15 Years of Game of Thrones: How One Show Saved TV—and Destroyed It?

It’s been 15 years since the pilot episode of Game of Thrones first aired. Or rather, the second pilot. The first one, shot back in 2009, was such a train wreck that HBO ordered a total re-shoot, tossing roughly 90% of the footage into the digital dumpster. At the time, nobody could have predicted that this "fantasy thing", with its dense focus on politics, intrigue, and sex, would become the biggest show of all time. But that’s exactly what happened: Game of Thrones made history, racking up a staggering 757 award nominations (winning 272) and holding six world records, including…

Wait! Stop right there. You already know Game of Thrones was a massive success. The world doesn’t need another post repeating how great the show was for four to six-and-a-half seasons (depending on who you ask). Instead, I want to dive into these questions:

• How has the TV landscape changed since the premiere of Game of Thrones?
• Can the communal experience of Game of Thrones be replicated?
• And will there ever be another project with this kind of reach and Cultural Significance™?

Let’s get into it.

Watch It or Be Spoiled!

Game of Thrones hit the bullseye on so many levels. It had that potent mix of politics and sex, sky-high production values, and, most importantly, it was the right "nerd" subject at exactly the right time. The brutal world of Westeros, with its graphic grit and unpredictable death toll, struck a chord and pushed the fantasy genre deeper into the mainstream than ever before. It was essentially the TV equivalent of the cultural impact The Lord of the Rings had on cinema. Personally, I was genuinely shocked that everyone and their mother was watching it. Literally: I never thought I’d be chatting with my partner’s mother about a show where it felt like every episode featured at least one pair of exposed breasts.

With every season, the hype grew. By Season 6, once the show outpaced the books and no one knew what the hell was coming next, staying up-to-date became mandatory. If you missed the latest episode on Sunday night, you were in trouble on Monday morning. Colleagues, classmates, and friends were guaranteed to be discussing who had just met their gruesome end. You couldn't open a website without dodging landmines of spoilers. It was like the FIFA World Cup happening every single weekend. If you don't watch it live, you wake up the next day already knowing the score. That tension, fueled by the weekly release schedule, kept the world captive for eight years.

A Pillar of Success Becomes a Problem

The TV landscape of 2011 was a world away from what it became by the series finale. To understand how we got here, we have to look at the shows that paved the way. First, there was The Sopranos (1999), which set a new bar for complex, adult storytelling. Then Lost (2004) showed us the power of a detail-obsessed online community. Finally, Breaking Bad (2008) set the stage for the unsympathetic anti-hero we couldn't help but root for.

Game of Thrones was built on these pillars but added its own: a massive, adult-oriented fantasy world and a roster of "cool" anti-heroes. It also had an insane level of production value. On average, each of the 73 episodes cost over $8 million. To this day, only four series have managed to burn through more cash: The Rings of Power, Stranger Things, Andor, and The Crown. This trend toward "cinematic" TV hasn't slowed down; Game of Thrones effectively triggered an arms race among studios, making blockbuster quality the new standard. The result? We no longer get 20 episodes a year. Instead, we get ten episodes every two or three years. This is one of the two reasons the communal experience is dying: we simply forget shows in the gaps between seasons. The second reason, however, has a completely different origin.

A House of Cards That Won’t Fall

In 2013, Netflix dropped the entire first season of its flagship show, House of Cards, all at once—and changed everything. Binge-watching went from a niche habit to a global standard overnight. At the time, it made perfect sense. Fans were tired of rigid TV schedules or fearing their favorite show would get canceled mid-season. Now, they didn't have to wait years for a DVD box set; they could consume a whole season at their own pace. A total game changer.

In 2016, Game of Thrones was arguably the last great series that could gather millions of people in front of their screens at the exact same time every week (major sporting events and elections notwithstanding). But for all the benefits the Netflix model offers consumers and producers, it has one fatal flaw.

The Breaking of the Viewership

To achieve that elusive "cultural relevance," you need a large fanbase, ongoing discussions, and that aforementioned sense of community. The Netflix model is pure poison for all three. Even Carlton Cuse (showrunner of Lost and Locke & Key) admitted as much: "That ability to watch a show and have a conversation about it because everybody watched the episode the previous night — it's hard to do when people are watching things with different paces." Streaming services are starting to realize this, which is why we’re seeing a return to weekly releases or split-season drops (like the Stranger Things finale).

The experience is further diluted by the sheer volume of content. Streamers are pumping out more "niche" content than ever to ensure there’s something for everyone. The market is so oversaturated that even here at Elbenwald, I don’t know anyone who manages to keep up with every "relevant" show. I haven’t even finished all the Marvel stuff… Sure, it’s great to have options. You can find a Subreddit or a YouTube analysis for even the tiniest niche. But that’s miles away from the Game of Thrones era, where you didn't have to go looking for a discussion—you had to run away from them to avoid being spoiled.

The Contenders

Of course, Game of Thrones doesn't sit entirely alone on its Iron Throne. In 2019, the year GoT ended, Disney came remarkably close to capturing that lightning in a bottle. The Mandalorian won us over with classic Star Wars vibes and the ultimate meme/merch machine: Grogu, a.k.a. Baby Yoda. However, Disney couldn't sustain that fascination over multiple years, partly due to "Star Wars fatigue" caused by too many shows in too short a time. WandaVision fell into the same trap shortly after. (Though, to be fair: it was not intended as a decade-spanning journey.)

HBO has had its own successes, but nothing quite on the same scale. Succession became a "hate-watching" phenomenon, but it lacked the global impact and that sought-after escapism. The Last of Us was hailed as the best video game adaptation ever, but it didn't redefine a whole genre on its own. FX’s The Bear, with its high-octane, stressful storytelling, carved out its own path and turned Jeremy Allen White into a sort of Jon Snow of the 2020s, but as a kitchen-based family drama, it lacks the epic scope of Westeros. Shōgun, with its complex world and political depth, is a potential heir, but the massive gaps between seasons (potentially four years!) might kill its momentum entirely.

With the exception of The Bear, all these shows used a weekly release rhythm—a vital factor in building a community. But that doesn't mean the Netflix binge-model can't succeed. Look at Squid Game. In terms of pure numbers, it outperformed several seasons of Game of Thrones. But was it as relevant? I’m torn. Squid Game shattered the language barrier; within two weeks, everyone on the planet knew the rules of "Red Light, Green Light." On the other hand, the hype plummeted shortly after the season drop. Squid Game might be the bigger viral phenomenon, but Game of Thrones remains the more significant cultural institution—if that makes sense.

Following that logic, Stranger Things is perhaps the most worthy successor. With its blend of genres and "Spielberg-meets-King" atmosphere, it felt entirely original and kept the world hooked for nearly a decade. Like GoT, we watched the characters grow up, and despite long hiatuses, the fan theories never stopped. Plus, with the Dungeons & Dragons themes, it’s got that "cool nerd" factor down pat. Its series finale was so massive it actually managed to compete with New Year’s Eve for relevance.

The Next Game of Thrones

So, what is the next Game of Thrones? It’s almost certainly not Game of Thrones. Yes, House of the Dragon is great, as is The Hedge Knight. But they’re spin-offs. Personally, I think Better Call Saul is better than Breaking Bad, but I’d never claim it has more cultural relevance than the original. I’d give the upcoming Harry Potter series an outsider's chance because it checks all the boxes: long runtime, we’re aging with the characters, universal appeal, and fantasy. However, the existing movies and the ongoing controversies surrounding J.K. Rowling and alleged miscastings might make things difficult.

Maybe the question "What is the next Game of Thrones?" is fundamentally flawed. As Eric Heisserer (Shadow and Bone) put it: "In the earlier days, it was looking for the next 'Lost,' and then 'Game of Thrones' — anything that becomes a huge milestone for entertainment […] But as a creator, I think it's a scary kind of disservice to yourself and to your art to try and rise to that occasion." The solution is simple: do your own thing and hope it connects.

No one knows what the next Game of Thrones will be. Today’s fragmented audience makes it harder than ever to gather everyone around the same digital campfire. But someone, somewhere, will do it. We’ll know it when we see it. And it will be something completely different.