After dragging itself out of the burning embers of Game of Thrones, the highly anticipated prequel House of the Dragon had the potential to veer off in any number of outrageous directions. Its predecessor often seemed to do whatever it felt like. From zombies and sacrificial infanticide to incest and castration, and you could never say it failed to go there. House of the Dragon proved to be more mannered, more sombre and, astonishingly for a cod-medieval series about icy blonds arguing over whose dragon is more fiery, more subtle. And here it is now, this enormous, splashy spin-off of one of the biggest shows of all time, once again insisting on being so frustratingly subtle about everything.
In the past, this subtlety was a strength as well as a weakness, and that remains the case for the first four episodes of season two, which is all that HBO released to critics in advance. It means that the characters have more depth, it is sparing with the default crude shocks, and it worms its way into your mind with a deceptive gentleness. Again, given that the beheadings and hangings and fights to the death arrive fairly promptly in season two, I appreciate that gentleness is another unlikely virtue. But it is there, nonetheless. This makes for a moreish series that is engrossing almost by stealth. By the end of episode four, when the excitement arrives in earnest, it certainly feels as if it has earned the right to show off.
