The late Roger Ebert famously claimed that video games could never be art. Given the critic's own definition—that true art must be largely attributable to one author, and must match the quality of our greatest poets, filmmakers, and painters—it's worthless to argue with him. But I doubt he's ever played anything quite like Bioshock Infinite.
Intensely imaginative and tantalizingly mysterious, Infinite's first hour has the same mesmerizing quality of your most puzzling dreams. Developer Irrational Games leaves small strands of logic here and there, each immensely enticing but always elusive. Your brain will cling to what it can while these in-game images last, before they (quite literally) dissolve before your eyes.
Players control compulsive-gambler-with-cookie-cutter-good-looks Booker DeWitt, who's been given simple, ominous instructions: Bring us the girl; wipe away the debt. He's taken to a lighthouse amidst heavy rain and a bit of amused, cryptic banter between his escorts. After climbing the lighthouse steps past a grisly execution scene, he finds a contraption much like The Great Glass Elevator (Charlie and The Chocolate Factory). The pod whisks him up and up and up as the thunder booms and the blackness grows, until all at once he bursts through to a bright, gorgeous city in the clouds. Briefly relieved, Booker soon feels a tinge of uneasiness. Even as they welcome Booker to the city, the cheerful citizens mention a guiding figure called The Prophet. Booker quickly discovers his task will be far, far more complicated than he first believed.
Intensely imaginative and tantalizingly mysterious, Infinite's first hour has the same mesmerizing quality of your most puzzling dreams. Developer Irrational Games leaves small strands of logic here and there, each immensely enticing but always elusive. Your brain will cling to what it can while these in-game images last, before they (quite literally) dissolve before your eyes.
Players control compulsive-gambler-with-cookie-cutter-good-looks Booker DeWitt, who's been given simple, ominous instructions: Bring us the girl; wipe away the debt. He's taken to a lighthouse amidst heavy rain and a bit of amused, cryptic banter between his escorts. After climbing the lighthouse steps past a grisly execution scene, he finds a contraption much like The Great Glass Elevator (Charlie and The Chocolate Factory). The pod whisks him up and up and up as the thunder booms and the blackness grows, until all at once he bursts through to a bright, gorgeous city in the clouds. Briefly relieved, Booker soon feels a tinge of uneasiness. Even as they welcome Booker to the city, the cheerful citizens mention a guiding figure called The Prophet. Booker quickly discovers his task will be far, far more complicated than he first believed.
Though the dystopian framework may be familiar, Irrational knows how to add plenty of less familiar narrative turns, with snatches of wartime history, some inter-dimensional playfulness, and villains, who, like Mad Men, we can never dismiss as entirely horrible. Expertly paced, Infinite reveals just enough, just frequently enough, to keep gamers intrigued, without falling in love with its own story to the detriment of gameplay (attention: Metal Gear).
But Infinite is also stubborn. The game's proud commitment to the single-player experience deserves praise—too many modern games have thrown out narrative in favor of online mayhem—but its fierce dependence on familiar game mechanics becomes frustrating. At its mechanical core, Infinite is pure First-Person Shooter, which begins as a nuisance and becomes an outright shame. Irrational pairs nearly every dreamlike, exploratory sequence with a routine, gunslinging encounter. Within the game's final two hours, I'd be lucky to go two minutes without firing off another dozen rounds. It took years for science fiction filmmakers to move past martial arts after The Matrix (1999). With video games? Too often, Halo (2001) still provides the sci-fi gaming template.
But Infinite is also stubborn. The game's proud commitment to the single-player experience deserves praise—too many modern games have thrown out narrative in favor of online mayhem—but its fierce dependence on familiar game mechanics becomes frustrating. At its mechanical core, Infinite is pure First-Person Shooter, which begins as a nuisance and becomes an outright shame. Irrational pairs nearly every dreamlike, exploratory sequence with a routine, gunslinging encounter. Within the game's final two hours, I'd be lucky to go two minutes without firing off another dozen rounds. It took years for science fiction filmmakers to move past martial arts after The Matrix (1999). With video games? Too often, Halo (2001) still provides the sci-fi gaming template.
Thankfully, Irrational augments the tired gun-based combat with supernatural, element-based powers called "Vigors." (I apologize to my non-gaming readers for that sentence.) While Booker carries traditional weapons with his right hand, his left hand shimmers and pulses with elements like fire, electricity, or even a swarm of murderous crows. Instead of simply firing off rounds, players can emit flames or electrical bolts, (think of it as a newer, trendier version of casting spells), set Vigor-based traps, and best of all, combine the two (ex: summon a flock of crows to fly at an enemy, then light the flock on fire for an even deadlier assault). My favorite Vigor—the Bucking Bronco—allows Booker to throw onrushing enemies ten feet into the air with a flick of his hand. Late in the game, I remember spinning around to see a dozen baddies charging straight for me; I cast the lot up in the air, sent a flock of crows, and dove behind nearby cover. Five minutes later, my heart finally stopped racing. These moments alone almost single-handedly excuse the constant gunplay.
Still, Infinite's true charm lies in its engrossing world and intricate plotting. You'll learn to proceed slowly, deliberately, and thoroughly, as old audio journals and short film reels lie strewn about Columbia (the name of the city in the clouds). Like reading a great novel, Infinite rewards conscientiousness and thoughtful backtracking; the most careful players might just solve a few of Columbia's mysteries before Irrational truly solves them for you. Best of all, the story's meticulous plot culminates in a worthy, satisfying conclusion. Without hyperbole, Infinite's spellbinding finale is the best video game denouement I've experienced in at least five years.
Even so, as I sat—20 minutes later—still thinking over the game's fantastic conclusion, I remembered Roger Ebert's claim. Regardless of whether this is art, I thought, surely this has something in common with a great film. I certainly had a strong emotional response. But as I considered further, Ebert's assertion began to make more sense to me. Infinite may have a phenomenal story, but only within the context of its fellow video games. A month ago I lambasted Looper (a 2012 sci-fi film) for its irresponsible treatment of time travel. Infinite commits many of the same crimes, but I realized it didn't bother me nearly as much. Why was this?
Video games have two unique qualities largely absent from film. First, developers always design games so that the players will enjoy playing them. Of course, most summer blockbusters have this same goal, but in general, a film does not have to be enjoyable. A movie might be excruciating to watch, but because it evokes a profound emotional response, we judge the experience worthwhile. No one would choose to continue playing a 20-hour game she didn't like. Second, games can be beaten, while films cannot (one of Ebert's main points). If we want to judge films and video games based on their makers' intentions (apart from their intention to make money), then it makes sense that we would judge the two mediums differently.
Infinite's riskiest, most admirable choice was to try to succeed both as a game and as an interactive film. Without question, the game succeeds at the former task. But at the latter? If I force myself to apply the same critical rigor I do with film to Infinite's plot, I find myself much less enthusiastic. At the same time, it's probably unfair to apply these same standards. I loved the game for what it was, particularly in comparison to other games.
Is Bioshock Infinite a work of art? I'm not sure I can say. Is it diligently crafted, unbelievably fun, and one of the best games of the last several years? I say yes. And within the world of video games, that's a far more important question.
Even so, as I sat—20 minutes later—still thinking over the game's fantastic conclusion, I remembered Roger Ebert's claim. Regardless of whether this is art, I thought, surely this has something in common with a great film. I certainly had a strong emotional response. But as I considered further, Ebert's assertion began to make more sense to me. Infinite may have a phenomenal story, but only within the context of its fellow video games. A month ago I lambasted Looper (a 2012 sci-fi film) for its irresponsible treatment of time travel. Infinite commits many of the same crimes, but I realized it didn't bother me nearly as much. Why was this?
Video games have two unique qualities largely absent from film. First, developers always design games so that the players will enjoy playing them. Of course, most summer blockbusters have this same goal, but in general, a film does not have to be enjoyable. A movie might be excruciating to watch, but because it evokes a profound emotional response, we judge the experience worthwhile. No one would choose to continue playing a 20-hour game she didn't like. Second, games can be beaten, while films cannot (one of Ebert's main points). If we want to judge films and video games based on their makers' intentions (apart from their intention to make money), then it makes sense that we would judge the two mediums differently.
Infinite's riskiest, most admirable choice was to try to succeed both as a game and as an interactive film. Without question, the game succeeds at the former task. But at the latter? If I force myself to apply the same critical rigor I do with film to Infinite's plot, I find myself much less enthusiastic. At the same time, it's probably unfair to apply these same standards. I loved the game for what it was, particularly in comparison to other games.
Is Bioshock Infinite a work of art? I'm not sure I can say. Is it diligently crafted, unbelievably fun, and one of the best games of the last several years? I say yes. And within the world of video games, that's a far more important question.
RSS Feed
