interest Martin are also standouts), the fundamental gentleness of the core characters, the unswerving sense that hurting other people to protect your own is Bad, Actually.

But the pacing has been dialed up to Ludicrous Speed even by The Rain‘s standards. So have the sci-fi elements, which have gone from “unscrupulous corporation creates miracle cure that turns into a biblical plague when unleashed” to “there are infected trees now and they can communicate with people” and “this one guy’s bodily fluids have all been replaced by liquid virus that explodes out of him like that oil rig in There Will Be Blood.” It’s…a lot, is what it is. Maybe too much.

I’m covering the second season of The Rain for Decider, starting with my review of the season premiere. 

(Note: I’m playing catch-up with links so these review summaries will be brief. I guess you’ll just have to read the reviews!)

When it Rains, it pours. Since Netflix’s Danish sci-fi thriller The Rain debuted—and I mean the very first seconds, which follow main character Simone Andersen running to school, and the very first minutes, which depict the apocalypse from beginning to end in significantly less time than it takes to watch an episode of I Think You Should Leave—the story and character beats have been delivered not in a drizzle but in a torrential deluge.

Which is what made The Rain such a refreshing experience to soak in. Compared to standard post-apocalyptic fare, which tends to belabor the obvious like no one in the audience has ever seen one of these things before, and the legendary pacing problems of “Netflix bloat,” a show that moved this quickly came as a pleasant surprise.

It moved deftly, too. This wasn’t some no-attention-span repeated bludgeon to the head, but a surprisingly nuanced study of young people forced to fend for themselves, and eventually care for each other, in a world rendered uninhabitable by, literally, their parents. (Imagine that!) The gentle faces and studied softness of lead actors Alba August as Simone, Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen as her brother Rasmus (patient zero for the rain-borne virus that nearly wiped out the population), and the small band of survivors they hook up with lent warmth to the inherent coldness of any post-apocalyptic/dystopian project. Whether it was one or not, it sure felt like a deliberate rejection of The Walking Dead‘s fascist prioritization of us-versus-them conflict.

So I’m not quite sure what to make of The Rain‘s new season premiere. Oh, the stuff I loved the first time around is still there: the cast (in addition to the Andersen siblings, Jessica Dinnage as the cherub-cheeked Lea and Mikkel Følsgard as Simone’s love interest Martin are also standouts), the fundamental gentleness of the core characters, the unswerving sense that hurting other people to protect your own is Bad, Actually.

But the pacing has been dialed up to Ludicrous Speed even by The Rain‘s standards. So have the sci-fi elements, which have gone from “unscrupulous corporation creates miracle cure that turns into a biblical plague when unleashed” to “there are infected trees now and they can communicate with people” and “this one guy’s bodily fluids have all been replaced by liquid virus that explodes out of him like that oil rig in There Will Be Blood.” It’s…a lot, is what it is. Maybe too much.

I’m covering The Rain for Decider again this season, starting with my review of the season premiere. 

(Note: I’m playing catch-up so these review descriptions will be short. I guess you’ll just have to read the reviews!)

1. “The Bells” (Season 8, Episode 5)

Sansa Stark: How long do I have to look?
Joffrey Baratheon: As long as it pleases me.

Miguel Sapochnik, the man behind “Hardhome,” “Battle of the Bastards,” and “The Long Night,” succeeded Neil Marshall as the show’s master of war. Returning to the director’s chair one last time for the series’s penultimate episode, he turns off the dark that confounded many viewers during the Battle of Winterfell. But does he therefore dial down the carnage that occurs any time large numbers of people decide to murder one another for a cause? Oh, no. Oh, not at all.

“The Bells” ratchets up the queasy terror of the last battle episode set at King’s Landing, “Blackwater,” by making its narrowly averted nightmare come true. This time, instead of stalling at the city walls, the invaders make it inside—with the help of Daenerys Targaryen and the last dragon she has. And before the episode is over, there’s barely a city left to sack. The Breaker of Chains breaks bad at last, unleashing dragon fire on tens of thousands of innocent civilians and reducing King’s Landing to rubble and ash.

This war crime was a long time coming, and the seeds had been planted since the start. No, I’m not talking about the innumerable people whose execution by Dany went excused because they were nominally “bad guys.” I’m talking about Bran falling from the tower. Viserys Targaryen and Robert Baratheon and Khal Drogo failing to survive a single season. Ned Stark losing his head. Jaime Lannister losing his hand. The Red Wedding. The Purple Wedding. The Red Viper. The death of the dragons.

Every single swerve that upended what the story seemed to be about was building to this moment: A self-styled liberator perpetrating a massacre on a previously unimaginable scale, both as an in-story act of violence and an on-screen work of filmmaking. This is the show, and it always has been. Game of Thrones forces you to look. Long may it burn.

I ranked every episode of Game of Thrones from worst to best for Vulture. I stand by this.

I can, and will, write quite a few words about “Billions” this week. For what really matters, however, five words are all it takes.

Dr. Gus is back, baby!

I reviewed this week’s episode of Billions for the New York Times.

“I have come … But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!”

Frodo Baggins broke bad. After a journey spanning thousands of miles, hundreds of pages, and a trilogy of books, the hero of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings did the one thing he’d aimed to prevent anyone from doing ever again: He claimed the One Ring, the ultimate weapon of the evil Sauron, as his own.

This betrayed everything he and his friends had fought and suffered for, but, fortunately for the hobbit, no mere mortal could hope to harness and wield the Ring’s power. All Frodo really succeeded in doing was alerting Sauron to the jewelry of mass destruction’s presence in the one place it could be destroyed, the volcano where it was originally forged.

Of course, this too would spell disaster if the Dark Lord were to reach Frodo in time to reclaim the Ring and turn it on the good guys amassed at the gates of his wasteland kingdom. Only dumb luck and Frodo’s own prior kindness saved him in the end. The mutated hobbit called Gollum, whose centuries of solitude with only the object’s dark magic for company had turned him into a hopeless Ring junkie, bit off Frodo’s finger to take the Ring back. He then promptly fell into the lava, destroying himself, the Ring, Sauron, his minions, his castle, and his impregnable kingdom all in one go. If Frodo had killed the vicious but ultimately pathetic creature during his many earlier opportunities to do so, all would have been lost.

But still: Tolkien chose to bring his magnum opus — the fountainhead from which the entire epic-fantasy genre has flowed — to a climax by corrupting his virtuous protagonist and giving him no agency in his own redemption. I first read The Lord of the Rings 33 years ago, and to this day I can’t hit that part of the book or watch that part of Peter Jackson’s film adaptation without gasping, “No, goddammit, no!” The character whose pure heart and noble intentions made him the ideal vehicle for bringing the most dangerous weapon in existence to its appointed place of destruction was, in the end, neither pure nor noble enough to resist trying to use the loaded gun he’d been carrying all that time. In the parlance of our era, you simply hate to see it.

Unfortunately for Daenerys Targaryen, there’s no Gollum present in Game of Thrones to knock her off her dragon’s back and then, I dunno, fly the thing directly into the side of a mountain at full speed. Her hero’s journey ends in villainy that no one — at least, perhaps, until Sunday’s series finale — has the power to stop.

I tried to contextualize Daenerys Targaryen’s actions in the penultimate episode of Game of Thrones for Vulture. I’m proud of this piece.

So ends the most daring episode of Game of Thrones ever. It’s the Red Wedding writ large, a masterpiece that murders all hope of neat closure, and reduces any lingering belief in the redemptive power of violence to ashes in our mouths.

I reviewed the penultimate episode of Game of Thrones, the series’ best, for Rolling Stone.

1. The Fall of King’s Landing, “The Bells” (Season 8, Episode 5)

“If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.” A sick humorist like Ramsay Bolton would probably appreciate the poetry of losing his place atop the list of Game of Thrones’ best battles to a conflagration that adhered to one of his own maxims. When the battle of “The Bells” begins, it first appears to be an absolute onslaught of wish-fulfillment fantasy violence. First, Daenerys and her last dragon effortlessly torch a fleet, an army, the walls of King’s Landing, and every last dragon-killing scorpion on land and sea. (Unlike the Night King and Euron Greyjoy’s sneak attacks, Dany and Drogon were coming prepared this time.) Then Jon Snow and Grey Worm lead thousands of screaming Northmen, Dothraki, and Unsullied into the city, making good on promises Khal Drogo and King Robb made way back in season one.

Then it all goes to shit. Snapping under a lifetime of paranoia, pressure, and rage, Daenerys burns the city to the ground. The soldiers run amok. The Hound and Jaime Lannister earn nothing but pyrrhic “victories” over the Mountain and Euron. Arya, who saved all of humanity a couple weeks ago, can’t even save one mother and her child. Cersei Lannister dies in the arms of her brother beneath the Red Keep, literally buried by the trappings of power.

Eight seasons of build-up result in a horrorshow that, in terms of both amassing bodies and punching the audience in the face, makes the Red Wedding look like flag football. Director Miguel Saphochnik (yes, him again) shoots it all in broad daylight, a gobsmackingly bold act of filmmaking that forces you to bear witness to every awful detail of the carnage. If you thought this had a happy ending, if you thought mass violence could be harnessed and tamed and aimed only at those who deserve it—well, you’re paying attention now, aren’t you?

I ranked all the major battles in Game of Thrones for Vulture.

“We may have defeated them, but we still have us to contend with.”

So says Tyrion Lannister regarding the plight that faces the people of Westeros — and the show that chronicles them. Yes, the dead are no more. But will the living choose to exist together as one? Or will they return to killing each other as they always have?

These questions haunt this week’s episode, titled “The Last of the Starks.” Written by co-creators David Benioff and Dan Weiss and directed by series mainstay David Nutter, it starts of in a celebratory mood, as the survivors of the Battle of Winterfell bid farewell to their fallen comrades and then drink and screw themselves into a stupor. But it ends with the gloomy, gut-wrenching prospect of even worse horrors to come — because this time, the killers will be humans.

I reviewed this week’s episode of Game of Thrones for Rolling Stone.

This week, “Billions” staged a charity boxing match between its fake-tough traders. I’m surprised that it took this long for the show to get in the ring.

The mano a mano match between Dollar Bill and Mafee on behalf of their overlords, Bobby Axelrod and Taylor Mason, provides the show with a perfect symbol. On the surface the fight is an act of philanthropy, a way to turn competition between rival firms into something productive. And surface is all it is.

The perfunctory noblesse oblige of the match’s charitable component disguises the venal truth. Two rich men who can barely muster the strength to swing at each other enact an absurd grudge match while their colleagues gamble obscene amounts of money. The winning bet, it turns out, is on both competitors losing. On “Billions,” there’s always a way to make money off someone else’s misfortune.

I reviewed this week’s episode of Billions for the New York Times.

For the final stretch of the episode, the ambient sound is muted and a piano melody kicks in. It immediately felt like a callback to “Light of the Seven,” one of your best-known pieces—so, you know, I got worried.

That was 100 percent intentional. When I talked to Miguel [Sapochnik], the director, and when David and Dan came to my studio and we started working on this episode, we all agreed that it had to be a piano piece again, just like “Light of the Seven.”

That was the first time we’d used piano in the show; it really meant something different. You realize Cersei’s up to something and it all blows up. By using it again, we wanted to have the reverse effect. The piano comes in and people go, “Uh-oh, here comes the piano again. Something’s unraveling!” There was little hope throughout the episode. They’ve fought and fought, but the Night King is just unstoppable. Then he comes walking in, and the piano itself represents, like, “This is really it! It’s over!” Then there’s that big twist in the end. It definitely misled the audience because of what they knew from “Light of the Seven,” back in season six. We always treated the music as another character in the show.

I interviewed Game of Thrones composer Ramin Djawadi about his work on “The Long Night” and elsewhere for Vulture.

The final episode of The Act is titled “Free,” and the irony is hard to miss. This is, after all, the episode where Gypsy and Nick are imprisoned for the murder of Dee Dee Blanchard — Gypsy for ten years and Nick for life. But despite the foregone-conclusion resolution of this true-crime drama, there are two scenes of actual freedom here, by my count, and each serves to drive that terrible irony deeper into your brain.

The first is the flashback to 1997 that opens the episode. This is the night when the Blanchards’ bedtime routine begins: Dee Dee comforting Gypsy, who’s spooked by the Spanish moss swaying from the branches above them as they lie in the grass, telling her that the stars are angels who will protect them, just as they will protect each other. They’re sleeping under the open sky, in the great outdoors, yet Dee Dee is forging a crucial link in the chains that will stay wrapped around her daughter until the night she herself is killed.

The second takes place on that fateful night, which we see in flashback near the end of the episode. After the murder, as Nick and Gypsy prepare for their farcical flight to freedom in Wisconsin, Gypsy grabs her two pet guinea pigs and sets them free on the lawn outside the pink Blanchard house. These two small domesticated rodents stand about as much chance of surviving out there on their own as the other two life forms who emerge from that house on that night. By freeing them, Gypsy has unwittingly sentenced them to death.

A literal sentencing awaits, but that’s not even the half of it. Gypsy’s imprisonment, her ongoing sense of being trapped no matter what she does and no matter where she is, is the guiding principle of the episode.

I reviewed the season finale of The Act for Vulture. What a show.

The whole show tapped into my personal fear of death. That has always been a big theme in this show. Everyone’s trying to run from it, and as the Hound actually says, nobody can. That primal fear, I have nightmares like that. It felt like I was watching one of my nightmares. Whoever you are, whether you’re a fucking prince or a king or a peasant or whatever, no one can escape. That makes us all the same. It connects us all. Sorry if this sounds a bit sentimental, but that’s really how I experienced this episode. To see someone who tried to save us all from that finally have a rest from that journey, it’s emotional.

That’s why you can’t put this show away as some sort of fantasy. There’s nothing wrong with the word fantasy, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a much more fundamental thing. It’s a message: We can fucking fight our own little fights, but when it comes down to it in the end, we fucking need each other, you know?

I interviewed Carice Van Houten about Melisandre and Game of Thrones for Vulture.