This month the final downloadable content for the Mass Effect trilogy, 'Citadel', was released, capping off a tale of galactic genocidal devastation, the tacit endorsement of war crimes inflicted upon one's own allies, and the surrender and arbitrary death of a heroic protagonist. And it ended (as we all surely must have suspected that it would) with a Sims-lite apartment decorator; the opportunity to chill out and lose our cash at a casino; and the option to get all dressed up pretty and host a shindig that brims over with playful hijinks... Sure, outside those walls unfathomable monsters from beyond time and space are raining destruction down upon innumerable innocents on countless worlds... Sure, you, as the sole hope tasked with saving them all, know that every second of each day is being measured with all that you hold dear being pitilessly tortured, mutated and annihilated... But never mind it's cool, because you can always watch a romance film with your girlfriend or upgrade the decor in your holiday house. And yeah, okay, so the guy who gave you that luxury pad you are kitting out is currently spending his time scrambling about for scraps in a literal hole in the ground, running guerrilla raids to stay alive, his clothes reeking of the smell of burning corpses as he watches Earth reduced to ash... But hey: that private captain's cabin on your personal star ship that you already owned with its aquarium, office, and en suite wasn't nearly enough. You really did need a plasma screen TV. The ever expanding practice of selling downloadable content in videogames has proved to be one of the great contradictory boons of the medium. On the one hand it offers the potential for some publishers to cynically exploit their consuming audience by withholding material that clearly was intended to be in the initial purchase behind a secondary pay wall. One can think of Capcom's Azura's Wrath, in which the actual ending of the game was withheld as 'additional content'; the 'Epilogue' to the recent reboot of Prince of Persia, sold under the pretence of being extraneous despite the game hanging on a heart-wrenching cliff-hanger; or even Bioware's own day-one DLC scandal with Mass Effect 3, in which, on the very day of the game's release, they charged a supplementary fee to access the Prothean character Javik, the last remaining member of an extinct race, whose story offers an irreplaceable perspective on the entire trilogy's plot, and upon whom other characters like Liara rely in order to have any narrative arc at all. For that matter, one might even think of Bioware's second DLC release, 'Leviathan', in which the audience was charged for the back story and explanation that justifies who, why, and what the series' mysterious alien antagonists even were. From another, more generous perspective, DLC allows developers to correct or expand upon material that they may have come to realise, after release, audiences were keen to explore further, allowing plots to organically grow in controlled narrative excursions that one would usually only see in a more long-form narrative medium like television. Games like Skyrim (although one might argue whether a game with hundreds of hours of scripted content that literally never ends needs to offer more things to do) have continued to swell their worlds with whole new quest lines and environments; a game like Enslaved offers the chance to play as secondary characters like Pigsy, who served a supporting role in the main game, as he undertakes his own smaller adventure in prelude to his later appearance; and (to be fairer to Bioware for a moment), their addition to Dragon Age: Origins, 'Awakening', was set well after the events of the main game and offered the opportunity to govern a vast, previously unexplored land, with an all new cast and an entirely new quest line. In the case of 'Citadel', however, it is difficult to gauge where this material sits on the logical, thematic, or even material scale by which one usually assesses such DLC. At its heart it is additional content that many fans felt was notably missing from the core game: a chance to reconnect with beloved characters that were dismissively sidelined in the vanilla experience, and an injection of humour to break up the maudlin dirge of the larger plot. (Although from what I have gleaned that humour sounds like it may have been a little too wacky in the midst of a literal day of reckoning... Did I read correctly: Javik brooding orphan of an exterminated race stars in aBlasto movie?!) A cynic might suggest that Bioware noting that their preceding pieces of DLC were being met with a sliding scale of apathy (ending in the widely criticised 'Omega') have decided to cash out, to cobble together one last mission with a checklist of audience requests and raise the price fifty percent to cover their losses.* An optimist, however, would see this DLC as one last, joyful pastiche of all the elements they loved in the series that the base game simply had no time to address. Either way, it is certainly true that it seeks to satisfy many of the superficial criticisms fans had directed at the game over the past year. Another hub environment? Check. Romance options to pad out the paltry exchanges in game? Done. Some conversation with comrades that is about something anything other than war and death and dying? Sure thing.** But it stops well short of tackling the naff deus ex machina at the heart of the plot, or the lie of hope and inclusivity repeatedly espoused throughout that is abandoned with its Pyrrhic victory. As an answer to the fundamental issues that many fans (myself included) had with the ending of the game, it seems almost belligerently peripheral.*** Consequentially, 'Citadel' appears to likewise sit in a weird nether space of narrative, seemingly a textbook example of the potential discordance that can emerge from mishandling the DLC model as a medium for storytelling. It's very existence indicates that this was an addition of character service and reflection that the story required; but in refusing to violate the nihilistic endpoint that the plot is heading toward anyway, and by ignoring the war upon which you are unwavering focussed at any other point in the game play, it becomes an irresolvably discordant aside from everything it is intended to echo. Thus from every angle, this addition to the narrative seems to ask for an insurmountable leap in logic for the player to successfully suspend their disbelief. It's true to say that so far the content appears to be getting highly favourable reviews, but again, what is being praised a surprisingly light-hearted tone, filled with a playfully naff sci-fi premise and punctuated with gags that wink-at-the-audience with fan-service strike me as extraordinarily out of place considering that this remains a tangential diversion from the central thrust of the narrative, and the desperate, claustrophobic imminence it sought to press upon the player at every angle. Admittedly, this is something that, in itself, might not be an issue, except that the game itself, in literally every moment outside of this DLC, breathlessly demands that the player realise: there is no time to relax, that every moment of pause means whole civilisations are being brutally wiped from existence, and that quietude and self-indulgence are now luxuries all life in the universe (let alone that universe's saviour Shepard) can no longer afford. Indeed, in a curious piece of tragironic (I call copyright on this word) prophesy, Joker, the ship's pilot, earlier remarks in the body of the game that he is repulsed by the cavalier way in which the people of the Citadel are ignoring the horrors of the war effort. As he says to Shepard, through a sarcastic snarl:
'Hey commander, big news: the new Blasto movie is breaking opening week records; there is also a big expose on Quasar tournaments; tips on how to make your apartment look bigger; and oh yeah a big ass Reaper invasion.'
And so, as if intentionally trying to spotlight the fundamental disparity in this plotline in this DLC (set during an evenmore climactic, ominous part of the conflict) Shepard has a run-in with Blasto himself; is able to waste time in a casino gambling on Quasar; and can become the universe's feng shui master of interior decoration. All while the universe burns. It would appear that this DLC asks its audience to maintain two completely contradictory states of being at once: to invest in the severity and casual horror of war omnipresently in play during the larger game-structure (in which the plot kills off characters and whole worlds in every mission; in which tales of loss and madness and hopelessness press in from every angle from antagonists, allies, newsfeeds, and overheard NPCs), while at the same time embracing this momentary oasis of frivolous, playful abandon (where for the sake of the war effort, apparently you are invited to relax in a hot tub, or break a record on how many pull-ups Shepard can do, or turn on a raging kegger). Indeed, even expressly stated character agendas are conveniently, temporarily abandoned. Many of the living squad members from the previous games, although having offered pressing, unavoidable reasons for why they absolutely could not join you in Mass Effect 3, are suddenly willing to forget those obligations and return here, for this rest-stop abstraction, before disappearing again back to their directive. To take but one example: many players were disheartened when the character of Miranda, arguably the principle squad member of the second game, spent this final arc of the trilogy off on her own quest to find her sister, refusing to join the war effort and reboard the Normandy. But now, arbitrarily, she is back to get dressed up and have a night out to relax her kidnapped sister be damned. Ultimately, if only this were a legitimate epilogue set after the events of the ending (which would, of course, clearly need to be fundamentally altered), the lighter tone and earned respite would be a perfect tonal fit. We would be in Return of the King's'The Scouring of the Shire'territory the stakes a little lower, the chance for character resolution and reflection more organically informing the tale. And a narrative (even as goofy as this) about Shepard having to restate what makes him/herself so individual in the light of a nefarious doppelganger, makes a perfect kind of sense for the dénouement of a series that purported to be concerned with player choice. Suddenly, the symbolic alternate to all your/Shepard's choices (evil clone evile clone evil clone) would be made manifest, an opportunity to mirror back a distorted image of what might have been. Although admittedly clichéd, it would offer a nonetheless legitimate through-the-looking-glass trope that has danced alongside sci-fi for as long as people have been growing menacing goatees and theatrically cocking their eyebrows. One suspects that the mindset behind creating this non sequitur addition to the narrative was a product of Bioware trying to simultaneously distance themselves from their polarising ending while simultaneously embracing it an act of gymnastic duality that results in an impossible illogical snare. After all: they've already declared that they would not touch or alter the ending from this point on (at this point, given the dismissive, frequently sarcastic tone of their Community Coordinator Chris Priestly, they've effectively chiselled that message into stone tablets), but contradictorily, they now want to offer players a opportunity to wind down after the narrative, to immerse themselves in a static bubble that operates both within and abstracted from the endpoint they retain the right to point to as an artistic 'vision'.**** Presumably Bioware are banking on the majority of players being widely apathetic to the ending, knowing that many (if not most) will happily play this pocket of story after their already finished game, willing themselves to overlook how ludicrously it juts out from the unwaveringly focused structure of a journey that screams linearity. After all, it's a premise that expects players to have either forgotten the insistency of the plot ('Well, the Reapers are killing everyone and everything, but we're gonna paaaaaarty'), or to have willingly divorced themselves so utterly from the narrative that they can just embrace it as a non-canon farewell of sorts, blocking out the real conclusion to paper it over with this paradoxical but playful kiss to the audience.**** Indeed, even in their advertising in the run up to this release, Bioware were finally no longer spruiking 'war assets' and 'big, universe changing choices' instead promising moments of quietude and peace with the characters many longed to hang out with in such a manner before the game was released. It was a complete 180 from their usual advertising message, but it was one that required Bioware to pretend nothing was wrong (even in the basic logic of where this mission and hub exists in the narrative), while asking the player themself to just block out that smothering, ominous knowledge that all of this joviality is merely a pantomime of solace before the apocalyptic storm that will wipe it from memory. And personally, I apparently can't even begin to do that anymore. That plaintive whistling sound in my head is telling me that if ever there was a time that I could have that I might have walled off that nihilistic conclusion as a peculiar dream and just embraced the bubble of respite offered, headcanoning my way to a muddled kind of peace that time is now gone. But maybe that is ultimately the message of this whole thing: maybe this is all on me. I drank the Kool Aid and believed that the choices mattered, that the decisions made in the journey were worth respecting and that the plot deserved the investment it invited. But if even this farewell a mid-narrative-epilogue to a series about morality and choices is designed to utterly dissolve the relevance of its own logistical spine, to undermine the conceit that it is wrapped within, then maybe I really was just playing the game all wrong. In the end (or the middle, or whatever) the choices really didn't matter; the end was a lie. Sure, one day soon you'll be forced to abandon all that is being cherished in this curious little siesta, but it's okay, because none of it mattered anyway. So why not just raise a glass and drink away the regret? In the interests of full disclosure and as is no doubt already clear I freely admit that I have not played this final offering from Bioware (nor do I foresee myself doing so in future), so my comments are merely those of a mystified onlooker trying to make sense of a baffling marketing campaign that left me behind when Mass Effect 3 first concluded in an eruption of nihilistic angst exactly one year ago. Yes, I'm the Dickensian orphan boy abandoned to the cold streets, my nose pressed against the frosted glass pane as I look in on another's family meal. Of course I'm riddled with jealousy that everyone still inside seems to be enjoying themselves so laughing and lit with the glow of a comforting fire but the larger, rational part of me is also thinking: 'Wait a minute this isn't Christmas. This is meant to be a funeral. And that guy carving the turkey is meant to be dead...' In any case, I remain desperately envious of those who have bought the DLC and who can enjoy it. It sounds like there is a lot of character business in there that sounds like a good deal of fun (and I'm still not sure I've ever fallen so madly in love with a rag-tag team before well, excluding Firefly, natch). For me though, I just can't seem to flip the switch in my brain that can justify the seismic rift this tangential mission would require of my suspension of disbelief; nor the thought of having it end only to feed back into a conclusion that undoes everything I would cherish about this sweet hiatus anyway. But again, and I mean this sincerely, to those who can and will enjoy it: have fun. You will have all of my jealousy burning a hole in your back as you play * The critically panned 'Omega' was likewise increased in price an action that perhaps led to more scrutiny lambasting its comparatively meagre runtime, derivative action, lack of character interaction, and peripheral narrative. * Again, someone judging the work unfavourably might declare that given Mass Effect's track record, these were all elements that the designers knew were expected in the original release, and that they simply withheld for ransom in this last hurrah. ** Although to be fair, this DLC was clearly never intended to win back those fans. *** Without ever deigning to explain what that 'vision' was meant to be. **** Indeed, it's funny how one of those concept artworks with everyone drinking (pictured at the header of this post) seems to have been 'inspired' by an image I remember seeing of the crew partying in an alternate fan-made ending, here: http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2012/075/9/7/mass_effect3_how_it_should__ve_ended_by_hellstern-d4stwab.jpg
