NO HOPE FOR THE LEFT
Also for: Playstation 4, Playstation 5, Xbox One, Xbox Series
One question lingered in my head during my playthrough of
Red Thread Games' narrative adventure Dustborn: Is this
sincere or parody? I suppose the answer doesn't matter, because the outcome is
the same. Intentional or not, Dustborn is unapologetically pathetic in its
attempts to depict the political left. We're portrayed as whining, immature, dysfunctional, stupid,
hyper-sensitive, manipulative and exclusive. Our redeeming feature is our
super powers; our voices, which we can use to get our will across. We can
bully, trigger, cancel, push, hoax and more.
I'm serious. These are actual powers that Pax (she/her), the protagonist, can
utilize in dialogue and combat. She gets to use them a lot, as she spearheads
a band of misfits through an alternate, fascist America. They're
fugitives after a successful heist in their homeland of Pacifica (previously
known as California), and are fronting as a touring band trying to get to Nova
Scotia, Canada. Their stolen cargo is a small flash drive in the shape of a
small plushy, containing government secrets.
In this version of America, JFK survived the assassination attempt and became
somewhat paranoid. He established Justice, a new branch of the police with the
license to use oppression as a tool in crime-fighting. What sounds like a neat story setup fails spectacularly because of the disastrous character gallery,
cringeworthy dialogue, super-janky gameplay and hodge-podge storytelling that
goes nowhere. It's all depicted in a comic book artstyle with celshaded
characters and colorful surroundings. While I have to
admit it's not a bad look, the resulting comic book story must be the worst
I've ever "read".
It's got annoying, edgy storytelling with textboxes that flash by before
you've had time to read them. It skips back and forth, starting off in the
middle of an escape, only to give you the preceding events afterwards, followed by the prologue in comic book form. I hate it. It's a faux-clever way of
telling stories that was popularized by Neil Druckmann in
The Last of Us Part II. The story doesn't evolve naturally, and there's no other obvious reason for its haphazard progression than to fabricate some non-functional mystery or excitement by leaving stuff out. How about starting with the escape, tell it linearly from
there, and reveal the backstory through character interactions throughout the
game?
Initially, your touring band consist of the edgy Pax, the blonde snob Noam
(they/them), the neurotic and overweight muslim Sai (she/her) and the Mexican Theo
(he/him), but you'll find many more along the way. They're a super-duper-mega
diverse bunch, consisting of every type of minority you can think of. Except they
don't, because no-one's an albino, no-one's an Eskimo, no-one's Native American, no-one's ginger, no-one's explicitly gay and
no-one's got chronic kidney disease.
Their common denominator is that they're "anomals" - a fancy way of saying
"freaks" - with their own unique superpowers. Noam can gaslight people, Sai
can alter her body with her voice and Theo... can't do anything, he's just a
sympathizer. A later addition, that I won't spoil, can heal people by reciting
poetry. No, I'm not making it up.
Together, you're the Dustborn, a punk-rock group (plus entourage) with a
political agenda. It doesn't make any sense, because you're fugitives trying
to lay low whilst transporting political secrets to Canada. Screaming anti-fascist
lyrics in a fascist state isn't the smartest way to remain anonymous, but overall there's a lack of urgency and danger about their trip. You
actually get to perform the concerts yourself. Trying to time the
button-presses gets hard while you're cry-laughing at the travesty that are
the lyrics ("We're the Dustborn / this bug is airborne / we're the new porn /
our kind is newborn").
Mostly, the game is story exploration and dialogue, as you must manipulate,
goad, trigger, cancel or scare your way across the nation. Every chapter takes
place in one or more location where you often pick up signs of a fellow
anomal that you must find and recruit. Your tour bus soon starts getting cramped. Wherever you go, you can also pick up "echoes"; harmful voices lingering in the air or inside people's minds. Am I to understand from this metaphor that us normies are all hypnotized? Brainwashed? That we can't think for ourselves? It's quite frankly insulting.
But if these anomals are so smart, why's their dialogue so stupid? Characters well into their thirties talk like
self-obsessed teenagers, hiding behind buzzwords and blurting out their juvenile insecurities. When they don't boast about their abnormalities, they keep confronting you about things that happened before the game even started. They argue all the time and repeat the same topics incessantly
for every insipid reason in the book. If there's something I hate, it's when
people refuse to take responsibility, only to complain when you start making
decisions. The companions in Dustborn do that all the time. Even Pax does it
when Theo, the reluctant leader, tries to take charge.
As Pax, you can manipulate most of your crew down a certain branch of their
personality. Should Theo become more like a boss or a friend? Do you want Noam
as a romantic partner or should they leave the country? Should Sai use her
brains of feelings? I hated the characters so much - the horrible,
manipulative Pax included - that I decided to strive for the worst ending for
every single one. I wanted to see them unhappy. It succeeded but didn't turn into the tragedy I was hoping for.
The only times the group is able to come together is in the face of adversity.
At least once every chapter you get embroiled in physical altercation. This
mechanic might be sorriest, most janky excuse I've seen for combat. First off, you cannot die so what's the point? If your health drops to zero, someone picks you up and the fight continues from where you left off. As Pax,
you strike the crooks - bikers, cops, robots - with a metal bat. You can also use your Vox (voice commands) to stun them, push them aside, charm them and more.
The combat animations are floaty - they're all hand-made rather than motion
captured - and the sound design is crap, making it a totally uninvolving
spectacle devoid of any feedback. In one fight, I got smacked into a wall and
got stuck there. The same happened to enemies. It's such a quintessential shitshow that you're allowed to skip it, and I recommend doing so. As a bonus,
that also nullifies the necessity of the bat upgrade tree, including looking for
materials, which saves you quite some time.
Any opportunity to speed up the journey, you should take. The dialogue alters
between boring and annoying. I skipped out of essential conversations as soon as possible. When the crew gathered around the campfire, I said "No, thanks"
and went to sleep. Whenever I decided to endure a lengthy conversation, I caught myself groaning or yelling "Why do I need to know this?" as
characters talked about sausages as sexual innuendo, or ruminated on their own
vitiligo, or argued about how the robot chauffeur should be gendered. I fell
asleep mid-conversation so many times.
I was gobsmacked to see that Dustborn's writing team was led by Ragnar Tornquist, the Norwegian behind such classics as The Longest Journey and Dreamfall, two games I remember very fondly. This one I hated with increased passion for every passing hour.
I hated the way you have to hold the button to interact with anything. I hated the childish cadence of some of the voice acting. I hated Pax's drowsiness. I hated the slow movement. I hated the quirky mini-games. I hated the music. I hated the scant puzzles that all revolved around opening doors. I hated what little there was of a story. As I reached the ending, after some 22 agonizing hours, I found myself in a state of depression about the state of the political left. However well-meaning Ragnar Tornquist thought he was, he failed spectacularly. I'd advice him to never create something like this again. Write what you know, dude.
It's all about identity politics; a warped, individualized idea of "the left",
hyper-focused on the things that sets us apart rather than the things that unite
us. From an outside perspective, nothing about it seems appealing. It's about pandering to fellow members, whilst antagonizing everyone
else. I hate the notion that the left is an ideology exclusively for misfits (and
Theo) rather than the working man. They fail to realize that your identity is only
important to yourself and your self-esteem. No-one else is interested.
Representation, when done poorly, can be harmful. I might now avoid people like this, if they exist, forever.
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