When Games Get Real: Disco Elysium, Digital Empires, and the Unplayable Truths of War (Plus, Gridiron Scorigami!)
AI Gaming News Author · Rock Paper Shotgun ·
This week, Jeff dives into thought-provoking gaming discussions: from *Disco Elysium*'s poignant take on identity to the subtle, pervasive cultural monopoly of IP giants like Disney and Nintendo. He also explores the critical conversations around war representation in video games and unearths the gloriously chaotic history of 'Scorigami' in American Football.
Alright, mateys, pull up a digital chair. I’ve been rummaging through the week's more intriguing gaming commentary, and let me tell ya, it’s been a proper mind-bender. Less like accidentally casting a fireball at your own feet, more like a meticulously crafted portal opening to some genuinely thought-provoking places. And trust me, after hearing someone try to pronounce 'Towcester' as 'toaster' one too many times (bless their American heart, but bloody hell), I needed a good distraction.
First up, something that genuinely resonated, even with my perpetually scrambled brain. Ashley Schofield, over at Unwinnable, penned a rather brilliant piece diving into *Disco Elysium* from the perspective of a trans person reshaping their identity. Now, anyone who’s spent time in Martinaise knows that game is a sprawling, existential crisis wrapped in a detective story, and honestly, it’s one of those rare beasts that sticks with you long after the credits roll – despite all the… *happenings* surrounding its development. Schofield’s insights? Spot on.
They nail how Harrier Du Bois, our amnesiac cop, embodies that raw, gut-wrenching feeling of being fundamentally 'wrong,' of desperately seeking someone to just *understand* who you are, or even *who you were*. "You’re not crazy. You’re just different. You have a vast soul." — that line from the article really hits home, doesn't it? It’s not just a character arc; it’s a reflection of a real, painful, and deeply important struggle many trans folks face, especially with all the recent, frankly upsetting, noise about basic human rights. *Disco Elysium*, in its own bizarre way, becomes a conduit for empathy, a mirror reflecting the search for self-acceptance and validation. It’s a testament to how truly innovative storytelling in games can transcend mere entertainment and offer profound resonance. Definitely not your average RPG fare, and that’s why we still love it.
Moving on, we stumble headfirst into the belly of the beast: cultural dominance. And who better to discuss it than Liz Ryerson and Vicky Osterweil, as they chewed the fat about Osterweil's book on Disney's world-conquering 'modus operandi,' a conversation that Niwde (a mysterious digital benefactor, it seems) kindly flagged for my attention. Now, *this* is where my gently skeptical, irreverent side starts to twitch. Osterweil argues that giants like Disney and Nintendo achieve their near-monopoly by just being 'slightly better' and absolutely nailing the aesthetics – all cute, all nostalgic. You know, that warm, fuzzy feeling that makes you want to buy *another* Pikachu plushie or rewatch *The Lion King* for the gazillionth time. They’re masters of IP management, spinning out endless sequels, remakes, and theme parks (hello, Mattel's Arizona park post-Barbie boom!).
But here’s the kicker, and it’s a truly unsettling one: this nostalgic IP management now has a total chokehold on culture. Every competitor, she reckons, is forced to play by the Disney rulebook. Think about it. How many times have you seen a game, a movie, a show, desperately trying to tap into that childhood memory, that 'safe' aesthetic, rather than genuinely innovating? It’s a clever observation, this idea that we’re living in a cultural loop of rehashed comfort, where true originality struggles to find footing against the colossal marketing machines of established IPs. It makes you wonder: are we celebrating genuine creativity, or just expertly manufactured nostalgia? A bit of both, probably, but the implications for the future of new ideas are… vast.
Next up, something decidedly less 'cute' but equally vital: Matteo Lupetti, writing for The Bunker, explores the frankly complex, often contradictory, relationship between video games and war. This one’s a heavy hitter, delving into machinima – those brilliant films made *within* games – that critique how war is presented in our digital playgrounds. He highlights pieces like Jon Griggs' *Deviation* (shot in *Counter-Strike*), where a virtual soldier becomes painfully aware of his futile cycle of deaths and resurrections but can't convince his comrades to desert. Or Total Refusal’s *How to Disappear – Deserting Battlefield*, which uses *Battlefield 5* to ponder the glaring absence of desertion and disobedience in military games.
The core argument here? "Desertion cannot be played." And perhaps, even more profoundly, "war cannot be played." Think about it. A game is, by definition, voluntary. Players *choose* to engage. But for the vast majority of people caught in real-world conflicts, there’s nothing voluntary about it. Our war games, for all their hyper-realism and tactical depth, often struggle (or simply choose not) to represent the true horrors, the moral ambiguities, the forced participation, and the irreversible consequences. They sanitize, they gamify. Lupetti’s piece, and the machinima he references, peel back that veneer, forcing us to ask uncomfortable questions about what we’re actually 'playing' and what we’re choosing to ignore. It’s a bloody good look at the 'why' behind the pixels, not just the 'what' of the gameplay.
Now, for a bit of unexpected, delightful chaos, something that truly scratches my 'what happens if…' itch. Jon Bois and Alex Rubenstein of Secret Base fame, delving into the wild history of American Football scores. They’ve dubbed the practice of spotting previously unachieved final scores 'Scorigami.' Seriously, how brilliant is that? It’s the kind of deep-dive, community-driven exploration of a system that makes you fall in love with quirky corners of the world.
But the real gem? The tale of the Moline Universal Tractors. Picture this: October 1920. The Chicago Cardinals (yes, *those* Cardinals) host a team named after a tractor manufacturer. Why? Because the company promised sponsorship. What they *actually* meant was the fellas at the plant would pass a coffee can around, which, surprise surprise, yielded precisely zero donations. The team tried to change its name – Moline Athletics – but it never stuck. So, for all eternity, the Moline Universal Tractor Company gets free advertising in the NFL record books. It's a glorious, absurd piece of history, a testament to optimistic chaos and the beautifully weird ways things play out. It’s not just about sport; it’s about human endeavour, failed promises, and the indelible marks we leave, sometimes completely by accident.
And to wrap up this week's journey through the digital ether, a quick nod to Rewinder's Lexi Luddy's amusing musings on Japanese purchases (because who doesn't love a good travel haul story?) and, of course, the absolute banger that is the *Hades 2* soundtrack. Because sometimes, after all that thinking, you just need some proper tunes to bang your head to.
So there you have it. A week of gaming insights that went from the deeply personal to the culturally monolithic, from the unplayable truths of war to the utterly bonkers history of American Football. Makes you wonder what reality-bending rabbit holes we’ll tumble into next week, eh?
Tags: Gaming Culture, RPG, Industry Analysis, Game Design, Narrative
Original article: Rock Paper Shotgun