EVERGOOD BUT NOT GREAT
I started this third or fourth replay of Revolution Software’s classic point-and-click adventure Beneath a Steel Sky to assess its worth as a possible Hall of Fame entry. Upon release, it shook my world with its dystopian setting: a totalitarian metropolis built around a vertically inverted class hierarchy.
In this universe, the wealthy elite live on the clean ground level, while the poor are forced to live and work on the higher planes, closer to the polluted skies above. Such explicit class awareness was rare in games at the time. In 1994, the setting and story felt serious—almost revolutionary—for video game storytelling.
But that qualifier is hard to ignore: at the time. Replaying Beneath a Steel Sky today is a reminder that it is not nearly as serious as it once felt. In hindsight, it has more in common with Monkey Island 2: LeChuck’s Revenge than with any dystopian drama—full of shits ’n giggles and broad satire. Back then, it was an exemplary point-and-click adventure, and its story stood shoulder to shoulder with the best games had to offer.
That, however, no longer means very much. Few games in the early 1990s were story-driven at all, and even fewer told compelling stories. Today, Beneath a Steel Sky qualifies as an evergood game—one that falls short of being evergreat. It broke little new ground, and while its setting and themes are serious, the characters, dialogue, and soundtrack are not. They lean heavily into lighthearted comedy and satire, creating a persistent tonal dissonance. It feels as though Revolution Software never quite committed to a direction, instead using the setting’s political potential as window dressing to appeal to a broader audience.
The game is set in an unspecified future. Your alter ego, Robert Foster, is apprehended by security forces from Union City, a sprawling industrial metropolis of factories, chimneys, and skyways. They forcibly return him to the city he left as an infant, after growing up in the surrounding wasteland.
En route, the helicopter malfunctions and crash-lands on one of the city’s elevated walkways. Robert survives, escapes the guards, and hides in a nearby factory. To return home, he must work his way down through the city toward ground level, evading constant surveillance and security patrols.
That is the backstory I grew up with, having first played the game on the Amiga in 1994. It wasn’t until I later played the DOS CD-ROM talkie version—the one reviewed here—that I became aware of the accompanying comic by Dave Gibbons of Watchmen fame. A digitized version of the comic serves as the game’s opening narration, expanding on Robert’s mysterious origins in the wasteland region known as “The Gap.”
Even so, I may actually prefer the Amiga version’s lack of spoken dialogue and in-game music. The often upbeat soundtrack undermines the oppressive atmosphere, squandering much of the setting’s potential, while the stereotypical voice acting pushes the game toward sitcom territory.
The Monkey Island games handled comedy more gracefully, preserving atmosphere without sacrificing humor. While voices and music can be disabled here, the music inconveniently resumes whenever you enter a new area.
That said, I don’t want to sound overly negative. Beneath a Steel Sky introduced several meaningful refinements to the genre, particularly in its interface, without significantly reducing the challenge. It balances inventory puzzles, timing puzzles, dialogue-based investigation, and environmental exploration. The streamlined two-button interface eliminates verb lists entirely: left-click to inspect, right-click to interact.
You’re also accompanied by a robotic sidekick named Joey—essentially a sentient chip that can be inserted into different robotic shells as needed. This mechanic is integral to several puzzles, and it’s genuinely amusing to see Joey’s personality shift dramatically depending on his physical form. While the game’s comedy often clashes with its themes, the banter between Robert and Joey is frequently sharp and funny, especially Joey’s commentary on the absurdities of Union City.
Gradually—at a pace determined by your progress—you descend through the city, uncovering its deeper problems. The story contains a few clever twists, and the dialogue is concise and purposeful. It often embeds hints within humor, without signposting them too obviously. However, lines are never repeated, so inattentive players may occasionally feel lost.
The puzzles are mostly logical, and the streamlined interface minimizes trial and error. The inventory remains lean, rarely cluttered with meaningless items, and the game keeps the number of accessible locations manageable. Even when stuck, you’re rarely far from the solution.
There are drawbacks. Pixel-hunting rears its annoying head, most notably in a puzzle involving a tiny piece of explosive putty hidden among nearly identical grey pixels. You don’t even know you need it until after the fact. It’s poorly signposted and buried in a room you only access after solving a complex multi-step puzzle, believing that room will hold no more of them.
The three brief sequences set in LINC-space—a virtual reality environment—are also confusing on a first playthrough. Their internal logic is poorly explained, and the game offers little guidance. Fortunately, these sections are short, sparsely interactive, and mechanically consistent with the rest of the game.
Death is technically possible, but rare. You can save manually at any time, and dying usually requires deliberate recklessness—such as opening a nuclear reactor door unprotected or breaking into a guarded security office. A sudden death near the end is the lone exception. Crucially, the game never allows you to lock yourself into an unwinnable state, a frequent frustration in contemporary Sierra adventures, above all. I briefly worried after losing several inventory items, but they turned out to be nonessential red herrings.
Beneath a Steel Sky uses Revolution Software’s Virtual Theater system, first seen in Lure of the Temptress, allowing NPCs to move around according to schedules. While this created a sense of a living world in the earlier game, it is barely noticeable here; few characters move at all, and dynamic interactions are scarce.
Visually, the pixel art still frames the story effectively. Backgrounds are expressive without being cluttered, and hotspots are generally readable thanks to smart use of contrast and irregular patterns. Still, a few crucial items might elude even the most watchful eye. While the game’s visuals were widely praised in 1994, their appeal today is largely nostalgic. If you were there at the time, it still looks charming. If not, perhaps less so.
The world itself remains engaging in its satirical depiction of services reserved exclusively for the elite: travel agencies, insurance offices, cosmetic surgery clinics with years-long waiting lists. A nightclub so exclusive it’s nearly empty. A courtroom run like a televised game show. An abandoned cathedral guarded against entry.
Beneath a Steel Sky remains entertaining and rightly earns its cult classic status. Yet its core concept had the potential to become something more timeless—perhaps even groundbreaking—had it committed to telling a genuinely dramatic story within its well-defined setting. That may have been a financial risk in 1994, when players gravitated toward comedic adventures from LucasArts and Sierra. Still, it’s hard not to lament that Revolution Software never took that chance.
Comedy and drama are not mutually exclusive. In fact, humor can make serious stories more relatable. But here, comedy permeates nearly every narrative beat, feeling less like balance and more like avoidance. As much as it pains me to admit it, Beneath a Steel Sky, despite all its strengths, does not earn a place in my personal Hall of Fame. It’s a very good game—but not a great one.
Comments
Post a Comment