Escapism

When the four walls of your convalescent room have finally revealed all their cracks in infinite detail; when only unappetizing lozenges of browning melon remain in that fruit basket by your bedside; when all those dog-eared biographies of sixties popstars have been half-read and then discarded on the floor; when time has been completely and utterly killed, given the coup-de-gras at least ten times and you have jumped up and down on its grave like an insane trampolinist ... then you just might be bored enough to watch a little "sword and sorcery" themed Sci-Fi Fantasy epic on cable or DVD. I know I am.
Whether they are called Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings, most Sci-Fi Fantasy epics follow the basic King Arthur storyline: a flawed hero and his rag-tag band of misfits embark upon a thankless quest for some magical piece of flea market ephemera. He is a sort of bearded JFK figure who eats with his hands. His men look like the Rolling Stones in ill-fitting suits of armor. They face many deadly trials and perilous tribulations on their quest, which they usually solve by simply hacking angry monsters to death; fiery dragons and one-eyed giants who were previously asleep in pitch black caves, minding their own business.
There will be a token love interest: a dainty narrative afterthought with doe-eyes and alabaster skin. But our busy hero generally prefers spending his time drinking mead with bearded fighting men and consulting gloomy wizards, so she's left to walk her domesticated snow leopards around the empty castle by herself. Another night in with endless needlework and a fat lady-in-waiting who snores. It's not very chivalrous if you ask me.
Meanwhile, back on the quest, the hero and his friends have encountered an obstacle.
"We must cross the icy Ocean of Slurp before nightfall."
"But we are infantry, not seafaring men."
"It matters not. It is our destiny."
"Yes Lord"
Oh God, how they drone on and on about their dreary destiny all the time. There is also far too much subservient, class-conscious grovelling for my liking. In fact, the entire genre of Sci-Fi Fantasy seems to be dominated by especially pompous, priggish, self-regarding aristocrats. The closest it ever gets to a proper, modern Democracy is an unelected and highly secretive "council" of hooded and lugubrious elders who shuffle about inside the roots of some ancient tree making fatuous decisions about the future of Elf Land.
It is amazing that not even a hint of progressive political activism appears in any of these films and TV shows. There is no long-haired Hobbit preaching Marxism or spotty gnome plastering his woodland bedroom with posters of Che Guevara. Honestly, if I were writing these scripts I'd include an armor-clad, broadsword-wielding Lenin rising from his dreamless sweep and destroying the old order. Of course, this means that my hero would eventually be followed by a troll-like Stalin and his murderous five year plan to collectivize the Shire farms, but at least it would change things up a bit.
Anyway, I suppose it is time to turn the TV off and change the dressings on my own scars now; these deep wounds inflicted upon me by the Dark Lord Cholesterol but mercifully healed by Gandalf the Wise Surgeon. May the power of Bacitracin be with me.