A bucket bangs against a wall to the rhythm of a clock that’s forgotten how time works. With each connection, the silence surrounding the carriage becomes slightly more conspicuous. No dogs bark. No song spills from taverns. A passenger alights and adds a series of raps to the chorus of metallic clinks, desperately hammering on a door separating hearth from snow. It’s likely his last breath is drawn before he even feels the talons piercing his spine – in the world of The Witcher, some victims aren’t even given the courtesy of outliving the title screen.
The Witcher is not like other fantasy stories. Despite constant comparisons to HBO’s behemoth Game of Thrones, Andrzej Sapkowski’s universe is a beast the likes of which have never been seen elsewhere. For all its werewolves and wyverns, this is a fantasy world only insofar as it is a world in which monsters and magic merge with the lives of mortals.
Its stories, however, have always been deeply grounded in the grim, gritty truths reality likes to fictionalize. While this was true of Netflix’s inaugural season in its ongoing adaptation of Sapkowskl’s books, it’s far more pronounced in Geralt of Rivia’s sophomore outing. This is particularly of note when you consider that what makes The Witcher so special in the first place is that even its coldest moments are incapable of expunging fantasy’s most stubborn flickers of warmth. That’s ultimately what season two is all about – smoldering embers of hope allowing people to survive even the harshest winters of pain.
Season one naysayers will be glad to know the story is much more easily parsed this time around, and effortlessly settles into a comfortable pace right from the get-go. The Battle of Sodden has exacted immense tolls on both sides of the war – the lingering carnage’s likeness to a small-scale Battle of the Bastards is perhaps the season’s first and only real point of comparison to Thrones. This is far more important than a mere backdrop designed to quickly catch you up on what happened at the end of season one, though. One of the most fundamental themes of The Witcher is how relentlessly rigid its cycles of hatred are. The other is how that idea is a load of rubbish.
To distill The Witcher into as basic a binary opposition as that is almost a disservice to its ambition, although it’s probably the most accurate way of describing what keeps this world spinning with any sense of brevity. Everything here is empowered mostly because this story consists of a sprawling web of complementary opposites. Geralt himself, a mutant monster slayer who is supposedly devoid of all feeling due to his ostracization from society, is probably one of the most emotionally driven people in the series because of his ties to found family. The whole idea of the ‘witcher’ has never just been a profession or some sort of jargonic warrior designation – it’s the lens that allows the nuances of this world to be viewed with proper clarity. This rings especially true when you consider that season two sees Ciri accompany Geralt to the sequestered keep of Kaer Morhen, where the Lion Cub of Cintra begins to bare formidable fangs of her own.
Their journey together leads to yet another point of opposition. Geralt and Ciri’s relationship is shaky at first, but gradually develops as the season progresses in a way that is impressively true to both characters. For example, after witnessing Ciri experience a nightmare while camping, Geralt doesn’t offer a shoulder to cry on or pretend he didn’t notice. Instead, he says, “I sleep like [expletive] too,” brilliantly demonstrating how well-intended sincerity is far more powerful than a more conventional response to soothing a child after a bad dream. There’s also a nice little easter egg for fans of The Witcher 3 here – the first of many in a season that is clearly based on the books, but highly affectionate towards CD Projekt Red’s own efforts at adapting Geralt’s adventures for a new medium.
Bookending all of this tenderness, however, are stories of war, oppression, conspiracy and astronomical loss. The plight of the elves clearly has its roots in centuries of real-life racism, with dozens of abhorrent scenes showcasing the unrelenting brutality of humanity’s boot-stomping goose step. Puppet monarchs are manipulated by masters of Machiavellianism as strings are pulled, twisted, and chopped in half. Regardless of who, where, or what you are, it is impossible to make your way through this world unscathed unless you’re the one doing the scathing.
If The Witcher is serious about accomplishing anything, then, it’s to ensure you don’t spend too long lingering on any one specific feeling. While screen time is obviously biased towards the series’ main characters, it’s always clear that The Continent is a place filled with individuals, all with their own lives and dreams and secret vices. The writing knows when to be subtle, when to be sharp, and when to be sensational, allowing The Witcher to navigate unknown emotional depths with the swiftness, confidence, and fluidity of Henry Cavill dancing between mercenaries in a flurry of silver, steel, and savagery.
Speaking of which, Cavill once again looks hellbent on proving to everyone that he was born for this role, as do Anya Chalotra and Freya Allan with their depictions of Yennefer and Ciri, respectively. While all three instances are true, season two appeals to a far larger case. Not only are these characters connected as a means of articulating the season’s core theme – in season one it was destiny, here it’s more aligned with found family. Instead, it becomes strikingly clear from very early on that these three actors were born to play their roles together.
Cavill is expectedly excellent as the gruff Geralt of Rivia, flitting between bouts of horse-whispering and dad-jokering in a way that clearly differs from his season one portrayal of the character, but works. The softness and care he exhibits around Ciri is the quintessential part of his growth – everything he does is a subtle and inconspicuous way of making it easier to resonate with him. Even when you don’t know you’re on Geralt’s side, you usually are, because despite the fact he’s supposed to have nothing in common with anyone, all of us have everything in common with him. You know, minus the 50-inch biceps and undying odor of horse urine.
The real stars of season two are Chalotra and Allan though. There are some phenomenal performances from other characters – Tom Canton returns as Filavandrel, Eamon Farren gets some meatier scenes to give us a better idea of Cahir, and Anna Shaffer is brilliant as Triss, even if giving her red hair this time feels a bit like pandering to loudmouths on the internet. On top of that, our new band of witchery brothers at Kaer Morhen mostly consists of lovable louts, with the affectionately nicknamed Lambchop giving fans of the series a spirited take on a beloved character.
Every single scene with Yennefer though is either revivifying or disarming. What’s more, most of Yen’s arc here is completely original to the Netflix series – the fact the writers have handled it with such tact and finesse serves as a major testament to how much they deserve to spin stories in this world. Allan, meanwhile, has a significantly larger part to play this time around. While Ciri wasn’t given a whole lot of time to breathe in season one, here we see her truly start to grow. Her relationship with Geralt obviously develops, but what’s more important is how much she learns about herself. Ciri is a character who has always contained multitudes, and Allan manages to manifest each and every one of them spectacularly.
Something that may have particularly pedantic fans in for a time of contempt is that season two deviates from the books on more than one occasion. Without venturing into spoiler territory, the showrunners have made some extremely bold decisions very early on in a series that has the potential to go on for a long time. In our eyes, all of the changes are justified based on how Netflix is integrating its own stories into this world. That’s not to mention that CDPR did the same thing with its Witcher video game series – it’s probably safe to say it worked that time, eh?
That brings us to another important point. A lot of people watching The Witcher might have already read the books or played the games, meaning they’re at least vaguely familiar with the objectives of this season. This was clearly a point of consideration in the writers’ room in that season two is approachable for people who don’t know the difference between a ghoul and an alghoul, but never patronising towards fans with preexisting knowledge of the series. Again, there’s a lot of original material here too, so even if you think you know where things are going… no, you don’t.
This season also flaunts significantly higher production values. I was on set for season one two and a half years ago and seeing new locations come to life this time around is noticeably different. Places feel more palpable most of the time and completely inaccessible on the odd occasion they’re supposed to. Even the directing is a cut above what we saw back in 2019 – the show regularly exhibits impressive restraint with roving camera angles that seem to tease jump scares that never come. On other occasions – usually trippy, feverish sequences – the camerawork is so good that it’s difficult to hold your focus as scenes swallow their successors whole. It’s remarkable.
This refinement is also visible in monster fights, which relied perhaps a bit too much on VFX spectacle in season one. Here, there are rules of engagement and a clear methodology to the process. As well as the swords and sorcery, we get to see all the brilliant bits of preparation that make the premise of being a witcher so fascinating in the games and books, except somehow it’s been cleverly condensed into an efficient TV sequence. Basically, this is a show made by people who are very good at proving they know what they’re doing.
That point is particularly pertinent to someone like me, a lifelong Witcher fan who would be the first person in the world to criticise missteps in this universe. There’s a feeling that stayed with me through the first six episodes of The Witcher season two, which lingers even now as I stew over what I’ve seen and attempt to surmise what’s yet to come. Watching the books I have loved for years being adapted for television is extremely daunting. Characters I know appearing with faces I don’t never ceases to be weird. Being thrown off every time the narrative digresses from the one I’m familiar with is disorienting. Through it all, I can’t help appreciating how original, ambitious and inspired The Witcher under Lauren S. Hissrich is. My doubt is constantly proven wrong, which is perhaps the single greatest praise I can bestow upon The Witcher season two.
Following this show is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. It’s like a constantly developing manifestation of something ends, something begins – and with each and every ending, the subsequent beginnings become more and more enticing. With the success of Nightmare of the Wolf and anticipation for The Witcher Blood: Origin, it seems like Netflix’s Witcher universe is garnering the potential to immortalise itself as a de facto colossus of contemporary fantasy. I, for one, can’t wait to see more.
Written by Cian Maher on behalf of GLHF.
[listicle id=1324710]