Norse mythology is everywhere. It’s in the MCU with Chris Hemsworth’s golden locks, it’s in God of War, and it’s in a dozen different history channel documentaries that basically tell you the same three stories about Odin and his missing eye. But Netflix’s Twilight of the Gods is different. It’s weird. It’s bloody. Honestly, it’s kind of a relief because it ignores the PG-13 sheen we’ve grown used to. Created by Zack Snyder, Jay Oliva, and Eric Carrasco, this series isn't trying to be a textbook. It’s trying to be a saga.
Ragnarök is the end. We know this. But the way this show frames the "Twilight of the Gods" isn't just about a big fire at the end of the world. It’s about a personal, scorched-earth vendetta that makes the apocalypse feel small and intimate before it gets massive.
The Problem With Modern Vikings
Most people think they know Norse myths. They think of honorable warriors and a sky-palace called Valhalla. Real history and the actual Poetic Edda are much darker. The gods weren't "good guys." They were powerful, fickle, and often pretty cruel. Twilight of the Gods leans into that. It follows Sigrid, a half-giant voiced by Sylvia Hoeks, who has a very legitimate reason to want Thor dead.
In this version, Thor isn't a lovable Avenger. He’s a disaster. He’s a terrifying force of nature who doesn't care about collateral damage. Pilou Asbæk—who you might remember as Euron Greyjoy in Game of Thrones—brings a certain "unhinged" energy to the thunder god. It’s a smart pivot. By making the gods the antagonists, the show taps into the original vibe of the myths where the Aesir were often just the biggest bullies on the block.
Visuals That Break the Mold
You’ve seen 3D animation. You’ve seen the "Pixar look." This isn't that. The art style here comes from Xilam Animation, the French studio behind I Lost My Body. It’s 2D, but it’s sharp. It looks like a tapestry that someone decided to set on fire. The character designs are lean and jagged.
There’s a specific grit to it. When blood hits the snow, it stays there. The landscapes of Jotunheim and Midgard feel vast but empty, echoing that lonely, Viking-age aesthetic where nature is trying to kill you just as much as the monsters are. It’s a stylistic choice that helps separate the show from the "viking-core" aesthetic that has become a bit of a cliché lately.
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Why We Keep Obsessing Over the Twilight of the Gods
Why does Ragnarök keep coming back? Why do we care about a prophecy written down hundreds of years ago by an Icelander named Snorri Sturluson?
Basically, it’s the stakes. Most mythologies have a beginning, but Norse myth has a definitive, scheduled end. The gods know they are going to die. Odin knows he gets eaten by a wolf. Thor knows he dies of snake venom. There’s a fatalism in twilight of the gods that fits our modern mood. We’re living in an era of climate anxiety and global shifts. Seeing a world-ending event play out on screen feels weirdly cathartic.
But Snyder’s take adds a layer of human spite. It suggests that maybe the world ending isn't just a cosmic accident. Maybe it’s a consequence of the gods being terrible at their jobs. Sigrid’s journey is about accountability. If a god kills your family, do you just bow down? Or do you find a way to kill a god?
Breaking Down the Cast
The voice acting is what carries the emotional weight when the screen gets too busy with gore.
- Sylvia Hoeks (Sigrid): She brings a cold, focused rage. It’s not "scream-at-the-sky" anger. It’s "I will wait twenty years to stab you" anger.
- Stuart Martin (Leif): He plays the mortal caught in the middle. His chemistry with Sigrid provides the human heart of the show.
- John Noble (Odin): If you’ve seen Lord of the Rings, you know Noble can do "regal but crumbling" better than anyone. His Odin is manipulative and tired.
The show also features Paterson Joseph as Loki, and he plays it with a slick, dangerous charm that avoids the "trickster" tropes we’ve seen a million times. He’s a strategist.
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The Reality of the Myth vs. The Show
If you’re a mythology nerd, you’ll notice the show plays fast and loose with the Prose Edda. That’s fine. The original myths were oral traditions anyway. They changed every time a different skald told them by a campfire.
One thing the show gets right is the scale. In the myths, the Midgard Serpent, Jörmungandr, is so big he encircles the entire world. Most movies make him a big snake. Twilight of the Gods tries to capture that sense of "impossible size." When the supernatural elements appear, they feel genuinely alien. They don't feel like guys in costumes. They feel like remnants of an older, weirder world.
The violence is also "myth-accurate." If you read the actual stories, they are incredibly graphic. People get their brains turned into clouds; hearts are carved out. Snyder doesn't shy away from this. It’s an R-rated take because the source material is R-rated. It’s not just for shock value; it’s to show that in this world, life is cheap and the gods are expensive.
Small Details That Matter
Notice the runes. Notice the way the giants (Jotnar) are depicted. They aren't just "big humans." They are elemental. Some are made of stone; some are basically walking forests. This variety keeps the journey from feeling like a repetitive monster-of-the-week show. Every step toward the final confrontation feels like a descent into a more dangerous layer of reality.
How to Actually Watch This Series
Don't go in expecting How to Train Your Dragon. This is a heavy, adult-oriented epic. It’s best binged in chunks because the tone is pretty relentless.
If you want to get the most out of it, keep a few things in mind:
- Watch the background. The animation is dense. There are often details about the lore hidden in the carvings and the environment that explain things the dialogue doesn't.
- Forget the MCU. If you’re looking for a "heroic" Thor, you’re in the wrong place. This Thor is the guy who would eat your goats and then complain they didn't taste good enough.
- Listen to the score. The music is massive. It uses traditional instruments but blends them with a modern, cinematic pulse that keeps the energy high even during the talking-head scenes.
The Impact on the Genre
Twilight of the Gods is part of a larger trend of "adult animation" that actually treats the audience like adults. We saw it with Castlevania and Blue Eye Samurai. These shows prove that you can tell complex, non-linear stories through animation that wouldn't be possible (or would be way too expensive) in live action.
The twilight of the gods represents a shift. It’s a move away from the "chosen one" narrative toward a "vengeful survivor" narrative. It’s darker, sure, but it feels more honest to the spirit of the Viking age, which was a time of immense beauty but also immense, casual cruelty.
What to Do Next
If you’ve finished the series and you’re craving more of this specific brand of chaos, you don't have to just wait for a second season.
- Read the source material: Pick up Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology for a readable version, or Dr. Jackson Crawford’s translation of the Poetic Edda if you want the "hardcore" version.
- Explore the animation studio: Look into Xilam’s other works. Their ability to handle movement and color is world-class.
- Check the history: Research the real Viking "Thing" (their legal assembly). You’ll see how the show mirrors the social structures of the time, even amidst all the dragons and magic.
The story of Ragnarök is never really over. It’s a cycle. The world ends, the green returns, and the gods—or whatever comes after them—start the whole mess all over again. Twilight of the Gods captures that cycle perfectly, proving that even at the end of the world, there’s always someone left with a grudge and a blade.