I Get To Eat Ice Cream Cake For Dinner

Today is my wife's birthday. Happy birthday, wife. This one's for you.

Not entirely coincidentally, today is also James Reso's birthday. Do him a birthday solid and purchase your copy of Nos Populus today.

More Thoughts on Bioshock Infinite

(Image courtesy IGN)

A few more thoughts that didn't quite fit into my review.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD

--On whether Comstock is a true-believer or a charlatan: he's pretty clearly (to me) the former. Exploiting tears and choosing a future based on all possible outcomes may be cheating in the Prophet game, but it doesn't reflect anything about how Comstock sees himself and his faith/delusion. He in fact may view his access to this ability (albeit granted by the science of the Luteces) as evidence of his Prophet-hood. Notice he doesn't let a lot of other people use his technology. The angel Columbia came to him and bestowed this gift. If anything, Comstock is a pragmatic true-believer. Remember: he has a mission in mind (to "drown in flame the mountains of man") and in order to reach the universe where he pulls that off, he needs to navigate the choppy waters of the infinite universes. Maybe "the Prophet" thing is seed for the marks, but the man still pretty clearly believes in the destiny he sets for himself.

--Speaking of the Luteces, how were they luring Booker into their universe to stop Comstock? Presumably, Booker's debts had been paid by selling Anna/Elizabeth, right? Unless he found some more in the intervening twenty years, which he well may have. But how do they reach Booker with their offer and why doesn't he recognize them the first time he runs into them in Columbia? And who was the body in the lighthouse with the warning about not disappointing them (one of the 122 Bookers that failed, maybe)?

--And what's Rosalind Lutece doing in Columbia in the first place? We know that she and Robert were killed as a result of their plan to stop Elizabeth from fulfilling Comstock's prophecy, so it's safe to assume that neither is a dyed in the wool Comstock-ian (Robert, having only been pulled into Columbia because his counterpart was already there, threatens to leave if Rosalind doesn't help in this mission). Combined with being scientifically-inclined and British (right?), they don't seem perfect fits for Columbia's racist, nationalist, hyper-religious society in the sky. Maybe it gave them a chance to work on their quantum mechanical discoveries that they never received on the ground, so they put up with the ideology as background noise and rebelled when things started going too far?  That makes the most sense to me.

--Last point on the Luteces: if the same person from separate universes can be of different genders, what is the mechanic that determines the differences between universes? Booker's decision to get baptized/not baptized and the reliability of coin flips (chance doesn't seem to be affected) would each indicate that choices are the determining factor. Given that Infinite takes place in 1912 and presuming that the Luteces were born forty or fifty years before that, gender choice must be taken out of the equation. So how did one Lutece end up female and the other male? And what implications does that have for other dimensionality differences?

--A grassroots progressive movement calling themselves "the Vox Populi." Ridiculous.

--In his Gameological review, John Teti (in one of several underwhelmed reactions) laments the short-shrift given the political aspects of the game: Comstock vs. Daisy Fitzroy and the parallels with Tea Party vs. Occupy, etc. I partly agree with this, and said as much in my original review, and understand the disappointment. But the thrust of Infinite is Elizabeth, not the Vox Populi. Booker's purpose in Columbia is to "bring back the girl" and only gets drawn into brief confederacy with Fitzroy out of necessity. And Teti even calls the Elizabeth/universe bending aspects the game's "most compelling thematic thread." Infinite could not have given both plots their due focus and done credit to either. Something had to give and Ken Levine and his developers made the right choice in focusing on something so comparatively under-utilized in gaming and narrative forms overall.

--Teti also expresses dissatisfaction with the implied false equivalence between Comstock and Fitzroy, which I agree may have come off a bit ham-handed as Infinite attempted to tie up that arc. However, I'm not sure the game ever implies that these two are on the same level. Fitzroy has too strong an obsession with image and keeping a clean narrative, but her goal (whatever the manipulative and violent means to achieve it) is a freer and generally less exploitative Columbia. That's not the same thing as Comstock's racially pure society with a holy duty to incinerate "the Sodom below." Both are barbarous assholes, but only one is a purposefully evil barbarous asshole. Levine never stoops to calling them equally terrible. Again, Booker has no truck with Fitzroy and doesn't aim to gun her down as he eventually does Comstock. Elizabeth only runs Fitzroy through (with the most intense pair of scissors you'll ever see) after Fitzroy threatens a child. Which, okay, dick move. But Comstock remains undeniably the chief villain, beginning to end.

--For all those interested in narrative construction, especially in games, I highly recommend Kevin Wong's article on the meta-commentary of Infinite. Wong does a much better job than I did of highlighting the differences--and occasional conflicts--between authorial intent and player choice. He also makes some observations about games and free will that do not bode well for even the most vivid game characters. Not to mention the players controlling them.

--Love the touch of Comstock viewing Abraham Lincoln as "the Great Apostate." And a fraternity founded in reverence for John Wilkes Booth. The historical Easter eggs are fantastic.

--Finally, there's probably not any chance of DLC containing new levels or anything like that, is there? Season Pass exists, but it mostly looks like weapons upgrades. Infinite really is too tightly constructed to allow for additional levels, anyway. Which is a shame on the one hand because Columbia, like Rapture before it, is a place I'd happily explore for hours more. On the other, a sequel along the lines of Bioshock 2 that would provide further exploration but little more satisfaction may only prove disappointing.

On Thatcher

I was all set to do a quick, snarky piece on Thatcher. Had the Neil Kinnock quote all lined up and everything. Then I realized that that would be classless and hollow. It's not that I think she deserves better, there's just no point. And while I'm not sure how warm her body ever was, we can at least wait until it's as cold as possible.

Anyway, she would probably only welcome the gloves coming off and I'm not about to give her what she wants.

Instead, here's Fry & Laurie.

Bioshock Infinite

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD

I finished Bioshock Infinite on Sunday night and I've been struggling for what to say about it since. I'm not conflicted, understand. I loved the game. It's gorgeous, its loads of fun, it's full of little details that the perceptive player will eat up (if you're the type of player who just wants to complete your missions and get your achievements/trophies, you may not enjoy this one), and it's got an ending that's as heart-breaking as it is mind-bending.

Like its predecessors (Bioshock and, to a lesser extent, Bioshock 2), Infinite allows for a lot of reading between the lines. It, in fact, requires the aforementioned perceptive player to engage in some light mystery-solving, allowing you to absorb the details at your own pace, uncovering who you are and why you're there (hint: you are not who you think you are until you're exactly who you think you are). This is a deeply rewarding feeling. For example, when you really start to think about the Boys of Silence and understand all the implications of their quantum mechanical abilities, it's genuinely unnerving, largely because your brain is forced to put the grimmer details together on its own (what exactly is under those helmets?).

Yes, quantum mechanics. See, the game gets rather... complex toward the end and it can take some effort to hash out, first, what the hell just happened, and second, what all of it means. Let me see if I can do it some justice.

You are Booker DeWitt, a Pinkerton agent with a shameful past and a significant load of debt to your name. To clear these debts, you are commissioned to travel to Columbia, a literal city in the sky, and return with apparent damsel in distress Elizabeth, whose father, Zachary Comstock, is not only the creator and ruler of Columbia, but something of a godhead as well, hailed as "The Prophet." Except it turns out that Elizabeth is less a damsel in distress than she is a god in human form and Comstock is less your enemy than he is... you... in an alternate timeline. Seems that in order to pay his earlier debts, Booker sold his infant daughter, Anna, to Comstock, who was (re)born when Booker declined an old-time-religion type baptismal and their timelines split. Comstock took Anna back to his dimension and raised her as Elizabeth, who turns out to have inter-dimensional powers because her pinky finger was cut off and left behind during the transition to Comstock's timeline. This all comes as a significant surprise to Booker, less of a surprise to Comstock (who's developed the technology to see into other dimensions, explaining his prophet-ness), and Elizabeth copes with the knowledge rather well because once you've learned that you're an inter-dimensional meta-human, little remains to shock you.

Like I said, a lot to absorb. This is the simplest, most accurate (to my interpretation) summation that I can find. There's more, of course. Turns out that the Columbia we witness is one of an infinite (eh, eh?) number of Columbias, in an infinite number of universes, allowing the game to tie into its predecessors and give Rapture a nice shout-out (note: while some will complain about Columbia looking like a skin swap of Rapture, such callbacks make a lot more sense given the dimensional nonsense). Moreover, Booker's probably been sent to rescue Elizabeth before--122 times, per one theory. But that gets us bogged down in arcane details. The main thrust is the Booker-Elizabeth-Comstock story, an arc that gets more and more attention as the game proceeds and Ken Levine and his team of developers gained more and more fondness for that relationship (and especially Elizabeth) as they went along. This focus forced the developers to drop other elements, to some fans' displeasure, such as Columbia itself and the much-hyped politics of turn of the century American nationalism, each of which seem to wither away about halfway through.

I have some minor complaints about the game's near-dropping of the politics. This particular brand of American exceptionalism is not nearly as strong a through-line as were the objectivist politics of the first Bioshock (likewise, Rapture was more of a character in Bioshock than Columbia is in Infinite). And while it's possible that the writers and programmers could only stomach so much early 20th Century-style casual racism, the sudden dropping of that aspect seems a shame, especially given the contemporary commentary that could be had. But that shifting focus is forgivable because Elizabeth is the real heart of the game. And once you're introduced to her, and the questions her abilities raise, the politics become pedestrian.

Yes, Infinite is technically a game-long escort mission. But, as though anticipating triggered flashbacks to Natalya, the programmers throw up on the screen the eight sweetest words in video game history: You Don't Need To Protect Elizabeth in Combat. Not only does Elizabeth not get in the way, she helps you, tossing you ammunition and health in the middle of firefights. Not always with the most advantageous timing, I'll grant, but because the player can choose to ignore her aid, I usually spared Elizabeth any blame when things went wrong. Better still: unlike Natalya, or Ashley of Resident Evil 4, Elizabeth brings something very rare in games: likability. And a genuine place for emotional investment. Infinite is not about Booker, or even the wish fulfillment of the player, as so many games are. It's about Elizabeth and settling her story. In this way, the game is more concerned with itself than it is the player and seeks to resolve its own questions. Infinite ends on--at best--a bittersweet note for Booker, and while that may turn off some players, the game succeeds on its own terms. You know, the way art does.

Of course the final Booker-Comstock reveal seems to have a pretty serious hole, one that I am not smart enough to explain. However, the hole doesn't hurt Infinite's overall quality too much and gamers have generally forgiven stupider sins in exchange for acceptable gameplay. And, anyway, the Bioshock series should get some points back for striving to be big and grand and important and worth our time. Isn't that what so many of us demand from the medium? Look around the Internet: nearly all discussion of Infinite, a little over a week after its release, is about the twist at the end and the attendant dalliances through multiple universes and alternate timelines. Everyone is generally agreed that the game-play is damned satisfying and the environments damned pretty to look at. The conversation is about the confusing ending, with fans and detractors bouncing theories back and forth in an attempt to dissipate that confusion. These efforts have naturally uncovered some problems with the narrative, as any story that falls back on time travel or inter-dimensionality will have (Looper attempted to diffuse the debate immediately, and still couldn't quite stop the chattering juggernaut from trying to explain it). How many games produce this kind of instant, overwhelming reaction, relying on small, hard sought-after details? Surely, this is what we want from these games.

Awarding brownie points for wanting to do something fantastically mind-blowing while coming a little short is probably jejune. But to brush off the achievements of Infinite over some narrative confusion at the very end of the game is bad for the medium. This is an effort to be rewarded and savored. Because these are the games we've been waiting for.

Grade: A

Half-Drunken Anniversary

One year ago today, I began blogging into the void. Thanks, void.

I recently stumbled upon a nostalgia-soaked post of mine about the wonderful possibilities of dinosaur cloning.

If dinosaur fare isn't your bag (in which case: what kind of sick, twisted freak are you?), then you may prefer some of my more popular posts, including my semi-intimate take on Bar Rescue's confrontation with Piratz, my eulogy for Matt Groening's seminal Life in Hell comic strip, and my defense of D.C. statehood. If you like the political stuff, here was my endorsement of Obama, which pretty obviously cinched the election for him (go ahead, prove me wrong (no, don't prove me wrong, I couldn't take the humiliation)). And less political--but at least as important--was my recent attempted take down of that insipid Miller 64 commercial.

And I shouldn't forget the original purpose of this blog: Nos Populus. I've largely neglected my book here over the last few months. But it is available for Kindle and paperback. I still hope to get some other stores open shortly, perhaps even for Nook. Read excerpts here, here, and here. You can also read about the inspirations for protagonist James Reso and his sworn adversary President Dennis Ward, among other notable influences for Nos Populus, such as the War in Iraq and American University. See also my experiences with self-publishing my book.

Lastly, be sure to check back here for the first ever half-drunken short story, coming later this month.

Thank you, readers. Here's to one more year. And then maybe another after that. We'll see.