Confederate Wing » Video Game Reviews

Deus Ex: Human Revolution

Andrew — Fri, 30 Dec 2011 09:51:54 +0000

Here’s something I wrote last week for a magazine project I’m currently spearheading. There’ll hopefully be more on this later as it seems to have stalled temporarily, but I’m posting it now because a) I haven’t done anything else noteworthy, and b) I should probably bury the academic diatribe that was my most recent posting.

Playing God

Technology enables mankind to accomplish wonderful things, but at what cost? A thematic exploration of Deus Ex: Human Revolution.

Adam Jensen is not human. Having nearly been killed in a terrorist attack on Sarif Industries, the company for which he is the head of security, his life could only be saved through transhuman augmentation. His arms were amputated and replaced with cybernetic limbs. His head has been equipped with various neural implants and ocular improvements. He is able to jump higher and sprint faster than any human can. Even his intellectual faculties have been mechanically increased thanks to the technological wonders of the not too distant future.

Yet for all of these upgrades, Adam Jensen is not a machine either. He has thoughts and ideas. He can be creative and he can express human emotion. When he feels anger, he raises his voice. When he is annoyed, he becomes sarcastic and dismissive. When he is overwhelmed, his speech assumes the inflections and irregularities expected of someone in anguish. Although he may now be as susceptible to software viruses as he is to the common cold, he is driven by revenge and not by programming.

Adam Jensen blurs the line of what it means to be human. While the common question the unending forward march of technology often asks is when artificial intelligence will rival the human intellect, Deus Ex: Human Revolution asks at what point a person loses their humanity through technology. With all of his implants and augmentations shattering the limits of his natural potential, is Adam Jensen still human? Is he something more? Something less?

This is the question which frames the world of Deus Ex: Human Revolution. In the year 2027, Sarif Industries is on the verge of a technological breakthrough which will revolutionize human potential. Pharmaceutical giants have already been playing god with the human genome for years, but the results are less than ideal. The human body often rejects drastic augmentation, and the necessary corrective procedures and medication can enslave families to corporations for life. This innovation is poised to upset the current ethically nebulous balance of the world. Sarif believes that everyone should have the opportunity to become better than human. Pro humanity movements such as Purity First believe that mankind should not play God. Other shadowy corporations in competition with Sarif are pursuing their own agendas with private military operations. Adam Jensen is caught in the middle.

Many videogames are concerned with telling a story, but so few of them are interested in exploring a theme. Deus Ex: Human Revolution is one of these games; the theme of not just what it means to be human, but what the influence of technology means for our souls. For Sarif, himself a devout futurist with a cybernetic arm, there is no cost too great in the pursuit of technological advancement. The work of his company has the power to improve human potential universally. Though he may be involved in shadowy military contracts to pay the bills, the public face of his company balances the ethical scales by championing the right for every citizen to reap the benefits of his life improving work.

Regardless, part of the wider world views Sarif and those of similar inclinations as if they were false prophets, having become gods on earth from the marvellous machines they have created. This central conflict gives the title of the game weight beyond curious colloquial clumsiness. The popular phrase is Deus Ex Machina (pronounce each syllable and the the “ch” as a “k”), the Latin rendering of an Ancient Greek idiom rooted in classical theatre. A deity would be hoisted above the stage by a crane or other such device in order to resolve the action with their godly powers, a technique modern audiences tend to recognize as egregious contrivance. Sarif has become a god thanks to his technology, an allegory perhaps none too subtly extended to Adam himself; less because he is the first man and more because Sarif did not save his life nearly as much as he constructed him from nothing.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution grounds these lofty ideas in moments where Adam is free to explore the rough outlines of an open world, generally consisting of less than one single square kilometre of streets, buildings, and sewers. From a narrative perspective these areas are shams, dotted with meaningless side-quests whose only gratification are experience points and which mostly distract from the overarching storyline. Perhaps this is no different from the side-quests in most open world games, but Deus Ex: Human Revolution is fundamentally linear. The story only develops in straightforward missions taking place outside of its tiny sandboxes, not within them.

Why, then, would its developers bother with devoting such time and energy into crafting cheap facsimiles of an open world? Surely it would have been better to invest those resources in refining its core elements, improving its brazenly broken boss fights, or fleshing out its resolution to be more than just a multiple-choice question?

In defence, perhaps Deus Ex: Human Revolution sought to capitalize upon the singular ability of videogames to offer audience directed thematic exploration. If a book or a movie decides to examine an idea, ultimately its participants only receive the ideas its creator intended with anything beyond being a textual leap of faith. In a video game, a theme can be presented and explored through the devices and structures central to its progression in the manner of literature or film, while the potential exists for further consideration beyond the ostensible. For over four years, Bioshock has been the gold standard of this possibility. Its players receive its core philosophies and ideologies through the narrative and mechanics central to the game, which can further be reinforced and explored by taking the time to consider the propaganda posters and advertisements lining the walls, to name but a single example.

In this light, the narratively empty and inconsequential sandboxes of Deus Ex: Human Revolution take on greater thematic resonance. What better way to be exposed to the ideas than to discover them yourself? Adam doesn’t necessarily need to hear the word on the streets as he reacquaints himself with the world from which he’s been absent for six months in recovery, but moments like these colour the world and help the player realize that transhumanism may not necessarily be as entirely altruistic as Sarif thinks. Only the privileged can afford to play with the technological toys able to improve their natural abilities, while the impoverished and lower classes feel increasingly inadequate and insignificant in being unable to compete with their augmented aristocracy. As William Gibson once said, “the future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed.”

Without these occasional glimpses, the player would have no awareness of the broader social issues at play, or rather no impetus to consider them. The people populating the linear game are mostly terrorists, mercenaries, cops, scientists, and the occasional significant figurehead, all of whom are presented in isolation from the wider world. Without the consideration of how the blue-collar and those beneath them are affected by Adam’s activities, the ideas of Deus Ex: Human Revolution become polarized and dull. Social struggles and philosophical quandaries are more engaging than corporate power plays because they have universal appeal. Or rather, the question of whether or not it is a good thing to play god with technology has far more weight when you can see its effects on a human scale.

I’ll admit, before playing Deus Ex: Human Revolution, I thought it was ridiculous to consider that futurism and the potential of technological innovation could be anything other than unerringly beneficial, as if it should be nothing less than a moral imperative. But the possibilities in boundless technology to fracture the world by sharper divisions in not just wealth and social status but also by natural ability do raise some fascinating issues.

However it must be said that Deus Ex: Human Revolution explores the ethics of augmentation better than it does the morals of it. The game makes an attempt to test the corrupting influence of seemingly absolute power on the actions of the player, but having been conditioned to view morality in the medium as strictly black and white, most players would likely equate non-lethal stealthy pacifism with good and guns blazing frontal assaults with evil immediately. Admittedly, it’s difficult to gauge just how sophisticated this mechanic is as my Adam seldom had his sneaky humanitarian approach acknowledged. But when the ending cinematic rhetorically asks how easy it would have been for him to abuse his augmented abilities, the question swiftly devolves into the trite “might is right” argument.

Yet while I doubt that “might is right” is the intended philosophical focal point for a game with as many intriguing ideas as Deus Ex: Human Revolution, I do see a certain elegance to its conspicuous inclusion in any outcome of the four ending sequences. Many of its ideas are adapted from classical thinking, the foundations of which are a mythology built on the principle that the most powerful deserve the most authority, as exemplified by Zeus and the Olympians forcefully overthrowing the previous generation of gods. Even the man directly responsible for the condition of this fictional earth in 2027 fancies himself a modern Daedalus as he watches the manifestation of his genius threaten to tear the world apart.

There are many ways the conversation can go when Adam meets this man and asks him what right he has to do what he has done, with every result offering a distinct justification for the way he has chosen to exercise his might. But whether through persuasion or otherwise, absolute power soon falls to Adam, and the player can decide how they wish to exercise their own will. The room of four endings may disappoint our gameplay expectations, but its thematically more powerful.

Gods do not labour, they need only will their whims into existence and the world is shaped accordingly.

After all, Adam Jensen is neither a man nor a machine. He has become a god.

Indie Game Spotlight #8: Braid

Andrew — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 15:56:27 +0000

Metaphors in Mechanics

Braid offers a masterful blend of inventive gameplay and novel narrative execution

Three years ago, independent software developer Jonathan Blow released Braid, a game which at the time was something of a champion for the artistic merits of video game design. Lauded for its striking artistic direction, inventive time manipulation mechanics, and poignant narrative, few games before or since have been met with as much adulation.

Braid tells the story of Tim, a man searching for a princess snatched away by an evil monster. Although the events framing the action remain deliberately vague, occasional text preambles nevertheless indicate that Tim is hoping to reconcile – or better yet erase – a mistake he has made.

Tim’s adventure is an exploration of themes, which sets it apart from other trite “save the princess” affairs. Braid deftly uses a single game play mechanic to express ideas of forgiveness, decision, and place. The pragmatic end of saving the princess isn’t the goal; it’s the emotional discoveries made along the way as perspectives gradually shift and come into focus.

As a game, Braid is a fairly straightforward puzzle-platform affair across six areas, each with its own variation on time manipulation. One world lets you rewind time at will, another has time advance and rewind as the player moves forwards or backwards, etc. Each variation is alluded to in the area’s introductory text, which is the only kink in an otherwise immaculate interweaving of narrative and game play.

It’s fitting, then, that Braid’s overarching narrative is as sophisticated as its core game play mechanic. The paragraphs framing the narrative are out of sequence, reminiscent of the film Memento but with a more human touch. Saving the princess becomes a metaphor for the lengths to which one goes in order to repair what’s been damaged, for how learning from a mistake never comes without the sting of the fault.

Unifying Braid is an aesthetically lush and beautiful style, with vivid brushwork art and soothing acoustic melodies. The feeling of being lulled to sleep permeates the entire experience, which compliments the dreamscape design exploring fresh perspectives on a familiar tale. From beginning to end, Braid never ceases to charm, and its fascinating narrative makes it all the more attractive.

And yet even after three years, Braid remains as alluring as ever, perhaps in part due to its closure (or lack thereof). Like the relationship between Tim and the princess – indeed like the relationships of anyone – Braid may come to an end, but it never resolves. What conclusion could be more appropriate than that?

Braid is available on PC, Mac, Linux, PSN, and XBLA for $10.

Indie Game Spotlight #7: Amnesia: The Dark Descent

Andrew — Fri, 28 Oct 2011 02:48:49 +0000

The scariest game you’ve never played

Amnesia: The Dark Descent proves that imagined horrors are far more menacing than real ones

Survival horror games have undergone a curious metamorphosis over the years. Most notably, they’re now forgoing frugal design principals enhancing atmosphere in favour of bloody gore fests highlighting action. And while technology and gameplay certainly improve over time, cultivating scenarios of dread and terror have fallen out of fashion as fluid high resolution dismemberment began to take centre stage. Dead Space and Resident Evil are the reigning kings of survival horror, which is quite ironic considering there’s absolutely nothing scary about them.

Amnesia: The Dark Descent is an independent survival horror game by Swedish developer Frictional Games, which is a rare entry in its particular genre in that it’s genuinely terrifying. Cast as the amnesic Daniel wandering the crumbling halls of the Prussian Brennenburg Castle in 1839, players must evade the malevolence hunting them as they attempt to find and kill a man named Alexander.

Whereas most survival horror games offer the player a means of defence from its threats, Amnesia is unique in that the player is afforded no means of recourse against the horrors contained within. When faced with a grotesque menace, the only way to survive is to hide and pray that it leaves you alone. There’s no means to fight back, and confrontation only ends with a blood spattered demise.

If you see this, you’re already dead

Of course effective evasion most often leads into shadowy areas, where the results of the darkness take a toll on Daniel’s sanity, distorting his vision and compromising his movement. Although this mechanic of sanity isn’t anything new or even played to its most extreme ends (2002′s Eternal Darkness: Sanity’s Requeim often broke the fourth wall with fake technical errors using the same technique), it’s nevertheless supremely effective in cultivating an extraordinarily tense atmosphere.

In fact it’s atmosphere where Amnesia most excels. Frictional Games understands that the best horror is often psychological and left to a person’s imagination. Horrors are merely glimpsed through the shadows and fog, and their presence is often a suggestion that never materializes among all the creaks, wails, and dreadful noises. It’s all very suspenseful and well assembled, and the optional developer commentary reveals a meticulous process behind the excellent design.

Amnesia: The Dark Descent is a tense and terrifying experience in the best possible way. Play this game in a darkened room with cranked headphones and fully devoted attention, and it’ll be the scariest thing you do this Halloween.

Amnesia: The Dark Descent is available on PC-DVD, and through either digital distribution or cloud computing.

Indie Game Spotlight #6: The Binding of Isaac

Andrew — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 22:00:19 +0000

Lost in the basement with The Binding of Isaac

This game should’ve been slaughtered on the mountain

Isaac had no idea that Abraham intended him as a sacrifice to God when he was following his father up the mountain. In fact Isaac had no power in that entire incident. Either God was testing Abraham’s faith, or Abraham was testing God’s benevolence. Issac was just the object of a dare.

In The Binding of Isaac, developed by Austrian-born Florian Himsl and Edmund McMillan (of American indie developer Team Meat), Isaac takes centre stage. In this game, it’s Isaac’s mother who causes the ordeal after hearing a televangelist voice demanding that she sacrifice her only son. Isaac then flees into the basement, where he faces grotesque monstrosities and flashes of his troubled innocent life.

As a game, The Binding of Isaac plays as a traditional twin-stick shooter. Moving and shooting are the core gameplay inputs, mapped to WASD and the arrow keys respectively. Level design consists of a half dozen floors of randomly generated dungeons, loot, and bosses, which guarantees that no two attempts are identical. The aesthetics will also be immediately familiar to anyone who remembers last year’s stellar Super Meat Boy (also by Edmund McMillen). And to further that particular connection, composer Danny Baranowsky returns for the soundtrack as well.

On paper, then, The Binding of Isaac should work: tried and true art direction teamed with refined retro gameplay. Sadly, while all the individual elements would certainly work well independent of each other, they’re a frustrating mess when combined. Being able to shoot effectively only at rigid 90 degree angles clashes with the ability to move in any direction at any gradient. Where a high degree of difficulty demands a well balanced progression, randomized loot and level design quickly boils matters down to luck. And finally, recontextualizing a weighty biblical story with coarse aesthetics, no matter how indicative of the artist’s style, just comes off as tasteless.

While there are interesting elements contained within The Binding of Isaac, so much of the game is a product of misplaced energies that it becomes nearly hideous to behold. There was potential here for an imaginative and thoughtful reinterpretation of Abraham’s near sacrifice of his son in accordance with God’s will, but The Binding of Isaac becomes mired in a polarizing art direction before being buried with frustrating gameplay. God wouldn’t think twice about asking for The Binding of Isaac as a sacrifice, and Abraham would deliver it whether God changed his mind or not.

The Binding of Isaac is available for download on Windows PC and Mac OS X

Indie Game Spotlight #5: Gravity Bone

Andrew — Sat, 08 Oct 2011 18:11:11 +0000

This is the next installment of my column, which I’m posting now to show to a friend who’s been eager to read my thoughts on this since… April? By the way, I absolutely adore this game (as if my write-up doesn’t make that clear enough already). Please go play it.

The adventures of Citizen Abel

A release from work and worry with Brendon Chung’s Gravity Bone

If you have even the slightest interest in video games as more than just flippant distractions or inane wastes of time, or if you’re even remotely curious about the narrative and emotional potential of video games beyond puerile power fantasies, you must play Gravity Bone. It’s free, it’s short, and it’s damn well brilliant. What more do you need to know?

Created by Brendon Chung of LA based Blendo Games, Gravity Bone is best described as a first-person romp. As soon as the game loads, you’re descending an elevator into The Saturday Club. The bombastic brass of a Xavier Cugat arrangement delights the ears as you infiltrate a swanky black tie affair populated with paper-craft patrons. You pull up a business card which instructs you to head to the furnace room for a spot of wetwork. The mission? Deliver a bugged drink to a man with red hair. In equal measure you notice the security gaze following your every move and the stunt planes whizzing through the mountain air. Nothing makes sense, but damned if it’s not a charmingly imaginative experience. What a strange game… What a strange, wildly confident, and immaculately realized game…

Despite lasting only 15 minutes, Gravity Bone nevertheless has so many curious and fascinating little touches that it becomes endlessly engaging both in terms of presentation and gameplay. Its in medias res approach to what little narrative actually exists creates the sense of playing through select scenes in a grand espionage epic. And not only is that narrative seamlessly integrated with the gameplay, but so are the actual gameplay mechanics into its aesthetic design (“Safety first! Press [e] to use doorknobs”). It even allows freedom of perspective in scripted sequences, which still enables empathy even when control has been taken away for cinematic purposes. And to cap it all off, the final sequence is one of the most breathtaking gameplay experiences ever devised, fantastically executed in all its brevity, surrealism, and surprise.

Gravity Bone is an incredible game, remarkable for its subversive approach to first-person game design, beautiful construction, and taut composition. It’s highly experimental and perhaps a bit rough around the edges, but its risks pay high dividends for those who are curious to explore its wonderfully wacky world of guns and glory. Few games leave an impression quite like Gravity Bone. While it may be a short ride, it’s also free and provides an experience that won’t soon be forgotten.

Visit http://blendogames.com/ to download Gravity Bone and see more of Brendon Chung’s work.