It was tense, and it was masterful. As befits a show in which nice guys are generally patsies and/or dead, almost everyone leapt at the chance to stick it to Tyrion. Charles Dance, as Tywin, presided. Dance could never do anything but preside, really. I imagine that even while ordering a Zinger Tower at KFC he would still radiate majesty.
Dance's eyebrows alone, glued to a piece of A4, could stand for election. But his diction must also have something to do with it; there are few better than Dance when it comes to commanding peroration. As he told Jaime what his plans were for Tyrion I felt sorry for Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, who is Danish and whose delivery sounds a little garbled compared to Dance’s crisp elocution and never-ending vowels.
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