Hades and the Beauty of Attempt (Patreon)

“Just do the best you can. And, clearly, I’ve work to do as well.

We have a lot of it ahead of us, I’d say. So, shall we get started, then?”

It feels trite to call good video games “miracles” because, you know, they are not products of the heavens. They are products of a very human effort; one that is full of all those proverbial blood, sweat, and tears. But the reason the “miracle” expression still feels is so apt is because making games is a chaotic endeavor that often leads to inherently flawed results. Even the most polished efforts will have bugs, UI management issues, and potential for immense, unpredictable user error. Thus, getting good, nay, great results from game design can feel like an impossible task. So many disparate elements need to come together and unify into a singular experience, let alone a meaningful one…

And often it doesn’t get close.

Look no further than the recent string of debacles, including Cyberpunk 2077. I tend to be more forgiving than a lot of game consumers, but there is no denying that this is a deeply broken effort. Going in, I felt like CD PROJEKT RED was that great game studio that earned my trust time and time again, what with The Witcher III and their commitment to giving you outrageous bang for your buck. But in trying to build something from ground up, it seems they ignored all the lessons they learned, coasted on ego, and instead opted for the kind of “different” that just turns out to be regressive (I’m still mulling over a big piece on it). So many systems and aspects completely failed to come together into a cohesive experience. But they are far from alone.

Recently I booted up Just Cause 4 because that series is one of my favorite fun gaming loop “anxiety-calmers” to listen to podcasts with, but holy crud it’s a stunning travesty. It’s all these little changes that made for a completely ungraceful experience and completely took the fun out of the game. And this was the ultimate “fun sandbox” series where you tool around with a roaming, invincible feeling. Now that feeling was gone. It’s like they took some errant comment about someone saying the game was “too easy” and ending up making it so you are constantly getting knocked around like a rag doll and always out of ammunition. It is the ultimate case of “fixing” something that wasn’t broken. And often the center of these kinds of failures is not just the usual crisis of time and resources, but the crisis of errant choice. Because so many games try to be everything - and in that process they have a deep misunderstanding of what they are, what they want, and how they’re trying to bring their systems together in a way that feels like a coherent experience.

At the center of it is a series of questions: what is the core mechanic of the game? As in, regardless of mini-aspects, what is the thing that the player is going to spend most of their time doing? Is that thing fun? Does it feel good? What is the overall feeling of playing the game? What is motivating them to keep going? What happens when they fail? Do they like coming back to this experience and world again and again? Why? And perhaps most importantly, how does it all come together into a meaningful experience and does the player feel the right emotions about that?

I look at those recent failures like Cyberpunk 2077 and Just Cause 4 and see no good answers to those questions (or least competing ones). But perhaps it’s easier to understand this disconnect of purpose when talking about the landscape of AAA games, which with their too many cooks in the kitchen, can often ramble in in constant directions (there are, of course, incredible bright spots). Perhaps the world of Independent games allows for more control. You have fewer resources, yes, but you don’t have to try and do “everything” in the AAA experience. Thus, you can focus on what matters. And the player can, too. Meaning you can build a small farm for yourself in Stardew Valley and feel like you’ve genuinely transported to another life. You can feel the intense pressure and dire consequences in Papers Please. You can explore your old house, but really explore the devastating emotional depths of your family in Gone Home. Heck, you can even enjoy being a lil dickhead Goose and enjoy a quaint village if you like! At the center of all these efforts is understanding of cohesion: the mechanics, the feelings, and the meanings of the game all coming together into sharp relief. They are miracles of purpose.

And Hades may be the best of them.

* * *

When you look at the core mechanics and approach of the game, Supergiant Game’s Hades has a deceptively simple approach. Set in the world of greek myth, you are Zagreus, the prince of hell and you are fed up with your damn dad. Thus, you want to escape hell and go to the surface (for reasons that will become increasingly clear). But you have to fight through several levels of hell, with ever mutating variations of little dungeons along the way. And when you die? Your god-like soul goes back to the deepest layer of hell where you started. And you have to try again.

Now, this sounds like it could be repetitive and frustrating, no? I’ll be honest in that I’ve actually had some problems getting into a lot rogue-likes before. Because they’d feel a bit too punishing. Or the simplicity of the combat would feel too simple. Or the orchestration of the metroid-vania elements would feel too boxed in or require a skill set I just didn’t have in me. Perhaps I was too conditioned by the glad handing of modern gaming? Well, whatever the reason, it turns out the way to get me was to 1) make these basic mechanics so fun and rewarding and 2) even make death and the “core loop” feel productive.

Granted, your first attempts in Hades make you feel a bit like a wet baby in the grass. But still, it at least feels fun. You slide around these areas in this fluid, graceful movement, but come to your end relatively quickly. But as soon as you realize you are going to die a few times and that’s okay, it immediately takes the pressure off. Better yet, I suddenly could use those little treats I picked up along the way to build my character better. The leveling up not only feels nice, but feels so low pressure. Heck, dying and returning to the river feels like a chance to relax after the tension of fighting, as you’re back into the warm embrace of some of the characters you are starting to like (and who are rooting for you!). Sometimes I even looked forward to dying and buying a new ability in the mirror. Soon you start finding the weapons you like and a play style that works. Soon the gliding about and fighting feels so natural. Soon you see the architecture of the fights and learn all the bad guys move sets (and the hitboxes are great so it never feels cheap). Essentially, you start “learning the game” in that great Dark Souls-y way, but also in a way that feels far less punishing. And all the while it tracks your attempts.

That word “attempt” in gaming is so beautiful, really. When you attempt you “make an effort to achieve or complete (something, typically a difficult task or action).” And attempt has both never felt both so rewarding or more like a feeling of constant discovery. Where the Souls games are often about the mastery of perfect little details and reading behaviors, Hades is much more about teaching you ad-lib skills. The randomization of bad guys means you have to constantly adapt. The randomization of boons means endless permutations and combos that mess with your timing by a few seconds. It doesn’t sound like much, but it makes this incredible difference in the rhythm of how you play. And when you add in the six different weapons and all their various aspect permutations? The ones that allow you to use range or brawling or slicing or thrusting mechanics to your heart's content?

Well, that means there isn’t a single attempt that is like any other. It’s remarkable, honestly. And it results in an experience where you feel like you're learning and growing and yet engaging in something utterly fresh. Even with the late game runs that still result in some frustrating losses, it never feels TOO frustrating. Which means it is one of the most fun gaming loops I’ve ever come across. Even after nearly 100 runs, it’s still more compelling than when it started (case in point: I’ve stopped like three times while writing this section to replay). In one way, this would all be enough for distinction because I’d just love to celebrate a game where the core mechanics feel so amazing and that would be that.

But the story of the game makes you care so much more…

* * *

When it comes to the world of Hades, it’s hard to know what to talk about first. For one, the game is GORGEOUS. It has this elegant, funky, and svelte art style that is so alive with characterization. Sure, no one’s fully animated in dialogue, but you get these little variations of posture that make them feel so alive. Better yet, that art style translates to fluid gameplay so seamlessly. And yes, as much of the internet will tell you, everyone is SUPER HOT (but in this kind of pansexual inclusive way that is part of the reason it’s speaking to so many people?). Even then, it feels so inadequate to say “the great art style feels on point because the voice acting and writing is also great!”

It’s better than great. In fact, it makes good on an arena of storytelling that so many falter on and that would be the constant “world building interactions.” Because so much of Hades is about these little momentary interactions you have as you’re going about your many attempts. But the interactions themselves are so light and engaging. They’re funny and character-revealing. They’re all brought to life with such nuance and engaging modern inflection. It almost feels insulting to single out people in this glorious ensemble effort, but how can I not talk about Darren Korb’s introspective insolence as Zag? Or Avalon Penrose’s sullen smoky-eye sadism with Meg? Or Courtney Viney’s natural nervousness as Dusa? And how the hell can I not Logan Cunningham’s litany of incredible characters that range from brash to bored to belabored to braggadocious? They ALL belong in the pantheon of great efforts, as does everyone in the game.

And it is so much about the effort that went into it. For what might be the most jaw-dropping stat of the game’s creation is the 21,020 lines of dialogue recorded. It adds up into something special because characters react so specifically to what you did in your last run. They talk about your choices. They gossip about your love life. It makes this relatively “simple” game feel so lived in and real. And it all becomes a part of how much you come to care about each and every single person you interact with... Which is only the exact point of the game.

Because Hades, unsurprisingly, is a game about escaping a proverbial hell.

Sure, it’s not the christian version, but the underworld of Ancient Greece. But its vision of hell is one many may be able to relate to: a familial world of silence, solemn walls, disconnect, and characters quietly punishing themselves for reasons that are deeply unsaid. The game is ultimately about breaking down those walls. Not just the aesthetic ways where you brighten and renovate and make it feel like a place that’s full of life, but the way you also close the gaps in distance between so many characters. And most importantly, break down the walls of your family.

But it’s not easy. You’re going to get shot down a lot, just as you constantly get shot down in your escape attempts. But like your evolution with the gameplay, you can FEEL the characters change. Sometimes they’re becoming more tightly wound. Sometimes they’re loosening up and revealing and accepting generosity. Like the gameplay itself, the beauty is in your attempt to make that change. And slowly and surely, you begin to break down walls of people and come to the architecture not only of your life, but your trauma.

I’ll admit, there was a part of me that was worried at first, then relieved by the game’s ultimate take on toxicity and family [thematic / regular spoilers for the rest of paragraph]. My worry was that the game was going to make it seem like it is your tireless job to heal broken people. You know? That tired trope of common narratives where you are conditioned to take care of unstable people and use your kindness to real their good self? Yeah, that’s thankfully not this. In fact, you’re not trying to “fix” these people at all. If anything, you are holding true to the therapeutic notion that often, “removing yourself from a toxic situation is an act of self-care.” And what I love about the Zagreus's story is that it is his very motions of independence and selfhood that inspire said reflection. And it’s not as though Zagreus is some paragon who is changing the world through righteousness. In his own right, he is bitter and angsty and depressed and coming through the realization of his own trauma to try and heal his own wounded self. But by staying true to what he knows is right, by bringing old truths to light, and by learning to apologize and open himself up to new hopes of connection, he breaks down his own walls, and inspires others to do the same. Thus, these people can finally allow themselves to begin healing. Ultimately, there is such utter power in hearing the simple, but understanding words of, “Thus I apologize to you, my son. i have no excuses. And I ask no forgiveness.” It’s a big moment that taps into the idea that “you’re not ready to apologize unless you’re ready not to be forgiven.” And there such utter power to this, but also so many other smaller moments. Whether it is finally hearing Tisiphone actually say something like “Zagreus.” Or hearing a duet between two lost singers and realizing the fact I got this far into the essay without mentioning the music is a damn crime. Or exploring the depths of Dusa’s friendship and the sensitivity of her approach to relationships. Or even the eventual sense of equality and camaraderie you come to have with Meg. These moments mean so much not just because of how artfully they are constructed in the moment, but precisely because of how many attempts it took to finally get there.

And I’m still finding these moments.

Sure, I’ve now “beaten” the game and got to the credits. But not only is it sort of impossible to beat (because it’s ingeniously designed to keep on challenging you in actual character-motivated ways), it’s more that it’s a world that I just want to keep living in, along with characters I keep wanting to learn more about. In short, it is a proverbial hell turned into a heaven. And when I think back on how I got there, I think about the words that opened this essay, the same words that come at a crucial point, and continue to mean so much more.

“Just do the best you can. And, clearly, I’ve work to do as well.

We have a lot of it ahead of us, I’d say. So, shall we get started, then?”

The truth about Hades is you’re always just getting started because you’re always in the process of the now. Your job, just as it was then, is simply to get better and to BE better. And what is perhaps most remarkable about Hades as A vIdEo gAmE is that by painstakingly designing something that feels so streamlined and simple, they actually created something that feels so organic and filled with endless human permutation. Some of it is what you bring, but most of it is the incredible depth of their work. No, it wasn’t a miracle. It was their very human effort, brought to life with all the same lessons of repetition and learning and optimism that are at the root of the game itself. And when I look at what they made me feel, along with how I hope they feel about what they’ve created…

I hope they know how much beauty we see in their attempt.

<3HULK