There’s
an irony in the continual assertion of ‘immersive’ qualities in Uncharted.
While it has the detail and animation to seem consistently ‘real world’, the
world which Naughty have constructed is a childhood fantasy, dream realms for
which their characters – human seeming but really sculpted from perfection, can
fill with their ego and exploits. It’s jarring, much in the same way the often
spoken upon ludo-narrative dissonance (that is the protagonist being a
humanized everyman that ruthlessly butchers hundreds of third world
mercenaries) and while the mechanics of the world are essentially fantasy, it wears
the thin veil of the real world. Because
what is the world we’re really in right now? The characters are all written to
fit in a generic simulacrum of modern time people and so in that regard Nathan
Drake, the protagonist, is a simulacrum of modern traits (smartarse, American)
but he comes from nowhere specifically. We learn, in flashbacks to his
childhood, that Nathan Drake is a fake name. Even as a child he is in the
process of inventing himself, making the name and stealing Sir Francis Drake’s ring, so to frame himself
as a descendant of greatness. This is exactly the same process the developers
are going through, creating a hero bigger than any one person, real or fictitious.
We learn that Drake was raised in a catholic orphanage, where he learned Latin.
This too sounds like an invention – a character mockingly calls it
‘Dickensian’. It is, and like everything
about the game and its characters taking place against a wan, facelessly modern
background. Rootless and baseless, just like the carefully unspecific details
behind everyone. It may sound pedantic, particularly in comparison to the games
pulp influences – but we knew with Indiana Jones the understated but crucial
fact that he was a Harvard professor.
Where is Nathan Drake? Why do we gravitate towards him?
The
answer is simple but not sufficient. He’s the hero we dream to be. It’s an
escapist fantasy. True. But in filmic and novelized examples of similar pulp,
we’re at a distance from our subject. And there’s more talking. The action, in
which Indiana Jones may end up killing a few bad guys feel incidental and
reactionary, briefly portrayed but not lingered over. But things are very
different with video games. Firstly, Uncharted is a shooting series. This means
there is less time talking than there is shooting, or more precisely, killing.
We are also more intimately inhabiting the space of the hero and doing so for
much longer. We can perhaps indulge in Drake more easily if he were constrained
to a two hour film in which we see everything the filmmaker wants us too – but
with games we have a more active role in creating our own perceptions.
Uncharted
then operates an awkward space. It wants to be like the controlled frames of a
cinematic adventure, but it has to deal with us and our imperfections as
players, as well as action game conventions. There is less time for a real world
than there is for a pretty world and that leaves us with a game that strides an
unsettling place that looks modern enough for us to believe we are human,
mortal and real people in the moment
–to-moment excitement (Oh no! Drake almost fell to his death again!) but
with extended periods of time there is something not quite right, the world
around Drake seems a cardboard set in front of which he poses, trying to look
cool. Somehow I find it easier to deal with a world in which the fantasy is
upfront. In a fantasy like Prince of
Persia 08 or Lord of The rings, we can view behaviour and actions within a
context that is made clear to us. Even the 2008 reboot of Prince of Persia,
which contained the mildly irritating anachronism of ancient Iran being
inhabited by two glib Americans was quelled by the games grandiose and magical
fantasy world – one that elicited a suspension of disbelief instantly and
cleanly. What about Uncharted? If we don’t look too closely, we can believe
that we’re in some Nepalese Warzone (as in the second game) but if we do look
we might just wonder when and why this is exactly happening. The world and
Drake are an everyman in that they end up feeling generic.
Uncharted
3 attempts to address some of these issues, but ends up mostly failing. By this
point in the series I did not think I would be taken in by another entry. The more you play, the more the stunning environments
feel apart from the game. Tone has also been an issue, after the first game
they’ve tried juggling light-pulp with darker drama, and it can sometimes feel
clumsy. To date the the game with the cleanest suspension of reality was the
first one. Partially because we had not seen many protagonists like Nathan Drake
before in video games; slim figured, real sounding, plucky and reacting vulnerably
to danger. But also because the game was so contained; its setting was a small
abandoned island. Confined to this one area the whole thing felt like an
intimate scuffle, the world itself easily identifiable by pulp adventure
tropes. We were the hero because we needed to be, there were pirates because
pirates are assholes. When the Ancient Gold turned out to be cursed so as to
turn people into Zombies it was thrilling – but also funny because it was
recognizable amongst the light-hearted landscape of referential pulp. By the
end our three heroes sailed off into the sunset with a chest of Gold. Every
aspect – pirates, uninhabited islands, lost treasure and rogue- become- hero
protagonist fit seamlessly within certain Narrative and cinematic gestures. It
was put-on, put perfectly so, like the flagrant cinematic genre fantasies you
might find in a Tarantino film.
There
are moments like that in later games, a dramatic reservoir-dogs walk across a London
street with companions- it makes me think, to what degree do I keep playing
these games because I’m taken in by Nathan Drake’ strut?
***
When
I was a kid the first favourite game I had was Crash Bandicoot. Also by Naughty
Dog, and also with a protagonist strut that fascinated me. I was so wound up in Crash I would mimic his
mongaliodal movements, swinging my head from side to side as I threw up my
arms. I was so fascinated by him, what the fuck was he? When did he wear jeans?
The world of his seemed more like ours and less of the dreampop of Mario and
Sonic. There were cryptic, human tribespeople who would kill me for merely trespassing
on their land. The geography was of the real world, not floating in psychedelic
colours. There were a series of fucked
up animal creatures, possibly created by the scientists villains, having
escaped and maybe, like Crash does at the start of the first game, washed up on
the shores of a nameless island. There was a whole mystery about it and I tried
to find every hidden cut scene and piece together a story in my head that would
neatly connect the fucked up animal humanoid things to the magical floating
mask men.
I
realize now that Naughty Dog has always followed trends with genre. In the
ps1/n64 they made platformers (Crash Bandicoot) with ps2/xbox it was sandbox
action adventures (Jak and Daxter) and with the PS3 it’s all about shooters
(and most recently survival shooters with The Last of Us) but they’ve carved
out an identity for themselves, most consistently with their animation and environmental
design. With Crash Bandicoot, there was
all this mystery that was their just to add colour to a forced perspective plat
former, but there was also this whole implied ecosystem you could take away
from it, as you worked you’re way through a couple of islands as a strange
fucked up animal. In a context where the hero is only the hero because he had a
funny wolfish grin on his face, hostility between all made sense. It didn’t
need a princess and an evil king. Then
with the following instalments that element got obscured until it was lost.
Naughty Dog had gained success with the character so they kept him and changed everything
else, making more varied but less intriguing platformers, with warp rooms and
time travelling, there was no longer a centralized setting. What was lost would
not return until the character was sold and Crash Twin-sanity was made, years later.
Jak
and Daxter and Uncharted follow a similar course. They all start out on a
mysterious couple of islands, making a very isolated first game, with touches
of atmosphere. Then things ramp up and change. I’m not trying to bore you with the
argument that Uncharted is a better game than it’s sequels – it simply isn’t,
the second and third game are better shooters and are better paced. There is
less atmosphere but the environments are more detailed and there are
occasionally a few cool ways of interacting with it. No longer is it entirely
look but not touch. But they resonate with less mystery.
I
do think there is something lost though and I think that might be why I get so
wrapped up in the way the characters move.
Naughty Dog want you to love their landscape, you climb all over the
damn thing, practically hugging it, but the only constant for us in an often
loud, abrasive series is Drake. The series to me ultimately becomes about him
and his body, the way it moves and what happens to it. It goes back to the
vulnerability that made him so interesting to begin with, but is constantly coming
into conflict with being a power fantasy shooter. A power fantasy dressed as a
vulnerability fantasy sounds like gaming neurosis and maybe that’s partially why
I have such complicated feelings towards an ostensibly simple, mainstream
action series.
***
Uncharted
3 wants to be about fear. It’s as if the
developers realize they can’t keep making his physical vulnerability
compelling, so they decide to wax psychological on it, camp British villainess telling him that he ‘gets
off an all this’ so what’s he really scared of? The answer is pretty simple, he’s
got parental issues, probably manifesting themselves as abandonment issues, which
can only be deepened by the kind of picaresque lifestyle he seems to leads.
Also people afraid of being abandoned often abandon others, and isn’t It
interesting that in the unspoken space between each game Drake presumably leaves
his One-True-Love Elena to get back into a life of bone breaking thievery and unlicensed
archaeology. So in a way, though these games always have too many gunfights and
the enemies always soak up way too many bullets to maintain mobility and
tension, there’s an effort to psychologically develop Drake and bridge the
dissonance. There’s even attempts to
make him less generic, as I mentioned earlier, and they don’t go all the way or
convince except once; a scene which shows Drake to actually be a nerd, much to the
contrast of both his friends and the invisible ‘everyman’ (When Sully knows
some history Drake is about to tell them, him and Chloe fist-bump) Drake is an
obsessive nerd and he fears absence, specifically a parental absence that Sully
has filled. Sully being the guy who is almost getting killed most of the time,
usually because of Drake. These are some pretty cool developments that promise
early on for there to be an evolution in the series, except narratively rather
than simply tighter gameplay. It’ doesn’t deliver though because these themes
are not expressed in a whole lot of ways besides text. The plot is nonsensical
and the only way the developers can seem to find to express fear through
mechanics is being chased by giant spiders. Yeah. I’m pretty sure spiders as absent parental metaphor
was not the most thought out or intended part of the story.
Their
attempts to marry gameplay to narrative theme are entirely in isolated instances.
For instance there are a lot of chases in this game, meaning Drake is on the
whipping end of a lot of conflict. Some of these chases (like the giant spider
one) move with a shaky, constantly moving camera that gives the feeling of a
dream. An early one has army men in suits rising up from the small streets of Cartagena,
and whether intended or not, it feels a bit surreal. More so they add
psychological fuck-buggery to Drake’s endless traumas. So to list a few, he’s
fallen on his back from high heights, been punched, shot, tortured, almost
drowned, almost frozen to death and more. Now we can add being drugged with
hallucinatory chemicals. The conceptually best part of the game (in that it
marries the physical and psychological pain together, of being alone and also
having your life at risk) is when you wander aimlessly through the desert,
lost, dying and losing your mind. It was kind of perfect for me because it wasn’t
just a union of the suffering Drake’s endured, but also because all you do is
move him along, entirely tethered to his all-too-human stumbling gait.
Obviously the whole game can’t be like that, but from all the sequences I’ve
played in this series (including the awesome yak-stroking village in the second
game) it seemed to represent the heart of the games appeal, at least to me. But
the world is as it is and so Drake has to somehow find his way to the bad guys
at random, take their guns and kill them all. I knew it was coming, but I guess
I almost fooled myself into expecting something more unique. The conceptual glimpse
at wandering hopelessly through a desert really seems to suggest it.
And
mechanically, these games are fun. They have good, gradually building but
eventually balls-out set-pieces and they get you from one to the other with
personality. But they’re mechanically at odds with themselves. Movies depend on
pacing, and the flawlessness of the hero to win. But we die. We die a lot. It breaks the game down. The
perfect, utopian uncharted game would be one where you couldn’t die but where
the game reacts and diverts to accompany your failings. Ah well.
At
this point I’m probably sounding like a crazy person who has a few issues and
an abusive-relationship with these games. And I kind of do, to be honest. They’re
not my favourite games by any stretch, but I’ve played Uncharted 2 five times,
more than any other game. By the end of this, having gotten Drake through a
collapsing ship in a storm and a desert, with the creators showing this hurt so
palpably upon his body I’m kind of exhausted. These games are fun and
exhausting in equal measure. There’s always a point in these games (and it was
in The Last of Us too) where I go into a trance, where I’m not exactly enjoying
the game in the same way. I’m under some magical compulsion to get the
characters to the end because goddamit, they’re so tired and I’m so tired, I can’t
just leave them there in limbo. I’ll be dreaming in the day of their walking
animations, climbing, falling. Can’t leave them. So I get them to the end so we can both
fucking rest. But I guess it’s like Drake, I think I’m out but I’m pulled back
in. The adventure still rings in my ear. I keep coming back.