Hi, I'm Hamish Black and welcome to Writing on Games.
Bloodborne is one of the best games I've ever played, that I don't want to touch
again for a long time.
It's genuinely one of the most oppressive gaming experiences I've ever had.
It legitimately terrified me, it got under my skin.
It's part of why I enjoyed the game so much—as someone who was perhaps getting a little tired
of the Dark Souls formula, the idea that this is a horror game first and a Souls game second
really appealed to me.
What interested me about this was the fact that, on the surface, Bloodborne bears a great deal
of resemblance to a traditional Souls game in terms of mechanics and the ebb and flow
of combat, and yet it in practice it's a drastically different experience, both mechanically
and structurally.
In this episode of Writing on Games then, I want to explore how the versatility of these
mechanics is such that even by slightly altering them, the context under which you play the
game changes entirely.
And it's clear to see that the overall vision is different here.
It's ironic that I started off last year by talking about how Dark Souls is a celebration
of life, because I'm starting off this year by saying that Bloodborne is the complete
opposite.
This is a game about death, about futility, and about your vision of reality collapsing
before you.
What's more, through the game's mechanics, it requires you to face these themes more
closely than any themes in any other Souls game.
That is to say, I can't remember the last time I felt as in control of a game as I did
with Bloodborne.
Even with other Souls games, there's a weight to combat that necessitates a comparatively
measured pace in terms of animations.
As weird as it sounds, the speed at which Bloodborne moves made it feel like every single
movement, every tiny twitch my hands made in my panicked state translated into an on-screen
action that could very well turn the tide of an entire battle.
This sense of consequence for every action is hammered home by the fact that, especially
with bosses, you really don't have much of a choice but to get right in their faces.
This isn't like Dark Souls where you can often take a step back due to the slower nature
of combat—even large, imposing bosses in Bloodborne often move faster than the player
does, and as such they rarely keep their distance.
Not only this, but the much-talked-about health regeneration system actively encourages closing
the gap—you may take some hits, but if you're not in that monster's face like they are
yours, you're losing out on precious opportunities to get that health back.
On top of this, the game forces you to consider resource scarcity whilst dealing with all
of this.
At first I hated the idea that they'd change a healing system that seemed so obviously
perfected in the original Dark Souls, but then I realised it's another small way of
getting the player to ask totally different questions than in a traditional Souls game.
Do you heal just now and guarantee the health back from that hit you just took, knowing
that there's a very real possibility you'll run out of blood vials entirely?
Do you risk attempting a parry, knowing that the only way to get more bullets within a battle is
to sacrifice some health?
It's not a case of backing off and healing, knowing that you'll always have at least
five estus flasks when you respawn.
You're having to make decisions that risk a significant amount of progress should they
not pay off, all whilst perceiving constant enemy movements and attacks in fractions of a second.
It makes for a scenario where there really is no respite—you are constantly in the
thick of it in every encounter and it makes for a wholly draining experience.
It runs totally counter to the idea that survival horror games make the odds feel insurmountable
by giving you slow, clunky controls.
Bloodborne goes the opposite way—giving every minute interaction a great deal of mechanical
significance, constantly placing you teetering on the edge of failure in front of huge, powerful
beasts.
Dark Souls, as every YouTube commentator is quick to point out, is "tough but fair",
but Bloodborne is the first time where the negative consequences of this rule—the player
fucking up—are focused on more than the feeling of accomplishment.
This also carries into the more general structure of the world—if you watched my video on
Blighttown, you'll know that Dark Souls uses elements like the verticality of its
world design to bolster the feeling of accomplishment the player gets after beating a boss.
You struggle through, before usually being allowed to ascend to your reward, sometimes
getting to see exactly how far you've come.
With some notable exceptions, this is a very deliberate means of letting you know that
you're doing alright.
This isn't the case with Bloodborne.
In many cases, after the physical and mental toll the fight takes on you, you're merely
left with merely a dead end.
Hell, for the Wet Nurse, there's a glitch which means the fight isn't recognised as
'finished' for a good few seconds after the health bar has been depleted.
There's nowhere to go—you're just waiting to see if you actually have beaten this boss
or if the game's just going to pull a fast one on you.
Now, of course, this isn't deliberate, but for me felt symbolic of the trial the game
has put me through—it couldn't just let me win.
It just so happens that, after this fight, you return to the Hunter's Dream—
a hub area seen to be a safe haven in other Souls games, to find it totally ablaze.
It's this kind of aggressively macabre mentality that permeated the entirety of my experience with
the game.
As I worked my way through these endlessly grim Victorian streets as opposed to the often
breathtaking vistas of other Souls games, I could feel my resolve giving way.
After being tested by some of the most difficult bosses I've come across and bashing my head
against the dead ends they'd provide me, I'd return to the Hunters Dream, where I'd
somnambulate in a kind of purgatory—this didn't feel like the area of quiet safety
offered by a place like Firelink and, as the end of the game proves, those worries were well-founded.
I searched long and hard for Byrgenwerth, the academy from which everything in the game
centres, to find out more about the situation I found myself in.
It's one of the joys of other Souls games—finding out more about the obfuscatory narrative presented to you.
Perhaps ironically, when I found this place of higher learning, I found only a boss fight
which plunged the world (and my understanding of it) further into chaos.
Enemy designs were different and often crept into body horror, as well as forcing me to
rethink my strategies for enemies I'd previously taken for granted.
Essentially, as my character's insight level increased, so too did I feel more and more
like my resolve was being tested at every opportunity, like I was as much a subject
of the Lovecraftian horror as my character was.
There is no respite, no feeling of accomplishment, just the temporary relief of surviving another
battle, before realising that there's still more to come.
Bloodborne is a game that demands your attention at all times, and never wants you
to feel comfortable at any point.
Weirdly, as I played through Bloodborne, a thought that came into my head constantly
was that of the New French Extremity—that genre-that's-not-quite-a-genre characterised
by stark depictions of extreme violence and taboo.
It brought to mind films within it like Martyrs, in which you feel like you have sustained
a torture witnessing this torture.
The artistic merit is clear to see, and even if it isn't fun or pleasurable to experience,
it's still valuable.
In the same way, Bloodborne's surface-level gothic horror and gore is almost cartoonish
at points, but the game's real horror goes far deeper.
By shifting just a few mechanics around here and there, we go from a game designed to elevate
the player and celebrate life, to one which revels in beating the player to a pulp.
What's great is that it's able to achieve this subtly through mechanics, without resorting
to the Dark Souls 2 method of laughing at you and saying "this is going to be a hard
game."
Every facet of Bloodborne's horror is weaved into the very core of its design.
Like you feel every punch thrown at the protagonist in Martyrs, in Bloodborne you feel the direct
consequence of every decision made, of every hand twitch on the controller and by the end,
you feel as exhausted as you did watching that film.
Essentially, Bloodborne is one big Blighttown.
Thanks to the ways it subtly subverts the typical Dark Souls formula, you may not feel
like celebrating when you complete it, but you'll certainly emerge a changed player
in the end.
So, after months and months of YouTube comments begging me to play it, there's my take on
Bloodborne!
I hope you enjoyed this look at the game, and a big thank you to my patron Nick who
sent me a PS4 and a copy of the game—I'm really glad I finally got my hands on it.
I'd also like to take this opportunity to sincerely thank my patrons, without whom this
show would not be possible.
If you feel like supporting the show, every pledge, no matter how small, means the absolute
world to me.
If you can't or simply don't want to, however, I'm just happy you're watching
the videos.
Also, be sure to check out the podcast I do with my friend Nico!
There's a link in the description or just search Writing on GamesCast on iTunes to hear
us laugh at how dumb video games are.
And with all of that said, I'm Hamish Black and this has been Writing on Games.
Thank you very much for watching and I'll see you next time.
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