This summer's Xbox indie-darling Bastion has finally made the leap to PC via Steam. After watching all of the game criticism circles consistently lighting up about this title for a couple of months, my curiosity had the better of me, and last week I did something I rarely do and jumped on a day-one purchase. I had some time that evening to give it a whirl.
I kind of suck at Bastion.
It's not a game at which one can suck, exactly, and yet I manage to do so. Still, I can tell that many of my woes are simply clumsiness: The mouse-and-keyboard combination isn't necessarily ideal for titles designed with an Xbox 360 controller in mind, and I might need to remap a couple of keys for easier use. Over time, I will adapt to this system, and after a few days -- having mapped my muscle memory to this particular set of mechanics and demands -- I will cease sucking.
However, being terrible at Bastion for the time being has proven useful with insights on character death. The gimmick of the game is narration: You hear what you're doing, what you've done, and what you're about to do, and you hear it with inflection and judgement. Thus, the first time Kid plummets off the side of the path to his doom, the narrator is patient and understanding. The third or fourth time, I feel the narrator's patience begins to wear thin.
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On the plus side, there are plenty of jars and such to smash with my hammer while I fail to smash enemies. |
The voice of the narrator is meant to be kindly and guiding -- at least in these early segments of the game. (I don't know if it will change or not; I've intentionally been avoiding spoilers and reviews.) When he intones, "And so, Kid fell to his death," you get that brief moment of "awwwww." But immediately -- before you can even feel sad that your inept steering threw this little artistically drawn, smashy guy into the abyss -- you hear, "Just kidding!" and respawn right where you were...right in the middle of what you're doing.
It's an interesting approach to character death. No reloading of old saves (it's on a console-style autosave system) and not really even any thinking of how you could do it differently next time. In a strange way, it's like a single-player zerging tactic: die, respawn in place, and continue.
I don't know what to make of this kind of death mechanic in my game. It's not an MMO, so I don't need to rely on anyone else's help to get up, nor do I owe anyone else an apology for my failure. It's not the deeply branching story of a cinematic character to whom I become attached, so I don't lament his passing. It's not a failed solution to a puzzle, and so I don't have to think about how to get it right the next time.
As far as I can tell, the narrator is the crux of it. After all, he's going to keep telling the story no matter what. That's what a storyteller does. By framing Bastion in that way, it might genuinely be the most third-person game I've ever played. Players don't really get a chance to put themselves inside the head and body of the avatars they're controlling, the way we are habituated to doing. There's an odd level of detachment that somehow makes character death entirely meaningless -- while also giving it sort of the aspect of a milliseconds-long, mid-season cliffhanger.
I'm not sure what I think. I'm barely even an hour into the game and that counts the section I had to play twice due to an unscheduled PC shutdown. (In related news, my next case will have a cat-blocking door or panel over the power switch.) My first hour, though, has made me feel that I care about Bastion's world very much and its player character not at all, which is an interesting and unusual combination. But I want to know what happened, and I'm going to need that narrator to tell me, so play on I shall.