Liam Hemsworth took over the role of Geralt in The Witcher season 4, bringing a new interpretation after Henry Cavill. Fans are divided, but story continues.
The first episode of The Witcher Season 4 came with one of the most controversial recastings in recent TV history, Liam Hemsworth taking on the legendary role of Geralt of Rivia, in place of Henry Cavill. For three seasons, Cavill was the series’ gravel-voiced, brooding centerpiece, turning the White Wolf into a towering physical symbol tied to his own performance. Unsurprisingly, the change was met with a seismic shift among fans, with numerous posting a craziest hate load well before episode one aired.
Now even the season is far more complicated than the verdict. Is the new Geralt doomed to be boring, cringing under the shadow of his ancestor, or is he buckling up for a great new road? It depends on how you define the character itself.
Many reviews and fans alike agree that Hemsworth’s Geralt pales in comparison, not having the same gravitational charm that Cavill had as the character. So far, opinions are divided, some critics blistering, with new rendition dismissed as painfully one-note, less kindly, a bollard in a wig.
While Cavill’s cold exterior seemed to belay a simmering fury beneath the surface that was just waiting to explode, to some, Hemsworth’s take amounts to nothing more than a listless impersonation.
Also the looks don’t make sense to ignore. Critics said that Hemsworth looks too young or too pretty, as if he’s a sad emo boy who got muscles rather than looking like a grizzled, hardened veteran. For fans who fell in love with the growl and tension of the first three seasons, not having that unmistakable superhero shape leaves a hole that all the mumbling and grunting can’t really fill. To them, this new Geralt is just plain boring – a pale imitation of the White Wolf they had.
But on closer inspection any dullness could actually be a conscious change and arguably one that follows the books more closely. Henry Cavill’s Geralt was very much the silent, grunting monster slayer. The Geralt of Season 4, adapted from the novel Baptism of Fire, is a different man.
He’s both physically and emotionally broken after what happened last season, and he’s desperate for revenge. Members of the show’s creative team and Hemsworth himself have suggested this will be a more vulnerable, heart-driven version of the Witcher.
According to Forbes, Hemsworth has discussed his excitement to play a Geralt who is at a crossroads, where he is motivated by love for his found family, Ciri and Yennefer, rather than his old mantra of neutrality. His arc is largely about his emotional evolution, as he reunites with a new traveling party that includes new characters like Regis.
Certain diehard readers even make the case that Hemsworth’s physical appearance and the way he plays a slightly more loquacious, a bit less invincible, wounded warrior version of the character is a more accurate representation of the character found in the novels by Andrzej Sapkowski. For these viewers, this fresh interpretation is a fantastic chance to take the show in the direction of a more loyal, complicated representation.
In the end, the new Geralt is not a spot-on copy nor is he a complete trainwreck. He’s a work-in-progress and the show has become a full ensemble. Yennefer and Ciri play leading roles in major, action-packed story arcs, taking the emphasis away from Geralt’s mountainous shoulders, softening the blow of the actor swap.
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While fan consensus is still largely split at great disappointment and pleasantly surprised, Hemsworth should probably be commended for taking a nearly impossible task and running with it. If he is invisible to some, it is because he is now the quieter, transitional Geralt the story demands — a grounded figure who is his friends and adopted family on the way to their own journeys.
Whether his run ultimately ends up being amazing or boring will be decided by his ability to take a break and let a quieter, more emotional Geralt step back into the spotlight for season five, and the final season.
Welcome to FandomFans — your source for the latest buzz from Hollywood’s creative underworld. Here, we explore the art of filmmaking, knowing about how visionary directors, designers, and actors shape the worlds we escape into. Today we break down the difference between Old & New Geralt ov Rivia. Why Hemsworth receive negative review from the audience on the first episode of The Witcher.
Explore Robin Hood Season 1 biggest twists, from Marian’s vigilante secret to political conspiracies that reshaped Sherwood forever.
Folklore is seldom static. It lives, molds, and transforms to reflect the worries of the time that is telling it. Although the middle of the 20th century produced a Robin Hood Season 1 that was more pastoral idealist, green tights and all, the 2006 BBC version – and its 2025 MGM+ follow-up – broke the mold. These versions are not simply stories; they are “revisionist mythmaking,” in which stabilizing plot twists deconstruct the hero’s journey through the lens of contemporary socio-political realities.
The fundamental transformation of the 2006 series is based in the mind of its lead character. When Robin of Locksley comes home to England in 1192, he is no hero. Played by Jonas Armstrong, he and his manservant Much are traumatised veterans of the Third Crusade.
This incarnation of Robin is characterized by a renunciation of his aristocratic roots after learning that the “Holy War” he fought was less about divine justice and more about mindless killing. Adult disillusionment is set up straight away in the pilot, “Will You Tolerate This?” when Robin finds his home ruled by the “iron-fisted” Sheriff Vaisey. His decision to hit the road was an instinctive repudiation of the very systems he once worked within.
The 12th-century struggle is clearly enmeshed with 21st-century concerns in the script. Robin’s debate about whether the war is “ours” or “the Pope’s” reflected contemporary discussions about the invasion of Iraq, casting the outlaw as the tired warrior come home to a land he doesn’t know.
Maybe the biggest deviation from tradition is the character of Lady Marian. Not the “Maid” of folklore, but now a “Lady” playing a dangerous game of vigilante. The revelation in episode three that Marian moonlights as the “Night Watchman” makes her pretty much the all of the very first worldwide and medieval Batman, guarding the impoverished much prior to Robin ever rejoined with Sherwood.
In this twist, Marian has an autonomy and martial capacity to match that of Robin’s. It also leads to an interesting interpersonal conflict: she resents Robin at first because his “loud” heroics risk blowing her cover.
Socio-Political Intrigue: Marian employs her position to spy, serving as the outlaws’ chief informant.
Physical Defiance: The fact that she has a ”knuckle-buster” ring and a dagger hidden in a hair-clip denotes a move to the “Action Girl” stereotype.
The Humbling of Nobility: When the Sheriff shaves Marian’s head on the gallows, it functions as a major turning point.It was an infringement on noble privilege, meant to demonstrate that no one was beyond Vaisey’s reach.
A continuing Spy arc of season 1 is that the corruption in Nottingham is not just local — it’s a conspiracy against King Richard himself. This climax of the arc culminates with a flashback that Robin once saved the King from a Saracen assassin with a wolf’s head tattoo in “Tattoo? What Tattoo?”. The twist? Guy of Gisborne has the same tattoo.
This revelation elevates the enmity between Robin and Gisborne from a petty disagreement over territory and a woman, to one of national ideology. The “Pact of Nottingham” — signed by the “Black Knights” — winds up functioning as the series’ recurring McGuffin, which symbolizes a concerted move to place Prince John on the throne.
One of the more subtle twists is the slow-burn betrayal of Allan A Dale. As their “average joe,” Allan has his loyalty chipped away by the Sheriff’s mind games. This “Judas” arc begins when the Sheriff ruthless jumps the execution date, ensuring Robin shows up too late to save Allan’s brother.
For the audience, Allan’s eventual “Face Heel Turn” in the season finale is a heartbreak. It breaks the illusion of the “Merry Men” as a perfect brotherhood, and underscores the human toll of Robin’s unbending ideological line.
Whereas the 2006 series was concerned with the ”Crusader Sickness,” the 2025 MGM+ reimagining brings even grimmer twists, with familial betrayal taking center stage. In this odd-version the character of Huntingdon is not a mentor, but rather the main antagonist—Robin’s own father.
| Theme | 2006 BBC Twist | 2025 MGM+ Twist |
| Paternal Role | Robin’s father is a legacy/hermit. | Huntingdon is the “Big Bad.” |
| Marian’s Agency | The Night Watchman (Vigilante). | Ally/Blackmailed by Queen Eleanor. |
| The Sheriff | Mercurial monster (Vaisey). | Played by Sean Bean; a survivor. |
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The inaugural seasons of these contemporary versions show that the “Major Twist” is the large mooring modern folklore spins upon. In taking the emphasis away from archery tournaments and introducing systemic corruption rather than damsels in distress versus vigilantes, these shows make Sherwood Forest a continuing site for power and reform.
By the end of Season 1, the status quo is shattered. The outlaws have become a political party, and the forest is not a refuge but a revolution headquarters. These twists remind us that the legend is made out of blood and grit — that is the real cost of defiance.
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See how George RR Martin draws tragic parallels between Baelor Breakspear and Oberyn Martell, reverberating fate & honor throughout the history of Westeros.
If you have ever found yourself buried deep in the lore of George RR Martin — A Song of Ice and Fire, or you just have a passing interest in Game of Thrones, you are probably familiar with the popular phrase “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.”
In Westeros, this is more than just a clever saying. How the George RR Martin whole story is built around it. George RR Martin has a penchant for retroactively playing out events of the past in the present, but often with a grimmer, more twisted result. But of all his books’ historical “rhymes,” there are none quite so heartbreaking or headache-inducing as the link between Prince Baelor “Breakspear” Targaryen and Prince Oberyn “The Red Viper” Martell.
Almost a hundred years apart, these two men were the rockstars of their times. They were the top fighters, the coolest princes, the dudes everyone wanted to be. Yet, both of them died in virtually the same way: trial by combat against a giant, intimidating rival with a gory, skull-crushing ending, in a result that altered the destiny of the George RR Martin Seven Kingdoms for all time.
So let’s get down to the fascinating, tragic and completely brutal comparisons between the George RR Martin Dragon and the Viper.
Before discussing how they died, we need to talk about why what they died for hurt so much. “In a George RR Martin narrative tragedy it must hit home, so you make the audience fall in love with the character first.” Martin did this to perfection with both Baelor and Oberyn.
Baelor Targaryen as seen in The Hedge Knight is the very picture of the perfect prince. He was crown prince and Hand of the King, and also a legendary warrior. Not only was he a man of strength and power, but his character was so good that he was looked upon as a shining light of virtue and leadership in the land.
In addition, he was both the Hand of the King and the crown prince, and a fighter so famous that he was the subject of ballads. He wasn’t just strong; he was good. He was the kind of leader who made people feel safe. Had Baelor ascended the throne, the Targaryen rule might have persisted for an additional thousand years or so.
A century and change from there to the main series. Oberyn Martell was Baelor’s polar opposite in personality, but his equal in charisma. He’s the “Red Viper” – a second son who lives in the world, fighting in mercenary companies, learning poisons, and basically doing whatever he wants. He was dire, capricious, and that Shot-in-the-dark Really Cool, Just as Baelor stood for the best House Targaryen could offer, Oberyn stood for the prickly, fiery, indomitable soul of Dorne.
Both were what we call “Era Parents.” When they entered a room, they demanded respect. When they pulled out a gun, you knew something amazing was about to happen.
The similarities really start to emerge when you examine the causes of their deaths. Neither prince died in a grand war or a serendipitous mishap. They each took part in a judicial duel—a trial by combat to rescue someone who was being annihilated by the system.
Baelor Breakspear shocked the whole realm when he backed a hedge knight named Duncan the Tall (Dunk). Dunk was charged with attacking a royal prince (who actually deserved it), and Baelor saw that his own family was wrong. In an act of idealistic chivalry, Baelor practically staked his life on a nobody’s honor. He battled for the helpless against the mighty.
Oberyn Martell advances to champion Tyrion Lannister. However Oberyn’s motivation was slightly different, he craved the chance to kill Gregor Clegane (The Mountain) for the murder of his sister, Elia. But it’s the same: a scion of high-born nobility takes up his rapier in the ring, now defending a man whose fate has been decided by the crown.
Here again, we have a champion confronting a beast for a small fry, in both cases. And in both cases the story tricks us into thinking they’re going to win.
This is the part that makes everyone cringe. George RR Martin didn’t simply kill those characters — he dismembered them, in ways that are specific, graphic, and medically horrifying.
The “head-crush” is a very specific motif in Westeros. It is the beheading of a family or movement’s “head.”
The Hedge Knight tells the tale, and Baelor appears fine at the end of the fight. He’s sitting up, chatting, and instructs his maester to attend the other injured men first. But then, he complains about a headache. The horror is revealed when he removes the helmet.
His brother, Maekar, had clubbed him with a mace in the scramble. The blow had crushed the back of Baelor’s skull. The helmet was the only thing holding his head together. Baelor collapsed when the helmet was removed and the pressure relieved. The “red blood and pale bone” that is poured out here is one of the most memorable images in fantasy literature. Baelor was exhausted as a “walking ghost” – alive only thanks to his armor and force of will.
Oberyn’s death is the violent, fast-paced rhyme to Baelor’s slow tragedy. We all know the scene. Oberyn has the Mountain pinned. He has won. But his arrogance gets the better of him. He wants a confession.
The Mountain trips him, punches his teeth out, gouges his eyes and then— in a moment sextillions of TV viewers will rerun in their heads that crushes his skull with his bare hands. The “sickening crunch” described in the books is a direct echo of the noise Baelor’s skull emitted when his helmet was taken off.
Both men were inches away from survival. Both men were the superior fighters. And both men were left broken on the tourney grounds.
If we investigate a little, there turns out to be an interesting “technical” reason why they both died, and it says a lot about what kind of men they were.
He raced late into the melee without any armor of his own. He had to borrow armor from his son, Prince Valarr. The problem? Valarr was smaller and slimmer than Baelor. The helmet was too tight.
A helmet must be padded and have some space in front to play the shock of the hit in medieval fights. The death of Baelor Toesdrinker was a tragic example of what can happen when armor is ill-fitting. That which should have protected him from harm, was what killed him, underscoring the need for accuracy and caution when making protective equipment.
Oberyn was known to fight without a helmet. He wanted to be quick, light, and to have everything in sight. This was his hubris. He thought his ability was sufficient protection. If Oberyn had been wearing a heavy helm like a regular knight, the Mountain would not have been able to gouge out his eyes and crush his skull so easily.
Baelor is one of the coolest lessons on how to read prophecies George RR Martin Game of Thrones can teach us.
In The Hedge Knight, Daeron the Drunkard has a “dragon dream.” He says to Dunk:
“I dreamed a great red dragon fell upon you, but you were living and the dragon was dead.”
Everyone is initially under the impression that Dunk is going to kill a prince in the fight. But that’s not what happens. Baelor (the “great red dragon”) dies from a blow to the head and collapses over Dunk, who is crying on the ground. The prophecy was fulfilled, but not as anyone expected.
Tragedy is the source of great wisdom that audiences can learn from in this tale. When Daenerys has visions, or Cersei hears prophecies, it is a signal to treat such pronouncements with a grain of salt and a generous helping to understand the “falling dragon” is not an actual monster that drops from the sky but it’s the fall of a great man. Baelor’s death is the key to understanding the magical logic of the whole George RR Martin series.
You might be thinking: “So a prince died 90 years ago, big deal. Where’s the relevance to the main storyline?”
But this is why we have the Mad King, thanks to Baelor Breakspear’s death.
Let’s see how the dominoes fall:
The succession to the throne would have been secure. There would be no Mad King Aerys, no Robert’s Baratheon, and no Ned Stark losing his head.
Baelor’s death was the “hammer blow” that shattered the foundations of House Targaryen. When we reach Oberyn’s death in the novels, we are simply witnessing the end of the house.
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Baelor Targaryen, by birth, looked very different from most Targaryens. His mother was Mariah Martell of Dorne the source of his Dornish heritage, he inherited her black hair and black eyes. It gave him a decidedly Doran look, and some quietly commented that Baelor was “more Martell than Targaryen.”
Particular, grotesque fate for the Martell line Martin has reserved, it seems like. It’s almost a “blood-rhyme.” The ones who have the blood of Dorne with fierce, proud, rebellious to keep ending up crushed by the likes of what the Iron Throne can put its enforcers, blunt force.
So the next time you see that gruesome scene of Oberyn Martell in Season 4, or The Hedge Knight, keep in mind that you’re not just watching a fight. You are watching a cycle of history repeating itself.
George RR Martin connected these two men across time to reveal to us that the “Game of Thrones” consumes even its best players. Baelor was the fire of the past, and Oberyn was the hope of the present. They both crumbled under the burden of their own decisions, and the cruelty of their world.
The death of Baelor broke the Targaryen dynasty, and that of Oberyn shattered the peace between the Lannisters and Dorne. They are the two “crushed crowns” of Westeros that testaments to how even the brightest stars can go out swiftly, violently.
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