Bioshock: Infinite, Choice And The State Of Storytelling In Games

Control becomes a membrane separating two different states of existence, and like Booker, your brain might scramble itself ginning up a logic to justify what you’re witnessing. In my mind, most games use gameplay as “interpretive presentation,” providing a rough, interactive take on the connective tissue between plot points. No, my party in Final Fantasy isn’t just standing idly while they take turns whacking a monster over the head, I’m just filling in bits of the adventure that aren’t dramatically relevant with gameplay. This becomes harder to rationalize the more engaging the storytelling is, though. A silly, or poorly told story can make the cutscenes appear as of a piece with the actions of the player, but the more realistic and human the dramatics try to be, the louder the dissonance becomes if the gameplay is too “gamey.”

Somewhat fittingly, Bioshock: Infinite maintains its predecessor’s ludonarrative dissonance. The game’s primary form of interaction, shooting, undermines our impression of Booker, who’s presented as having been deeply traumatized by his involvement in the Wounded Knee Massacre. This Booker doesn’t jibe with the one we spend most of the game inhabiting, as the game is designed such that completing it requires a kill count in the hundreds. There’s a moment when the inconsistency is recognized: Elizabeth is rightfully horrified by Booker after he shoots up a ticket station to protect her, but she comes over to his way of doing things within minutes. The game doesn’t so much address the elephant in the room, as point it out, then decide to ignore it. The excuse of “self-defense” gets harder to buy as the game progresses. A low-key moment like Elizabeth singing to calm a frightened street rat is comically undercut when you remember that 30 seconds ago, Booker had to kill a half-dozen shanty town-dwellers, because he looted the wrong cash register, and triggered the hostile state of the previously benign NPCs.

The cutscenes tell you that the violent actions committed by the characters have weight, and damage them deeply (Elizabeth killing Fitzroy, for instance, has appropriate gravitas), but when the core gameplay comes down to shooting, electrocuting, and eviscerating everything that stands in your way, the message gets muddled. In the case of something like, say, Metal Gear: Solid, gameplay is designed to allow the player pacifist options that are consistent with the characterization of Solid Snake, who’s presented as a master of stealth first, and firearms second. Infinite offers no such alternatives, As it turns out, the player’s true purpose is to take responsibility for the more widespread, forgotten violence that “game” Booker commits, so that “story” Booker can still act in the cutscenes like he’s got a shred of decency.

The writing makes Bioshock: Infinite appear forward thinking and progressive, but many of the mechanics it’s built around are either ancient, or inherently flawed as means of telling a story. From a design perspective, Irrational deserves massive praise for structuring a game around near-constant partnership with an A.I., and the whole thing not turning out to be a gigantic fustercluck. Elizabeth is an extremely valuable partner in combat, often knowing the exact moment when tossing the player a health pack, or salt vial, is the difference between life, and the minor inconveniences of death. Her insights into Columbia help flesh out the world, and there’s an interesting dynamic that develops by having two leads that are both fish out of water, but from different ponds.

Yet, her sustained presence will often break the immersion within moments of her having patched it back up. Irrational hasn’t so much fixed the escort mission as ignored its biggest problem, by making Elizabeth invulnerable, and invisible to enemies during combat. When Comstock’s finest soldiers don’t bat an eye about firing rockets within inches of Columbia’s heir apparent, you could be misled into thinking the game’s big twist will involve Elizabeth being the Bruce Willis to Booker’s Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense. As exposition-delivery, Elizabeth’s reactions to set landmarks along the game’s mostly linear path, while frequent and expertly choreographed, don’t number enough to make up for the dead air that passes between “gameplay” Booker and Elizabeth for long stretches. Unless safely within the controlled confines of the cutscenes, Elizabeth isn’t a character: she’s a cash machine, a get of jail free card, or a tour guide, depending on what the gameplay situation calls for.

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