Kobayashi Maru (koe’ bay ash ee ma rue’) noun 1. In a Starfleet simulation, the name of a spaceship freighter, under attack and in desperate need of assistance. 2. In Star Trek lore, any situation or problem regarded as a ‘no-win’ situation i.e. no matter which solution is applied to a problem, the outcome will be unfavourable to the participant.
So, here’s the thing: after some 47ish hours of play, I recently finished a PlayStation video game --- and yes, Virginia, your author does enjoy playing video games…. though he should probably hastily amend that statement by adding some qualifiers. First, he only plays solitaire, because, as in so many human fields of endeavor and recreation, somewhere along the way, somebody let the dogs out and lamentably, gaming can be full of Nasty, Misogynistic Trolls. (Note I said ‘can be,’ not ‘invariably is.’) Second, he prefers games featuring intelligent storylines and strong, female protagonists. And third, yes, he has been happily married to his wife for decades, and is not living in his parents’ basement.
The game’s title is Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, and while it’s got absolutely nothing to do with Star Trek --- and I’m not really reviewing the game itself --- there is a rather elastic connection (at least within the febrile depths of my fertile imagination), so bear with me and eventually we’ll get to today’s thesis. Clair is a lushly imagined and illustrated game where you are a participant in an expedition to locate the mysterious Paintress, a godlike character who’s been, year by year, steadily destroying the population of your little world, which is unnamed but bears more than a passing resemblance to a very stylized Belle Epoque-era France. (Unsurprisingly, as that’s where the game was designed.) The 33 in the title refers to the fact that everyone older than that has by now been eliminated, one year at a time.
Anyway, after many adventures and combats --- by the way, Here Be Major Spoilers, so you’ve been warned --- it turns out your whole world is (surprise!) nothing more than a painting, created by a really damaged and devastated family who have endured huge tragedy involving fire and death. One of those family members has been on the expedition, and as her, you get to decide how the game ends --- because there are two possible alternatives. Oh, boy! I thought, rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation. Except…
Both alternatives are horrible. And it really isn’t even a case of one alternative being slightly better or worse than the other; they’re both awful. (One involves keeping the painting going, though the characters somehow are self-aware enough to understand they’re merely powerless puppets, and view you with hatred and contempt. The other alternative involves erasing the canvas and being back in the real world, with the family coping with death and extreme disfigurement from the fire. As Philip Henslow sarcastically noted, “Well, that will have them rolling in the aisles.” IYKYK.)
Not for the first time, I found myself wondering why? Why do writers do this to readers (or in this case, viewers). IGN, an American gaming website, actually came out with a lovely little essay sort of addressing this issue, pointing out that tragedy is something all too many of us have to deal with on this broken rock as it hurtles through the inky vastness of space, and sometimes, really unfortunately, there just is no good solution to many of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune our species must contend with. (BTW, when I call it a ‘lovely little essay,’ I mean I found it really well written, not that it was intrinsically lovely. The retired English teacher in me --- you can take the teacher out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the teacher --- would have given it top marks. Unless it was written with the help of AI… in which case I would have set it on fire.)
I understand the argument IGN was making. I really do. As someone obsessed with keeping up with the news (oy), I know all too well there’s a lot of death and despair in our dumpster-fire world. Which is kind of like saying the Pacific contains some water.
But writers… within the pages of our deathless prose (or the confines of our electronically created gaming worlds), we have the godlike power to ameliorate that… at least some of the time. Now, I’ve written about the HEA (happily-ever-after) ending before, but Clair Obscur compelled me to revisit it, and my viewpoint hasn’t changed at all. We don’t have to go with ridiculous fairy tale endings where EVERYONE goes manically dancing and singing off into the sunset like an army of crazed Munchkins… but… come on, people… throw readers/viewers a frickin’ bone here. Sure, I realize a good old Kobayashi Maru scenario is full of dramatic possibilities --- well, up until everybody dies, anyway, at which point things rather become moot, don’t they? --- but unless you’re a writing buzzkill along the lines of a Mr. Poe, there’s just no need to end your story by saying darkness and decay and the Red Death ruled forever over all.
I’ll even venture a hot take and say (in my obligatory Lord of the Rings reference for the day) that Frodo deserved better than being unable to enjoy the fruits of his labours and shipped off from Middle Earth. Yes, yes, I know, spare me the righteous arguments about sacrifice and the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the one. Unless you’re deliberately trying to be didactic, lighten up a little.
We need a little light in the darkness. Give us an ending which provides hope, or glimmerings of happiness… or even some ambiguity where we can think, with some justification, “well, maybe things did work out…” We’ve just invested a fair amount of time and, if the tale is well written, emotional energy in the characters, and they deserve some happiness, dammit. I mean, sure, we all know everyone’s final destination is that Undiscovered Country Will cheerfully mentioned, but until that day arrives…
I’ll say it again: we need a little light in the darkness.
So, here’s the thing: after some 47ish hours of play, I recently finished a PlayStation video game --- and yes, Virginia, your author does enjoy playing video games…. though he should probably hastily amend that statement by adding some qualifiers. First, he only plays solitaire, because, as in so many human fields of endeavor and recreation, somewhere along the way, somebody let the dogs out and lamentably, gaming can be full of Nasty, Misogynistic Trolls. (Note I said ‘can be,’ not ‘invariably is.’) Second, he prefers games featuring intelligent storylines and strong, female protagonists. And third, yes, he has been happily married to his wife for decades, and is not living in his parents’ basement.
The game’s title is Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, and while it’s got absolutely nothing to do with Star Trek --- and I’m not really reviewing the game itself --- there is a rather elastic connection (at least within the febrile depths of my fertile imagination), so bear with me and eventually we’ll get to today’s thesis. Clair is a lushly imagined and illustrated game where you are a participant in an expedition to locate the mysterious Paintress, a godlike character who’s been, year by year, steadily destroying the population of your little world, which is unnamed but bears more than a passing resemblance to a very stylized Belle Epoque-era France. (Unsurprisingly, as that’s where the game was designed.) The 33 in the title refers to the fact that everyone older than that has by now been eliminated, one year at a time.
Anyway, after many adventures and combats --- by the way, Here Be Major Spoilers, so you’ve been warned --- it turns out your whole world is (surprise!) nothing more than a painting, created by a really damaged and devastated family who have endured huge tragedy involving fire and death. One of those family members has been on the expedition, and as her, you get to decide how the game ends --- because there are two possible alternatives. Oh, boy! I thought, rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation. Except…
Both alternatives are horrible. And it really isn’t even a case of one alternative being slightly better or worse than the other; they’re both awful. (One involves keeping the painting going, though the characters somehow are self-aware enough to understand they’re merely powerless puppets, and view you with hatred and contempt. The other alternative involves erasing the canvas and being back in the real world, with the family coping with death and extreme disfigurement from the fire. As Philip Henslow sarcastically noted, “Well, that will have them rolling in the aisles.” IYKYK.)
Not for the first time, I found myself wondering why? Why do writers do this to readers (or in this case, viewers). IGN, an American gaming website, actually came out with a lovely little essay sort of addressing this issue, pointing out that tragedy is something all too many of us have to deal with on this broken rock as it hurtles through the inky vastness of space, and sometimes, really unfortunately, there just is no good solution to many of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune our species must contend with. (BTW, when I call it a ‘lovely little essay,’ I mean I found it really well written, not that it was intrinsically lovely. The retired English teacher in me --- you can take the teacher out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the teacher --- would have given it top marks. Unless it was written with the help of AI… in which case I would have set it on fire.)
I understand the argument IGN was making. I really do. As someone obsessed with keeping up with the news (oy), I know all too well there’s a lot of death and despair in our dumpster-fire world. Which is kind of like saying the Pacific contains some water.
But writers… within the pages of our deathless prose (or the confines of our electronically created gaming worlds), we have the godlike power to ameliorate that… at least some of the time. Now, I’ve written about the HEA (happily-ever-after) ending before, but Clair Obscur compelled me to revisit it, and my viewpoint hasn’t changed at all. We don’t have to go with ridiculous fairy tale endings where EVERYONE goes manically dancing and singing off into the sunset like an army of crazed Munchkins… but… come on, people… throw readers/viewers a frickin’ bone here. Sure, I realize a good old Kobayashi Maru scenario is full of dramatic possibilities --- well, up until everybody dies, anyway, at which point things rather become moot, don’t they? --- but unless you’re a writing buzzkill along the lines of a Mr. Poe, there’s just no need to end your story by saying darkness and decay and the Red Death ruled forever over all.
I’ll even venture a hot take and say (in my obligatory Lord of the Rings reference for the day) that Frodo deserved better than being unable to enjoy the fruits of his labours and shipped off from Middle Earth. Yes, yes, I know, spare me the righteous arguments about sacrifice and the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the one. Unless you’re deliberately trying to be didactic, lighten up a little.
We need a little light in the darkness. Give us an ending which provides hope, or glimmerings of happiness… or even some ambiguity where we can think, with some justification, “well, maybe things did work out…” We’ve just invested a fair amount of time and, if the tale is well written, emotional energy in the characters, and they deserve some happiness, dammit. I mean, sure, we all know everyone’s final destination is that Undiscovered Country Will cheerfully mentioned, but until that day arrives…
I’ll say it again: we need a little light in the darkness.
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