Bioshock II: Set pieces in search of a story.

The thing about Bioshock II, as you're going along, is that it feels much more like set pieces. In the original, there were transitions from one level to the next, sure, and they were endpieced with bathysphere trips, but you got the sense that you could always go back, could always travel anywhere in the bathysphere network that you'd already been. In II, the train goes in one direction, and at every stop there's a path on the map indicating your progress. Even when you step out into the ocean (an interesting innovation, I will admit, especially the first time!), you inevitably end up back at a train station. It feels much more like scenes in search of a story, whereas in the original it was closer to a story in search of scenes.

That said, the seventh level of Bioshock II is finally getting around to telling a story. It's been building slowly, fitfully, and not with the linear progression and underlying sinister themes of the original. Level 6, "Dionysus Garden", was especally egregious in a "tell, don't show" kind of way, but Level 7, "Fontaine Futures", is doing a much better job.

There is some smarts behind Bioshock II. You can see how much better "Pauper's Drop" and "The Atlantic Express" could have been if some consistency of vision were applied to Eleanor and Sophia's story. But those levels were about plot tokens, not about the story itself.

I still have no idea who I am, though. Some hints are: I'm a clone of Jack Ryan, I'm Andrew Ryan, I'm Diane McClintoch. All three are possible, since the vita-chambers works for me.

Well, we'll see, won't we?

An environmental brain spasm...

My grandfather liked to tell the story about how, as a medic during WWII, he was attached to a POW camp filled with surly Germans. New prisoners, he said, all went through a common process: on their first day, they were surprised, and would often laugh, at mealtimes, because their meal came on flimsy aluminium trays. The Americans, it seemed, had fallen on hard times, and been so desperate for materials that all they could afford for their prisoners were these flexible metal trays. Surely, the war would soon be over, and surely Germany had won.

At the end of the meal, they were shocked to learn that the Americans were just throwing the trays away. The Americans had enough raw material they could afford to just toss aluminium into the trash. Then they understood: surely, the war would be over soon, and surely Germany had lost.

It occurs to me that my children's generation will shake their heads at the ridiculous wastefulness of both sides.