Dishonored (2012, Playstation 3) Review

PRIDE BEFORE THE FALL

Also for: Windows, Xbox 360

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Welcome to the city of Dunwall, capital of Gristol, within the Empire of the Isles. If you accidentally mistake it for England, no one would blame you. This is essentially a dark steampunk fantasy of the old empire, remixing landmarks and historical anxieties from British history into an oppressive hellscape. Dunwall feels like a twisted version of 17th-century London: palaces, mansions, factories, and slums packed tightly together in brick and iron. Smog hangs heavy in the air. Rats infest the streets.

The police monitor the population from towering watchposts, enforcing order with crackling fences of electricity. Aristocrats conspire behind closed doors while workers grumble in pubs. Dissent is brewing, and the law keeps its finger firmly on the trigger. The city is split in two by the Wrenhaven River—best admired from a distance, since the fish have a nasty habit of biting anything that dangles too close. Looming above it all are massive ships hauling whale oil, rats, and a deadly affliction known as the Rat Plague. Quarantined buildings rot from within, and bodies are stacked in open dumps.

Forgive me if this review lingers on Dishonored’s world design, but it belongs among the upper echelon of immersive game universes. Shaped by art director Victor Antonov—who also helped define the visual identity of Half-Life 2—Dunwall feels like a real place with a long, proud history now collapsing under its own weight. It stands alongside BioShock’s Rapture and Dark Souls’ Anor Londo as an artificial location you should experience at least once, regardless of your interest in games.

It’s the perfect stage for a Shakespearean tale of betrayal and revenge, told through the eyes of an assassin. You step into the boots of Corvo Attano, Lord Protector to the Empress and her daughter—at least for a moment. That title won’t last. “Jack the Ripper” might be more appropriate.

After being framed for regicide, Corvo is imprisoned and tortured before escaping through the city’s sewers. Looking down from the pipes, you witness rat swarms devouring pursuing guards in a scripted sequence that doubles as a lesson: these plague carriers are both a threat and a weapon. It’s a perfect example of how Dishonored embeds narrative detail directly into gameplay systems.

Like fellow immersive sims such as Deus Ex and Thief, Arkane Studios’ Dishonored constructs its world in deliberate symbiosis with its mechanics. Progress comes from observation and exploration—finding alternate routes, hidden tools, and environmental shortcuts. In the process, you absorb the city’s culture. You overhear conversations, read correspondence, and learn enemy routines. Everything feeds into the same cohesive whole.

The game carefully introduces Corvo’s growing arsenal, and discovering the extent of his abilities is almost intoxicating. Alongside conventional tools—a blade, a pistol, a crossbow—you encounter the enigmatic The Outsider, who grants you supernatural powers. One allows you to blink instantly through space, appearing behind enemies to incapacitate or kill them. To those hunting you, Corvo becomes something closer to a myth than a man.

In essence, you can play Corvo as two different kinds of avenger: V from V for Vendetta, or Batman. Merciless or restrained. Lethal or merciful. After each mission, the game evaluates your actions on a low-to-high chaos scale. While not a novel concept, I appreciate how this system shapes moment-to-moment play and ability development rather than being reduced to a handful of narrative choices.

Though not without flaws, Dishonored consistently absorbs me through its atmosphere and tension. I move through shadows, constantly alert, scanning for alternate paths and useful information. I skim documents for leverage against my targets. A guard catches me off-balance; I drop him with a sleep dart, slow time with a power, and vanish before the alarm spreads. The tension is relentless. More importantly, I feel ownership over my playthrough. This is my story.

Open-ended games often stumble in certain areas, but Dishonored largely avoids that fate. Even its first-person melee combat—hardly revolutionary—is satisfying, particularly thanks to its parry and counter mechanics. Every encounter becomes a puzzle, with multiple viable solutions. My only real complaint is the cost of excess violence. Since killing increases chaos and darkens the world, combat is clearly intended as a last resort—unless you’re deliberately courting a grim ending.

Perhaps that price is worth paying. In Dishonored, story and mechanics are inseparable. It doesn’t pad its runtime with meaningless side quests. It’s straight to the point: eliminate or disgrace your target, loot their secrets, uncover a prisoner’s location, and move on. Apart from brief, well-placed moments of downtime, the game never overstays its welcome. Instead, it invites replay. Even on my first run, I could see multiple alternative approaches—not through quest markers, but through environmental design alone—and I’m eager to return and explore the paths I ignored.

As technological trends leave many older games behind, Dishonored endures thanks to its cohesive world and striking visual identity. It has become one of my most cherished experiences this year—eight years after its original release. It’s a shame I ignored it for so long. Perhaps the bland cover art put me off. But, to paraphrase Morrissey: the more you ignore it, the closer it gets. And ignoring Corvo Attano is a mistake that comes at a steep price.

[Screenshots from MobyGames: www.mobygames.com]