Noby Noby Boy released in 2009 and is widely
regarded as the first "nobi" game. It's a funny word, "nobi". By itself, "nobi" (伸び) means "growth",
while "nobinobi" (のびのび) means "to be at ease". Noby Noby Boy is the type of "stretchy dog"
or "strand", if you will. Once stretched, this strand contributed
to its length to Noby Noby Girl, a much larger version who wanted to
encircle the entire solar system. Every player collaborated by stretching Boy, which in turn stretched Girl so she could
complete her journey, bringing everyone together. This type of indirect cooperation with
a shared goal is what it means to be— a nobi-game. Death Stranding is the latest nobi title notable for being Hideo
Kojima's first original outing as director in two decades, following on from the Metal Gear series are plenty of reuse
conventions such as the Codec and Support Team, which feel familiar roles. More interesting are its additions, namely Social Elements
and elaborate Traversal Mechanics. From the beginning, much emphasis is given to the
way Sam must navigate terrain more carefully than virtually any other
character in existence. With a comically huge stack of action figures on his back,
every pebble becomes a potential disaster lying in wait. Taking your hand off the controller for even
a second can result in a punishing mishap. When it's all said and done, this is probably
Death Stranding's standout element, terrain itself as the most
commonly recurring enemy. This is why any description of the gameplay as
nothing more than a "delivery simulator" is reductive. It's a delivery simulator in the same way
Mario 64 is a game about touching stars. What you do in between is the gameplay. Even so, that comparison highlights how platforms
have shared a similar focus since the two D-Days, getting from point A to Princess Peach. On the more cinematic side, much of the challenge in Ico
arose not from moving the Boy place to place, but clearing a path for the living cargo that was Yorda. 2D cinematic platformers has tended to have an
even larger focus on puzzle solving, but some are far more analog movement
with room for a player mastery. That said, Death Stranding seems to occupy a
genuinely unique space between all those titles, thanks to its commitment to ferrying
packages on Sam's person. Rather than being a rare challenge,
it's an ever present consideration, which means it's not enough to just
cross a gap or drop from a ledge. The action itself must
always be taken with care. Even in those moments where you find
yourself devoid of fragile cargo in your back, BB is still strapped to the front. This runs counter to most games where increased mastery
often means more frantic, more fast-paced gameplay. A large part of achieving the perfect delivery is
mitigating risk by choosing the right path, building up the infrastructure and keeping
a fresh pair of boots at the ready. Watch a video and it just
looks like a guy walking around but actually play and it becomes a
second by second assessment of terrain scanning for easier slopes and
efficient paths through rocky outcrops. Many people play games to transcend
the possibilities of everyday's life, so no doubt many will find this unrewarding. But there can be a zen-like calm over certain stretches where searching for the safest, most straightforward path
proves to be just engaging enough to maintain focus while also allowing enough mental bandwidth to
appreciate beautiful scenery. While it may or may not resemble America, there's something undeniably enchanting about
the desolate world they've crafted here. It's a peculiar setup where,
despite the constant Timefall, mankind and nature seem to sit in a comfortable enough
equilibrium while still being completely distinct from each other. Cresting a hill to see the comforting
outline of civilization is a great feeling. Maybe this is what it was like to
return to a campfire many years ago... Only now the camp happens to
be stocked with Monster Energy. Anyway, these moments of relief are
where Death Stranding shines brightest and to its credit, they recur over and
over again all the way to the end. Even after taming the early parts of the central map, basalt columns,
heavy snow or BT's will occasionally show themselves, all but forcing another on foot excursion where the
mechanics and eventual payoff are at their best. That said, there are also major faults here,
mostly revolving around balance in both senses of the word. Ferrying the president's body is when
the game reveals its balancing system, where Sam will sway from side to side
under the weight of his load. Most of the time, this can be avoided outright
by taking on fewer orders at once. But striving for efficiency will often cause Sam to become
heavily burdened, increasing the chances of a tilt. This system is impressive and always
makes sense, given the player's actions. At a minimum, it seems to factor in center of mass,
terrain inclination, velocity and torque, meaning it's possible to minimize the number of
incidents by careful positioning and movement. Tackling slopes at sensible angles and
turning in white arcs are both beneficial, But exerting control over Sam's
torso directly is simplistic. Unless you want to slow down
and hold both triggers forever, your only choice is to watch as a sudden sway happens,
followed by on-screen prompt which needs to be pacified. The prompts alone are the visual
equivalent of an alarm bell, which makes us feel more like a series of
quick time events rather than true control. But even if you're disabled them you're still
using your eyes to measure Sam's balance. Most games rely on vision
more than any other sense, but it's especially important here because
paying attention to the orientation of the cargo clashes with the meditative
appeal of soaking in landscapes. Given the sheer amount of factors which determine
how Sam reacts to each and every movement, I have no doubt the team put grueling
iterative effort into getting this aspect right. But the end result ultimately suffers since games
can't currently stimulate equilibrioception, that innate feeling of balance you have on
top of your more commonly cited senses. Perhaps, a good rumble
implementation would be enough, but I think a better solution would require new
hardware of some kind, like a sliding controller weight. This sensory mismatch is
the last remaining obstacle which stops Death Stranding from accomplishing its
goal of becoming a truly rigorous walking simulator, something it otherwise
achieves to impressive effect. Keeping Sam upright is the core challenge which justifies
Death Stranding’s commitment to its courier premise. So it's a shame to see it implemented
with room for improvement. Still, whatever minor problems
are present with walking, the bigger issue is how it becomes a non-factor
shortly after vehicles and zip-lines unlock. Even without explicitly loading cargo on to a Trike, the moment
Sam sits on it—all sense of balance becomes irrelevant. As I've already implied, mechanics don't need to dominate a
player's entire thought process for a game to be engaging because whatever deficit is left over can be
occupied by the audio visual elements instead. That said, I don't think Death Stranding's landscapes are enough to
make up for how mindless driving along a highway is in this game. By contrast, something like Truck Simulator,
which has an identical objective, engages players with a bunch of other
mechanics rather than relying on its visuals. It's vital to stay under the speed limit, obey traffic laws
and avoid collisions with other vehicles. Basically, Truck Simulator is to driving
what Death Stranding is to walking. But if you want to S-rank every delivery, then you'll probably
spend more time driving than walking in Death Stranding. Of course, it's understandable why those exact same mechanics
are no longer present in the post-apocalyptic world, but there's nothing else to
make up the slack either. By itself, the Trike is already an appealing option, which can be
used to cover most deliveries with little effort and foresight. Its simplicity makes it even more desirable. In other words, it's imbalanced. As for zip lines, setting them up is one of the most satisfying
tasks that can be accomplished with the Chiral Network. Each area of the map needs to be brought online, then it's a case of scouting good locations to
place nodes before deploying PCC's there. The act of doing this might just be the most
enjoyable moments of core gameplay because it combines the appeal of
planning with the appeal of traversal. Unfortunately, once that's accomplished, you're left with nothing. A series of zip-lines will trivialize deliveries to the point where you
wonder why Sam, a.k.a. You, even need to be involved anymore. At this point, the game devolves into a series of menus accepting
and releasing cargo without even a shred of challenge in between. Typically, when a mechanic is broken
or makes a game more dull, the argument that arises is
you should just not use it. Now, this gets suggested as
an excuse far too often, considering that one of the primary goals of a designer
should be to nudge players toward an enjoyable play style. But I'm willing to admit that self-selecting which parts of a game
to utilize can be a powerful way of improving your experience. The Metal Gear series might just be the greatest implementation of
this kind of alacrity difficulty thanks to the range of tools provided. This variety of approach is a key part of its
broad appeal to both hardcore and casual fans. But the premise of espionage
makes all the difference. The Phantom Pain will acknowledge
when a player completes a mission without leaving so much is a spent shell
casing or suspicious guard in their wake. If you're of the right mentality, this could be a prerequisite
for being considered the world's greatest infiltrator. In some sense, you're not really Big Boss until you've
reached a level of perfection which is difficult to achieve. The same can't be said of Death Stranding because
logistics is inherently about optimization. Your delivery isn't better because the porter walked over rough terrain
to bring it there when they could have taken the highway instead. Fast turnaround of intact cargo is the goal. With some
set up, that goal becomes trivial to achieve. All of this is to say that the early hours of Death Stranding are its best
because it becomes increasingly streamlined from that point forward. Unfortunately, even the beginning
suffers on repeat playthroughs because once you know how to handle Sam,
the first map presents effectively no challenge. On my initial playthrough I lost some packages in this stream, but only
because I didn't realize how to get my stamina back quickly enough. This would never happen to me again, and so much of what seems daunting about those
early hours is actually simple once it's understood, which means long stretches of
almost nothing to begin with. It's a classic tradeoff where a game can have a smooth on ramp
or a more bumpy start, which risks turning some people away. The former makes a better first impression, but
every playthrough afterwards suffers as a result. Of course, there are more
challenging moments later, such as recovering items from BT infested areas
or the missions that involve antimatter bombs, which require even more
careful movement than usual. Edge Knot City is another
highlight and suitable climax, which demonstrates that the developers had
a grip on what makes the game enjoyable, since it forces players through
dense and tricky terrain on foot. While more traditional bosses are present, this section
is what I would consider a true Death Stranding boss because it's the central aspect of
gameplay at its most difficult. Some notable exceptions aside, what you mostly get
is a game which seems hesitant to push itself, maybe partly because the mechanics
hold up less well under difficult conditions where stumbles
sometimes feel undeserved. Whatever the reason, after 50 hours of progress, barely anything
about the moments to moment reality of walking has changed. This is best demonstrated by
the introduction of a pointless Oxygen Mask, which is relevant for about two minutes. On a first playthrough this
piece of gear seems ominous, so it's not unreasonable to keep one handy, which
will weigh Sam down by an additional kilogram. Extra weight is generally the cost of equipment, but knowing that the mask will never be needed,
that's a kilogram freed up on subsequent playthroughs. Repeat this process for every extraneous piece
of gear and suddenly Sam feels a lot lighter, making the gameplay even easier
than it was first time through. When you think about it, it's likely that no equipment
is ever necessary to make any progress at all. To understand why, we need to consider two facts. First of all, since the premise revolves around logistics, the developers
wisely decided to have each piece of equipment to occupy space. So if you leave an item in a locker, then you need
to go back to that locker in order to retrieve it. Plenty of other games have magical inventories which allow players to
haul absurd amounts or teleport their belongings wherever needed. But this wouldn't be the right fit for Death Stranding
as it would undermine the entire premise. Fragile Jumps are an exception, but they only transport
Sam and need to be initiated from a Shelter. The second thing to consider is that structures, even simple ones
like ladders, can degrade or be deconstructed by the player. Simply put, they're not permanent. Combine these two facts and we
end up with a worrying implication. If a player uses a tool to
reach a certain area, we can't count on them having that tool to make their way back since
they could deconstruct it and not have any more tools available. Now, there would be a way around this
if some could die since he can repatriate. But the point is, in order to avoid players getting stuck,
none of the tools can ever be necessary for progress, which in turn means that the planning element of choosing
what gear to carry loses some of its importance. Depending on your route, a ladder or rope
could be useful, but they're never needed. The worst case scenario is just a little
more walking to find a way around. In theory, this isn't so bad. You can easily imagine why the designers wouldn't want
players to be forced all the way back to a shelter for tools when the gameplay already
expects more patients than usual. The problem is really with the level design, where a lack of equipment usually just means turning the camera
left or right and looking for an easier slope nearby. There's supposed to be some satisfaction in knowing
you equipped the right gear for the right job. But if there's never much punishment for lacking equipment, then
there's little reason to care about what you take on each delivery. It's not as though these menus are
particularly inviting or enjoyable to use either. I'm not going to linger on this too long because there's
an infinite number of alternate systems I could propose, but the current layout is
obviously subpar in a few ways. For example, items can't be recycled
without returning to a separate menu, and the same is true
for the private locker. Accepting a new delivery opens
the fabrication windows every time when it's more likely you won't
want to manufacture anything. I could also talk about the optimize button and
how players will probably always use it. But when the alternative is even more menu use,
I'm just thankful for its existence. My real point is just that menus are generally boring and only
serve to interrupt the actually enjoyable parts of a game. It would be unrealistic to expect a game about
carrying items and not to have a menu at all but some streamlining here
would have gone a long way. Maybe if equipment mattered more, it would be easier to justify
all this time spent navigating screens instead of terrain. Anyway, combine all of these gripes and what you find is that
as you progress, the challenge of traversal fades, but the online elements become more prevalent with
the introduction of roads and additional structures. In other words, it becomes less
walking simulator, more nobi-game. To evaluate Death Stranding on this front, it would be helpful if
we could refer to another nobi-game with a similar premise. But unfortunately, The Tomorrow Children no longer exists. Considering how much attention Death Stranding received,
The Tomorrow Children's unavailability should act as
a reminder of why preservation is important. You never know when one might be relevant again. For the sake of brevity, I've decided not
to explain the basics of this game, although it was tempting given the circumstances.
You can source that information elsewhere. All I'll say is that while The Tomorrow Children was very
flawed and very different from Death Stranding it did have a focus on logistics,
cooperation and rebuilding society, along with a very weird setting. Basically, I couldn't help but think about it
a lot while I played Death Stranding. To be clear, Death Stranding’s more polished and engaging
movement system makes it more enjoyable on a moment
to moment basis than The Tomorrow Children was. As a single player experience,
Death Stranding is by far the superior game. But as a nobi-game,
The Tomorrow Children easily outclassed it. And these differences reveal
major flaws with Death Stranding. One important aspect of The Tomorrow Children
was that each town had its own instance, a truly shared environment with
the same resources and structures. If someone built a new building,
it would spring up on your screen immediately. If you knew someone was nearby, you could drop an item meant
for them with the knowledge that they would probably see it. You could even watch as the other player picked up
your tool and began putting it to use in real time. By contrast, each world of Death Stranding is its own thing
because players don't share all resources and structures. Without knowing how the servers work it's impossible to say for
sure how each object is represented across multiple players, but we can formulate an
educated guess through testing. A naive approach would take all players who enter Chapter
Three within a certain time frame and link them together. That way, the roads aren't built so everyone can experience the
satisfaction of seeing this barren landscape turn into a sci-fi highway. To understand why that setup wouldn't work, you need only remember
that some people will play Death Stranding 16 hours a day, while others play
an hour at a time. Two people that enter at the same time will quickly drift apart,
which won't give either of them the best experience. Instead, it makes more sense to have each section of
the Chiral Network populate individually for each player, meaning that over time your
map becomes a unique layout. Now, this isn't terrible. In fact, it makes a lot of sense since most
of the game takes place on one big map. The way the Chiral Network provides an excuse not to have other player
structures in the new area is a clever harmony of gameplay and story. Still, hopefully you can understand that it
provides a less than ideal social experience because you never get a true sense of
how much you're helping other people. You never see others take the dropped
cargo you left behind in the post box. You never see them climb the ladder.
You never see them drive your Trike. For all we know, most of all cargo that has ever been left
behind got deleted rather than picked up by another person. The servers don't have infinite room, so this will almost
certainly happen to some packages, if it hasn't already. Likewise, you never know how your
structures will propagate into other worlds. Drop a generator and it might appear for
a hundred other players or nobody. Unless a lot of people start
sending Likes, you'll never be sure, and even then you'll only experience it as
an abstract piece of text on the left hand side. Worse still, there could be a
certain amount of fakery going on. There are many inner workings about the online
component, which should raise eyebrows. For example, it seems as though roads are very
unlikely to be completed by anyone else. It can happen,
but it's a rare occurrence. It's as though connecting Auto-pavers to the Chiral
Network just grants a certain amount of resources which the player needs to
top off to finish the job. The developers might have been motivated to implement it this
way so every player could complete the road for themselves —an understandable temptation— but a case of mistaken priorities because it undermines the more
important sense of community at the heart of the experience. Likewise, vehicles end up in share garages,
but there's no indication of how this happens. It seems as though vehicles are just being
cloned so as not to rob anyone of their stuff, which again, is a self-centered thing to prioritize
when the goal is supposed to be cooperation. Worst of all, if you save before repairing
or upgrading a structure, then reload, you'll see it's status
has been rolled back. Unless they restricted players to a single save file,
it couldn't work any other way without being exploitable. But that raises the question of when, if ever,
your contributions appear for other players. Now seems like a good time to mention that
durability decreases with play time, not real time. So when two people look at the same structure,
you're probably not seeing what they're seeing. To be clear, there's no telling how
these things work server side. So I could be wrong about some of them,
but it doesn't give a good impression. Nobi-games require a certain
level of trust into developer. Even for something as simple as a Noby Noby Boy, it's impossible
to independently verify the length submitted by every other player. So we need faith in the developer
to handle that job accurately. Death Stranding does
nothing to foster this faith. Instead, it seems deliberately deceptive in an attempt to make
its online elements look more impactful than they really are. It's worth noting that none of what I just mentioned is explained by the reams
of Tutorial Text you'll be assaulted by over the course of a playthrough. The Private Room Terminal contains even more information,
but details about the inner workings of the online are curiously slim. Maybe because they don't want
you to think about it too hard. Before making my next point
I'd like to establish something first. Obviously, this game will undergo a change
someday when the servers are switched off. The question right now is
how severe a change that will be? Having put a fair amount of
hours into an offline playthrough, I would say the biggest difference is how much
more time consuming road construction becomes. It's questionable whether that actually makes the gameplay
more difficult, since it's still possible to build everything solo, but it's certainly more
laborious at least. Regardless, since most of the online components
don't require a real time connection to other players, this presents an opportunity for preservation by randomly
selecting certain object placements to be entered into a log. That log could be kept until
the servers are about to go down, then a patch created which would pull
objects from the log rather than the server. This would allow the engine to simulate an online
playthrough without the need for an Internet connection. That's still a less than ideal way to experience the game but it would
allow latecomers to at least get a sense of what multiplayer was like. Some future developer or reviewer might want to
reference Death Stranding for whatever reason and it would be nice if they could play something resembling
multiplayer rather than just filming the title screen. Since I don't know whether they're planning to preserve the game
using this method, I don't know whether or not to praise them for it. But if you revisit this review, once the servers
are offline, you'll have your answer. Either way, it's clear that online connectivity isn't
necessary for any of Death Standing's mechanics to work. As far as you know, it was fake. After all, you never actually had a face
to face interaction with another player. One way to salvage this underwhelming
multiplayer element is to spin it as satire, since Likes are obviously intended
to be satirical in the first place. It might take a while for us to
reach this point in the discourse, but I reckon, once everyone comes to terms with
how poorly implemented the online elements are, it'll only be a matter of time before people start arguing that
these interactions being lackluster was the actual point. Rather than utilize the Internet to
allow for interaction through gameplay, Death Stranding emulates social media specifically by only
allowing players to interact in more superficial ways. I suppose that's an interesting take on it, but this ultimately
amounts to saying that the Online was supposed to be unsatisfying, in which case
I'd agree, it was. Anyway, given some of these faults with the nobi-component,
I have a predictable complaint to throw against Kojima. It feels as though the narrative
was prioritized over the mechanics. That doesn't mean
the game portion is bad. I think even if you dislike the gameplay, you're probably willing to
admit it's better than it has any right to be given the premise. I have no hesitation calling Death Stranding the first open-world
walking simulator in the literal sense of the term. To its credit, I actually think this game
could turn out to be influential. All too often, the act of traversal is
mere filler between the actual content, despite the fact that traversal
often takes up large chunks of time. 2D games usually suffer from this problem less, since they
tend to be dense with more dangerous obstacles. And some 3D ones, particularly platformers, have made
the mere act of moving around enjoyable onto itself. But there's something to
be said for Death Stranding. If nothing else, it shines a
spotlight on this issue at least. Personally, I would prefer to see developers move in a direction
which maintains engagement without resorting to such
mundane action as keeping a character balanced, especially since we can
simulate equilibrioception yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if this caused other developers to stop
taking ease of traversal as something to be taken for granted. In that regard Death Stranding is a success. There's plenty of room for improvement, but considering this
was their first attempt at it I'd say it counts as impressive. On the flip side, setting the game in one big map which is supposed to
represent America and where in every single person is controlling a digital
likeness of Norman Reedus going through the exact same narrative beats is not the ideal way to make
a game about connection. The Tomorrow Children was the opposite,
what little story it had was a secondary concern. All you needed to know was that the player characters were playing
precisely because everyone was supposed to be equal there. Although, as you might expect,
some were more equal than others. Resources, vehicles and tools were shared
because everyone was a cog in the machine. There was no false sense that you are both the savior of the world
on your own screen and just another porter to everyone else. The mechanics and premise were in alignment with each other in a way
Death Stranding never even comes close to accomplishing. This pay it off for The Tomorrow Children in several ways,
one of which was the sense of isolation both game share. To be fair, Death Stranding does a good job of fostering this
atmosphere through its barren landscapes and sound design. But The Tomorrow Children's comparatively simple and much more
effective trick was that you would sometimes literally be left alone. In those moments when nobody else was around it could
be felt directly by the real absence of other players. Ironically, this means that offered both a better sense
of community and a better sense of isolation. If you ask me, the key difference is that The Tomorrow Children leaned
on its mechanics more than its narrative to provide those feelings. One way discussion around games differs from that of other media
is preoccupation with whether something is gamey enough. Even I’ve praised games for this in
the past, something I still feel holds merit. But it's curious to note that other media
don't seem so hung up on this idea. Nobody really cares whether a song was the best possible
way for the composer to express their emotions. And you have to dig pretty deep into avant-garde filmmaking to find
any discussion about whether a given film is sufficiently
filmic enough to justify its existence. Perhaps this is partly because games
incorporated all other media anyway, leaving them without a singular
claim on their core elements. If you think that's a bold assertion, just keep in
mind the Private Room alone contains text, music, sculpture, graphic design, architecture, images, acting, animation, interactivity and blatantly shitty advertising. Kojima himself had an interesting
take on the "Games-as-Art Debate", where he said that "games are more akin to a museum, a gallery
which allows players to move from one piece to the next". Perhaps not coincidentally, this way of thinking provides
the best defense of how Kojima structures his titles. If the game is a gallery, then it doesn't matter if
one piece is music, whereas the next is a cutscene. There doesn't have to be a single true line connecting
all the pieces and they don't all have to be interactive. Regardless of how I feel about that,
one implication seems clear to me. If that's the case, then it's not enough to
say something is well written for a game. It's either a well written or it's not.
It has good performances or it doesn't. Frankly, I never thought I'd have to spend so much time
on these elements as a game critic. But here it goes. First of all, Death Stranding’s pseudoscientific
perspective on the afterlife is intriguing. What might appear in the beginning to be a series of bizarre, disconnected
ideas makes a decent amount of sense by the time the credits roll, and if you're willing to give it some thought, you can see
how well the script capitalized on the premise at hand. In the event that hard evidence
of an afterlife revealed itself, the first thing academics would do is try to
incorporate that discovery into a scientific framework, something Death Stranding
does a good job of representing. BB is a connection to the world of
the dead because it hasn't been born yet. Deadman has no Beach because in this world souls are
granted to individual humans, so organs are just useful meat. Likewise, conjoined twins would have to share a
soul if they were conceived with a shared body. Now, you or I might not think that
these rules are fair, but that's irrelevant. The rules of the universe are what they are. Science only seeks
to find a set of principles underlying any natural phenomena. Here, the mystery of death has been solved
to the benefit of some, like Heartman, and the detriment of others, like Deadman. Despite an abundance of exposition, towards
the end, some things do remain unexplained, but even many of those seem to
have a thread of logic when examined. Humans abuse their time dilation of the Beach
to send massive data transmissions, but if every action has an equal and opposite reaction,
then that stolen time must be redirected somewhere, which might explain the increasingly
heavy Timefall as the story progresses. Likewise, the Beach and Beached Things seem
utterly mysterious on a surface level, but the visual design of the Seam, which parallels the floating
silhouettes of the BTs, seems like more than coincidence. A Beach is a transition between
the states of land and sea or life and death. Those snagged underwater are unable to drift away, which explains why
they send Likes after the cord is cut, freeing them from the Seam. If the ocean represents the world of the dead, then this also explains
the abundance of sea creatures which appear throughout the game, showing that the barrier between
life and death is weakening. Even the living world has a few worldbuilding gems like how people
take oxytocin pills to supplement their lack of interaction. MULEs are arguably one of the
strangest concepts thrown into the mix, but sooner or later you're forced to confront the idea that
you too see something enjoyable about delivering packages or else you wouldn't keep playing. Even the ostensibly bland UCA is also given
some personality by the surveillance state undertones, which everyone
seems to wilfully ignore. Of course, some aspects seem to exist just to create
enigmatic imagery like the upside down rainbows. And it would have been nice to see a few
of these ideas explored more thoroughly, but you really can't fault the game for the sheer
number of concepts it throws into the mix. Overall, the worldbuilding is admirable. As for the characters who populate
that world, those are less successful. Great actors sometimes get
assigned to "Foxhound Rank" of chameleon. In other words, they get praised for their ability to blend into a role
so much you stop seeing them and only see their character. Obviously, an actor's
caliber is important there, but makeup and costume designers
play a crucial part in that process, too. Some casting directors will even try to pick unknown, so viewers aren't distracted by famous faces, although naturally they can't control whether that
person then goes on to become famous afterward. Seeing a recognizable person might reassure potential
viewers that they're in for a good performance, but it doesn't improve
the performance itself. It has the opposite effect. Games, which don't fully embrace the ability to hire an actor for their
acting chops alone by disguising the person behind a performance, are shooting themselves
in the foot for no good reason. Now, I tend to get passionate when I feel that games are being
held back by preconceptions or habits derived from other media. But I might be able to swallow this pill if not for the fact that
Kojima found a way to make a terrible practice even worse. Face scanning famous figures like Guillermo del Toro,
who then don't even bother to play themselves, is a perverse reversion of a key advantage
that mo-cap performances can provide. There might be times
where this would make sense. For example, an actor could be cast to play themselves,
in which case their appearance is crucial. I'm also not going to get up in arms
about a small cameo here or there, but Death Stranding is
way over the fucking line. The sad thing is all this face scanning bullshit
was basically a waste of time anyway, so let's cut a long story short. I happened to play The Last of Us Part II directly after
my most recent playthrough of Death Stranding, and as soon as Joel appeared on screen,
I felt some part of my brain finally relax because it no longer had to work so hard to figure out
what the facial animations were supposed to mean. Keep in mind, Troy Baker
plays both Joel and Higgs, but only Joel provided
this kind of mental relief. Most developers simply aren't up to scratch here, so having scenes like this where you're expected
to read some complex emotion into Norman's face just ends up giving
the impression of constipation. If you don't agree with me now, you will in 20 years when
this looks downright embarrassing compared to future tech. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. We all want to believe this looks good. But I know you see what I see. Just look at it with honest eyes. Developers are jumping the gun by trying to craft
stories which rely on facial performances, many of which don't even look good today and will
only seem worse with every passing second. Basically, every actor in Death Stranding is struggling against the
impression of their own famous face and primitive facial capture, but besides that, the performances
themselves are a mixed bag. Mads Mikkelsen obviously
stands out as the highlight, at least partly thanks to the amniotic fluid blur,
which helps bridge the uncanny valley, but also because he just
seems comfortable in the role. It's fair to say he steals every scene he's in,
but then again, he's mostly by himself. Maybe it's unfair to praise him for giving such a natural performance
when half the cast seemed to be intentionally stilted and awkward. This is an aspect which makes Death Stranding
and Kojima’s work in general difficult to critique. If nothing else, he's exceptional at straddling the line
between "Lowbrow" and "Highbrow" concepts, making it difficult to discern whether
something is clever or stupid. This could be used as a cynical ploy to deflect
criticism, but I don't get that impression. Kojima has been obsessed with weird details for
almost as long as games have even existed. If you don't believe me, then
just take Policenauts for a spin where you'll be treated to plenty of lengthy scientific explanations
for irrelevant minutiae long before Wikipedia made
such info dumps so easy to achieve. My point is, when you first learn that your character is
a porter who builds bridges named Sam Porter Bridges and that Nick Easton lives
in the "Eastern Most City", there are two ways you can
view this information. Easy to think, Kojima is
the biggest hack to ever live, or you think that character is born into a dystopian society where children are
possibly wards of the state might name people according to their occupation. After all, surnames like Smith and
Butcher had to come from somewhere. Is it fucking ridiculous that Die-Hardman's
real name is John McClane? Or is it plausible he got that nickname
because his name is John McClane? This superposition of Highbrow and
Lowbrow is enjoyable in its own way and might be the defining Kojima blend
so many of us keep coming back for. Still, it's difficult to say whether some of these
characters are portrayed well as a result. Even though he just spends most of his time
relaying information with a flat affect, Tommy Earl Jenkins almost seems like he was born
to play this kind of role in the Kojima game. It's the rest of the Support Team
which are more questionable. Experts and esoteric fields probably
tend toward higher levels of eccentricity. In a society, where people interact with each other so little, maybe it's not hard
to imagine Heartman, Deadman or Mama having such awkward presences. On the other hand, Fragile seems just as stilted
despite working in a customer service position. You could say this stems from her recent trauma,
but I don't get that impression from her flashback. Either way, they missed an opportunity to have her counterbalance some of the
more off-putting characters by being a more relaxed or grounded presence. By contrast, Sam’s often aphenphosmphobia also
makes him withdrawn and weird to those around him, but his standoffish
attitude is still relatable even long before his connection
to BB reveals a softer side to him. Norman does a good job of portraying Sam's disinterest in the project
of reviving America without coming across as malicious or petulant. But the way he conveys that fear of
being touched is less convincing. If you are genuinely afraid of human contact, you wouldn't
allow someone to get within arm's reach in the first place. Rather than maintaining an exhausting vigilance
that they might reach out for you at any moment, it would be easier to just subtly keep a comfortable
distance without the need for any sudden movements. While the cinematography
during action sequences is solid, it really falters in these quieter moments where it could
have given us a much better sense of Sam's character by emphasizing distance
between him and others. I could take or leave most
of the supporting cast, but at least Deadman's burgeoning bromance with Sam unfolds
so gradually it feels earned by the end, resulting in a nice payoff. Heartman had a couple of
charming moments, too, and depending on how you view the lore, his backstory
can become much more complex as a result. It seems as though Voidouts and BT’s caused people to
disappear directly into the Seam with no hope of return, whereas regular deaths
end up on the Beach. If that's the case, then Heartman is delusional about seeing his
family walking into the ocean since they died in a Voidout. It's left tantalizingly vague
whether this really was them, but on some level, Heartman must believe it wasn't
because he scours beaches looking for them, even though they were
clearly walking into the sea. There's arguably more adapt to
this character than meets the eye, but it's totally squandered when his arc is resolved post-game
through an e-mail where he admits to giving up his search. This seems like the kind of thing which
should have been shown rather than told or better yet played
rather than shown. But maybe I'm just not in
that museum frame of mind. Overall, I wish these characters painted a more convincing picture
of how humanity might confront this vision of an afterlife. It seems to set them up in order to demonstrate
the rules and implications of its pseudoscience rather than the psychological told those rules
might have on people forced to endure them, which I think would make
for a more engaging story. Even so, there's only one character
I truly can't stand, and that's Amelie. Her presence is a catastrophic
failure on just about every level, even from the moment of her introduction, which pointlessly spoils
the fact that something weird is going on with her identity. To be clear, Lindsay Wagner returns
in a great performance for Samantha. Despite having only one real scene, this moment hangs over the whole
game thanks to a kind of frail vulnerability she imparts the character. Amelie is the opposite, however, and we can
spin this contrast as an intentional one. But regardless of the reasoning behind it, the kind of breathless
grandiosity with which she delivers almost every line is extremely grating. Her status as an Extinction Entity also happens to be one of
the largest remaining question marks left dangling by the end. Now, I'm not of the opinion that every question needs to be answered.
Sometimes an open-ended approach is more satisfying. But when it relates to the motivation of the chief antagonist,
that seems like an important point to address. Despite having played the game twice, I'm still not entirely sure whether Emily
is some kind of Eldritch Being, just a regular human or a mixture of the two. As such, I have absolutely no idea what's
going on in her head most of the time, or if she even has an understandable
thought process in the first place. I'll admit I haven't spent as long
dwelling on the lore as I could, but this shouldn't be something you have to work hard to understand,
considering so much of the plot hinges on Amelie's motivations. If anything, the Death Stranding would be far more
terrifying and make for a better existential threat allegory
if it didn't have this kind of human personification at all. This is where we could make more effort to pry apart the meaning
behind Amilie's speech or her status as an Extinction Entity. But if you ask me, the problem with Kojima's quantumbrow blend is that it becomes
impossible to care about the potentially deeper meaning behind certain elements. For example, the private room wake up chime has
the same motif as Cliff's Lullaby, which is intriguing. It's possible this music is pumped into Sam's room
specifically in an effort to keep him passive, or maybe Samantha adopted the jingle as
something for all of Bridges out of guilt. There are potential implications
to the bigger picture here... But then Sam winks at the camera and you realized
there really is no point thinking about it. The biggest thematic reach I'm willing to make is that both
the gameplay and story have a focus on risk aversion. A charitable view might say that the
mechanics are a metaphor for the story, but personally, I think that's
giving it way too much credit. To be fair, some pieces of symbolism do line up
so nicely, they're easier to dwell on. Mama being a hardware engineer, and Lockne being a
software engineer, parallels that body soul dichotomy. Notably, Mama ends up being the "Ka" and Lockne
the "Ha", which is the opposite of their occupations, as though they subconsciously knew they were missing a
piece of themselves and tried to fill it through their work. Likewise, Cliff spells out his part in all this by showing how
human beings can tear each other apart through conflict. This makes him a perfect foil for Sam, and there is something beautiful about the way his
son goes on to accomplish what he never could, but the way this comes
about is lacklustre. Sam defeats Cliff by proving to be a better
soldier, despite clearly being outmatched. For this to be poignant, there really needed to be
some other way of bringing Cliff back to his senses, something which would show
the value of Sam's approach. Despite arguably being
an avant-garde title, Death Stranding fell into a surprisingly simple trap of assuming
how a computer game climax needs to be structured. One of Kojima’s more eccentric boss fights
would have been a perfect fit here. For example, Cliff might be impossible
to kill, but taken down by a hug, rather than giving that moment to
the incomprehensible psychopath. In order for that suggestion to make sense, to reveal of
Sam's parentage would need to come a bit sooner, but it's not as though the story gains much
by saving it until the last possible moment. To be clear, Sam actually does hug Cliff at this
point, it just happens through a cutscene; for going interactivity, which might
have made it more powerful. It's not just that you don't get to
initiate this reconciliation, though, it's that you only get to do
the opposite by shooting at it. Even if we just view Cliff's boss fights as
exhibitions in the Death Stranding museum, they're not a particularly
coherent collection. Unfortunately, there are many such moments
of disconnect between Sam and the player to the point where I'm forced to speculate
whether they were intentional. For example, the downright baffling choice to highlight an atomic
bomb on the players back then have some act ignorant about it. I could twist myself into rhetorical knots about how Kojima
is a postmodern genius for including such a stupid event, but I'd rather just admit that
this was a pointless misstep. This disconnect from Sam recurs again at the worst
possible moment when it comes time to incinerate Lou, something most players would obviously
refuse to do if not railroaded into it. Deadman's justification for this is an unwillingness
to disobey a direct order from the president. The same man who was begging Sam for
forgiveness just minutes earlier. Even so, this might be redeemable
if Sam was merely playing along, but then he tries to burn the
pod only to change his mind. If Sam had just taken Lou out of the pod
once he was ready to burn his Cuff Link, it would be enjoyable on subsequent playthrough to know for
sure that you and Sam have the same goal of rescuing Lou. But instead, there's a last second twist for
nothing more than some fleeting shock value. The way interactivity is used throughout
the narrative leaves a lot to be desired. But in general, Lou’s implementation
is somewhat commendable. On my first playthrough, I felt that
she was an underwhelming presence. But after making an effort to interact with her
more, I'd say you get what you put in. She's not forced down your throat,
at least not metaphorically. And there's something admirable
about this hands off approach. Allowing players to choose where, when or even whether to interact with Lou
means it's only natural that different people will have different experiences. Even the same person might walk away with a new impression
should they revisit the game at a different stage of their life. Of course, everyone forms their own opinion
about whatever media they consume. But my point is, that interactivity can amplify a player's
subjective experience depending on their actions. In other words, if you don't make
an effort to engage with Lou, then you'll be given fewer opportunities to form
a positive impression of her, and vice versa. It's a feedback loop which naturally
leads to more extreme outcomes. It's important to recognize that this isn't a flaw.
It's just how games work. You bring something to the experience depending
on how you behave, and that's fine. For that reason, I won't say they should have put more focus on Lou,
since that implies pushing her to the forefront where she doesn't belong, but I do wish that the interactions with her were less
contextual and less distinct from the rest of the game. It seems like a copout to have so many of these
opportunities take place during break times, which are almost functionally
equivalent to a pause menu. Ultimately, Death Stranding is a game
about walking and delivering packages, but it could be about committing genocide against aliens,
in which case, Lou, could be implemented exactly the same way. My point is, Death Stranding has no shortage of
ideas and some aspects are admirably realized, but it fails to weave these
disparate strands together. Maybe if you can strap in for Kojima’s
latest museum tour, this isn't so bad, but as a single work of art,
it leaves something to be desired. Every game has at least some of their
multimedia mixture I described earlier, and I doubt we'll ever arrive at a future where
every single game is 100% gameplay. I don't think I'd even want that anyway. After all, the Metal Gear series is an eclectic
mix and I found a lot to enjoy there. I don't buy into the museum analogy, but I do think it's a thought provoking point of view which might have
a kernel of truth to it, especially for the kind of games Kojima makes. The theme of Metal Gear Solid 3 was the Times. In other words, the idea that cultural context can
shape who we see as an enemy or a friend. Likewise, yesterday's novel fusion of game and film can become today's tired formula. Kojima has stayed the same,
but the times have changed, maybe due in no small part to
the influence of Metal Gear itself. All of this is my way of lamenting that Death
Stranding's novelty is mostly skin deep. Despite all the talk about Timefall, Beached
Things, sinister umbilical cords and so on, it's a disappointingly
conventional game. In one sense I admire that Kojima
has stayed true to his style, but in another, it's a shame to see him fall
behind rather than blazing new trails. While I only sometimes enjoyed
Death Stranding, I rarely ever hated it. Some of the story sequences are terribly paced and
provide little narrative substance to justify themselves, but apart from that, it's easy playing. Once it spins up in Chapter Three, you get a lot of time just wandering
around, avoiding simple obstacles and taking in the sights. Unfortunately, there's also a lot
of missed potential along the way, and while that's understandable, considering what a strange
premise it is, that doesn't mean it's not disappointing. The difficulty fails to keep pace with a barrage of upgrades and the online
elements are so weakly implemented, they contribute very little, especially once you see through the illusion. Despite those problems, I'm ultimately
happy this game got made. At least now I can say that Sony
bankrolled a game where you …from ghosts. While I think it's a shame that Kojima is one of the few directors
who could secure this much funding for something so bizarre, it's nice to see him use that power,
at least partially for good. There are some genuinely worrying aspects, like its reliance on famous faces, gratuitous advertising, incestuous
Hollywood-style cronyism and typical overindulgence of cutscenes. but there are enough admirable aspects
to just about offset those problems. If nothing else, it uses a fascinating world to raise worthwhile
questions about how engaging traversal could or should be. The end result may wobble between moments
of greatness and moments of tedium, but for me at least, the good and bad
both just about maintained balance.
