For a fantasy-adventure project, House of the Dragon is oddly tethered to a notion that the story should play out in people's houses. Four of the five leads meander around their castles, alternately fretting or arguing, while the dragons are likely as not to be seen in a cavern serendipitously located next to a castle. Where once dragons flew to the ends of the world to incinerate people, now the people come to them.
Precious little comes from this domesticated dialoguing, at least not in the seven hours I've spent paying what vaguely resembles attention. The fact is more happens in a 22-minute episode of Seinfeld than on the chatty planet of Westeros.
God knows what this does for people. I watch out of habit, though I suspect it's one that will be broken by next Monday. I'm led to believe the show is beloved and HBO is happy with the product, but more people have watched the terminally silly rerun of Your Honor on Netflix, where the idea a Scottish mafia runs New Orleans' criminal underworld is a salient point in the story. (To be precise, more minutes of Your Honor have been watched by people than minutes of House of the Dragon, which doesn't necessarily mean more people are watching Your Honor.) It would be odd if someone at HBO hasn't noted the profit margin on Your Honor may be a tad larger than for the dragon show, but the business of television often belies common sense analysis.
Even more bewildering is why I feel compelled to state an opinion. Sometimes I'm a mystery, even to myself.
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