Post-apocalyptia is one of the most prominent
themes that games explore. The sheer number
of games set after a zombie outbreak alone
is a testament to this.
While the catastrophic events that have caused
these post-apocalyptic worlds to exist are
undeniably important, there is a specific
aesthetic element that I find most compelling,
and that’s landscapes.
The destructors of society as we know it - whether
it be a natural disaster, a resilient plague,
or mankind's hubris - bring about not only
a profound change to people's lives, but ignite
a metamorphosis in terms of the environment.
Why are we so obsessed with post-apocalyptia
in games and how do the aesthetics play a
part in it?
It’s without a doubt that a lot of people
are drawn to the daydreams of our downfall,
whether that’s in the form of books, films,
tv shows or games. To be the last remaining
survivors of a dangerous and unforgiving world
is a fantasy that we wish to play out. It’s
that sense of freedom that comes with a world
that has abandoned law and order. But nobody
realistically wants to see their family and
loved ones torn away from them by flesh-eating
zombies or a nuclear disaster, so instead
we play as a character who does have that
happen to them. It’s a morbid curiosity
that we only feel safe experiencing without
that kind of emotional commitment and rightly
so.
It’s a dark thought, to envision yourself
in this situation. Because as much as we point
at our screens and criticise the actions of
the characters, we would probably be annihilated
in one way or another. Yet we’d like to
believe that we would know what to do because
that’s far more comforting.
So here we are, playing as characters who
do survive and overcome their horrific circumstances,
because we have the luxury to just observe
from a distance. Plus, being one of the last
alive in a post-apocalypse makes you someone
important and skilled in this imaginary future.
And who doesn’t like to feel competent?
Each apocalyptic world offers something different.
Death Stranding and Horizon Zero Dawn imagine
future technologies, but completely differ
in the conversations surrounding them. In
one we have technology helping save and rebuild
a society, whereas the other depicts it destroying
civilisation as we know it.
The tech in Horizon Zero Dawn has become camouflaged
in nature, with its robots similar to animals
in appearance and behaviour. We hunt them
for parts as we hunt animals for food, and
despite the advanced tech inhabiting the planet,
the lifestyles adopted by people are much
more primitive in comparison.
Likewise, NieR:Automata shows machines establishing
a coexistence with the remaining creatures
both on land and underwater. Others have even
begun to mimic humans, searching for meaning
as their goal of wiping out humanity on Earth
was accomplished a very long time ago.
Death Stranding takes a look at the role of
hobbies and play in a world filled with danger
and death. It suggests that art would still
be a factor in a world where your basic necessities
are just about met. On the other hand, the
Last of Us shows us that art has been forgotten,
as we see paintings succumb to rot and neglect.
Along with many other post-apocalyptic stories,
it also inspects humanity and conscience in
a world where you’re more likely to survive
without it. Raw human need can easily expose
some of the ugliest sides of our personalities,
and it’s an extremely intriguing thing to
explore. Besides, sometimes it’s the good
that comes out. We join together to recover
and help each other. It’s a lot more work
but the rewards are arguably greater than
going it alone.
There is so much to examine about mankind
when there is not much left of it. It’s
back to square one as we see communities try
to rebuild from the little that’s still
there. And in the cases of most of these games,
we see that humanity does indeed survive.
So while life obviously isn’t the same as
before, there’s a new normal that is established
and we can at least find some comfort in that.
From NieR:Automata’s flourishing greenery
to the deserted deathscapes of Mad Max and
the flooded wreckages of Metro Exodus, there
is no shortage of variety in terms of environment
too. Along with it comes a sense of beauty,
which I will discuss in more detail a little
later.
There is normally great freedom in traversal.
Even in the most linear games, we are given
many options in how we go about choosing our
path to our destination. Will we take an offensive
approach? Or will we rely on stealth? And
in situations where our stealth is compromised,
how quickly can we run or switch to another
strategy? We’re on guard a lot of the time,
but we’re also given our necessary moments
to take a deep breath.
The freedom of the post-apocalyptic lies with
the lack of authority and rules, which is
amplified by the interactive nature of video
games. You are constantly given so many choices,
the main being whether or not to use supplies
sparingly.
Dying Light 2 will have cities that completely
change depending on what decisions you make.
Aid the peacekeepers and you will see that
the area will become more developed. However,
running water and safer streets aren’t without
sacrifice, as the peacekeepers have a tyrannical
approach to controlling the inhabitants. On
the other hand, if you decide to not side
with the peacekeepers during that initial
choice, the city will have its freedoms, but
that also attracts the wrong kinds of people.
The Post-Apocalyptic is a cathartic release.
We leave our heavily regulated lives behind
for a more primitive lifestyle that focuses
on survival and in that way, it also makes
you appreciate the small moments that aren’t
a part of that.
The ambience of the post-apocalyptic is vastly
different to those set in the midst of an
apocalyptic event.
The recent Resident Evil 3 remake begins right
in the middle of Raccoon City’s destruction.
There are explosions, screaming civilians
and the horrific growling of the undead that
are clashing against metal barriers fills
the city. But as time moves on, you stumble
into areas eerily silenced by the effects
of the T-virus. The game only covers a short
period, but this kind of transition is amplified
even further in the years that follow such
an event.
There’s so much more noise and havoc in
games set during or near the beginning of
an apocalypse, but the post-apocalyptic worlds
possess an entrancing sense of tranquility.
Death Stranding is just one of those games.
Although you have remainders of the chaos
with areas infested with BTs, a lot of the
world remains still. It’s a calmness so
isolating that it makes you feel simultaneously
vulnerable and peaceful.
In Simone Pizzagalli’s essay ‘Spaces,
Poetics and Voids’, he writes: “Silence
becomes a space more than a real void, a pause
that is absent of sound but enriched by a
tension of meaning, in itself as silence,
or in relation with what was before and after”.
Vacancy is not devoid of significance, it
can speak to us more than anything. And it’s
a quietude that even the starting screen of
the Last of Us captures so perfectly.
The artbook for Horizon Zero Dawn illustrates
the passage of time through the environment,
showing the ‘gradual reclamation’ of manmade
structures. A blanket of vegetation builds
up as the lines are slowly softened.
The post-apocalyptic is reliant on decay and
it’s... romantic.
We’ve always lived among ruins.
We marvel at what’s left of Pompeii and
other ancient civilisations, and we like to
imagine our distant past. These ruins help
us piece together the puzzles in our heads,
but these places also serve as a reminder
that we will all crumble away eventually,
no matter how powerful we think our civilisations
are. There is a word in German for this obsession
with ruins and that’s the incredibly appropriate
‘Ruinenlust’.
This infatuation made itself home in the arts.
Artists like Hubert Robert and Gustave Doré
imagined what cities like Paris and London
would look like wearing an outfit of devastation.
Then in the year 1830, Joseph Gandy envisioned
the Bank of England as a ruin, depicting the
fall of an empire just like that of Rome.
We’ve always danced around the idea of our
inevitable doom and our weaknesses, and not
at the cost of beauty either.
Art during the Romantic Movement between the
late eighteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries
“depicted nature to be not only beautiful,
but powerful, unpredictable and destructive.”
These dramatic sunsets and mighty waves of
the sea are humbling. We are shown how small
we are in comparison and that insignificance
is so visually stunning.
This movement in art is emotional and imaginative,
it discards the values of order and reason
that its predecessor, the Age of Enlightenment,
held so dear.
The post-apocalyptic is no stranger to nature’s
violence. Buildings are ‘repaired’ by
vegetation, and what man had been forced to
abandon is now embraced by overgrowth. Although
instead of looking to the past of our ruins,
we avert our gaze to the imaginary futures
and alternate realities that video games portray.
It’s like looking at future fossils.
Some ruins in our world aren’t so far buried
in the distant past however. The tragedy of
Chernobyl still attracts curiosity and fascination,
and after HBO’s miniseries in 2019, the
city of Pripyat has seen increasing numbers
of tourism. It’s ironic to think that this
abandoned disaster area has become ‘busy’
in a sense... and unfortunately the commercialism
has encouraged some ignorance towards the
very real and terrible events that have destroyed
so many lives.
Whether or not video games that set themselves
in a virtual Chernobyl are sensitive and respectful
to the real events is a whole other discussion.
But it’s interesting to point out that these
apocalyptic spaces aren’t always fictional.
Modern ruins will always remind us of our
uncertainty. The buildings in the Last of
Us are eerily unoccupied, with some displaying
efforts of preservation and protection with
boarded up windows and locked doors. Yet ultimately
we see they weren’t enough.
The game always lets you know the purpose
of a space before the outbreak, whether that’s
visually or through the notes of those that
were once there, at a time. We get glimpses
of these ghosts and share a level of intimacy
with them thanks to the inclusion of journals
and audio logs left behind. We see continuous
references of our lost innocence and comfort
in the ruins of shops and homes, accompanied
by caved-in roads and foundations with vibrant
greens thriving against the forgotten concrete.
In Horizon Zero Dawn there are "Stairways
that reach to nowhere and supports that have
long since broken down. Frailty is evident
throughout these concepts, evoking pity for
those that once felt so comfortable and safe
among these structures. As daylight streams
through the window frames and reveals sections
of collapsed walls, it almost seems like the
trees that surround these broken buildings
have come to pay their final respects."
Wondrous structures worn out by nature are
struggling to stand and the lush ruins of
these post-apocalyptic games are beyond aesthetically
pleasing. The visual cues of decay are constant,
the most common form being wilting traffic
lights, or a broken, old car rusting away
at the side of a road. So, while we may become
desensitised to the past that surrounds us,
it will always be there.
We do actually have moments where we are awoken
to this blindness, like when Ellie asks questions
about aspects of our normal lives that she
can’t even begin to comprehend. Characters
born into these worlds don't see the purpose
or meaning in the dilapidated objects around
them, and they become part of the environment
as a stone or a rotting log would be to us.
These perspectives are a much needed wake
up call to add depth to our experience.
It’s not just about what was and remains,
but it’s also a reminder of what could exist
in that space should the apocalypse have never
occurred and brings about a moment of melancholy.
In Horizon Zero Dawn for example, we look
at the deteriorating shell of a stadium and
we re-compose it in our imagination.
A note in the artbook reads: "Aloy stands
alone in what might once have been a busy
thoroughfare, the overgrown setting a far
cry from the bustle of burger stands, ticket
booths and fast food restaurants. She would
have no concept of this, and we are encouraged
to leave such imagery behind."
The ruptured cities are littered with erasures.
There are rips and tears in the fabric along
with parts where survivors attempt to patch
things up. What were once homes become brutally
exposed by the elements. With no keepers to
care for it, all that is left is a husk of
memories from those who once lived there.
The buildings become manmade skeletons, but
the junk inside turns into necessities for
survival.
“In these kinds of buildings, spaces are
empty and unused, yet filled with traces of
events that happened at various times in the
past, and whose characteristics, qualities
and unfolding within the spatial composition
we can only try to imagine, while remaining
unable to understand or be part of them.“
When looking at ruins, you get ideas of what
may have happened, but the narration can only
go so far. You may see the notes of a concerned
father but you’re left wondering what happened
to the children... and other times you find
out the end of people’s stories. You end
up seeing so much tragedy that you assume
the worst and at the same time hoping for
the best.
“The spaces left behind can be a liberation
from the dominant spatial and cultural narrative
of productivity and function that is tightening
around our necks. The modern ruin offers the
relief of imperfection. Decay triggers imagination
and contemplation. All of a sudden, possibilities
arise because time and space are no longer
fixed within the usual conventions of functionality
and beauty. The undefined nature gives people
the opportunity to independently reinterpret
places, histories and futures. And perhaps
even their own lives.”
The allure of these ruins is proven by something
called urban exploration, or ‘urbex’ for
short. Youtube alone has no shortage of urbex
content to sink your teeth into, but why are
so many people into it?
The main attraction of urbex lies with the
thrill-seeking aspects of it, like the adrenaline
rush of hiding from security or climbing a
high place that could fall apart at any second.
However, it can also play an incredibly important
role in uncovering forgotten histories of
these areas.
Dereliction is captivating. The fact that
such places can exist in cities that knock
down, rebuild and develop every inch of land
they can is surprising for a lot of people.
And in the video games I’ve discussed, that
exact type of place is now almost everywhere.
We have laws and regulations that dictate
how space is used and how it looks, but in
the worlds of the post-apocalyptic, it doesn’t
exist… and it’s freeing. Perhaps that
takes out some of the excitement and adrenaline
from the often prohibited exploration of vacant
properties, but with the many hazards lurking
in these game worlds you can’t get too comfortable.
Cities are looked upon in hope and disdain.
There may be food and supplies scattered,
but the dangers of monstrous beings or buildings
on the edge of collapse are even more present.
Perhaps other people desperately surviving
have turned to hostility or cannibalism, and
their dangers lurk too.
Dying Light is the first title I think of
when considering urban exploration in games
and its emphasis on parkour couples with it
perfectly. The freedom of movement is immense,
but it’s not a hobby in the game, it’s
necessary for survival.
Urbex relies on our bodies and basic equipment
rather than modern conveniences such as cars,
elevators and even stairs in some cases. Finding
a way in is a puzzle to be solved when conventional
entrances are barricaded by debris, and the
same can be said for finding a way out. This
of course becomes a much more anxious exercise
when you’re under pressure. Especially that
of zombies chasing after you as you make your
frantic escape…
So thanks to these apocalypses, cities are
both playgrounds and death traps.
Imagining and indulging in our demise is nothing
new. Different arts and activities have always
allowed this expression, but video games go
further. With a new level of interactivity
we’re able to navigate these worlds safely
and it has in turn brought about more unique
explorations of our modern society through
the lens of an imaginary future.
Despite the pessimistic and catastrophic circumstances
of post-apocalyptia, there is a sense of hope.
Our curiosity doesn’t just lie with the
power fantasy of it, it’s a desire for recovery
and reconstruction. It’s about patching
up our broken world and learning from the
past in order to rebuild something stronger.
