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Production has officially begun on the upcoming video game movie “Free Guy,” starring Ryan Reynolds. He plays a bank teller who realizes he is actually a background character in a video game called Free City. Somehow he learns that the developers of the game are planning to shut it down, and he embarks on a quest to save it. It sounds pretty great.

Free Guy is directed by Shawn Levy, who directed Night at the Museum and several episodes of Stranger Things. The film also stars Taika Waititi, Joe Keery, Jodie Comer, Utkarsh Ambudkar, and Lil Rel Howery.

The film is shooting in the Boston area, according to Collider. Comer, who was praised for her performance in Killing Eve, plays a character named “Molotov Girl” who works with Reynolds to save the game.

The story sounds similar in part to The Truman Show, in which Jim Carrey’s character discovers he’s actually the star of a TV show about his own life. Reynolds and Waititi are known for their comedic acting, and we can only imagine what they’ll think up for Free Guy.

Notably, Free Guy is among the first Fox films to shoot following Disney’s acquisition. The movie comes to theatres on July 3, 2020.

This of course is not Reynolds’ first video game movie. He is the voice of Pikachu in the Pokemon movie, Detective Pikachu, which is doing very well at the box office right now.

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Game of Thrones Season 8, Episode 5, “The Bells,” featured a shocking twist–and now the key sequence has been edited by a fan with Metallica’s “For Whom The Bell Tolls” over it.

SPOILERS BELOW.

In the episode, Daenerys decides to torch King’s Landing, even after the city surrendered. The move shocked fans, as the once merciful leader descended into her new role as the Mad Queen. The sequence was horrifying. King’s Landing burned by the dragon Drogon, with its innocent inhabitants screaming for their lives and bloodshed abounding. It was terrifying.

Now, Reddit has set the storming of King’s Landing to Metallica’s classic song “For Whom The Bell Tolls,” and it works surprisingly well. Besides matching up with the title of the episode, For Whom The Bell Tolls already feels like a battle song with its heavy, building riffs that culminate in a soundtrack that seems fitting for the death and destruction in the show.

The line, “Take a look to the sky just before you die / it’s the last time you will” also has particular resonance and impact. Have a look:

“The Bells” set a new ratings record for Game of Thrones with 18.4 million viewers. The episode was divisive, and for more, you can check out GameSpot’s review of Game of Thrones: “The Bells.”

For more on the latest episode of Game of Thrones, check out our look at 5 new Game of Thrones Season 8 theories from Episode 5, 15 Easter Eggs and references you might have missed, and the meaning of Dany’s dragon command.

When Darkwood originally launched in early access in 2014, it was an ambitious game that suffered from clunkiness and a lack of identity. In GameSpot’s early access review, writer Brett Todd admired its willingness to experiment with aesthetics and rework the concept of permadeath, but couldn’t get past the fact that it wasn’t quite ready to go on sale. Now, in 2019, Darkwood is an entirely new game.

It was inevitable that Darkwood would be compared to similar open-world survival games like the Burtonesque Don’t Starve, and from a gameplay standpoint their top-down perspectives and day/night cycles are similar. However, the most recent iteration of this macabre indie game is unwaveringly confident in itself. Darkwood revels in its eponymous darkness–even its daytime cycles are subjected to limited visibility, courtesy of its field-of-vision illumination. The best thing about this is that it doesn’t rely on nighttime to be scary. Even at the crack of dawn, venturing too far from your hideout can result in you coming face to face with blood-curdling, satanic sadists hellbent on mauling you to death.

The game assimilates a plethora of systems into its makeup, including crafting, bartering, and combat. Although the mechanics are quite complex, Darkwood offers an intense but fair learning curve. While the controls are clearly mapped out on the pause menu, learning how to manipulate some of the game’s ostensibly unimportant mechanics can give you a major edge as you progress into its more difficult areas. For example, the game affords you skills in exchange for cooking in ominous ovens. These skills usually only have a minor impact on the game, allowing you to benefit from a daily single-use perk such as running without taking stamina into account. However, these perks come at a cost: For every skill you gain, you must apply a negative effect designed to hinder you for the rest of your playthrough. These are incredibly minor, but in a game as brutally unforgiving as Darkwood, it’s essential to level up with caution, which subverts the entire idea of leveling up rapidly in the first place.

As a result, opting to favor survivability over gratifyingly quick forward momentum often allows you to live longer in the end–something that’s absolutely essential on Darkwood’s harder modes, where lives are limited. But even on Normal difficulty, it’s important that you recognize that this is an ambiguous world that necessitates experimentation. As the world deteriorates into madness around you, the only way to survive is to adapt alongside decay. Rather than help you, Darkwood’s systems affect you in a much more neutral way. I spent a night boarded up in a hideout that was fortified to the teeth with barriers only to be attacked by packs of demonic dogs moments before the saving grace of the sunrise. However, I also happened to survive three nights in a row by hiding inconspicuously in a cramped corner, praying that I wasn’t overwhelmed by hordes of red chompers in the twilight.

Because you’re never truly safe in Darkwood, it’s easy to lose track of time. Eventually, days seem to merge into one another, and it becomes startlingly clear that the majority of society has descended into an irreparable state of madness. People live in a perpetually frozen cycle of day and night in which there are only two recurring parts of the same day, repeated eternally. The characters you meet are mostly uninterested in speaking with you, but among the Silent Forest’s more amicable residents are an aspiring astronaut named Piotrek, who is attempting to build a rocket ship out of hunks of scrap metal, and a muttering musician who plays dissonant, apocalyptic notes on a broken violin in an effort to win the hand of a woman kept locked in the basement by her older sister–something made all the more horrifying by how poorly he performs. These post-plague virtuosos are at home in Darkwood’s chaos, and their chosen vocations reflect the fact that they’ve already been absorbed by the chaos of this dynamic and disintegrating world. That’s one of the most horrifying things about Darkwood: the way in which humanity learns to use madness as an asset in a world without order.

That’s one of the most horrifying things about Darkwood: the way in which humanity learns to use madness as an asset in a world without order.

There are, however, some aspects of Darkwood that indicate the transient nature of life in the forest. At the beginning of the game, you’re given the opportunity to euthanize your wounded dog, who sits outside your house whimpering in pain. If you choose not to, the dog transforms into a vicious varmint by the time you return later, ferociously clawing and gnawing at you in a deranged state of mindless violence. Darkwood’s narrative is ambiguous at the best of times and is mostly to do with choosing which NPCs to favor in various subplots, but easily-overlooked details like this dog’s fate tell disturbing tales of their own. As a result, some subplots only tell part of the story. Other details are intricately interwoven into the environment, and these narrative manifestations and the more ostensible plot points are of equal importance in understanding the world at large.

That’s what makes Darkwood so brilliantly-suited to console. Although on the surface a keyboard suits the game’s mechanics–namely its hotfixed inventory system and the quickfire solutions that are often necessary for survival in the night–there’s something much more visceral about playing with analog sticks and haptic feedback. Instead of simply pressing a combination of keys to attack anathemic abominations, you need to use hyper-sensitive camera control to succeed in combat. Dodging is mapped to an analog click, whereas shooting a gun genuinely feels instinctive because enemies close distance at an alarming rate. It’s easy to miss point-blank because of a knee-jerk reaction, and it’s the fact that you can be punished once and for all for doing so that makes the game all the more hair-raising.

What makes Darkwood truly special, though, is its world. At one point in the game, you visit an area simply known as “The Village.” Here, a group of deranged denizens worship a gnarled sow, deifying it as “The Mother of all Pigs.” Almost everyone in the village has descended into a state of utter insanity, with one of the town’s most domineering residents having developed a gravitation toward chickens after locking up her own sister to save her marrying a chagrined musician. Most of the citizens here immediately associate you with an aura of antipathy, but the fact they live in such an aloof society is horrifying. All around, the world is darkening and fading, and this singular town, serving as a bastion against a descent into savagery, is inevitably lost. Because you, the safe and sound player, get to witness it from an external perspective, The Village’s encroaching demise is drastically more affecting. This is the last of the world, and it’s due to go out not with a bang, but a whimper.

While Darkwood is an absolute marvel in terms of its aesthetics and gameplay–as well as its disarmingly dissonant score–I experienced several bugs that caused me to lose minor progress. In one case, I was trapped behind a disassembled tractor, which forced me to quit to the main menu and restart the game in order to press onward. On top of this, one of the game’s areas caused the frame rate to drop so dramatically that playing became a chore. This was easily rectified, again simply requiring a soft reboot, but these glitches are a disappointing nuisance plaguing an otherwise exceptional game.

However, these bugs aren’t game-breaking. And even though they irritated me, I couldn’t pull myself away from Darkwood, no matter how much its uncanny world made me audibly squeal. Rather than relying on jump scares–although they are present, to a minor degree–Darkwood psychologically unhinges you. You’re consistently lured into a false sense of security as you hole up in an ironclad hideaway before night falls, or when seemingly benevolent NPCs beguile you with promises of collaboration against the hordes of darkness. It’s horror by subversion, because it’s only when you’re safest that you let your guard down–and it’s only when you take that singular breath of respite that you concede to utter susceptibility. There’s nothing quite as scary as momentarily looking away before being drawn back in by a sound cue or a controller vibration. And before you know it, it’s fight or flight, as you fall into the fray of the unforgiving darkness and are forced to compose yourself within a split second or risk losing half your inventory.

In Darkwood, there’s an item you can show several NPCs called “photo of a road.” What’s interesting about this is that several of these entirely disparate wanderers have the exact same response to this curious snapshot. “Around here,” they say, “all roads lead to nowhere.” And as Darkwood’s forest is guzzled up by the rapidly encroaching night, roads are no longer places-between-places. Instead, they’re a communal necropolis, waiting for the creatures of the night to tribute more destitute dupes to its earthy, deathly soil.

Netflix appears to have some game announcements in store, teasing appearances at E3 2019 next month. The studio will have a panel at the E3 Coliseum, and has dropped some intriguing hints about what it has up its sleeve.

A tweet announcing the Coliseum panel says it will cover “news about its plans in the gaming space,” and an attached image names the panel, “Bringing Your Favorite Shows To Life: Developing Netflix Originals Into Video Games.” Similarly, a Twitter thread from Netflix’s sci-fi and fantasy Twitter account mentioned the previously announced Stranger Things game adaptation paired with the upcoming Season 3, but also said “there’s definitely more to come!”

Now in its second year, E3 Coliseum is a main stage presentation that takes place at LA Live, adjacent to the LA Convention Center, hosted by Geoff Keighley. It’s part of the ESA and E3’s initiative to make E3 a more public-facing event.

Netflix has approached games in two distinct ways. The first puts out narrative-driven experiences on its video streaming service, marked with an icon to note that it allows you to steer the direction of the story–like Minecraft: Story Mode and Black Mirror: Bandersnatch. The other involves console and mobile releases of games based on Netflix properties, like the Stranger Things games.

The panel’s title certainly seems to imply the latter, but then that raises the question of which properties are ripe for game adaptations. The NX brand tends to promote animated series like She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Voltron: Legendary Defender, and The Dragon Prince, along with live-action series like Umbrella Academy, and Altered Carbon.

Be warned: We’re discussing Episode 5 of Game of Thrones Season 8, “The Bells,” and thus there will be a great many spoilers. If you are caught up, you can get ready for the finale by checking our out fresh, post-Episode 5 theories and the Episode 6 preview trailer. And if you were hoping recent rumors about the final A Song of Ice and Fire books being done, author George RR Martin has denied they’re written and ready to be published.

As it approaches its conclusion, Game of Thrones feels like a different show than it has in the past. Blame it on any number of issues–two shortened final seasons resulting in rushed character development, a lack of source material to act as a roadmap, or the cause of the constant (if possibly unfair) refrain decrying “bad writing”–but a generalized reaction among many fans is that something feels wrong.

It may be any or all of those things, but there’s something fundamentally underpinning them all that fans are reacting to, even if they’re not quite aware of it. Game of Thrones, it turns out, is not about what we all thought it was about.

In Episode 5, “The Bells,” Game of Thrones finally takes Daenerys Targaryen from “worryingly willing to burn to death anyone who disagrees with her, but generally out for good” to full-on “child-murdering Mad Queen.” She accomplishes what her father never could: She “burns them all” in King’s Landing, regardless of whether they’re civilian or soldier, or whether it wins her the throne or not. Daenerys’s reactions to the loss of two of her dragons, the betrayals in her ranks, and the unwillingness of Westeros to bend to her will finally cause her to snap, and from the back of her last dragon, Drogon, she brings fire and blood to her former home.

Ask many fans/viewers/etc. and they’ll say the show has been foreshadowing Daenerys bringing destruction to King’s Landing all along. Dany has always been a ruthless character when she has to be, often electing to execute people in a generally cruel and unusual way: by burning them alive with dragon fire. She’s particularly unforgiving to people who oppose her, especially when they don’t immediately bend the knee. There have been plenty of times when Dany has wanted to just ravage everyone in her path, only to be curbed from her most merciless instincts by her advisers (most notably Jorah Mormont). With most of those people now dead and Daenerys currently at her lowest, she finally gave in to her Targaryen rage.

It’s true that Game of Thrones has been foreshadowing that this could happen, but it’s unfair to say that it always suggested that it would happen. Really, this goes to the fundamental conflict of Daenerys’s character: She’s struggling not to become her father, or to fall into the patterns of other monarchs who use their power mercilessly. Daenerys can be ruthless, but she learned a lot in Meereen not just about how to conquer, but how to rule. She has a highly tuned sense of justice. She considers herself the Breaker of Chains, and this is just as an essential part of her identity as being the Mother of Dragons.

Midway through “The Bells,” we finally get Game of Thrones’ overall thesis statement. The show is a tragedy in which the characters can’t break free of their pasts. Power corrupts the powerful, even those with the best intentions. Monarchy is bad. The world is a cold, hard place, where you’ll probably die badly and abruptly for no reason; if you’re lucky, you’ll die badly and abruptly because of a mistake you made two seasons earlier, but at least it’ll feel deserved.

The trouble is that Game of Thrones has made thesis statements in the past–or at least, it felt like it did. The most notable was a declaration from Daenerys herself from Season 5, in which she explained her intention to “break the wheel.” The system of inherited wealth and power, and constant war over both, destroy people needlessly. It makes the world a bad place to live. It could be better. And Daenerys intended to use her considerable power to improve it.

Daenerys made another similar statement to the same effect when talking to Tyrion in Season 5. Tyrion dispelled Dany’s notions of her family being unjustly evicted from the Iron Throne by explaining why her father, the Mad King Aerys Targaryen, was deposed: He became a paranoid and vicious tyrant. With an understanding of what her father had become, Daenerys made a decision to become something else.

“Our fathers were evil men,” Daenerys said. “All of us here. They left the world worse than they found it. We’re going to leave the world better than we found it.”

Over and over again, Game of Thrones has felt like this was what it was really about: When given the choice, even in the face of tragedy and hardship, what do you leave in the world? It’s central to the stories of the Stark kids: Jon Snow fights for the good of the realm, up to and beyond his own murder; Sansa Stark learns how to be the best power-seeker in Westeros, but uses those lessons to win independence for the North; Arya Stark is driven by nothing but revenge, until she reestablishes her connections with her family. It was Daenerys’s story too, obviously. And it was the story of the Lannisters, who represented the other side of the coin, fully willing to add ruin to the world so long as they were protected. Really, just about every character, from Jaime Lannister to Brienne of Tarth to Sandor Clegane, is trying to shake off the weight of their pasts, to turn away from the path determined by what they’ve done and what was expected of them, with each achieving varying degrees of success.

In fact, this line of thinking was why the elimination of the Night King mid-season could have been a brilliant move for the show. Fighting the army of the dead brought unity to a variety of people, including former enemies, in the middle of Season 8–but unity against a common enemy only survives as long as that enemy does. When the Night King is vanquished, can you resist the inertial pull to go back to the old petty squabbles that end up costing lives? Dealing with that question is what made Cersei Lannister a better villain than the wordless Night King because she held up a dark mirror of what Daenerys (and other rulers) could easily become. The Night King was an external existential threat, but Cersei represented the threat the characters pose to themselves and each other.

With Daenerys’s choice to go full war criminal over King’s Landing as the bells start ringing, Game of Thrones makes a choice about which show it is. If Daenerys had felt rage and suffering and considered giving in to those feelings (how easily someone with her power could), but turned away from that choice even with no better angels like Jorah or Tyrion to mutter in her ear, the show really would be about breaking the wheel. Its ultimate message would be that people aren’t beholden to our cycles and our baggage, or to the sins and expectations of our parents. The world can be better, but you have to make it better, just like you have to make yourself better.

Instead, Game of Thrones chooses a darker, more nihilistic meaning. Throughout “The Bells,” characters fall back into their old ways. No matter how good a man Jaime tries to become, the one person he can’t convince that he’s changed is himself. No matter how much Sandor Clegane might hope for a life free of violence, the desire for vengeance consumes him. Cersei can’t give up her stranglehold on power and control, even in the face of annihilation. Jon Snow’s unyielding dedication to his father’s ideals of honor leaves him complicit in a massacre. No amount of good intentions (or slaves freed, or cruel institutions crushed) can keep Daenerys from giving in to her worst impulses and becoming the Mad Queen.

The world is bad, it’s going to stay bad, and we can’t break free of our pasts. Your baggage defines you and even if you try to improve, you’re always an inch away from backsliding into becoming the very thing you feared and hated. Life is nasty, brutish, short, and most of all, explicitly, extremely sad because of what we do to each other. The wheel is much bigger than any one person or even any 300-year dynasty, and not even dragon fire can break it. This is just another war in a history full of them.

That seems to be the finality that Game of Thrones has chosen. It’s an end that, in a way, has always been written into the show’s DNA–but it also seemed as though the whole point of the show was for its characters to overcome it. After having meant so much to so many people, it seems a shame that the “bittersweet” ending Game of Thrones’ creators have chosen leans so hard into bitter, and so little into sweet.