My theory postulates winter is coming. Image: HBO
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Is winter really coming? The science behind the weather in Game of Thrones

Warning: spoilers. 

"Winter is Coming": the prophetic motto of House Stark. The meaning behind the motto is the warning of the darker days to come. The motto was first uttered by the late Ned Stark in the first episode of the first season of Game of Thrones. It is the pillar that holds the complex amalgamation of Game of Thrones' corrupt politics, brutal truths, allegiances, love, and sex. Lots of it. (Well, in the TV series that is.)

At face value, the meaning is starkly obvious: things are going to get cold as fuck for an extended period of time (many years – a year in Game of Thrones is measured the same way as it currently is for us – 3651/4).

In George RR Martin's continent Westeros, the seasons are long, extreme and unpredictable. On Earth, seasons are mostly quite the opposite. So can science explain Game of Thrones' seasons? Sure.

A wobbly axial tilt

The Earth's fixed axis is tilted at an angle of 23.5 degrees from the plane of its orbit around the Sun. This fixed axis is further stabilised by our imposing moon's gravitational tug. The intensity of light energy received in the northern and southern hemispheres is dictated by Earth's location on its orbital plane.

In this example, summer solstice occurs in the northern hemisphere on the left side of the Sun and winter solstice on the right. Both the spring and autumnal equinox receive equal (hence equinox) amount of light energy on the northern and southern hemisphere (seasonal growth changes in plants, ie phenology, mostly give each season its mien):

Image: Nasa

If the Earth's axial tilt wasn't stable, its tilt would be extremely wobbly, resulting in arbitrary seasonal lengths much like in Game of Thrones.

Tilt all over the place. Image: Reddit

In A Game of Thrones (A Song of Ice and Fire, Book 1)/"The Kingsroad" (the second episode of the first season of Game of Thrones), when Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were nothing but embryos gastrulating in eggs, she heard the legend about a world where Westeros and Essos had two moons, "but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand [one million] dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun." If the legend is true, some sort of cataclysmic celestial event could have caused the loss of the second moon, shifting the planet's axis in an irregular fashion.

It is believed that about 5bn years ago when the Earth was young, an asteroid crashed into Earth, giving it the tilt it has today. The accident was nothing short of a miracle. However, if that same accident (or equivalent, say a nuclear explosion powerful enough to tilt the Earth) were to happen today we wouldn't be so lucky...

An elongated orbit

It would be reasonable to assume that the further away the Earth is from the Sun, the cooler the Earth is. But as science is the opposite of common sense, this isn't the case. The Earth's orbit isn't a perfect circle – it's a little lopsided. Our distance from the Sun at the aphelion point, ie Earth's farthest point from the Sun, bears little to no impact on the Earth's climate (though climate scientists believe it could account for the southern hemisphere's moderate winters). In fact, the Earth is farthest from the Sun in the summer and closet to the Sun in the winter.

The world of Game of Thrones may have an elongated orbit:

Diagram by Tosin Thompson; planet image from Reddit

This elongation would mean the world of Game of Thrones is extremely far from its sun at the aphelion point, which would explain Westeros' long and severe winters. Conversely, during perihelion, ie Earth's closest point to the Sun, the world would have a prolonged summer. This weather pattern is evidenced on Mars.

The problem with this theory is that, unlike what we witness in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, it is patterned and predicable. The people of Westeros would experience typical seasonal cycles of a fixed length. So although feasible, the theory on its own isn't very plausible.

Complex Milankovitch cycles

Milankovitch cycles were developed in the Thirties by Serbian mathematician Milutin Milankovitch and describe the changes in the way the Earth orbits the Sun. The concept suggests that (1) every 100,000 years, Earth's orbit changes from nearly circular to slightly elliptical (eccentricity), affecting other planets in the Solar System, (2) every 41,000 years, the angle of tilt of the Earth's axis changes from 22.1 degrees to 24.5 degrees and (3), every 26,000 years, the direction of the tilt of the axis changes.

Milankovitch cycles slowly change the climate on Earth, normally resulting in colder winters in the northern hemisphere. The cycles are indicative of the fact that ice ages occur every 100,000 years (we're apparently slap bang in the middle of the cycle – the current warm climate we're experiencing may last another 50,000 years).

Game of Thrones seemingly has much shorter Milankovitch cycles in a decade or less, therefore the cycles are likely to be more irregular and complex. 

Oceans, currents and winds

Oceans, currents and winds are factors that can profoundly influence a region's climate, and are themselves, subject to cyclical variations. Currents such as El Niño and La Niña impact on regional climates across timescales as long as five or more years. Westeros may be subject to such long-term weather trends. 

Westeros' geography may be quite different from Earth's; it could have larger oceans, taller mountains, more violent currents and more blustering winds – all of which is a potential recipe (with a sprinkle of magic) for unpredictable and long-term weather trends.

A combination of some or possibly all these factors could be explanations for Game of Thrones' seasonal variability. So winter might be coming.

Tosin Thompson writes about science and was the New Statesman's 2015 Wellcome Trust Scholar. 

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The lessons of Finding Dory are commendable, but why make a children's film so complicated?

Pixar's latest animation, a sequel to Finding Nemo, gives forgetful fish Dory a lead. Plus: Jason Bourne.

Amnesia is a concern for the heroes of two blockbuster sequels – the Pixar animation Finding Dory and the espionage thriller Jason Bourne. The condition extends to the film-makers, who have forgotten much of what made the original movies so appealing. In fairness, the 2003 Finding Nemo lacked the emotional complexity of top-drawer Pixar. But its story of an anxious clownfish combing the ocean for his lost son served as a neat rebuke to worrywart parents, and it featured one enduring character: the Pacific blue tang Dory. Her short-term memory loss left her in a state of carefree enchantment perfectly expressed by Ellen DeGeneres, whose voice calls to mind a rubber ball thrilled afresh by each new bounce.

Now Dory has a movie of her own, in which she goes in search of the parents from whom she was estranged as an infant. Many of the previous picture’s fish chip in to help, but the script’s argument for inclusivity and diversity is made most persuasively by Dory’s new allies. Hank is a tomato-red octopus who can’t bear to be touched, while Becky, a frizz-haired loon, and Gerald, a bullied sea lion, have learning difficulties that leave them vulnerable to mockery by their fellow creatures. Heroism originates here with the apparently disadvantaged, whose differences ultimately prove to be no sort of disadvantage at all.

The message is commendable, so it’s unfortunate that the execution is so complicated. Incident is stacked upon incident, most clumsily during a final half-hour in which the sea creatures take chaotically to the roads. When there are lulls in the action, these are filled too often by homilies and life lessons that demand no spelling out.

Quality control remains high in the area of animation. From the velvety anemone beneath a lattice of rippling sunlight to the pink-tinted ocean surface at dusk, it is clear that nature needs to up its game to keep ahead of Pixar. The biggest gasps should be reserved for Hank’s extraordinary chameleonic powers, which allow him to blend into a laboratory wall and to mimic a potted plant or a handrail. Impersonating a baby in its stroller, he uses his Mr Tickle arms to propel himself at high speed like a wheelchair-basketball champ tearing up the court. In a film that largely plays it safe, Hank brings a jolt of anarchic danger.

The breakneck editing and neck-breaking violence of the Bourne series, about a brainwashed CIA killing machine who gradually recovers his memory and goes rogue, has been the biggest influence on action cinema since the advent of the car chase. There have been only three instalments until now (four if you count the spin-off The Bourne Legacy) but their style is so ubiquitous it feels as if there’s one Bourne every minute. The latest outing reunites two leading players who swore they were done with the franchise: the actor Matt Damon, looking as bulky and implacable as a tank, and Paul Greengrass, the British director who whipped up a storm in films two and three but consigns it to a teacup this time around.

Rarely has such a fast-paced film felt so weary and resigned. Christopher Rouse’s screenplay throws into the usual paranoid, dystopian, NSA-fearing mix a Zuckerberg-style social media guru (Riz Ahmed) in cahoots with the craggy CIA overlord (Tommy Lee Jones) hunting Bourne. There is also a bright CIA underling (Alicia Vikander) experiencing vague pangs of conscience from her operations hub where po-faced automatons tap endlessly on keyboards; it’s like a Kraftwerk gig without the tunes.

The film makes gestures towards political topicality. But whether it’s riots in Greece or the ongoing tension between security and privacy, everything is reduced to the level of window dressing while Bourne crashes motorbikes, plummets from the tops of buildings and doles out upper cuts as though he were passing around Tic Tacs.

Just once it would be nice to have some character detail or a line of dialogue that went beyond “Suspect turning left”, or the series catchphrase: “You don’t have any idea who you’re dealing with!” Bourne himself is a dead end, dramatically speaking; he has recovered his memory now but his personality and inner conflict have been wiped clean. When he isn’t fighting, he has nothing to do except go woozy with flashbacks and generally outfox the CIA. He should try hiding in the voluminous bags beneath Tommy Lee Jones’s eyes – they’d never find him there.

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue