In a fit of frustration over Hotline Miami and the way gamers discuss violent games, I ended up talking to game critic/provocateur Cara Ellison. She adores Hotline Miami, you see.

Originally I meant to consult her about a different article, but our conversation was much more interesting than what I wrote. So we're publishing our correspondence instead, which touches on the bullshit surrounding the discussion of violent games (which has gotten even more complicated lately), whether or not we confuse loving winning to loving digital murder, and more.

From: Patricia Hernandez
To: Cara Ellison
Subject: murder

Cara, something I read last month is haunting me. I keep returning to it. There's an article on Midnight Resistance where Liz Ryerson dissects hyper-violent Hotline Miami and its reception. In it, Ryerson asks "how can you rhapsodize at great lengths about the joy of violence in a videogame without sounding like a complete psychopath?"

The article is compelling—she doesn't suggest that violence shouldn't be in games, but she does urge us to take a look at why it's there and how it affects as as folk who probably aren't about to go commit murder. And for once, this discussion isn't being anchored by the suggestion that games will corrupt us forever... just, that we do an awful job at examining what the violence does or mean, even though we'll go at great lengths at describing how enjoyable it is.

I think it's worrisome that we don't talk about this stuff. We're so sure that the value in the mechanics of these games is self-evident enough that they don't warrant examining—really examining. Like, beyond the idea that it feels good to kill someone. That part is the easy, obvious part.

I can't stop thinking about Ryerson's question though—can we, do we sing praises of the joy of violence without sounding psychopathic? I decided to check out reviews of Hotline Miami and found that by nature of having to explain how the game works—which involves playing as a killer-for-hire— sounding unhinged is an inevitability. The more a reviewer likes the game, the more true this is. What's up with that?

There was one review that pinpointed the game as a ‘murder simulator,' but stressed that playing the game doesn't make you a bad person. Insecurity?

What's curious about this is that many people pose that there's little time to think while playing, but that in-between missions, or after you shut the game off, that changed. But by the time reflection finally came, well... who knows?

Maybe Hotline Miami doesn't have to make a statement, that's fine. But we can. I want to hear about what the reality of what we're doing is and what it means in the wider societal context in which it exists, or what it might say about us, and not simply a mechanical breakdown. I come to you, as resident Hotline Miami lover.

I find myself frustrated when I read much of the discussion around the game, because there are no statements, no conclusions. How valuable is an unanswered question? When we don't make statements about what the game makes us consider, how, in effect, is it different from a game that doesn't make us think at all?

Lovingly murderous,

Patricia

Dear Patricia,

This is an interesting question, moreso as it is something that I have never found myself worrying about. I actually think that the more stylised you make the violence the further you separate yourself from the game's imagery, and the less important violent actions or themes are. The more abstract you get, the less you are attached to the actual idea of what is happening. Hotline Miami's violence is almost a post-process realisation that you are murdering people. The characters are not people you identify with—they are abstracted, little top-down dudes. Hotline Miami is extremely stylised, and does its utmost not to be hyperrealistic.

Hotline Miami is a beat, a rhythm, a process, a series of tiny challenges to overcome. It is only after the control is taken away from you by the game, and you throw up, then the realisation really connects with you that you are controlling a guy whose job it is to kill people, and the pleasure that you are getting from the crunch of a baseball bat is that of an assassination.

Hotline Miami's job is to present a a room full of guards to you and have you puzzle out how to solve the problem of them. You get a sense of achievement from offing those guys one by one like you would being Mario bopping Goombas on the head in quick succession—and after, you think, woah. The game is trying to tell me that I am not just a puzzle-solver here—I am a murderer. The cutscenes emphasise it—"Why are you doing this?" The cutscenes make you think about what you have done in a way that pushes me to feel like I am in the mind of a killer, when really I feel like it is a strategic puzzler at heart?

Why is Hotline Miami framing me for murder after the fact?

Yours bloodlustily,

Cara

Cara,

Speaking of sounding unhinged: framing you for murder, huh? Heh. That's curious—because, as you said, the game makes sure to remind you you're a murderer with the cutscenes, but it also it tries to distract you from that idea with its stylization. In addition to that, it detaches you from the situation when it suggests that you're not in complete control of your actions—that you're being controlled by a shadow organization.

I feel conflicted. Much of the discussion about the game lauds the fact that it asks us whether or not we enjoy hurting people. THAT is psychotic: so what we're saying is, most games don't make us think? ....we have to be prompted to think? That idea doesn't reflect very well on us. That's funny, considering how easily we get mad when the media/non-gamers look at these violent games, and how easily we can say that they're not looking closely enough.

I'm not even sure that Hotline Miami is so different from just about any other violent game—if we stopped to actually think what's going on. It's not necessary to have hazy, vague cutscenes between levels of a game asking you if you enjoy killing to dare to wonder on your own. The fact that we've needed to be asked, to me, is alarming.

Granted, it occurs to me that most games work hard to make sure we're distracted from what we do. I mean, they have to, right? It would be horrifying if we felt the weight of every single murder in the games we play.

But now that you brought up how Hotline Miami goes back and forth on reminding you and distracting you about being a murderer, I feel that much more conflicted! What is the game trying to do? I can't tell if it's a purposeful tension or the sign of a muddled game. My cynicism gravitates me toward the latter.

If the game is framing us for murder, why do you think that most people endlessly praise how good digital murder feels? Are they actually talking about something else they enjoyed with the game without realizing it? Assuming we're actually being framed, the game sure tricked everyone into thinking that they're guilty.

Conveniently innocent,

Patricia

Patricia,

I don't think Hotline Miami is a good game because it is violent—it is pure mechanics working to give a chemical response in my brain that is the rush I get when I feel achievement. I find it difficult to connect my knifing a guy in Hotline Miami to the idea of doing it in real life—there is an interface that is giving me feedback that creates that abstract feeling of winning when some pixels collide.

I tell myself I have completed a task with my hands, and my brain gives me a biscuit (or a cookie, as it is there in the States). There is an obvious progression to reward in the framework of this virtual painting, whereas most well adjusted adults know that there is no excuse for violence in the framework of real world society and there is certainly no reward for it. The opposite—there is serious punishment and great societal distress. Knowledge of the rules is important wherever you are.

The cutscenes in Hotline Miami are interesting, because they are actually there to remind you that the game is about horrible murder lest you forget that it is about horrible murder. Why?

Because it's based on the film Drive and stylised violence can be made to look cool. But really, the process of winning or the mechanics that underlie that game are nothing to do with violence. You could have a totally abstract set of squares and triangles bumping into each other, exploding, sort of like a slappers-only Geometry Wars, and the same satisfaction would pop out. Am I making excuses? I hope not. I am just trying to analyse my own brain's processes.

I think when people talk about the glory of the violence in Hotline Miami, they are confusing it with the joy of winning and projecting the frame back onto the game. It's interesting to note that I personally also confused the feeling of winning with what the game wanted me to feel was the glory of murder—when actually it is the same feeling you get when jumping on a Goomba (which I guess is still murder but wouldn't traditionally be thought of as that).

Lots of people in Hotline Miami reviews have done that. I actually dance more around the issues of violence completely in my preview here because I don't think I saw enough of the cutscenes to press the 'violence' frame on me. I wrote more about the rhythm and music back then.

In our Rock Paper Shotgun Verdict the violent style seems much more praised, as I'd played it for a long time by then. Note the contrast—and we still have very little to say about what it actually says about violence because the game's mechanics are primarily our fascination.

Note also how we all get het up and excited and confuse the rewarding mechanics for a judgement on our penchant for violence. At one point I say I love the 'purity of the knife', which is to say, that I like how the knife mechanic functions in the game, and then say that I am worried it makes me look psychotic. This is what the frame of the game narrative wants me to think.

Then later I get so excited talking about the game that I ask for camomile tea. The remaining part of the euphoria of this game is in the 80s neon art and the exceptional soundtrack. It is easy to confuse all of these for a fetish for violence, because the game constantly asks you to actively confuse your pleasure of the game for the pleasure of murder, and then a cutscene points to you and says 'THAT IS FUCKED UP'. And you don't disagree. Or...

We come back round to this: if I am worrying that it is making me look psychotic, that is a good thing right? But if I am not, perhaps I need to worry about my attitude to violence. Is that what we are saying? Are games then, just what we personally read into them? Aren't they just a mirror of ourselves? If you are a violent person, would you look at this game as a come on or a dampener? I don't know. I played GTA from age 12 and I have never been tempted to be violent towards anyone.

Busted,

Cara

Hey Cara,

Aha, here we come to the big hangup when it comes to this conversation: personal responsibility. I suspect we as a community shy away from this discussion because the assumption is that we're trying to crucify each other or feel guilty about what we do—that the apex of this conversation is "should I feel bad or not" or "does this make me a potential murderer or not."

While I don't discount the value of figuring that stuff out, it's too easy to hand wave. People go "well I'm not a bad person, so as much as I might pause, I'm not going to change my opinion that these things I enjoy reflect poorly on me/say something awful about me."

There are other ways of discussing what violence means or says in a game. I put forward Liz Ryerson's own conclusions with Hotline Miami:

"Games like HLM cut to the core what of what a pretty big chunk of life in the modern world is about. People feel that they have no control over their own lives. They want to be able to exercise that control somehow, somewhere. They want some sort of release—otherwise they feel like they'll just explode. videogames have come to fit the desire for release like a glove. Games have done this so well, in fact, that they've created a significant culture of people who use playing games for the sole purpose of feeling in control over the rest of the world."

They're puzzles, as you said, which we solve. This reading makes sense to me.

As other examples, I think of how Merritt Kopas has written that the way games can lie to us about what violence is, because they only focus on the physical kind—not the structural kind of violence (sexism, racism, etc) that we cannot always perceive on a granular level.

I think of Cameron Kunzelman discussing how XCOM's usage of torture reveals that many of us have normalized the behavior, rationalized torture in our heads before the game even starts—so when the engineer spouts his lines about us losing our humanity and the way many reviewers took this to mean the game was critiquing something, it falls flat.

"I knew immediately that I was going to have to torture aliens and genetically modify my soldiers in order to play that game. The possibility for cooperation was always-already closed off, though I can't articulate why. I just knew. There is no question. The ethical question, then, is a beautiful failure. Why have the debate in game? Why pretend like there is some kind of grey area that the player is having to navigate? Is is supposed to make me ask questions?"

These are the types of discussion about violence that I want to see—screw whether or not games might make us bad people. We're too close to that discussion to really be able to say something critical, we repeat the same platitudes over and over, and I don't think we'll ever really 'solve' that issue. We never move on from it though, if we talk about violence at all.

I'm curious, though: if what we're doing doesn't matter because it's simply the frame, then why do games like Dyad—absolutely, positively not 'violent' in the traditional sense—package their games under the same language? Rowan Kaiser notes that the terms for what we do in the game are really combative: we lance things, we hook things, and so on. The game looks like you're on drugs for christsakes.

It seems to me the packaging is either important, or somehow along the way we've forgotten how to think about things outside of that framework.

Violently troubled,

Patricia

Patricia:

I think you hit the button when you said that it is the packaging.

Our culture is obsessed with looking at games, this interactive medium, as if it were the interactive part that corrupts us, when in fact it is in a long line of media that we have worried over. When novels first appeared, they were a corrupting influence—women's brains would overheat, they said—and anyway, newspapers and journals were the only thing worth reading. And then it was movies, rock and roll music. A short time ago, rap music was the thing that was going to kill me.

Games do not exist in a vacuum. The biggest problem, as the end of Hotline Miami attests, is our predilection for, or perhaps our lack of concern over, violent media. Of any kind. Violence is so prolific in our entertainment these days that it's becoming an important question: why are we seeing so much of it? And why, such as when the Rockstar Hot Coffee debacle happened, are we more outraged by being shown an act of love in a game, than we are by someone being shot in a game—an act of hate?

We are just seeking cathartic shelter from it, a way of dulling its poison by working through it in Hotline Miami.

You can make the symptoms go away—remove violent games from supermarkets, take away rap music and gangster films. Burn copies of Puzo's The Godfather on a pyre. You can do all of those things—I mean—if it really is those that are at fault. For a violence free society—sure—burn the fucking lot. I never want to see it again if it created this mess.

But as long as there is fear, resentment, neglect and a weapon on the table, people will hurt other people. Either we take away the fear, resentment and neglect in society, or we take away the weapon.

Games are a distraction. From the horrible real world, and from where the actual discussion lies.

Cara

Cara,

Video games aren't the only things to be criticized as agents of corruption you're right, they just happen to be the flavor of the era. And yes, this conversation is much larger than video games, and should be pursued in that larger stage as well. We just happen to be game journalists!

Even so, I hope that in the future we don't need a game blatantly prompting us to think, or a tragedy doing the same. Well, no. You've probably noticed how many people have posted similar sentiments recently, about the necessity to reflect.

As I said earlier, there is no use in an unanswered question ("what does the violence mean/reflect?") I hope we actually voice what it is we're thinking about.

You know, everyone keeps telling me games are a distraction. It feels important, almost, to convince each other that they are distractions. But when I'm playing, ah, I don't feel distracted at all.

Bless map editors. They make wonderful things possible—wonderful things that normally couldn't exist.

MP1st brings our attention to Youtube user ShadowZack, who took it upon himself to recreate a few famous maps in Far Cry 3.

These maps hail from franchises like Call of Duty, Battlefield and Counter-Strike. The one above is Nuketown. Here are the rest:

There is one more map to check out, here.

This looks really rad—if I was playing Far Cry 3 on PC, I'd play these. Alas, console gaming. I can't even take the HUD off my copy of Far Cry 3... not yet, anyway.

Battlefield, Counter-Strike, And Call of Duty Maps Recreated In Far Cry 3 [MP1st]

I noticed something curious while playing Far Cry 3, something I hadn't really thought about before. Sometimes, my map would denote a treasure located inside a small, dark cave. I'd go into the cave, and I'd immediately start breathing harder and feeling panicky—enough that I didn't even care what the treasure was anymore. I just needed to get out.

Even though I vaguely knew where the exit was, it became much harder to actually navigate my way there. It took me like 5 seconds to get into the cave, but it took me like a while minute to get out. It was really strange, though I've noticed similar things happening before—sometimes in real life, in which case I'd need to strip a bit and go outside to get fresh air.

But mostly I experience this anxiety while navigating dungeons that feature narrow hallways and low ceilings, with it specifically triggering if I am having a hard time finding my way through said dungeon. I normally have to shut the game off at this point because I can't handle it, or at the very least take a break. But it wasn't until very recently, with that Far Cry 3 thing, when it dawned on me: might I be a tad claustrophobic?

Similarly dealing with phobias in Far Cry 3, an article by Henry McMunn at Pixels or Death talks about McMunn's relationship with acrophobia (the fear of heights), as well as thalassophobia, (the fear of the sea). Particularly, he tells us about his bouts with thalassophobia—because fear of heights is something he has overcome while playing games.

He clarifies that his fear of the sea "doesn't mean if I'm on a beach I'm constantly screaming at the mere sight of waves lapping up onto the shore," but if he were hypothetically swimming about thirty feet off the coast, he'd be "virtually paralyzed."

Interestingly, the phobia can be triggered via fear of some sea creature. Describing the experience, he says that:

"When underwater, Jason's vision is restricted in just the same way our eyes are when submerged; close up objects are clear enough, but things get more blurry and distorted from just a few metres. Looking down towards the seabed, it also gets darker and cloudier to the point where it's impossible to see more than a few metres below. My nightmare come to life. Oh, and did I mention the sharks? These aren't the realistic, cautious, ‘more scared of you than you are of them' kind – these things want to eat you, the irrationality of the danger tapping into my equally irrational fear."

Actually, Henry isn't the only one dealing with this issue while playing Far Cry 3. Kotaku's Kirk Hamilton and Luke Plunkett recently discussed just how evocative the game is when it comes to phobias, particularly ones dealing with the sea. Here's a partial chat transcript:

Kirk H.
haha yeah I got really good at killing sharks

Luke P.
the most terrifying thing

ive ever done in a video game

Kirk H.
so basically

swimming down into the deep, with wreckage looming around me in the dark water and sharks

is one of my top phobias

and this game forced me to face it

Luke P.
yup

ugh

i feel sick just talking about it

Kirk H.
I haven't actually gotten up the balls to get some of the relics

Same, Kirkbro. Same. Damn cave treasure. Luke has also talked about his fear of what is lurking in the water here at Kotaku before.

And now you, dear reader: have you ever had to confront a phobia while playing a game? How'd it go? Was it easier or harder than real life?

Thalassophobia and Far Cry 3 [Pixels or Death]

It's great for a number of reasons—we've enjoyed lighting drug fields on fire since San Andreas. But the thing that really puts it over the top is that for a moment, the game's tone completely shifts and Skrillex starts playing.

The tune in question is "Make It Bun Dem" by Skrillex and Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley, and it plays on a loop throughout the entire mission. As Jason takes a flamethrower to Hoyt's drug crop (and the fumes make him get stoned if he gets too close), it's basically impossible not to gleefully grin and jack in another tank of fuel.

I have a feeling this might be the most widely YouTubed mission of the fall, and with good reason. Whatever complaints I may have about the game's story and tonal consistency, I'd actually love to see more stuff like this. You don't have to be Saints Row the Third, but a little goofiness (and a killer soundtrack) can go a long way when used properly. Sometimes you gotta say screw it; we need some Skrillex.

Here are a few things you can expect Far Cry 3 to include: shark-punching, pirate-killing, hang gliding and, oh, rape. For those playing, maybe that's not surprising—as you go along, you suspect it'll happen at any moment. Your friends have been captured, and two of these friends are attractive young women. One is an award-winning swimmer and the other is a Hollywood actress.

There are a couple of instances where the game almost threatens a rape: a camera lingering between the legs of a woman, or a villain touching your girlfriend in an uncomfortable way will trigger alarms. You're anticipating rape.

And then it happens—not explicitly, not on-screen, but it's hinted at. Only it's not what you're expecting. It didn't happen to the women. Actually, it turns out to be a guy; one of your friends was taken into an underground basement to become a sex slave for an Australian criminal.

When you try to free that friend, the rapist stops you, saying, "I can take you bloody if you'd like, I like my meat red."

Male on male rape: something that media barely touches or acknowledges as possible. Nevermind video games.

I've tried to make sense of what the game does with its depiction of rape. I have three theories; I'm not sure which to believe.

Rape as a testament to island savagery/insanity

The game takes a handful of spoiled millennials who go on vacation to party and forget about life's troubles back home. Home is where they might not have a job, where they're dealing with figuring out what to do with their lives, where they feel disenfranchised.

Then they get to Rook Islands and all that stuff seems miniscule in comparison to being taken captive, to getting sold into slavery, to the jungle and machetes and tigers and sharks, to poverty and vicious pirates. Rape, in this reading, is just another thing that can happen in a nearly lawless archipelago.

I mean, that's what the box implies, anyway—and I quote:

JOURNEY INTO THE HEART OF INSANITY
Far off the charts lies an island unlike any other. A place where heavily armed warlords traffic in slaves. Where outsiders are hunted for ransom. And as you embark on a desperate quest to rescue your friends, you realize that the only way to escape this darkness is TO EMBRACE IT.

Chaos reigns, basically. It's a difficult ethos to argue against when you consider situations like "everything burns around you while a crocodile nips at your feet and you're just trying to pull a damn bullet out of your arms and oh, there are pirates shooting at your head" are common.

But when I say "savagery" or "insanity," it's a very specific type of savagery and insanity. Very video gamey. It exists not to unsettle you (even though that is the intent!) but to exhilarate you. Your heart races, the adrenaline gets going.

Whatever crazy situation you're in right now isn't supposed to make you uneasy or make you think about how you've suddenly turned into a monster just to survive. Nothing is nearly that developed in Far Cry 3: you're a scared wimp for like a second at the start and then the game opens up.

I imagine most players will take this as an opportunity to go kill some stuff and cause chaos, and will forget, through no fault of their own, any possible moral nuance. It's like the game recognizes this will happen, and as a precautionary measure goes, "Well, there's rape in here. Are you convinced now that this island is crazy and anything could happen?"

In this reading, "rape" can be one of the adjectives the game throws at you in the loading screen, the type of thing that will happen in the game and you're supposed to get excited about because it's so edgy or something. Run. Kill. Shoot. Lick. Let's add one more to the mix: rape.

This would also explain why SPOILERS one of the endings sees you thrusting madly into a woman before climaxing. It's one of many things written down in a (hopefully) imaginary excel sheet that's probably saved as AWESOME/DISTURBINGSHITWEGOTTAINCLUDE.XLS. Murder, sex, rape, drugs, torture, dubstep, flamethrowers and punchin' sharks: all included in said spreedsheet.

It's all for show, man. For your entertainment. There is no reflection. What ends up happening is that a typically horrendous thing turns into something flippant, something throwaway—much like, say, killing stuff in most games tends to be.

Rape as an obstacle to overcome in your quest to reclaim manhood

To me, Far Cry 3 is a story about how Jason Brody, the protagonist, reclaims manhood. City life doesn't breed real men, the game argues—at least, not the type of men that would survive on Rook Islands. The start of the game makes a contrast between you and your brother, a rugged example of virility who knows how to kill a man. You, meanwhile, pause and squirm the first time you sink a blade into another person.

The game has light RPG elements, where you can upgrade skills denoted by tatau (tattoos, basically.) The islanders seem to be Maori, which would explain the Ta Moko, which are body and face markings used by the Maori. The curious thing is that these types of permanent marks are literally carved onto your skin with chisels, not punctured. The marks are a sign of social status, typically denoting milestones between childhood and adulthood, according to Wikipedia. The type of stuff that you accompany with rites and rituals.

You accrue these tattoos on your arm as you become more powerful, with characters in the game encouraging to go further and further into your path to becoming a real warrior. A real man, if you would. Everything you do in the game points this way: the killing, the survival skills (skinning animals, crafting), learning how to defend yourself against ferocious creatures (which are sometimes introduced to you within the context of manhood—the crocodile's description says the beast is involved in a rite of passage where many boys die.)

The rapist threatens your manhood. Your entire interaction always hinges on him reminding you that he has power over you, that you should know your place: listen to his diatribes on history, don't get ahead of yourself, bear his insults, and then top all that off by calling him "sir." And if you don't? Well, he's just gonna kill your friend, that's what.

It's a strange relationship for Jason Brody to have, when the rest of the game is so intent on empowering you and convincing you that you are the (white) messiah that the island needs. Here's a guy that doesn't respect the path you've set out on, doesn't recognize it. And let's remind ourselves that rape is very much a power dynamic, where one person exerts dominance over someone else. Someone who is so beneath the rapist, that the victim isn't granted a choice in what happens to their body.

The danger of rape looms if you fail in a one-on-one fight with this person. The rape won't happen, of course. That section of the game ends with you killing him. Woo, manhood threat eliminated! Jason earns the right to have yet another tattoo etched onto his skin.

Rape as a thing that not even Ubisoft knows WTF is doing in the game

This one, I'm afraid is the most likely. I'm afraid the previous readings are a desperate attempt to give Ubisoft the benefit of the doubt when in actuality there's no reason they decided to include rape in the game. Or at least not a well-realized reason.

Maybe I'm cynical, but it's difficult to take something like this seriously when it happens so quickly and is barely addressed. Why is the rape in there if it's just going to be a short line that nobody really talks about? Why suddenly reveal that the Australian captor is actually keeping your friend as a sex slave without exploring it? Are we supposed to care when we've never met that friend before? Are we supposed to feel appalled when don't see the rape or its consequences?

I almost want to criticize all of that, but the rest of the game is equally superficial in its handling of anything. The developers claim it's so that the player can make its his or her mind, but there's simply not enough there for that to happen. Everything is a brief line that tries to carry the weight of a story, to establish characterization or motivation.

And the game fails spectacularly in convincing you that stuff beyond the ability to freely roam the island as you wish actually has merit or is worth thinking/talking about. Not hitting you over the head with what something means and simply showing you (rape/drugs/sex, etc) is something games CAN do—but Ubisoft definitely fumbles in trying to make that work.

Maybe this is a hard truth to swallow. We like to continually afford games "artistic license" in what they do, and this is how sensitive subjects like rape are considered—artistic license. Games should be able to tackle rape, the argument goes, because gosh darn it aren't we all adults here? Aren't games supposed to be mature and progressive?

Sure. But the mere inclusion of a sensitive subject doesn't come packaged with a nuanced, worthwhile or interesting exploration/presentation. And as long as that's true, you can't pull out the "artistic license" card when a game like Far Cry 3 stumbles in what it depicts. If we're going to say that games should be able to tackle mature subjects, then let's hold them to scrutiny which validates that artistic license, damnit. We're not in kindergarten anymore. Trying doesn't deserve a gold star.

Far Cry 3 does a lot of things right. It's fun to play, the island setting is beautiful, sneaking around is a lot of fun, gunplay is solid, and everything works well. But the story… well, the story has some issues.

As I pointed out in my review, the unevenness and general kinda dumbness of the narrative is the thing that holds Far Cry 3 back from "we'll still talk about this in five years" glory. I'm midway through my second playthrough, and the problems with the story are more apparent than ever.

It's never terrible (and at times is perfectly enjoyable), but the storytelling is often lazy, sometimes irritating, occasionally offensive, and never manages to come together into a unified vision. And the ending just flat-out stinks.

However, with a single change to the story, Ubisoft could have addressed almost every problem the game's story has. Not only that, Far Cry 3's story could have gone from "forgettable romp" to "everyone is calling this the best story of the year."

"Oh, god," you may lament, "surely you aren't going to engage in this worst sort of Monday-morning quarterbacking! Surely you aren't about to suggest your own ending while ignoring all of the development hurdles that make writing a video game so uniquely difficult?"

Yes, I'm afraid I am. Indulge me for a moment, and let's imagine what might have been.

We're going to have some big ol' Far Cry 3 spoilers in here. Okay.

First, the problems. Here they are:

• It's tonally inconsistent. Far Cry 3's tone is all over the place. We've got serious business going down, Jason's brother gets killed, there's a super-dark rape subplot, people are being subjugated, murdered, and sold into slavery. But then there's Jason's stoner friend cracking drug jokes, the out-of-place Quentin Tarantino references, the ridiculous (though awesome) pot-farm burning mission, and all manner of wacky CIA hijinks. Generally, the story's tone is all over the place.
• The heroes are assholes. There's an argument to be made that we're not supposed to like Jason and his motley band of attractive white kids. But that's never really explored by the story… we just sort of leave them after a certain point, and they return for the ridiculous, tacked-on conclusion. They're all assholes, including Jason. I wanted them all to die, including Jason.
• The race stuff. Far Cry 3 handles race in some pretty problematic ways. Far too often it relies on the "Magical Negro" trope, and Jason is given tribal tattoos that allow him to "access his inner warrior" and become a badass. Particularly in sidequests, the native people of the island are portrayed as helpless simpletons who are just thrilled that this untrained white boy from California has decided to come and save them all.
• It's not believable. There's a big difference between realistic and believable, and games generally can skip the former if they're nailing the latter. But Far Cry 3, when you step back and think about it, never feels realistic or believable. Why is this kid suddenly able to save everyone on the island? How is he any more qualified than any of Citra's many tattooed warriors? Why is everyone behaving the way they are? Why does Vaas go to such Bond Villain-like lengths to kill Jason in elaborate ways? Why are we being asked to accept that rich white Americans can be kidnapped and sold into slavery?
• It ditches the best character. The best character in Far Cry 3 isn't Jason, nor any of his friends. It's not Citra, it's not any of the other questgivers, and it's certainly not Hoyt. The real star of Far Cry 3 is Vaas, the manic, menacing pirate overlord who so entertainingly pursues you for the first 2/3rds of the game. And yet after a certain point, you simply go and… kill him. In a dream-sequence? And he's never heard from again. What a waste!

So, those are the main problems with the story, as I see 'em. But here's the thing: The entire story could have been salvaged by a simple decision, a plot point I felt was telegraphed throughout the entire game, and which I was perplexed never came to pass:

Halfway through the game, it's revealed that you're not Jason. You never were. You're Vaas.

OMG.

TWIST.

This could've been made to work with the existing content in a number of ways. Let's say the entire first half of the game is an elaborate hallucination brought on by, I don't know, torture and imprisonment. How about this: Vaas was a successful worker for Hoyt until his power over the island grew too strong, and he pissed Hoyt off by failing to kill an American kid who escaped him. An American named... JASON BRODY.

Hang on, hold on, okay. Back up. That image is from the handbook in the game. Let's see here. Here we've got this guy:

and this guy:

One looks like a bad mother, probably crazy enough that he could cause some damage. The other looks like a grade-A doof. I don't mean to say that the doof's story can't be interesting, but it'd be more interesting to tell us the doof is the hero, then pull the rug out from under us.

Anyway. Back to making stuff up. The particulars of this aren't really that important; there are a handful of ways that the twist could be made to work. Here's one: Hoyt had Vaas tortured and imprisoned, where Vaas relived his downfall through the imagined eyes of his nemesis, recreating Jason's exploits and greatly exaggerating his prowess. As it turns out, Jason just sort of got lucky and evaded Vaas—but in Vaas' twisted mind, Jason was granted magical powers by Vaas' sister Citra and became an all-powerful Rambo. How else could he have eluded Vaas for so long?

At the point in the story when Jason kills Vaas, instead of dying, Vaas re-awakens and it's revealed that Vaas actually killed Jason, and you take control of Vaas. You break out of Hoyt's prison and spend the remainder of the game taking down Hoyt and conquering the island. Maybe there's a sequence where you kill Jason's friends. Sweet.

Not only would this be one of the boldest, most talked-about narrative twists of the last few years, it would solve so many of the problems listed above. We wouldn't have to swallow the idea that an untrained twentysomething rando could take down an entire army. The disdain shown to the islanders would make more sense, given that we're seeing everything through Vaas' eyes.

The tonal inconsistencies would be turned on their heads, and it'd match with the kinda cheesy, pop-dark vibe of the game. The moment we assumed the role of a gleeful villain, it would be much easier to shoot, burn, and pillage our way through the Rook Islands. The white savior thing from the first half would dissolve into irony. The asshole main characters would all get killed, thank god, and our vendetta against Hoyt would feel less abrupt. And best of all, the game would really feel like it was about something: About insanity and dominance, about taking what you want and using it to take more.

The more I think about it, the more I'm surprised Far Cry 3 didn't go this route. Even the menu and loading screens play with the idea of duality: Fading, Rorschach-like inkblots of Vaas and Jason blend into one another. The "characters" screen of the game's handbook shows Vaas standing behind Jason, with a gun pointed at his head. Even the cover of the game prominently features Vaas, with Jason (or someone?) buried up to his nose in sand.

I don't know about you, but if I saw that cover and knew nothing about the game, I'd guess it was about the guy in the red tanktop.

Every time the two characters meet, there's this weird tension, like we're not being told the whole story. How is Jason surviving all this, again? Why is Vaas talking about the definition of insanity, and how that means doing things over, and over, and over? As Vaas lectures Jason about family, love and madness; as Jason wanders through hallucinations and sees Vaas at every corner, every Fight Club alarm in my brain went off. Surely I am this guy, right?

But nope. Apparently Vaas is just some jerk who sort of dies in a dream sequence.

Putting my pie-in-the-sky imaginary endings aside for a minute, my broader point is that many games, even good ones like Far Cry 3, could be taking more risks and telling more interesting stories. Games like Red Dead Redemption and this year's flawed but ambitious Spec Ops: The Line have toyed with similar ideas, and I hope to see more big-budget games taking on similar notions in the future. Considering the high level of across-the-board talent responsible for Far Cry 3, it doesn't seem out of line to have hoped for more.

"The whole game is about subverting video game cliches," Far Cry 3 lead writer Jeffery Yohalem told me when I spoke with him back at E3 . "It's a psychological adventure. We're definitely trying to question what a game is, and I think that's what Far Cry 2 did as well, where they tried to explore the limits of video games. And our game is about video games to a huge degree, and about what you expect from video games, and how we change things up."

When I heard "change things up" and "subverting video game cliches," I was expecting something truly surprising. What I got were some well-written characters, a couple of quality drug trips, a helicopter minigun sequence lifted from Apocalypse Now and a final moral choice that made no sense.

Oh, well. At least the game is super fun.