Warning: This thread contains spoilers for Lost, Westworld, Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad, Avengers: Endgame, and yes, Star Wars: The Last Jedi
I give up. I'm tired of having my expectations subverted. I'm tired of surprise for surprise's sake.
I'm not one of those people who spends time coming up with elaborate theories about plot events. I can generally go with the flow; if I trust where you're taking the characters, I'll sit back and relax and let you take control. I think most viewers are this way. But in recent years, writers with big egos have become obsessed with outsmarting the small portion of the fanbase that spend their time coming up with theories and ideas. They believe that if the audience can guess what might happen that it's an indictment of their skill as a writer. This phenomenon is a relatively recent one, born out of the social media age where creators can instantly see in real time what fans are predicting and how they're reacting to the story. As a result, they have come to feel that the worst sin they can commit is being predictable, that they must instead pull twists and surprises out of nowhere lest the audience manage to guess what's happening in advance. Obviously, a story that is too predictable is boring, like watching a slow-motion train crash. But the whiplash in the other direction over the last few years has been noticeable and I think we're reaching a breaking point.
I've cited a few different examples of notable media works in the last decade that have played to different aspects of this phenomenon. Some are good, some are very bad, and some have veered into other directions entirely. You may disagree on one, some, or all of my examples. But all of them represent this new symbiotic relationship between creator and fan, between the people making the work with the best intentions of entertaining the audience and the people who consume it. This is a very long post and I hope you at least skim it or read the sections most relevant to your interests.
Previously, on Lost: Fan theories are a strange game. The only winning move is not to play
What is now clear with a decade of hindsight is that the writers were always more interested in how the mysteries affected the characters than the actual explanations behind the mysteries. The creepy man in the DHARMA videos isn't a clone or a mad scientist, he's Miles' estranged father who he thought abandoned his family but was actually protecting them from the secrets of the island. The smoke monster doesn't take human forms because it's a nanomachine swarm or an ancient god, it's because the writers wanted a vehicle for the characters to interact with the people they've lost and confront their past sins. It was clear by season 5 that this was the direction the show was heading, that the writers were uninterested in any grand unifying explanation of everything, but the fan theory machine was self-sustaining at this point. Maybe there was no ending to Lost that would have satisfied everyone. The theories people became attached to were so elaborate and so mutually exclusive that confirmation of any one theory would piss off proponents of six others. I remember once reading some incredibly elaborate 10,000 word essay about how Egyptian mythology was the key to everything and how like 10 of the characters perfectly matched Egyptian god counterparts and how all of this was important to the endgame, and I remember thinking how did this guy ever think any of this was going to be revealed in the show? Was he nuts? Yet the creativity of it was astounding nonetheless.
In the end, Lost decided that the only way to win the game of fan expectations was not to play. Instead of attempting explanations for some of its more unusual elements, it chose instead to tie everything into a pseudo-religious philosophical framework where the characters landed on the island because they were meant to be there, to find each other and live a better lives together than they had individually. Some viewers felt this was a profound attempt at grounding the show in its beloved characters. Others felt this was deeply unsatisfying, kicking the can rather than making any effort to provide answers for the questions fans had devoted so much of their time to solving. The ending was, and remains, one of the most controversial in fiction history. But what is interesting about it in the context of our modern media landscape is that the writers neither attempted to fulfill every fan theory, nor did they attempt to constantly outsmart the audience. In the end, for better or for worse, they realized they could never beat anything the audience had already come up with, and decided to simply go in an entirely different direction.
Breaking Bad and giving the audience what they want
The result was...a good ending? Unlike most TV shows, Breaking Bad seems to have mostly satisfied its audience and critics. Walt manages to secure his family's financial future, rescues Jesse, and goes out guns blazing to kill the gangsters who have threatened them. Walt dies hated by everyone he loved, but on his own terms, and with his family safe and secure. He doesn't get exactly what he wanted -- but many people in the audience did. They always knew there was likely no ending where their power fantasy protagonist gets away with it all, but they wanted to see him succeed. It is, after all, the basic premise of the show, a man driven to criminality by a broken healthcare system and an egotistical desire to leave his mark on the world. He starts the series with a goal, and many viewers hoped, in some way, that he would achieve that goal. And he does. It's not a happy ending, but for many people it is a satisfying one, because it largely plays into our expectations of how the story should end based on the threads and ideas established throughout the series. There were certainly more shocking, brutal, and unexpected ways the story could have ended, and for some people, that was what they wanted. Ultimately, Vince Gilligan and his crew chose to go with the ending they felt was most satisfying to them, and to the audience, and they are remembered fondly for it to this day.
Westworld and the desperate quest to outsmart Reddit
Reddit's Westworld subreddit quickly developed a reputation for being able to predict these twists in advance. People joked about the subreddit being a genius algorithm that was deliberately "spoiling" the show, and expressed their genuine interest in staying away from the online conversation lest they end up having the second season spoiled for them too. But in interviews, series creator Jonathan Nolan repeatedly hinted at his frustration that his mystery box had been cracked so easily by the sleuths on the internet. And when Westworld's second season debuted, his proposed solution became clear. Westworld season 2 is almost incomprehensible. Timelines within timelines, flashbacks within visions within dreams. Characters are dead, but they're not dead, they live on as memories or visions. The story rapidly jumps back and forth across multiple time periods, often with little explanation of when scenes are set in relation to each other, either temporally or geographically. Storylines and characters are abruptly cut off for shock value. Entire scenes and sequences are fabricated to trick the audience into thinking one thing when something else is happening. Characters no longer have arcs or development, they exist solely to cover up the breadcrumbs that could otherwise allow the audience to figure out what the hell is going on.
Nolan became convinced that the audience guessing the plot of season 1 was the mark of a bad writer. He became consumed by the desire to trick the audience at all costs, to maintain the allure and the secrecy instead of a story that actually makes sense.
The part where we talk about The Last Jedi
In fact, I exited Star Wars: The Last Jedi feeling very satisfied that what I had predicted had come to pass. Having always felt that Snoke was a two-dimensional mystery box cutout, I felt it would be best for Kylo Ren's character arc if he struck the empty suit down and took his place, assuming a very different role in Episode IX than what Vader had played in Return of the Jedi. I felt that making Rey into just another member of the Skywalker bloodline would undercut the fresh new feeling of the new trilogy, that heroes can come from any place and any "bloodline" so long as they embody the ideals of a Jedi. And I felt that making Luke into a sword-waving badass legend would misunderstand the tradition of the Jedi, that a true warrior defeats his enemies without firing a shot, that death is only the end of our physical bodies and not our life, that by striking me down I become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. And so when The Last Jedi paid off every one of these ideas I left the theater feeling utterly vindicated, that my interpretation and understanding of Star Wars had always been true.
In case you haven't heard, some others did not feel the same way.
With a year and a half of hindsight, I can understand now why some people felt disappointed, let down, and deceived by this film. I don't agree with them, but I understand their frustration. There are times when I, too, feel annoyed that we never got that grand meeting of our original trilogy heroes (although that's a problem laid squarely at the feet of J. J. Abrams, not Rian Johnson). There are times when I, too, feel disappointed that we didn't get to see the most legendary Jedi Master of all time engage in the coolest lightsaber fight of all time, because lightsabers are fucking cool. There are times when I rewatch the film and I, too, feel confused by the immense lack of accomplishment by the heroes, how nothing they seek to do ends in success. The reason I feel these things is because what I want out of the film and what I recognize are best for the story are not always in sync. I would love to watch an incredible show of Force abilities as Luke and Snoke duel to the death. I also understand that this would make no sense and undermine the themes of the franchise. But Star Wars is a very big franchise and I can understand, now, why people might have a different perspective, having played games and read books and experienced the franchise in a way that led them into that theater expecting one interpretation and instead watching Luke throw it over his shoulder and tell him that no, it doesn't matter. Rey's parentage doesn't matter, Snoke's identity doesn't matter, Luke's raw power doesn't matter.
I fundamentally believe that The Last Jedi is not a movie trying to subvert your expectations and is not a movie trying to outsmart its audience. But it is a movie with a very specific vision of Star Wars and what Star Wars can be, and unfortunately, that will result in the catastrophic alienation of everyone with a different perspective. There is a version of The Last Jedi that makes more of an effort to please the entire audience, one that I would likely enjoy too. But we didn't get that version, and I think I'm glad we didn't.
We're in the Endgame now
But describing Endgame solely as a "fanservice" film is something of a disservice to the movie and the MCU as a whole. After all, every fan has their own ideas of what they want to see happen. How did Endgame somehow end up with the vast majority of the fandom all on the same page? Because they put in the leg work to set up ideas that would eventually pay off. Many "theories" about Endgame's plot, characters arcs, and climaxes weren't really theories at all, but the obvious conclusions to ideas set in motion several films earlier. Rather than trying to desperately outsmart an audience that had predicted their biggest surprises, Endgame's writers willingly submit to the inevitability. Age of Ultron hints that Captain America can wield Thor's hammer, and in Endgame he does. It's not so much servicing a "theory" as it is concluding an obvious setup. Captain America is a character who others define by his genetically-enhanced blood ("Everything special about you came out of a bottle") but who is in fact a good, purehearted man no matter what flows through his veins, and picking up the hammer is the culmination of that thread, the proof that fans were right to believe in his moral character. It's not just a silly jerk-off moment where the one hero uses the other hero's weapon; it's the emotional payoff to the character's journey, and a damn cool-looking one at that. Imagine an alternate Endgame where Cap tries to lift the hammer but can't, and Thanos immediately knocks his head off. Haha, didn't see that one coming, did you? Were your expectations subverted? It's a twist for twists' sake, a "surprise" that is devoid of any satisfaction or entertainment value beyond shock.
People came up with all kinds of elaborate, far-reaching theories about how Endgame's plot would play out, and almost all of them turned out to be wrong. Yet they enjoyed the film anyway, because even though their "theories" for the plot might not have panned out, their expectations for the characters and how their stories would conclude were wholly satisfying. If you win over the characters, you win over the audience.
Game of Thrones, Or: A Song of Cause and Effect
The same cannot be said for the writers of the TV series who, high on the fumes of their success adapting someone else's masterpiece, have decided that it is more important to trick and surprise the audience than it is to make sure these surprises have any sort of logically coherent connection to the events that happened before them. Arya gets stabbed ten times but somehow lives and gets back to Westeros without issue. Cersei blows up a church with hundreds of prominent people inside and nobody cares. Arya somehow poisons all the Freys and escapes. The Night King kills Viserion with some kind of ice spear we've never seen before. Bran somehow convinces everyone that Littlefinger should be executed, and later convinces everyone that Jon Snow is the rightful heir to the throne, all with no evidence whatsoever. Arya, who has no connection to the White Walkers, stabs the Night King and immediately ends the threat in its entirety forever. Euron Greyjoy's fleet is somehow invisible to the naked eye in broad daylight as his heat-seeking ballistae takes Rhaegal out. Jaime completely abandons his quest for redemption and decides to return to Cersei to die with her. And after years of being portrayed as a goodhearted liberator, Dany's mind snaps after several losses that are entirely the fault of other characters, inexplicably deciding to incinerate a city of hundreds of thousands of civilians for no reason so that the audience can hate her.
An obsession with shock value -- an obsession with making sure the audience can't predict the plot -- has resulted in the writers actively refusing to properly set up character arcs or plot events in favor of surprise. Characters just know whatever they need to know, end up wherever they need to end up, do whatever the plot calls for them to do, regardless of whether it fits any part of their previously established story. "Foreshadowing" -- a random line of dialogue here, an offhand comment there -- is not a replacement for putting in the work to have your story make even a basic amount of sense.
In conclusion
I'm not asking for a return to the days of bog-standard Hero's Journey fare where every story has a predictable beginning, middle, and end. But we have instead swung hard in the other direction, to a world where stories no longer make even basic logical sense as writers desperately try to create surprise in an era where every subreddit is a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters programmed to figure out their fiction's darkest secrets.
I know this post is extremely long and I know it's a tinderbox of controversial concepts. Hopefully this discussion is aimed more at the general frustration of "subverted expectations" rather than any specific example I cited. But I also know that you guys love debating Star Wars and Game of Thrones and maybe I just like watching things burn after all. Dracarys.
I give up. I'm tired of having my expectations subverted. I'm tired of surprise for surprise's sake.
I'm not one of those people who spends time coming up with elaborate theories about plot events. I can generally go with the flow; if I trust where you're taking the characters, I'll sit back and relax and let you take control. I think most viewers are this way. But in recent years, writers with big egos have become obsessed with outsmarting the small portion of the fanbase that spend their time coming up with theories and ideas. They believe that if the audience can guess what might happen that it's an indictment of their skill as a writer. This phenomenon is a relatively recent one, born out of the social media age where creators can instantly see in real time what fans are predicting and how they're reacting to the story. As a result, they have come to feel that the worst sin they can commit is being predictable, that they must instead pull twists and surprises out of nowhere lest the audience manage to guess what's happening in advance. Obviously, a story that is too predictable is boring, like watching a slow-motion train crash. But the whiplash in the other direction over the last few years has been noticeable and I think we're reaching a breaking point.
I've cited a few different examples of notable media works in the last decade that have played to different aspects of this phenomenon. Some are good, some are very bad, and some have veered into other directions entirely. You may disagree on one, some, or all of my examples. But all of them represent this new symbiotic relationship between creator and fan, between the people making the work with the best intentions of entertaining the audience and the people who consume it. This is a very long post and I hope you at least skim it or read the sections most relevant to your interests.
Previously, on Lost: Fan theories are a strange game. The only winning move is not to play
Lost was not the first TV show to have twists or suprises or mysteries, but it was the first to explode in the social media era, to create virtual watercooler discussions with millions of people instead of the handful at your workplace. Lost was a complicated show with two dozen characters, multiple major storylines, and a litany of unsolved mystery plots that would go unanswered for many seasons at a time. The show, by its nature, openly invited speculation. What's in the hatch? The characters are wondering it, why shouldn't the audience? Where did that polar bear come from? What the hell is that monster in the jungle? But the characters aren't necessarily as invested in these mysteries as the audience is; their goal is to get home, and over the course of the series they come to realize that maybe going home isn't the right choice for all of them.Damon Lindelof said:
What is now clear with a decade of hindsight is that the writers were always more interested in how the mysteries affected the characters than the actual explanations behind the mysteries. The creepy man in the DHARMA videos isn't a clone or a mad scientist, he's Miles' estranged father who he thought abandoned his family but was actually protecting them from the secrets of the island. The smoke monster doesn't take human forms because it's a nanomachine swarm or an ancient god, it's because the writers wanted a vehicle for the characters to interact with the people they've lost and confront their past sins. It was clear by season 5 that this was the direction the show was heading, that the writers were uninterested in any grand unifying explanation of everything, but the fan theory machine was self-sustaining at this point. Maybe there was no ending to Lost that would have satisfied everyone. The theories people became attached to were so elaborate and so mutually exclusive that confirmation of any one theory would piss off proponents of six others. I remember once reading some incredibly elaborate 10,000 word essay about how Egyptian mythology was the key to everything and how like 10 of the characters perfectly matched Egyptian god counterparts and how all of this was important to the endgame, and I remember thinking how did this guy ever think any of this was going to be revealed in the show? Was he nuts? Yet the creativity of it was astounding nonetheless.
In the end, Lost decided that the only way to win the game of fan expectations was not to play. Instead of attempting explanations for some of its more unusual elements, it chose instead to tie everything into a pseudo-religious philosophical framework where the characters landed on the island because they were meant to be there, to find each other and live a better lives together than they had individually. Some viewers felt this was a profound attempt at grounding the show in its beloved characters. Others felt this was deeply unsatisfying, kicking the can rather than making any effort to provide answers for the questions fans had devoted so much of their time to solving. The ending was, and remains, one of the most controversial in fiction history. But what is interesting about it in the context of our modern media landscape is that the writers neither attempted to fulfill every fan theory, nor did they attempt to constantly outsmart the audience. In the end, for better or for worse, they realized they could never beat anything the audience had already come up with, and decided to simply go in an entirely different direction.
Breaking Bad and giving the audience what they want
It wasn't until the third or fourth season that Breaking Bad started to catch the internet's attention. Fans quickly binged through the first few seasons on Netflix and then sat with rapt attention each week as Walter White spiraled further down his path of death and destruction, hurting his family that he loved so much in the process. While it didn't have polar bears or smoke monsters, Breaking Bad nonetheless cultivated a devoted audience of theorists, who scoured every frame looking for narrative or thematic clues for how Walt's journey might end. As the ending rapidly approached, people waited with anticipation to see if the ending could live up to, in any way, the expectations they had set.Vince Gilligan said:
The result was...a good ending? Unlike most TV shows, Breaking Bad seems to have mostly satisfied its audience and critics. Walt manages to secure his family's financial future, rescues Jesse, and goes out guns blazing to kill the gangsters who have threatened them. Walt dies hated by everyone he loved, but on his own terms, and with his family safe and secure. He doesn't get exactly what he wanted -- but many people in the audience did. They always knew there was likely no ending where their power fantasy protagonist gets away with it all, but they wanted to see him succeed. It is, after all, the basic premise of the show, a man driven to criminality by a broken healthcare system and an egotistical desire to leave his mark on the world. He starts the series with a goal, and many viewers hoped, in some way, that he would achieve that goal. And he does. It's not a happy ending, but for many people it is a satisfying one, because it largely plays into our expectations of how the story should end based on the threads and ideas established throughout the series. There were certainly more shocking, brutal, and unexpected ways the story could have ended, and for some people, that was what they wanted. Ultimately, Vince Gilligan and his crew chose to go with the ending they felt was most satisfying to them, and to the audience, and they are remembered fondly for it to this day.
Westworld and the desperate quest to outsmart Reddit
The first season of Westworld was a tightly-wound clock, an intricate puzzle with multiple major twists that are hinted at repeatedly throughout the season: Bernard is a host who thinks he's a human. William's story is actually taking place thirty years in the past, and the Man in Black is actually his present-day self. Dolores is retracing her steps from thirty years earlier. Ford is secretly trying to unleash the hosts on the world.Jonathan Nolan said:
Reddit's Westworld subreddit quickly developed a reputation for being able to predict these twists in advance. People joked about the subreddit being a genius algorithm that was deliberately "spoiling" the show, and expressed their genuine interest in staying away from the online conversation lest they end up having the second season spoiled for them too. But in interviews, series creator Jonathan Nolan repeatedly hinted at his frustration that his mystery box had been cracked so easily by the sleuths on the internet. And when Westworld's second season debuted, his proposed solution became clear. Westworld season 2 is almost incomprehensible. Timelines within timelines, flashbacks within visions within dreams. Characters are dead, but they're not dead, they live on as memories or visions. The story rapidly jumps back and forth across multiple time periods, often with little explanation of when scenes are set in relation to each other, either temporally or geographically. Storylines and characters are abruptly cut off for shock value. Entire scenes and sequences are fabricated to trick the audience into thinking one thing when something else is happening. Characters no longer have arcs or development, they exist solely to cover up the breadcrumbs that could otherwise allow the audience to figure out what the hell is going on.
Nolan became convinced that the audience guessing the plot of season 1 was the mark of a bad writer. He became consumed by the desire to trick the audience at all costs, to maintain the allure and the secrecy instead of a story that actually makes sense.
The part where we talk about The Last Jedi
Were your expectations subverted? Mine weren't.Rian Johnson said:
In fact, I exited Star Wars: The Last Jedi feeling very satisfied that what I had predicted had come to pass. Having always felt that Snoke was a two-dimensional mystery box cutout, I felt it would be best for Kylo Ren's character arc if he struck the empty suit down and took his place, assuming a very different role in Episode IX than what Vader had played in Return of the Jedi. I felt that making Rey into just another member of the Skywalker bloodline would undercut the fresh new feeling of the new trilogy, that heroes can come from any place and any "bloodline" so long as they embody the ideals of a Jedi. And I felt that making Luke into a sword-waving badass legend would misunderstand the tradition of the Jedi, that a true warrior defeats his enemies without firing a shot, that death is only the end of our physical bodies and not our life, that by striking me down I become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. And so when The Last Jedi paid off every one of these ideas I left the theater feeling utterly vindicated, that my interpretation and understanding of Star Wars had always been true.
In case you haven't heard, some others did not feel the same way.
With a year and a half of hindsight, I can understand now why some people felt disappointed, let down, and deceived by this film. I don't agree with them, but I understand their frustration. There are times when I, too, feel annoyed that we never got that grand meeting of our original trilogy heroes (although that's a problem laid squarely at the feet of J. J. Abrams, not Rian Johnson). There are times when I, too, feel disappointed that we didn't get to see the most legendary Jedi Master of all time engage in the coolest lightsaber fight of all time, because lightsabers are fucking cool. There are times when I rewatch the film and I, too, feel confused by the immense lack of accomplishment by the heroes, how nothing they seek to do ends in success. The reason I feel these things is because what I want out of the film and what I recognize are best for the story are not always in sync. I would love to watch an incredible show of Force abilities as Luke and Snoke duel to the death. I also understand that this would make no sense and undermine the themes of the franchise. But Star Wars is a very big franchise and I can understand, now, why people might have a different perspective, having played games and read books and experienced the franchise in a way that led them into that theater expecting one interpretation and instead watching Luke throw it over his shoulder and tell him that no, it doesn't matter. Rey's parentage doesn't matter, Snoke's identity doesn't matter, Luke's raw power doesn't matter.
I fundamentally believe that The Last Jedi is not a movie trying to subvert your expectations and is not a movie trying to outsmart its audience. But it is a movie with a very specific vision of Star Wars and what Star Wars can be, and unfortunately, that will result in the catastrophic alienation of everyone with a different perspective. There is a version of The Last Jedi that makes more of an effort to please the entire audience, one that I would likely enjoy too. But we didn't get that version, and I think I'm glad we didn't.
We're in the Endgame now
Avengers: Endgame is not a surprising movie. It is, in every way, intended to be immensely satisfying to fans of the Marvel Cinematic Universe; it's not breaking new narrative ground or taking bold storytelling risks. It is the antithesis of The Last Jedi, for better or for worse, in every regard. You wanted to see all the MCU's biggest heroes team up? You got it. You wanted everyone to come back to life? You got it. Wacky recreations of past movie scenes? We've got a bunch. Callbacks to famous lines? We could do those all day. An endless parade of cameos? Everyone is here. The inevitable sacrifice of the MCU's biggest hero? Yep, that too. This is the ultimate fanservice film and it has been rewarded in kind with over two and a half billion dollars in box office receipts and counting.Thor said:
But describing Endgame solely as a "fanservice" film is something of a disservice to the movie and the MCU as a whole. After all, every fan has their own ideas of what they want to see happen. How did Endgame somehow end up with the vast majority of the fandom all on the same page? Because they put in the leg work to set up ideas that would eventually pay off. Many "theories" about Endgame's plot, characters arcs, and climaxes weren't really theories at all, but the obvious conclusions to ideas set in motion several films earlier. Rather than trying to desperately outsmart an audience that had predicted their biggest surprises, Endgame's writers willingly submit to the inevitability. Age of Ultron hints that Captain America can wield Thor's hammer, and in Endgame he does. It's not so much servicing a "theory" as it is concluding an obvious setup. Captain America is a character who others define by his genetically-enhanced blood ("Everything special about you came out of a bottle") but who is in fact a good, purehearted man no matter what flows through his veins, and picking up the hammer is the culmination of that thread, the proof that fans were right to believe in his moral character. It's not just a silly jerk-off moment where the one hero uses the other hero's weapon; it's the emotional payoff to the character's journey, and a damn cool-looking one at that. Imagine an alternate Endgame where Cap tries to lift the hammer but can't, and Thanos immediately knocks his head off. Haha, didn't see that one coming, did you? Were your expectations subverted? It's a twist for twists' sake, a "surprise" that is devoid of any satisfaction or entertainment value beyond shock.
People came up with all kinds of elaborate, far-reaching theories about how Endgame's plot would play out, and almost all of them turned out to be wrong. Yet they enjoyed the film anyway, because even though their "theories" for the plot might not have panned out, their expectations for the characters and how their stories would conclude were wholly satisfying. If you win over the characters, you win over the audience.
Game of Thrones, Or: A Song of Cause and Effect
Game of Thrones -- or more accurately, the books, A Song of Ice and Fire -- is a story fundamentally built on cause and effect. Nothing happens spontaneously and without reason. Even the most shocking plot twists make perfect sense within the motivations and logic of every character involved. The only reason these twists are surprising is because George R. R. Martin expertly takes us into our characters' point of view, tricking us into following their reasoning even when it might not be true, and allowing us to forget about other characters, factions, and moving pieces in the background. When Robb Stark accepts Walder Frey's invitation to the Twins, all the pieces have already been set into motion for what should be a massacre every reader or viewer expects in advance. But you don't, because you don't remember when Tywin Lannister was writing a letter to parties unknown, or when Roose Bolton inexplicably allowed Jaime Lannister to go free, or when Daenerys had a vision of a dead man with a wolf's head at a banquet table. You don't expect Walder Frey to completely violate the laws of gods and men in such a profane way, and you don't expect Robb, our valiant hero, to be killed in such a tragic fashion. Only in the aftermath of the bloodshed do you realize oh shit, how did I not see that coming? This mastery of complex cause and effect is the gift and the curse of A Song of Ice and Fire, the incredibly convoluted puzzle with thousands of pieces that has forced Martin into endless narrative paralysis as he seeks to untangle the threads and reach the next part of the story.David Benioff said:
The same cannot be said for the writers of the TV series who, high on the fumes of their success adapting someone else's masterpiece, have decided that it is more important to trick and surprise the audience than it is to make sure these surprises have any sort of logically coherent connection to the events that happened before them. Arya gets stabbed ten times but somehow lives and gets back to Westeros without issue. Cersei blows up a church with hundreds of prominent people inside and nobody cares. Arya somehow poisons all the Freys and escapes. The Night King kills Viserion with some kind of ice spear we've never seen before. Bran somehow convinces everyone that Littlefinger should be executed, and later convinces everyone that Jon Snow is the rightful heir to the throne, all with no evidence whatsoever. Arya, who has no connection to the White Walkers, stabs the Night King and immediately ends the threat in its entirety forever. Euron Greyjoy's fleet is somehow invisible to the naked eye in broad daylight as his heat-seeking ballistae takes Rhaegal out. Jaime completely abandons his quest for redemption and decides to return to Cersei to die with her. And after years of being portrayed as a goodhearted liberator, Dany's mind snaps after several losses that are entirely the fault of other characters, inexplicably deciding to incinerate a city of hundreds of thousands of civilians for no reason so that the audience can hate her.
An obsession with shock value -- an obsession with making sure the audience can't predict the plot -- has resulted in the writers actively refusing to properly set up character arcs or plot events in favor of surprise. Characters just know whatever they need to know, end up wherever they need to end up, do whatever the plot calls for them to do, regardless of whether it fits any part of their previously established story. "Foreshadowing" -- a random line of dialogue here, an offhand comment there -- is not a replacement for putting in the work to have your story make even a basic amount of sense.
In conclusion
I'm not asking for a return to the days of bog-standard Hero's Journey fare where every story has a predictable beginning, middle, and end. But we have instead swung hard in the other direction, to a world where stories no longer make even basic logical sense as writers desperately try to create surprise in an era where every subreddit is a thousand monkeys with a thousand typewriters programmed to figure out their fiction's darkest secrets.
I know this post is extremely long and I know it's a tinderbox of controversial concepts. Hopefully this discussion is aimed more at the general frustration of "subverted expectations" rather than any specific example I cited. But I also know that you guys love debating Star Wars and Game of Thrones and maybe I just like watching things burn after all. Dracarys.
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