I tried to watch the first episode of Season 7 after a three-year break and was reminded in the first two minutes why I had quit in the first place:  the showrunner’s preoccupation with fecal matter and mangled human bodies. All that poo before the opening credits invaded my senses and put me right off my food. The autopsy scene that followed was just the icing on the cake.

 

The fact that three scenes in took me right back to where I’d left off three years ago (with

a reference to the red wedding) told me that not much had happened on Thrones during my hiatus and that the show moved slower than Harry Potter’s battle with Lord Voldemort.

 

 

 

 

Glacial pacing notwithstanding, how much longer will Queen Cersei hang in there? She has a new do and her stylist is fabulous, but all those scowls and scene chews wore thin by S7 E2 at just past the 30 minute mark. At least I didn’t have to suffer another randy legover between the siblings in front of a dead son’s casket (that one was over the top and too cloying even to shock).

 

 

 

I had to eventually skip to S7 E7 and fast forwarded a couple of times before the wall

came tumbling down. Winter has finally come and the zombies are on the march.

 

Slowly.

 

Very, very slowly.

 

Like this show. In its last gasps.

 

Someone win the game, already. I’m worn out.