Television Review: Beyond the Wall (Game of Thrones, S7X06, 2017)

Beyond the Wall (S7x06)

Airdate: 20 August 2017

Written by: David Benioff & D. B. Weiss
Directed by: Alan Taylor

Running Time: 71 minutes

By the seventh season of Game of Thrones, the grand, intricate tapestry of George R. R. Martin’s world had been radically simplified for a broader, arguably attention-deficient television audience. The showrunners, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss, exhibited clear signs of creative exhaustion, no longer weaving the complex political and moral threads that defined the series’ early brilliance. Major plot twists, once the lifeblood of the show, became rarer and more mechanically deployed. When such seismic events did occur—as near Season 6’s explosive finale—they followed the established Game of Thrones tradition of serving as the penultimate season’s “wham” moment, a cliffhanger whose consequences were meant to be explored in the final act. “Beyond the Wall” (S7E06) is the quintessential product of this late-stage philosophy: a visually staggering, often thrilling piece of blockbuster television that simultaneously exposes the fraying narrative logic and emotional depth of the series as it hurtled towards its conclusion.

As the title bluntly states, the episode narrows its focus to a single, high-concept storyline: the much-debated “wight hunt.” Conceived as a desperate, arguably foolish plan, Jon Snow aims to capture a reanimated corpse from beyond the Wall to present as irrefutable proof of the White Walker threat to the sceptical Queen Cersei in King’s Landing. The goal is to forge an armistice in the destructive and pointless wars of men, redirecting the Seven Kingdoms’ resources toward the existential fight in the north. It is a plot device that prioritises spectacle over sense, forcing a unification of rival factions through a macguffin. The mission itself becomes a grim crucible. Jon assembles a “suicide squad” of Westeros’s toughest, most versatile warriors—a fan-service lineup including the Hound, Jorah Mormont, Tormund Giantsbane, and Beric Dondarrion. Their northward trek immediately confronts them with the unforgiving elements: a bleak, frozen hellscape where the cold is as lethal as any enemy.

The mission’s deadly seriousness is established in a brutally efficient set-piece. Caught in a sudden snowstorm, the group is ambushed by a zombified bear, a horrifying remnant of the wild. The skirmish is chaotic and visceral, shot with a claustrophobic intensity that makes the flaming swords of the Brotherhood Without Banners a welcome but desperate defence. The bear is slain, but not without cost. Several men are killed, and the amiable red priest Thoros of Myr is mortally wounded, his subsequent death by the campfire a quiet, sobering moment that underscores the mission’s grim stakes. This sequence, while effective horror, also highlights a growing problem: the reduction of Martin’s nuanced world to a series of video-game-like enemy encounters.

Against the odds, the mission achieves its objective through a daring, almost luck-driven assault. The group stumbles upon a White Walker escorting a small band of wights. In a swift attack, they manage to capture one. However, their success is fleeting. During their retreat, they are spotted, triggering a relentless pursuit by the vast Army of the Dead. Realising escape is impossible, they send the youngest and fastest, Gendry, to run back to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and send a raven to Daenerys Targaryen pleading for rescue—a decision that would later become a focal point for criticism regarding travel times. The surviving band finds temporary refuge on a rock in the centre of a frozen lake, a tactical haven as the ice cannot support the weight of the wights. This leads to a tense stalemate, a siege scenario that allows for character moments and banter amidst the dread. These dialogues—particularly between the Hound and Tormund—are among the episode’s strengths, providing the emotional glue that makes the audience care for these men facing annihilation.

The respite ends when the cold sufficiently refreezes the lake. The Night King, a figure of terrifying calm, signals the attack. What follows is a sustained, brutal battle of survival. The group fights valiantly, but they are inexorably overwhelmed by the sheer, mindless numbers of the dead. Just as all seems lost, the episode delivers its most spectacular deus ex machina. Gendry’s marathon, the raven’s flight to Dragonstone, and Daenerys’s decision to act all occur with implausible, teleportation-like speed—a glaring narrative shortcut that sacrifices internal consistency for dramatic payoff. Nevertheless, the payoff is undeniably cinematic. Daenerys arrives on the back of Drogon, with her two other dragons, Rhaegal and Viserion, providing devastating aerial support. The dragonfire cuts swathes through the wight army in a sequence of pure fiery catharsis. Dany lands, rescuing Jorah, Tormund, and others along with the captured wight.

Yet, in a devastating twist, the Night King reveals his own game-changing weapon. With chilling precision, he hurls a massive ice javelin, spearing the dragon Viserion through the neck. The beast’s death roar is a sound of pure agony, and its crash through the ice is one of the series’ most haunting images. In the chaos, Jon is left behind, plunging into the freezing waters. Daenerys, heartbroken but pragmatic, is forced to depart. Jon’s subsequent survival stretches credulity further. He surfaces, alone, and begins a hopeless trek south, only to be saved at the last second by another convenient deus ex machina: his long-lost uncle, Benjen Stark. Their reunion is criminally brief; Benjen sacrifices himself as a distraction, a tragically underwhelming end for a once-mysterious character reduced to a narrative taxi service. Jon reaches Eastwatch and later awakens on a ship heading south, where a concerned Daenerys observes the horrific scars of his many stab wounds—a moment of quiet intimacy that underscores their growing bond.

While this primary narrative unfolds, the episode cuts away to a far less compelling subplot in Winterfell. The simmering tension between Sansa and Arya Stark reaches a contrived and frustrating peak. Arya discovers Sansa’s old, coerced letter to Robb, and Sansa snoops through Arya’s belongings to find her collection of Faceless Men faces. Their confrontation is steeped in manufactured mistrust, feeling like filler designed to pad the runtime and set up Littlefinger’s machinations, which would be resolved in the next episode. This subplot, alongside some tedious expository debates between Tyrion and Daenerys on Dragonstone about succession and strategy, saps momentum from the main event. It is a primary reason why, at 71 minutes, “Beyond the Wall” became the series’ longest episode to that date—a length not justified by its narrative content.

Directed by the veteran Alan Taylor, the episode functions precisely as the previous instalment suggested: a fusion of Tolkien-esque fantasy quest and Hollywood action movie. The Icelandic landscapes provide an epic, desolate backdrop, seamlessly blended with CGI to create a convincing frozen wasteland. The editing during the battle sequences is taut and clear, making the action easy to follow—a virtue not always present in later seasons. The extended time spent with the characters on the rock invests the viewer in their fate, making the subsequent battle more impactful. The final showdown is consciously reminiscent of *Hardhome* (S5E08), an episode rightly hailed as a masterpiece of television horror. Like Hardhome, the protagonists’ mission here technically succeeds, but at a cost so catastrophic it threatens to undo any victory. The capture of a wight is rendered almost meaningless by the loss of a dragon, a twist that makes the cost unbearably, perhaps unjustifiably, high.

This leads to the episode’s masterful and deeply disturbing cliffhanger. In a silent, chilling sequence, the wights use massive chains to haul Viserion’s corpse from the lake’s depths. The Night King approaches and touches the dragon, its eye snapping open with an eerie blue glow. The superweapon meant to save the world has been claimed by the enemy, a moment of pure existential dread that promised a terrifying escalation for the final season.

For all its spectacle, Beyond the Wall is riddled with critical flaws that exemplify the show’s late-stage decline. The most egregious is the blatant disregard for established geography and travel time. The rapid succession of Gendry’s run, the raven’s flight, and Dany’s journey shatters any sense of realistic distance, reducing Westeros to a mere plot convenience. Furthermore, Jon Snow’s survival, aided by Benjen’s timely arrival, reinforces his overwhelming “plot armour,” a consequence of his resurrection that drains genuine peril from his scenes. The danger begins to feel trivial when the narrative repeatedly bends over backwards to preserve him.

Yet, on its own terms, divorced from the stricter internal logic of earlier seasons, Beyond the Wall is a very good and memorable work of television. It is a well-executed action-horror set piece with emotional beats that land, spectacular visuals, and a truly game-changing finale. It earned its record viewing ratings through sheer audacity and scale. However, its virtues also make the subsequent creative missteps of the final season feel all the more devastating. It stands as a poignant symbol of Game of Thrones at a crossroads: capable of delivering breathtaking moments, but increasingly reliant on hollow spectacle over the rich, character-driven complexity that once made it legendary.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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