Why Stories Matter
Stories are important. Great storytellers throughout history, from Tolkien and Lewis back through the mists of time to Homer and the nameless authors of "Gilgamesh" and the "Tain Bo Cuailnge" have inspired people with tales of love, and sacrifice, and the strivings of heroes against the nihilistic forces of evil. These ideas transcend time and space, and are no less valid in a 21st century global society than they were in 10th century Europe, or Jerusalem in the year AD 32, or the rocky islands of Greece six centuries before. We all love modern epics, even as we cynically pretend they don't mean anything. We laugh at people who memorize dialog from "The Lord of the Rings," or drop lines from "Star Wars," but deep down, we know that there is value and truth in these stories, and we feel the tug of their ideals and lessons at the very core of our being. As the movie was in the 20th century the medium of the epic, so now is the video game becoming the torchbearer of epic stories. They move and inspire us, even as we pretend they're just expressions of commercial greed, or momentary entertainments to fill time. We may laugh, or smirk, but in the end we're all changed, uplifted, *improved* by a good story, whether we care to admit it or not.
To me, the worst part of the endings isn't the terrible plot holes, the uncharacteristically passive Shepard, or even the complete lack of closure provided by the final scenes. It was the utter betrayal of the most central and hopeful themes that ran through all of the other mass effect games.
The Beginning
In ME1, humanity stands at the end of a rocky childhood on the center of the galactic stage, prepared to take that first, breathless step into galactic prominence. Commander Shepard is the first human Spectre, the first sign that the older, more established peoples of the galaxy are prepared to admit humanity to a seat at the tables of power. And standing in opposition to him, and to humanity as a whole, is a ghost of the bitter past, a turian who hates humans, who is trapped in the old bitter rivalry of the first contact war, and who, it turns out, is ultimately the voice of submission, appeasement, and resignation in the face of the demands of the most profound embodiment of evil imaginable.
In order to defeat Saren, Shepard must assemble a team of all different races and attitudes. A sullen, bitter, jaded Krogan warlord, a brash, impatient Turian cop, a brilliant, nerdy asari scientist, and a buoyant, perky, but terribly fragile Quarian teenager. Add to these the two faces of humanity, Kaiden, with his "aliens are jerks and saints, just like us" inclusiveness, and Ashley, who mistrusts all aliens on principle and is more like Saren than is strictly comfortable (a fact you can call her out on, incidentally). Everyone's contributions and abilities are needed to succeed in this epic struggle, and under Shepard's guidance these individuals all pull together, even in the face of fearsome challenge and terrible sacrifice, to triumph over an ancient, nihilistic evil. They must all put aside their differences to unite as one so that they can come to embody hope even in the darkest of hours, to stand together in the face of doubt and conspiracy and never, ever give up until they win through to inspiring victory.
The central lesson of Mass Effect 1 is that Kaiden, whether he lives or dies, is right. The aliens of ME *are* just like us, more similar than not, and that when we all work together we can not only accomplish the impossible, but we can also find ourselves in the unexpected position of becoming emotionally attached to people who have mandibles and exoskeletons, or squids on their heads, or who consider a headbutt a normal part of conversation (no Scottish jokes, please). To me, one of the finest moments in my ME 1 playthrough was watching Liara and Shepard's relationship blossom as they come to the realization that love and understanding can cross even the barriers between worlds and species effortlessly (incidentally, the fact that this scene drove the talking heads on Fox News absolutely nuts just made it clear to me how clear the theme of embracing "otherness" was here - since there's clearly nothing Rupert Murdoch hates more than diversity, compassion, and inclusiveness).
Sprinkled in among these main themes are others, equally laudable - redemption, sacrifice, compassion, and mercy, but it is *hope* that runs like a bright thread all through the tapestry of the game.
The Middle
ME 2 is a bit darker in tone, but still repeats the same themes. Once again, Shepard is challenged to face off against the stark existential evil of the reapers, but is also challenged to confront the more insidious (and maybe necessary) evil of Cerberus. Once again, Shepard, whether paragon or renegade, is presented with the opportunity to unite a disparate band of aliens and humans, and once again is faced with some of humanity's darker elements. The arrogance of ethnic supremecists, the despair of mental illness, the emotional weight of things done or left undone in the past. All of these themes are explored, if not always perfectly, then at least with sensitivity and hope. The most tangible sign of this is that in the end, if Shepard puts the needs of others above his or her own, if he or she goes the extra mile to engage with others and embody the principle that trouble shared is trouble halved, then even the most impossible suicide mission can be accomplished without undue sacrifice or loss. All the more subtle themes make their reappearance here, as well as a few new ones, but ultimately, underlying them all is the insidiously beautiful notion that if we reach out a hand (or talon) to those who are different than us, even to those who have been our enemies, that we can achieve greatness, unity, and victory, even against impossible odds.
The End?
Throughout the vast majority of Mass Effect 3, we see these values reinforced and amplified once again. Bringing the Krogan, Salarians, and Turians together while righting old wrongs and paving the way for reconcilliation shows that if we can admit the mistakes of the past and earnestly agree to try to do better in the future, we can come together to form a whole greater than the sum of its individual parts. This is taken to its maximum possible extension when we see first the Quarians and Geth, and then Joker and EDI push through the most extreme and uncrossable divide in science fiction, that between synthetics and organics, humans and machines, to form new and beautiful, if fragile, partnerships (on a personal note, I had to choke down a sob or two when Legion gave up his life to give that future to all of them - and I'm not typically a movie-crier).
The Betrayal
So here we are, standing at the culmination of three hundred hours of joy and tears, brought about through a profound exploration of the power of hope and inclusiveness in the unlikely form of a video game. We're watching every race in the galaxy: humans and turians, krogan and salarians, quarians and geth, and even the ageless, arrogant asari all come together in equal partnership to fearlessly face down an enemy of unimaginiable power and ancient evil, riding into a battle they cannot hope to win conventionally, prepared to fight and die for just the smallest hope of victory, fighting and dying to buy just the smallest chance that their friends and loved ones might escape utter and complete annhilation. And at the climax of that battle, we find ourselves confronted by the very avatar of intolerance, ruthlessness, cruelty, and arbitrary authority in the Starchild. And what does Bioware *force* us to do?
Bend our knee to it. We have to meekly accept the vile, unacceptable principle that there must always be winners and losers, that some battles are just too big to fight, some evils too powerful to defeat. That we must choose to bargain with the devil instead of spitting in his eye.
In other words, that everything Mass Effect has taught us is a lie. At the last moment, it strips of us of our unity, of our hope. It denies us the chance to pull together and win through to a glorious victory, or even to stand and die as free beings beside our brothers-in-arms. We must, it tells us, choose sides at the last. We must become the monster we despise, or accept a hateful amalgamation with an evil and soulless foe, or betray and sacrifice those who respect and count on us to achieve a broken and hollow victory.
And that, I believe, is what so many of us are *really* incensed about. Because we instinctively reject this insidious calumny as the end of the epic we've come to love. We reject the idea that we can't all work together to achieve greatness. That we can't stand together to become a whole and complete galaxy, greater than the sum of its parts and its petty daily grievances and indignities.
And that is what the "Retake Mass Effect" movement is really about, in my opinion, whether we articulate it or not. We are following the example Shepard sets. We are standing together in the face of a great philosophy that has been perverted to cynicism and division, and saying, "Dammit, give us back our hope."
Why It Matters
Yes, it's a game. But more than that, Shepard's story is a modern epic, no less valid in its time than the stories of Gilgamesh, Odysseus, Cuchillain, or Beowulf. Its themes are both laudable and universal, and worthy of note and remembrance. Bioware has failed at the final clinch, fallen in the final turn. But the responsibility for seeing this through was never really just their burden to bear. It falls to us to insist that they finish their masterpiece, that they remain true to themselves. It falls to us to hold the line, to make them see that they owe it to us, and more importantly to themselves, to give this epic the ending it deserves.
Edit: Added some subheadings to make it more readable, fixed a couple of typos. Just wanted to say how gratified I am that so many other people seem to feel this way. Thanks for the feedback!
Modifié par Sainta117, 23 mars 2012 - 02:35 .
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