Bioshock arrives tomorrow...
...And, so far, I have read nothing other than perfect reviews. Literally. 5 out of 5 from GameSpy. 5 out of 5 from GamePro. 10 out of 10 from 1Up.
1Up writes (in glowing terms that are representative of all the reviews) that: It's the dead of night, and an airplane crashes into the ocean. You surface amid flaming wreckage, spot a nearby lighthouse, and start swimming toward it. You swim past the plane's massive tail as it slowly drowns, and you reach the shore. It's at this point your gamer brain has recognized what's going on, and instinctively, you explore the small island. Without hesitation, you open doors that look like they shouldn't be opened, and -- against what most would argue is common sense in a situation such as this -- enter a strange device that takes you deep below the surface and into the unknown. You do this because you're supposed to. That's how this works. At least, that's what you feel...
This is how BioShock begins. By the time it ends, you'll likely feel quite different about how you interact with games, and more importantly, how they interact with you. [...]
Rapture is an underwater, self-contained city destined from its inception to be forever lost in time. "Dystopian art deco" is a common -- and accurate -- descriptor of the city's design. Really, though, it's just a beautiful disaster. Eerily abandoned by most of its populace, the remaining signs of life are twisted, hostile beings who have played havoc with what was once the cradle of a budding utopia. Signs of protest greet your arrival, propaganda plays over the speaker system, blood is smeared everywhere, and bodies aren't far away. Exposed wires spark over collected pools of leaking water, and quite frequently, things are on fire. Rapture was built to house 2K Boston creative director Ken Levine's philosophical zoo, only he unlocked the cages well before showing you in. [...]
While there are unique splicer characters that provide the traditional "boss" fights, the Big Daddy is BioShock's adversarial centerpiece. But what makes them unique is also the game's moral centerpiece: He doesn't choose to fight you; you have to make the decision to terminate him. And since the end result is an increase in Adam, it's a decision ultimately driven by your own greed. You may fear him, but you have no reason to hate the Big Daddy. When he's defending a Sister from a pack of splicers, it's hard not to root for his rivet gun. And when he bends to one knee to allow her to retreat to the safety of her hiding hole in the wall, it's a legitimately touching moment.
But what must be done must be done. You set some mines, load your shotgun with explosive buck, wait until the Daddy's back is turned, and then you kill him. Defenseless and heartbroken, the Little Sister doesn't see you approach. You grab her, violently, and then...then you have to answer this question: "Can a videogame really make me feel guilty?"
If it can, then you save the girl. If it can't...well, then the game changes according to what you've done.
The Big Daddy, the soul of BioShock, isn't a pure moral mirror. Saving the girl for less Adam doesn't make you a saint, and harvesting her for more Adam (killing her in the process) doesn't mean you need to look into counseling. Not by any means. But it's the interaction that's interesting: Do you actually feel guilty or sympathetic? By saving her life, are you as protective of her as the Big Daddy was? Do you just not care because it's only a videogame? What's remarkable about BioShock is that, however you answer these questions, it's legitimate. If you allow it, the game can get into your head as much as you can get into the game.
Please pardon me as I squeal with anticipated delight. I need a moment to go hug my Xbox 360.
1Up writes (in glowing terms that are representative of all the reviews) that: It's the dead of night, and an airplane crashes into the ocean. You surface amid flaming wreckage, spot a nearby lighthouse, and start swimming toward it. You swim past the plane's massive tail as it slowly drowns, and you reach the shore. It's at this point your gamer brain has recognized what's going on, and instinctively, you explore the small island. Without hesitation, you open doors that look like they shouldn't be opened, and -- against what most would argue is common sense in a situation such as this -- enter a strange device that takes you deep below the surface and into the unknown. You do this because you're supposed to. That's how this works. At least, that's what you feel...
This is how BioShock begins. By the time it ends, you'll likely feel quite different about how you interact with games, and more importantly, how they interact with you. [...]
Rapture is an underwater, self-contained city destined from its inception to be forever lost in time. "Dystopian art deco" is a common -- and accurate -- descriptor of the city's design. Really, though, it's just a beautiful disaster. Eerily abandoned by most of its populace, the remaining signs of life are twisted, hostile beings who have played havoc with what was once the cradle of a budding utopia. Signs of protest greet your arrival, propaganda plays over the speaker system, blood is smeared everywhere, and bodies aren't far away. Exposed wires spark over collected pools of leaking water, and quite frequently, things are on fire. Rapture was built to house 2K Boston creative director Ken Levine's philosophical zoo, only he unlocked the cages well before showing you in. [...]
While there are unique splicer characters that provide the traditional "boss" fights, the Big Daddy is BioShock's adversarial centerpiece. But what makes them unique is also the game's moral centerpiece: He doesn't choose to fight you; you have to make the decision to terminate him. And since the end result is an increase in Adam, it's a decision ultimately driven by your own greed. You may fear him, but you have no reason to hate the Big Daddy. When he's defending a Sister from a pack of splicers, it's hard not to root for his rivet gun. And when he bends to one knee to allow her to retreat to the safety of her hiding hole in the wall, it's a legitimately touching moment.
But what must be done must be done. You set some mines, load your shotgun with explosive buck, wait until the Daddy's back is turned, and then you kill him. Defenseless and heartbroken, the Little Sister doesn't see you approach. You grab her, violently, and then...then you have to answer this question: "Can a videogame really make me feel guilty?"
If it can, then you save the girl. If it can't...well, then the game changes according to what you've done.
The Big Daddy, the soul of BioShock, isn't a pure moral mirror. Saving the girl for less Adam doesn't make you a saint, and harvesting her for more Adam (killing her in the process) doesn't mean you need to look into counseling. Not by any means. But it's the interaction that's interesting: Do you actually feel guilty or sympathetic? By saving her life, are you as protective of her as the Big Daddy was? Do you just not care because it's only a videogame? What's remarkable about BioShock is that, however you answer these questions, it's legitimate. If you allow it, the game can get into your head as much as you can get into the game.
Please pardon me as I squeal with anticipated delight. I need a moment to go hug my Xbox 360.