As much of the comments I have posted are predicated on the notion that the narrative arc with which we have been presented by Bioware is the entirety of the game, I did want to speak briefly (and I know my version of the word 'briefly' differs from most) to the notion that this is not, in fact, the end of Shepard's tale. ...Yes, I am about to utter the words 'Indoctrination Theory' – which I know that for a subset of players will no doubt inspire images of me sitting in a basement with a tin-foil hat.
I'm not going to say that I think that Indoctrination Theory is valid (although I will admit I dearly, passionately hope that it is so), I merely want to speculate in narrative terms about what it would mean for all of the critique that I – and numerous others – have levelled at the present conclusion; and further, what it would mean for this game, this franchise, and the entire medium of video gaming. So please indulge me.
People need not have me repeat yet again the components of the Indoctrination Theory – suffice to say that it involves the jarring ending being but a psychological morality play within Shepard's wounded psyche; Ghosty-McSpace-Scamp represents the voice of three options, two of which lead to surrender, and the third, Destroy, playing out as a catalyst through which to break the stranglehold of Harbinger's influence (hence the breath amongst the rubble).
If this is what is actually occurring – and sadly I know at this point in the media spin-cycle that might be a very big 'if' – if 'clarification' and 'expansion' mean putting this ending into context by revealing (through a supplemental free DLC patch) these events to be the imaginings of Shepard moments before the true conclusions (whatever they might actually be) play out, this narrative will be one of the greatest acts of literary manipulation and storytelling ever conceived. (Again, I want to point out: I am not saying that this is what is happening – merely what it would mean if it is.)
The symmetry between audience and experience would be sublime: all the rancour and disbelief on the internet, all the fighting for Shepard's identity and ideology would perfectly parallel the character's own fight for survival, breaking the hold of an omnipotent, omniscient force that seems to compel him/her to act against his/her actions. All of the angst, all of the sorrow, even my own pretentious blather, would therefore feed directly into the psychological rallying cry that our focal character, Shepard, requires to wake him/herself up from this delirious stupor, and return to the fight.
Indeed, if Indoctrination Theory is accurate – if the concluding moments of the game as we have them now are but the shadows cast upon Shepard's mind by Harbinger in an attempt to bend him/her to the Reaper's will – then Mass Effect 3 would not be Game of the Year: it would be Game of the Century. No hyperbole. It would do for the communicative form of gaming what Citizen Kane did for film, what Joyce's Ulysses did for modern fiction: it would turn the medium itself into a fundamental, inseparable element of the means through which the narrative was communicated. It would elevate the audience's engagement with this text to a profoundly intimate level (arguably impossible in any other artistic form), would fold dissenters and believers and self-righteous critics on both sides all into the miasma of speculation and emotion required for Shepard to act. It would be the perfect culmination of player agency in the story-telling medium that Bioware has promised (and for the great majority of these narratives, delivered) for the past several years.
This 'ending' would be an intentionally, necessarily disturbing waypoint in the journey towards this tale's epic dénouement. And in such an instance, I will be at the front of the pack, howling myself hoarse with praise for the audacity and brilliance of this writing team and its talented crafts-people.
There would be no more question as to whether games were art. People would simply harrumph and murmur the name Mass Effect as they do Mona Lisa, and then swan away to drink lattes and wear berets and talk about Kierkegaard.
...That, or Hayley-Joel-Osmont-Ghost wins.
(Sure, I'd still be a little sorry for those people, like myself until only a few months ago, without an online avenue to get the real ending, but the manner in which form, craft and reception had united would be so exquisite as to outweigh the frustration.)
Modifié par drayfish, 18 avril 2012 - 03:32 .





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