As a seasoned gamer with over two decades under my belt, I’ve seen games that soar to great heights and others that stumble in their attempt to break new ground. Dustborn, dear friends, falls somewhere in the middle.
The game Dustborn seems to have been crafted as a response to feedback like “Politics should stay out of games,” instead choosing to embrace political themes wholeheartedly. It stands out as one of the most politically charged, notably left-leaning video games I’ve encountered. Its bold approach makes the initial stages engaging, but it loses steam in the second half due to repetitive combat and a climactic few chapters that somewhat diminish the impact of its strong opening.
In a not-so-distant dystopian America, divided after a second civil war into various territories, this game presents a struggle between a group of compassionate individuals embarking on a secret journey across the nation, aiming to create a brighter future. The team, comprised of outcasts from the new America, disguise themselves as a punk-rock band to blend in, much like a Telltale game’s dynamic. Given my love for such games, I expected Dustborn to captivate me, but instead, it left me feeling unsatisfied and yearning for more.
As a gamer, I was instantly drawn to Dustborn’s cel-shaded comic-book art style, mirroring the gritty world it portrayed. At first, I didn’t mind that the opening scene showcased my four main characters as somewhat annoying, thinking their transformation from bumbling allies evading the game’s corrupt federal force to defiant leaders overthrowing tyranny would be engaging. However, my interest waned… eventually.
I didn’t point to any specific instance that made me leave the group; instead, it seems like my disaffection grew gradually over time. Looking back now, it feels more like a simmering process rather than a sudden event. The game, lasting approximately 15 hours, initially focuses heavily on world-building, and I found myself captivated by much of it.
As people became increasingly indifferent to fascist beliefs, events peaked in a broadcast spectacle during the 2000s that rapidly disseminated false information, hastening the nation’s progression towards civil war. Simultaneously, this incident gave rise to individuals known as Anomals or Deviants, who manifested unusual abilities following the event.
It reads like the setup to a cool book I’d love to read, and it works just as well as an adventure game for a while. I love the way the game depicts its a post-truth society. In an early section, it’s explained that disinformation floats in the atmosphere, like a virus on a crowded train, and people can become sick from it if they are exposed. It makes them hostile, mean-spirited, and even drives them to espouse racist, sexist, or other troubling views.
As a dedicated player, it’s clear to me now – if the initial character pronouns didn’t tip you off – that this game was crafted by individuals with progressive views, for those who share similar perspectives. It seems to anticipate the tweets of disgruntled young men yearning for apolitical games, as it subtly integrates politics they may not necessarily agree with, thus intentionally stirring their ire with its political stance. The game doesn’t shy away from this approach, and I suspect that when Dustborn hits the shelves, many will find themselves provoked by these very themes. Ironically, when you catch fragments of misinformation in the background, they often echo right-wing narratives on topics such as climate change skepticism, xenophobia, or even conspiracy theories like QAnon and Pizzagate.
In essence, Dustborn primarily portrays right-wing fascists as villains, yet shows compassion towards their supporters. The narrative mirrors our contemporary society, offering a sympathetic but sometimes condescending perspective on individuals who fall for right-wing deceptions. It suggests that these people’s circumstances, to some degree, are not entirely their fault. Given the current state of the U.S., this game could only exist today. Although it’s set in an alternate history, it draws heavily from real life events, even incorporating references to remarks made by former President Trump during combat sequences.
While some readers might find the recent sections disagreeable, I’d like to underscore that these are the game’s most captivating aspects. I not only support the developers for constructing a world that mirrors their ideologies, but I admire the depth and thoughtfulness they’ve put into it. Although it satirizes conservative thinkers, it genuinely aims to foster empathy and advocates for helping individuals break free from the grip of conspiracy theories, rather than allowing them to wallow in delusion.
But just because I agree with the game’s politics doesn’t mean it’s a good game.
A significant number of characters in Dustborn’s expansive roster mainly revolve around Anomals, with the playable character, Pax, possessing a unique talent to manipulate and even harm individuals through her words. Many of her companions also have powers, such as Sai who exhibits immense strength, or Noam who shares a similar gift of eloquence, but their abilities tend to soothe people, in contrast to Pax’s, which are rooted in negative emotions that provoke intense reactions. Some of these Anomal skills also touch on therapeutic terminology that has gained popularity, like triggering and gaslighting, although they are redefined within the context of more common party-based combat systems. In later stages, one ability allows you to halt someone’s actions, but each skill is adapted for a familiar combat setting.
For instance, boosting your teammates’ attack power temporarily is referred to as activating their abilities, and Pax has the skill to cause disagreement among enemies, causing them to fight amongst themselves. Deceiving enemies can be likened to misleading them, which makes them believe they are on fire, thereby turning a false news issue into a magical trick. While all of this is quite smart, none of it feels enjoyable to play.
In the game, Pax employs her skills during its less-than-stellar fight sequences, seamlessly coordinating with her team’s actions in real time. This dynamic combat system has a pause function when you activate the ability wheel, which can be unlocked by stringing together melee combos first, creating a blend that resembles certain Dragon Age games. The team encounters vibrant outlaws and unidentified secret service agents during their journey from Pacifica on the west coast to Nova Scotia, where their covert objective is expected to reach its end.
In this game, the fights can seem rigid and the camera often struggles to keep up with Pax’s actions. After several skirmishes, this led to a conditioned reaction in me where I would equip Pax’s baseball bat for a fight, and I would sigh audibly. The concept of language as a weapon is intriguing given the game’s themes, but when it comes to third-person action mechanics, it’s one of Dustborn’s less impressive aspects. It was comforting when, following an initial combat sequence, the game offered me the choice of wanting more or less fighting in the future. I opted for less, and even then, there was still too much, but at least I knew it could have been worse.
Although I prefer avoiding intense battles, it’s clear that the game isn’t as enjoyable when you don’t participate. The animations seem dull, even during non-combat situations, which makes it challenging to relate to any of the characters. Games like Telltale’s The Walking Dead won accolades for their character models 12 years ago, but their expressions and movements in Dustborn are still quite rough, detracting from the actors’ performances, the puzzle-solving aspects, and even general exploration. Many games of this type have progressed past such outdated animations, but unfortunately, Dustborn appears stuck in the past, creating a distracting experience.
During their journeys, Dustborn often incorporates more outcasts into our group, yet towards the end, I missed having just one character that stirred my emotional connection. I took the time to familiarize myself with each member; we shared stories by the campfire every evening, and I bestowed upon them useful items I discovered along the way – for instance, a set of elegant dice for Eli who uses his days on the road to facilitate tabletop RPGs within our group.
Overall, the characters are richly developed and multi-dimensional, but the subpar animations are often overshadowed by abrupt tonal changes that transition the game from a lively, carefree journey to a heavy, politically charged narrative, constantly switching between the two. Consequently, I failed to establish an emotional bond with any of the characters on the tour bus. Due to their frequent escapes from life-threatening situations or imprisonment without repercussions, I eventually came to regard their challenges as mere distractions rather than meaningful obstacles, which left me indifferent towards their mission.
By the end, I found myself no longer puzzling over who these characters were, because they never seemed to stop talking. The game is filled with endless conversation, leaving little room for silence. They’re constantly engaging with each other, and as Pax, you often have the opportunity to join in their chat whenever you please.
From one perspective, it’s remarkable that engaging in conversations with everyone can seemingly extend the game significantly. However, this approach often clashes with the narrative premise that the group is perpetually short on time. Through these interactions, you gain insights into your companions and influence the development of your relationships with them, which directly impacts the story’s progression and each character’s ultimate fate – some may not make it through. There appears to be a sense of risk involved, though a partial replay didn’t show significant variations in the overall narrative – suggesting there might be depth. Yet, at times, I found myself longing for a moment of silence from everyone, even just a second.
The characters tend to talk excessively, which sometimes causes their dialogue to be abruptly cut off by other events or interactions within the game. This results in an awkward and unnatural flow that detracts from the overall quality of the gameplay experience. It’s like attending a lengthy speech where the speaker is constantly interrupted, similar to a Death Cab for Cutie concert I attended last summer in Portland, where the band members often seemed to be talking over each other.
In my experience with Dustborn, there were some technical problems that emerged, such as a major glitch which wiped out all my progress during gameplay on PC. Apparently, this bug has been fixed, but it didn’t seem to affect my saved data retroactively. This meant I had to restart the game after investing several hours of playtime. During my subsequent playthrough, the game crashed four times, although the auto-save function made these instances less troublesome.
In the game, the gang pretends to be a touring punk rock band as a cover for traveling through a dangerous country. However, despite the Rock Band-like mini-game for their performances, the scoring system isn’t clearly explained. While their music has punk rock spirit in its lyrics, it lacks the aggressive sound you would expect from real punk rock. I was excited about this game because of the promise of authentic punk rock songs, but unfortunately, there aren’t any to be found. Instead, they seem more like a pop act, at best a pop-punk one, and the absence of that raw, punk rock sound is disheartening. This discrepancy between expectation and reality is what makes this aspect of the game most perplexing and disappointing.
In a place as unyielding as this, the band’s fiery lyrics could potentially lead to imprisonment. However, during my gameplay, the issue was only brought up when a Justice officer subtly cautioned me about the sensitivity of such songs in America–despite the song being an allegory for progressives living longer than their political adversaries and shaping a world they can then improve. It seemed odd that I didn’t face harsher consequences given the game’s emphasis on the relentlessness of law enforcement.
1. The example showcases beautifully how things can fall apart, highlighting the significant gap between the initial plan and the final outcome. At first, Dustborn’s historical backdrop captivated me completely; I devoured every piece of information, from notes on a refrigerator to labels on jerky, and even interacted with posters or books to discover any hints of its alternative history. The comic-book aesthetics made the setting seem as fascinating as it initially sounded.
As the game progressed, especially in the latter chapters, it became overwhelmingly filled with metaphors, some of which were strong, while others felt weak. This escalation caused the narrative to veer off course to such an extent that the well-crafted early chapters seemed like they were written by different authors entirely. I could overlook this chaotic ending if I had grown attached to the characters, but in Dustborn’s case, I never did, leaving me with no emotional anchor. The moral compass of Dustborn is true north, but unfortunately, both its story and gameplay soon head south.
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2024-08-14 17:40