The Extinction Of Hope

I’d like to believe that I posses a regimented tolerance for a litany of potentially belligerent areas of social commentary or at least a discriminate virtue of clemency and muted ignorance of certain influences. For instance the abstinence of general courtesies that merely require a cordial “thank you” or “please” from some surly characters. The often repellent, but commercially acceptable influence of reality TV and though I’m not as overly judicious in appraising them as morally lenient which is a commendably mandatory summation, I do worry that impressionable adults are being duped by the delusion of their idyllic grandeur. And I adopt a posture of resolute serenity and enigmatic resolve when antagonized by clandestine aggressors that ridicule my performance and bask in their own adulating consummations with sulphuric articulation, abbreviated vernaculars and latent dimensions of English vocabulary. What really ruptures my stoic temperament is the repugnant excess of animal cruelty, perpetuated in this instance by the simulated malice and the sudden affinity for poaching creatures that pose no immediate or direct threat to my perennial mortality, with no real benefit for its immediate extraction. In Assassins Creed harpooning whales is recreational, in GTA V you can shoot deer’s with an ambivalent shrug. But nowhere is the secretion of palpable revulsion more apparent that in Red Dead Redemption, or more specifically; Undead Nightmare.

“This is the resulting ramifications of your destructive diversions.”

Perhaps I’m being needlessly critical to align such criticism at a game steeped in procedural mythology and cavorting with formulaic narrative associated with the derivative pronouncement of yet more, apocalyptic annihilation at the decomposing hands of the undead. But despite the remedial countenance, it still retains a pedalling heart. Though the wild west was invariably habited by a litany of wild boar, elk and other indigenous wildlife, there is one creature that suitably vocalise the melancholic suffering; Big foot. The visitation of a mythological entity–or if you like, prudently subverted primate–is certainly ripe for agnostic conjecture, but irrespective of its fabled existence the poignant discussion between the eponymous protagonist John Marston and the wistful Sasquatch, demonstrates humanities malignant ignorance and moralistic antipathy for a species evisceration. The culminated sobriety of your belated actions is evident and is an exemplary illustration of man kinds potent affinity for destruction. Though your under no obligatory duress to annihilate an entire species with calculated perversity, your idle compliance to condemn this hedonistic Wookies to extinction is genocidal paradigm, leaving you with only a disdainful finality; should you merely leave the solitary figure, slumped and castigating your presence, whimpering pleadingly as its mourns the passing of its perished family, fully comprehending the muteness of his existence, knowing that with the desolation of its aberration there is no prodigy to continue the dynasty. Or is it more benevolent to end its innate suffering? Even simulated morality is malevolent sadist.

Is there too much needless animal cruelty in games? Or simply additional content for fictitious medium? Let me know your views. Cheers.

RockStar’s Best Game This Generation

My Gaming Idols; John Marston

“John Marston; this generations most diverse, but defining protagonist.”

In this, the first edition of many articles (I hope), I will endeavour to pay homage to a wide variety of differing gaming characters, and explain my reasoning for their induction as Idols. Today I pay tribute to one of the most emotionally compelling protagonists ever committed to a console, Mr John Marston. Warning; spoilers present.

There are few gaming characters that register on such an emotionally poignant standing the way that John Marston does. Marston is deemed one of the most complex protagonists ever facilitated into gaming. Fusing elements that initially provokes reactions of a man brutally indiscreet with his pleasantries, a penitent for eliciting deeply corrosive hate across the West, but develops into a sympathetic rogue, vulnerable in his way and susceptible to manipulations of kidnappers that are holding his family captive to recoup his services, which obviously entail various continual acts of scrutiny to inhabitants whose crimes and indiscretions are largely anonymous from his perspective. John Marston isn’t a charismatic protagonist–even referring to him as a protagonist is a distorted accentuation of the truth–with his previous grievances associated his past well stipulated. He’s a broken man, with a less than tactful persuasion, but none the less an intimidating presence that commands silence from a boisterous room of vocal joviality whenever he enters a bustling tavern, with respectful recognition and measured, though assured courtesy subtly demonstrated by its patrons. With a cordial tip of a hat or soliciting a dignified nod of admiration, gestured with both respect for his person and anxiety for his notoriety, all reciprocated by Marston with a similar postulating.

“An expansive world, where liars, cheats and philanderer’s often prosper.”

There’s a modesty associated with his actions, as though every outlaw killed is less exceptional with every fluid manipulation of the trigger, as well as vulnerability that contradicts–as well as infuses he’s somewhat gross recantation. He’s certainly not a heroic entity that’s praised for his noble deeds, but more akin to a duty that must be stoically fulfilled however reprehensible, and accepting his responsibilities curtly, if reluctantly. Every facet, every brutal retaliation is vindicated by his actions in the context of his family’s safety. He’s a desperate vigilante in ever-increasing circumstances that seldom dictate his moral ambiguity, through the purity of his actions. He’s accustomed to the ways of death, with barely an ounce of trepidation, and though of course its you that’s manipulating his every reprisal, you can’t help but adopt similar urgency for finality that drives his determination. He’s not motivated by greed or money, his purpose transcends such trivialities. Its his devotion to his family and his home, a man on the cusp of desperation, and someone so willing to commit grotesque deeds is certainly not someone to be trifled with.

“Traversing such a vast world is made more satisfying by the four-legged transportation.”

Of course my observations and digressions are partially tenable, though admittedly composed of my own imaginative supposition. Such conjectures may seem like a vague surmise of a fictitious character that can be interpreted as admissible, when pertaining to his inclusion as a gaming idol. He solicits a an enigmatic regard for his actions, a brazen attitude to often violent proceedings, seemingly driven by melancholy of the circumstances that directly afflict his progress, they’re all deplorable indiscretions that will surely culminate in his simulated, eternal damnation. But despite–or perhaps in spite of his forced tendencies, his solemn dedication, as well as his assured devotion to his family; these are his most honourable qualities. Somehow the eternal penance that sternly emblazoned his soul, that ultimately culminates in saturating the West in a scarlet valeur of desecration, thereby attaining a consummation of truly horrific incidents, John Marston’s retaliations seem justified. He’s an important character that deserves highlighting, that demonstrates that life is not defined by the apparitions of indiscretions past, that there is no finality to life if your remembered, whether by your family or even your enemies reciting your infamy. Marston’s ultimate demise is made all the more poignant because of his sympathetic digressions, that solicits a encumbering desire to delay his inevitability.

Red Dead Redemption resonates with consistent demonstrations of personal, moralistic redemption all significant in their own pertinent way. But Marston’s is deeper, spiritual though not so corny, but certainly emotive. Not because of the events depicted, but because we’ve experienced the journey with him, pulled the trigger when the game necessitates, and it’s because of this that John Marston will not be forgotten and should hereby be catalogued as one of the few “human” characters every simulated.

Were you able to relate to John Marston? And do you believe that he deserves such notoriety as a gaming idol? Let me know your opinions. Cheers.

John Marston; An Emotional Redemption

I wouldn’t consider myself to be emotionally unstable, nor an emotionally inept individual, contrary to popular speculation. Sure we all experience those fleeting moments of distress, and our cool refined facades betray us; like weeping uncontrollably when the Iron Giant is destroyed in selfless, sacrifice to protect Hogarth from impending disaster, or the regrettable moment that my eyes became shrink wrapped in tears when England were deservedly knocked out the European Championship, on penalties, again! But there is something so genuinely captivating in the way Red Dead Redemption executes its narrative, and the first instance that I have become emotionally sensitive to a video games story.

I shouldnt experience these sensitive sensations? I should be content with skinning those unscrupulously sly cougars (the animal, not the sexually frustrated female equivalent), and roaming the destitute state of New Austin in search of bandits, thieves and wealth. But the most seductive aspect that continually willed you on was none of these intricate distractions, but the same reason that motivated John Marston, the search for his wife and son.The emotional attachment is initially a very subtle thing, with Marston seemingly portraying the familiar maverick that is appealing, but somewhat one-dimensional. But as the story progresses, so does Marston’s personality. Rockstar could just as easily of created a deplorable, petulant anti-hero, and sure he may not embody the same likeable charm akin to Nathan Drake, but the pensive attitude and blazay stance has a certain charm, which is integral to the virtual bonds you can’t fail to make with Marston.

Then there’s the journey he’s forced to undertake, seeking out various outlaws, initiating multiple, merciless killings, whilst simultaneously being manipulated by a largely anonymous marionette. He is tireless in his pursuit of his family’s safety, in a less than hospitable world where laws are enforced, but rarely adhered too. The journey is tough, but the elation that sweeps over you, though brief, is something of a revelation, as your feel considerably more satisfaction from the reunification of the Marston family, than the combative aspects that are fulfilling, but never offset the emotional attachment affiliated with Marston’s plight. All these turbulent aspects, makes Marston’s demise all the more poignant and heart breaking.

It didn’t seem fair that Marston is killed, double crossed at that, and it was this moment that left me so despondent. Never has a game left me so bitterly distressed, and one of the few instances where a lead gaming character has perished. If this had been executed by any other developer (with Naughty Dog obviously exempt), it would have left me seething as well as dramatically scarred, but the care and attention that Rockstar devoted to this sensitive incident is so well orchestrated, that it’s instantly forgivable. They just seem to know how to create an engaging cinematic experience, in a game. Sure, the story may not be considered on par with narratives portrayed in classic works of literature, but it’s certainly a monumental stride in gaming story telling.

You grow such an affinity with a character whose anguish readily affects you and the way you play. He’s death is my first instance of gaming sobriety, and an unexpected experience, but one not soon forgotten.

RIP John Marston, in death I hope you find redemption *whips away tears*.