One More Go

Rockstar Games‘ 2018 prequel to Red Dead Redemption was released to almost universal acclaim, what more then can there possibly be to say about it. Honestly, probably not very much, but as I sit watching the coarse but gentle Arthur Morgan finish his morning coffee as the fog rolls in over the Dakota River, I find myself once again in awe of how delicately crafted this world is, and how beautifully it’s portrayed even six years later.

There’s wood to be chopped, horses to be fed, buckets to be emptied, and moustaches to be styled. Red Dead Redemption 2 is just as concerned with the mundane parts of running with outlaws as it is the bombastic shootouts. It is a game so singularly obsessed with detail, I struggle to think of any other game that comes close to creating a world so well realised. Ride too close to a tree and its branches bend and snap, dropping any snow that may have been nestled there. Arthur’s clothes crease as he moves, catching the wind as you would expect them to, as does his scent, which will alert nearby prey to your presence. Shots fired will degrade your weapons and draw in the lawmen and bounty hunters. Dwellings and camps are covered in the detritus of life, there for Arthur and his light fingered friends to pilfer and trade, but also to sell the space as real and lived in. It is astonishing how much of everything there is. New systems continue to be introduced, sets to be collected, strangers to be helped, animals to be hunted, poker hands to be won, and on, and on. It’s so maximalist, and yet, it’s all in service of making a world that is sparse, slow, and demanding.

RDR2 is a game that you have to engage on its terms. Its world and its characters move and change with a glacial heft as they reluctantly trudge to a future they’re dreading. You’re expected to play Arthur the way Rockstar wants you to, that’s not to say there’s no player agency, there are plenty of choices to make that impact both the narrative and your own story. No, what I mean, is that you’re expected to embody Arthur, enjoy time with his friends, get into too much trouble, listen to the birdsong, and try to do your best for the gang. When you return to camp players are encouraged to linger, contribute to the everyday needs of the gang, and to observe and interact with the other members. Watching Sadie and Pearson bicker over kitchen duties, or joining a drunken campside sing-along all flesh out the supporting cast of characters and endear them to the player. It’s all there to raise the stakes, to show their idealised way of life, and to contrast their togetherness against Arthur’s isolation. It makes the world feel tangible and recognisable, but also distant, and fragile.

When loading back into the game we always find Arthur in the middle of something, whether he’s jotting some notes in his journal, finishing a cigarette, or just snoozing by the river, it all adds to the illusion of a world that will continue to exist, with or without the player. The disparate nature of its world works to its advantage. Arthur, at least, my Arthur, spends most of his time stalking the wilderness, tracking wild animals that skitter into the brush, and searching occupied and abandoned camps for collectible cigarette cards. The sounds of life as Arthur canters by really working to inject life into scenes that might otherwise feel barren. When you do pass other people on the trail Arthur can greet or admonish them, a small touch, but that extra interactivity gives voice and personality to characters that might otherwise be shooting range dummies.

This level of interactivity bleeds throughout the entire game, where its complex and context sensitive control scheme allow Arthur to fish, hunt, fire guns into the air, lasso and tame horses, and just about anything else you might expect an outlaw could do. In that sense, you could say RDR2 is closer to a sim than it is an RPG, or an open world game, and I guess much of its appeal will be determined by how interested you are in embodying a soft-hearted thug in the dying West. Regardless, Arthur’s charm, the game’s many systems and activities, and the incredible detail strewn throughout, make this a world worth exploring.

Just as Arthur and the Van Der Linde gang represent freedom and opportunity fighting against modern governance, RDR2 finds itself in a similar struggle between the seemingly endless opportunity space of its world, and its tightly constructed narrative missions. When so much of the game is left to the player’s initiative, it can be jarring to face a game over screen for leaving the boundaries of a mission, or straying too far from a companion. The most frequent gameover screen I hit during my playthrough were the many failed quickdraw encounters, where I could never quite get the timing right. In a game that works so hard to immerse players in its world, these frequent breaks to hit the retry button are easily the most frustrating sections of the game.

It also reaches for a level of sobriety that is sometimes undercut by the awkwardness of some of the games movement and its controls. A daring escape, or an emotionally charged conversation can be interrupted by colliding horses or Arthur stumbling over some unseen obstacle. It sounds like a petty gripe, especially when characters pick up their conversations where they left off, but they are the few glaring elements of RDR2 that feel at odds with rest of the game. Rockstar’s games are usually a little zany, but normally by design and through their writing. There is some weird west energy on display, intended to add some levity, but for the most part, RDR2 is a sad cowboy simulator, where these clumsy interruptions only detract from the drama or poignancy of its narrative. It’s much more forgivable in the online aspect of RDR2, where the scrapes and near misses have more impact on your posse’s legacy than any of the more conventional narrative on offer.

While these issues can interrupt the flow of RDR2, they diminish the resulting shootouts, heists, and rescues only slightly. It is a narrative worth experiencing, one that holds your attention across its lengthy runtime, and one that evolves throughout. Often hundred hour games exist in a fairly static state, but here we get plenty of space for characters to develop, trust growing and eroding between them as the gang’s circumstances flex. As you creep into the later chapters of the game, rather than the usual race to the end, you’ll feel nostalgia for its opening stretch, and start to share in some of Arthur’s dread for its end. Arthur knows where this story is ending, and having played through RDR2 once before, so do I. I’m in no rush to get there again. His amble through the wilderness, or watching Uncle and Sean trade songs at the campfire are the perfect excuse to take it slowly. Play the game as it was intended, at the pace it was intended, as a true piece of escapism.