6 TV Shows That Put Insane Work Into Details Nobody Noticed

In addition to being red, the pomegranate itself is symbolic -- in Greek mythology, Hades kidnapped Persephone, the daughter of the harvest goddess Demeter, and took her down into the underworld to be his wife. She was allowed to return, provided she didn't eat anything while she was down there, but Hades tricked her into eating pomegranate seeds, dooming her to spend half of every year in Hell for the rest of eternity. It's how the Greeks explained winter (Demeter would spend half the year sulking in depression until Persephone was allowed to return, so everything would be cold and dead while she pouted). Kind of sounds like Sansa being kidnapped by the Lannisters and forced to marry into their family while Winter Is Coming all over Westeros, doesn't it?

Finally, the band connects to the headpiece of her dress, which is completely dominated by the Lannister lion:

When Sansa finally escapes to the Vale, her dress becomes all dark and crow-like, which we think might be hinting towards some future direction for her character. Unless Halloween is really, really long in Westeros, which makes sense, considering all of their seasons last ten goddamned years.

All of that detailed costume work, and millions of people don't even notice it because they happened to be looking down at their burrito during the brief moment it appeared on the screen.

Considering The Walking Dead is a show about a bunch of people being pursued across the smashed landscape of post-apocalyptic America by hopeless swarms of reanimated corpses, you'd probably assume that "technical accuracy" wouldn't be high up on the producers' list of priorities. However, practicalities of zombie-ism aside, the show's executive producer, Greg Nicotero, has resorted to some terrifying methods to ensure that all of the shambling ghouls decompose in a realistic way.

Nicotero, who claims to have done extensive research into the various stages of corpse decomposition (presumably in his basement), has the show's makeup team pay special attention to how the zombies' skin has been affected by heat and dehydration, considering that unlike the show's target audience, the undead hordes spend most of their time outside.

Thanks to The Walking Dead's crazy devotion to nightmarish details, the show's prosthetics are also constantly evolving to reflect the gradual decomposition of the zombies as the series progresses. For instance, in the first season, the zombies were relatively fresh-faced (for undead monsters):

As the episodes go on, however, those faces steadily become more disfigured, with the zombies' eyes sinking in and their skin pulling back to tighten around their horrible skulls:

Additionally, compare this video of all the zombie kills in the first two seasons to this one for season three. Notice how later in the series, eliminated zombies fall apart as if they were made out of mashed potatoes and soggy toilet paper, because that's what would happen to six-month-old dead bodies that had been baking out in the humid Georgia heat. So the next time you hear somebody criticizing The Walking Dead for having characters that don't evolve, feel free to correct them. The zombies totally evolve. It's just the humans that don't develop in any meaningful way.

"Well sure!" you might be saying, "Those are things that someone might notice, it makes sense they would do their best to make them accurate." Allow us to challenge that statement with this one: Mad Men goes so far as to make sure the ice cubes in the character's drinks correctly reflect where they are in their forgotten world of the past. See, when a scene is set at a character's home, their drinks will contain large ice cubes, made from vintage metal trays that were found in most households of the time. If the characters are boozing it up in a hotel, the show reaches out to a specialist in L.A. who supplies them with authentic one-inch-square ice cubes that would have been used by businesses back then. Most people would've never even noticed the ice cubes were different sizes, much less whether they were appropriate to the location. Hell, most people never would have noticed there were ice cubes in the scene.

Speaking of ice, Matthew Weiner even makes sure that Mad Men never shows an engagement ring with a cut of diamond that would be out of place in that time period. He even politely requests that the actresses on the show refrain from dieting and exercising, so they keep their historically accurate 1960s curves. Considering that this is a man who obsesses over the size and shape of ice cubes, we're surprised he doesn't tie them down and force feed them Baconators before each shoot.

The Big Bang Theory has a weird relationship with its audience -- regular people delight in the antics of a bunch of nerdy physicists being terrible at life, while self-described nerds resent it for being the zillionth entry in pop culture history to squeeze blood out of that hackneyed stone. However, that doesn't seem to bother real-life physicists, because the show's producers hired an expert to make sure all of the science is correct. What science, you ask? Literally all of the stuff hiding in the background that you didn't even give a second glance to. Or a first glance.

We're talking about the whiteboards in the background of Leonard and Sheldon's apartment. Now, if these whiteboards were part of the set dressing of any other show, say Entourage or Murder, She Wrote, they'd be covered with meaningless numbers and barely-disguised penis drawings. However, David Saltzberg, a physics professor at UCLA whom The Big Bang Theory's producers hired as their consulting scientist, makes sure that those whiteboards are always covered in 100 percent accurate, big city book-learnin' science.

For an example of his handiwork, check out the whiteboard on the right:

The egghead jibba-jabba scrawled across that board is describing what happens when you mix iridium with hydrazine (otherwise known as rocket fuel). Later on in the episode, Leonard almost blows everyone up because he makes a mistake trying to reproduce that reaction. So nestled in the background of this single scene, you have both really good science and subtle foreshadowing, which was presumably an exciting Easter egg for the 0.5 percent of the population who could have possibly understood it.

In another episode, Sheldon discusses probability while standing next to a whiteboard outlining Bayes' theorem, which is a major part of probability theory. To balance it out, the rest of the episode is about Sheldon's uncontrollable farting.

Then there's the episode where the gang buys a replica of the time machine from ... um, The Time Machine, while a whiteboard full of equations for theoretical time travel prowls the shadowy landscape behind them, bearing the lonely burden of obscure trivia:

They even shored up the business aspects of the show. To make sure that the protagonists' company had a viable business model, the producers developed a full portfolio, including their anticipated (though still fictional) go-to-market strategy and (entirely fictional) finances, and presented it to real-life venture capitalists to see whether the company could ever be successful, which apparently it totally could be. At this point, we're amazed they didn't actually create a tech startup instead of just making a show about it.