Game of groans: how boring historical accuracy ruined Vikings
When Ian McShane pithily remarked that Game of Thrones was “just tits and dragons”, you had to concede he had a point. Yes, it’s one of the greatest TV shows of all time – you, at the back! Pipe down! Yes, it is! – but Game of Thrones is also undeniably, unapologetically, unwaveringly silly. Giants, magic, northerners in positions of influence – daft as Basil Brush’s favourite brush, and no quantity of “grown-up” swearing, gore and bared boobs, bums or balls changes that. High fantasy is simply a no-no for some. For these people, who prefer their quasi-historical sword-andsandalry a little more IRL, there’s Vikings.
If you’ve never heard of it then that’s not entirely your fault. The show began in 2013, around the time GoT’s fat shadow loomed over all. Vikings also went out on the History Channel, home to such prestige dramas as, erm, Knightfall, and, umm … well, there you are. So it flew under the radar. Shame, really, because it was brilliant.
Initially, it told the (not wholly un) true story of Ragnar Lothbrok (Travis Fimmel – phwoar, Google him, thank me later), his wife Lagertha (Katheryn Winnick – Google, thank, etc) and their journey from waddling through partially frozen animal bum-mush as 11thcentury farmers to becoming the most powerful couple in Scandinavia. Ragnar had the revolutionary idea that the Vikings should sail to the unexplored lands of the west (UK peeps: that would be us), and pillage the Christian bejesus out of them. Once there, the hordes encountered King Ecbert of Wessex (Linus Roache, son of Corrie’s William, Ken Barlow fans), and over four seasons the Vikings and Brits went to war, forged alliances, had lots of sex, betrayed, murdered and occasionally even married each other.
Far more than a load of hirsute people bopping each other with axes, Vikings’ focus was always the fractious relationships of its international cast of characters, the ramifications of which spooled out to alter the course of nations. In this regard, Vikings was every bit GoT’s equal: quiet and cerebral, yet bloody and explosive when needed. Ragnar’s friends, family and marriage all pay the price for his ambition. He’s no white knight – he’s a liar and mass-murderer as much as a saviour and leader. Every character was complex, flawed and fascinating, but Ragnar most of all: capricious, cruel, charismatic, brave, wise and loving. The ultimate shouldn’t-but-deffo-would antihero.
The problem with mirroring history, though, is that history often does stupid things that you’d rather it didn’t. Twelve-centuries-old spoiler alert: Ragnar dies. Thrown into a pit of vipers in season four. And the show never quite managed to fill the void he left behind. His warring sons and Lagertha’s quest for power continue to have their moments, but Ragnar, the linchpin, is gone.
A sixth, final season arrives this autumn. In the lead-up’s mad flail to the finish line, the writing has become honkingly clunky. Where nuance once thrived, characters behave illogically for the sake of plot, or travel thousands of miles in the blink of an eye. It – unforgivably – has done a “seasonseven Game of Thrones”. Vikings could have reached Valhalla in glory. Now? It will die of old age, on the toilet. Great Odin’s raven!