(Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/1/2024)
[Image from glitchwave.com]
Disco Elysium
Developer: ZA/UM
Publisher: ZA/UM
Genre(s): Isometric CRPG
Platforms: PC
Release Date: October 15, 2019
Why is Disco Elysium the one video game that still makes me quiver in my boots at the thought of dissecting it? Why have I procrastinated on delivering an insightful evaluation of this particular title in the interactive medium? Well, in what is either a healthy case of humility or damning self-deprecation, I can already detect that Disco Elysium is smarter than me. The key to analysis is to arch all of a work’s attributes through its hidden context and divulge the marrow of the piece through researched insight. One distant peek at Disco Elysium tells me that this game is already arched like the Gateway of St. Louis, and it's also filled to the brim with liner notes to the point where it's congested like a Japanese subway car. The title alone sounds like an unpublished Thomas Pynchon novel, and it's not like the hermit writer crafts digestible young adult genre fiction equipped for the dry and inert types of beachgoers. At first glance, Disco Elysium is denser than the blinding abyss of all five oceans and rattles the foundation of customary storytelling standards and practices so vigorously without any intention of sticking to elemental narrative formalities that adding another “post” prefix to the postmodern descriptor doesn’t seem redundant in the slightest. However, despite my prevailing sense of trepidation, I have to bite the bullet and explore the meaty trenches of Disco Elysium. For the patient and distinguished gamers of 2019 who sought to experience something fresh beyond the casual fare of Fortnite and Apex Legends, Disco Elysium was being extolled to the extent reminiscent of how Resident Evil 4 and BioShock were received upon their release: with absolute glowing adulation that reached the soaring echelons of gaming’s greatest. So, what’s a moderately intelligent person with an English degree to do in the attempt to meet Disco Elysium at its formidable, towering eyes and conquer it like the beastly dragon it has been rumored to be? Must I binge the works of Marx, Sartre, and Camus like I have a literary eating disorder? Should I enlist back into my university and spend thousands of hours and money pursuing a master’s degree in philosophy with a minor in social policy, and would they deny me my diploma if I informed them of the impetus for this academic endeavor? On second thought, I probably don't have to indulge in some seriously extraneous research to penetrate Disco Elysium’s ultra-guarded core. This isn’t a comment on the intelligence of the average gamer, but I doubt this game would be heralded to the astounding extent it has been if it were truly as abstruse and inaccessible as it appears. After trusting this intuitive thought and lowering my guard to finally play Disco Elysium, I find that it’s perfectly approachable. However, the game’s overall content still makes reviewing it an especially challenging excursion. Lord, give me strength (and a hearty brew of coffee).
Quintessential narrative introductions such as “once upon a time” or “long, long ago” are too cliche and guileless for Disco Elysium. Beginning Disco Elysium is akin to the penultimate entrance for all organic life: birth. Or, at least the game subtly comments that arising from an unconscious slumber where all of your primal cognitive faculties are jolting you awake with faint and incoherent mumblings is similar to exiting the womb to the realm of sentience. However, given the destitute state of The Protagonist’s room and his ghastly visage, one might regret abandoning the void of sleep. With context clues given by the NPCs in the first-floor cafeteria of the Whirling-In-Rags establishment, this middle-aged lush who resembles David Crosby coming down off a wicked bender (who I realize is just David Crosby) is a police detective assigned to investigate the murder of a man whose body is hanging by a tall tree branch in the hostel’s courtyard. Actually, the identity of The Protagonist could very well be the folk-rock superstar, for he’s imbibed enough intoxicating substances into his bloodstream that he’s debilitated himself into an amnestic stupor. With the aid of his crime-fighting partner, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi, it’s just as vital that the nameless detective find himself as it is to seek out the perpetrator behind the apparent lynching. At its bare essence, Disco Elysium is an interactive detective story revolving around the typical crime sniffed out in these scenarios: a plain ol’ homicide. This common catalyst for police sleuthing presents a sturdy base to balance all of the convoluted content that the game bestows, and the developers are exceptionally wise to understand that an elementary plot premise was necessary to hold their game together.
However, the central conflict of Disco Elysium is the only aspect of the game I’d describe as simple. For one, the word itself has far too few syllables. Disco Elysium is classified as an RPG, but the gameplay hardly involves The Protagonist and Kim taking turns to topple the suspected murdering scumbags by shooting them on sight and racking up more bodies than what they were initially assigned to deal with. Disco Elysium is staunchly a western breed of RPG where other facets of the role-playing framework take precedence over combat. Specifically, Disco Elysium is of the “isometric CRPG” variant, a branch stemming from trees that are exclusively grown outside of Japan that grew to a level of prominence in the late 1990s with the first two Fallout games and Planescape: Torment. The latter of the two examples mentioned has often been described as “the best book that you’ll ever play,” a tagline sure to strike either fear or ambivalence in the hearts of gamers for alluding to what is perceived as a polar pastime to theirs. As of writing this, I haven't even taken a curious glance into Planescape: Torment to affirm that anecdote, but I can certainly confirm that the statement is just as applicable to Disco Elysium. The majority of the game’s mechanics revolve around conversing with NPCs and navigating through The Protagonist’s internalized stream of consciousness, echoed to the player as a frame of reference to the inner workings of the man they are piloting. Striking up conversation with any of Martinaise’s fine folk is usually a commitment, as the multiple blocks of dialogue and descriptive prose tend to scroll on for longer than the rough draft of the Emancipation Proclamation. By the closing remarks, a half hour in real time could’ve potentially passed and the player will have forgotten why they drummed up this prolonged discourse in the first place. Depending on which version of Disco Elysium the player has selected, voice acting may not be featured to accommodate the thick and wordy chunks of text that seem to flow endlessly from the right side of the screen. The colossal volume of text the player must absorb is most likely the primary source of aversion pertaining to Disco Elysium’s imposing grandeur.
The sheer abundance of text would present a detrimental dilemma for the game if the developers weren’t such astute character writers. Martinaise’s denizens are definitely the shining stars that provide a hint of effervescence in their otherwise dismal surroundings. Garte, the acting manager of the Whirling-in-Rags, certainly isn’t the most cheerful or obliging person working in customer service. However, his constant irritated, yet understandable, indignation towards The Protagonist, who's been trashing the hostel room he’s been staying to the point where it’s uninhabitable, always provides comical banter for when it’s time to pester The Protagonist for his nightly rent payment. Rene and Gaston, two elderly men spending their twilight years playing petanque in a crater located in the Martinaise waterfront square, have known each other for so long that they bicker like they’ve been married for over half a century. Blocking the gate to the harbor like a bouncer to a nightclub entrance is Measurehead, a monolithic powerhouse of a man who possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of the history of every (fictional) race residing on the Le Caillou archipelago. As harmless as his anthropological expertise may seem, all it amounts to is a fuel used to contemptuously condescend towards anyone who doesn’t share his “superior” Semenese genes and anyone who doesn’t share his racist sentiments. It’s almost sad that someone with such an impressive scholarly aptitude is wasting his talent on inflammatory rhetoric. The NPC who I find the most entertaining is Cuno, an adolescent delinquent who is found tampering with the crime scene behind Whirling-in-Rags. He and his female equivalent peering over the tall fence, a character simply dubbed “Cunoesse,” speak with such abrasive vulgarities that even a sailor would drop their tankards of rum in shock. I didn’t even think any piece of media could get away with characters using the word “f*ggot” these days, and these two redheaded brats use it as liberally as Tarantino drops the N-Bomb in his scripts. The gutter language these two would spew never ceased to astound me, and hearing it through their thick cockney accents makes it incredibly amusing. Even when characters are expositing lore, the dialogue somehow elevates the text to where it's still engaging on the merits of entertainment. That’s quite the skill for any writer, much less one that works in the realm of video games.
But of course, the entertainment factor of Disco Elysium’s dialogue is conditional to The Protagonist’s responses. Whenever it's his turn to speak, the dialogue branches offer a plethora of options that will divert the conversation to several different territories. The choices depend entirely on the character and the context of what they’re saying, but the game will always present the player with a number of divergent pathways regardless. The Protagonist can either respectively comply with what he’s being told, interrogate them further with the power of the badge, antagonize them, or respond with a non-sequitur that no one of sound mind would ever utter in polite society. Given that the game’s progression is reliant on conversing with NPCs, one can infer that choosing the correct line to speak is of the utmost importance. The particularly important lines of dialogue that progress the game are highlighted in either white or red, with the lighter color signifying that this line can be spoken properly again if The Protagonist experiences sudden apprehension or fumbles over his tongue. The red ones can only be attempted once, and an unfortunate roll of the dice (literally) will permanently erase the opportunity to engage in the most spontaneous and deranged actions and dialogue lines. Still, the repeatable options are also categorized by boldness as well. The Protagonist needs a boost of gumption to ask the fish village dweller Lillienne on a (strictly platonic) date walking to the frozen peak of the western region of Martinaise, convince Gaston to part ways with his scrumptious, super-sized ham sandwich, and roundhouse kick Measurehead out of the way of the harbor gate control unit instead of espousing his racist bullshit. Both red and white dialogue checks vary greatly in their likelihood of success. Some only need casual assurance, while some steeper statements are in the realm of “impossible” or “godly” that not even Fonzie is suave enough to avoid backlash upon saying it. The percentage of success can increase favorably depending on several contextual factors found in nuggets of information during a conversation, but they can also decrease those chances depending on The Protagonist’s methods of extracting the necessary context. Sometimes, whiffing a desired line can consequently subtract either The Protagonist’s health or morale, two units of vigor that the player must keep in mind, lest they suffer either the total physical or mental deterioration of The Protagonist. Common sense should be the vital tool in ensuring that neither health nor morale is damaged during conversation, but what’s the fun in making conversation if the player is discouraged from experimenting? Buy enough nosaphed and magnesium from the Fritte kiosk with the leftover reál from the rent payment and Bob's your uncle. Putting progression up to a game of chance might seem unfair or counterintuitive to the requisite skill ceiling that justifies gaming’s designation as a unique artistic medium. In practice, however, the risk and reward of rolling the dice to correctly say the special response is a tense and gratifying thrill as its gambling connotations would indicate. It’s especially exciting when the odds are stacked against the player and they still manage to eke out a victory regardless.
If the cards are not in your favor for completing the white-checked piece of dialogue, unlocking it again after fucking it up can be achieved through upgrading the character stat that coincides with the nature of the response. When I stated that Disco Elysium’s RPG mechanics were heavily character-oriented, I was still understating the full extent of what it entailed. Disco Elysium’s stats are very similar to how Fallout organizes the attributes of the playable character. The player is given the choice of an archetype of sorts with their own strengths and weaknesses relating to their base acuity pertaining to a number of physical, mental, and social characteristics. Since combat is seldom a relevant factor in Disco Elysium’s gameplay, the game compartmentalizes every conceivable construct of the human psyche and integrates it as a character statistic. There are four general psychological constructs, and each of them has six subdivisions that correlate with the nature of the broader cognitive concept. Intellect relates to the sharp mental prowess of logical reasoning, rhetorical perspicacity, and encyclopedic knowledge on a myriad of subjects relevant to greater Revachol. Psyche stats relate to more innate emotions such as empathy, volition, premonition, and the ability to sway others with either subtle suggestion or authoritative assertiveness. Physique pertains to primal sensations of pain, fear, pleasure, and discomfort. Lastly, motorics are all about one’s reactive skills such as hand-eye coordination, composure, perception, and the ability to not act boorish around other people. Whenever the game’s narrator acts as The Protagonist’s inner monologue, at least one of the psychological attributes will be assigned to the line depending on the context. It will seem as if The Protagonist is housing twenty-four different personalities in his head, which is an interesting way to interpret the convoluted flow of the human consciousness.
Parallel to the game’s character stats is the “thought cabinet,” a collection of tangible, external concepts that The Protagonist can learn about through conversation and adopt into his own interests and or personal dogma. Once the concept is internalized via a selective series of slots, new dialogue options are unlocked, and potentially an increase to a number of stats. “Hobocop” seems to be the prototypical mental manifestation for its fitting alignment with The Protagonist’s propensity to wallow in waste, but I quite like the “homo-sexual underground” and “inexplicable feminist agenda” for the potential hilarity that might ensue. If these thoughts do not come with perks, the player can always mix up their stats by wearing clothes that come with differing stat variations leaning in either positive or negative effects. However, the game stubbornly persists that a particular stat must be boosted manually through leveling up to bypass the failed white check lock, but what is the player to do if that stat is part of an inherent character blindspot. Do drugs! No, seriously: smoking nicotine, taking pyrholidon, consuming alcohol, and snorting the shit out of some speed will extend all stats of a horizontal column by one unit past the base capacity. Using these substances will come at the cost of The Protagonist’s health and morale, however, so use them wisely. I don’t know if it’s the obsessive-compulsive side of myself talking, but the array of thoughts and their utilization is probably my favorite mechanic in Disco Elysium.
Besides digging through each dialogue wall for a particular response, the bulk of experience points in Disco Elysium used towards increasing the stats is gained through completing quests. It’s perhaps the most noticeably typical aspect of Disco Elysium’s RPG makeup, no? On top of the chain of quests relating to the primary, overarching murder case, plenty of Martinaise’s residents will keep The Protagonist and Kim on commission to aid in their subsidiary predicaments. The slimy, corrupted union leader, Evrart Claire, will task The Protagonist with subordinate work, getting signatures for a construction project at the most professional and breaking and entering into someone’s private domicile at the seediest. Frumpy, fuddy-duddy bookstore owner Plaisance is highly distraught when (and if) The Protagonist opens the curtains to the store’s “forbidden section,” a condemned area where all of the former businesses that shared the same zip code bellied up. The Protagonist is sent to investigate Plaisance’s superstitious notion that a supernatural entity is dooming every business in that spot to bankruptcy. He can also aid the search for “cryptids,” mythical animals studied passionately by the older couple of Lena and Morell. My favorite “side quest” in the game is aiding the entrepreneurial endeavor of four young music enthusiasts who wish to turn an abandoned old church into a dance club dedicated to their cutting-edge “anodic” sounds. The cast of vibrant characters you’ll meet during this quest line is too engrossing to pass up. In addition to the wealth of experience points awarded to the player, engaging in these quests unrelated to the hanged man gives the player an opportunity to soak up Martinaise on an intimate level. Between the shabbiness, the district of Le Caillou’s capital city, Revachol, evokes a potent melancholy that is too alluring not to bask in. Besides, how unsightly can this area be when it's portrayed in artful, expressionistic watercolors? I just wish the fast travel feature was more practical, for I contest that there are more than three notable areas around Martinaise.
Finding himself is the pinnacle of secondary quests that The Protagonist can delve into in Disco Elysium. Seeing this middle-aged man lying face down in nothing but his underwear in a state of pathetic indignity leaves a perfect first impression on the player. The scene also gives them a hint of why a handful of NPCs, namely Garte and his policeman peers over at his native Precinct 41, treat him with such brazen disdain. He’s a complete fucking mess; a total dumpster fire of a person who should ideally be institutionalized in a rehabilitation center or an insane asylum indefinitely until pigs grow wings and learn to fly. However, despite the initial impression and the popular viewpoint on his integrity, or lack thereof, The Protagonist is more than a vomit-covered bum whose occupational status serves as an indication that Revachol is in dire straits. I’ve been referring to him as vaguely as possible up to this point, for the reveal of his true identity is a genuine spoiler to a truly integral moment. The Christian name of the wild man with the mutton chops is Harrier Du Bois (or “Tequila Sunset” as he’s referred to by a group of wastrels he affiliates with). Before his streak of frequent inebriated episodes, his once-misplaced ledger reveals that he’s of the respectable rank of lieutenant double-yefreitor in the RCM. He’s managed to solve over 200 different cases during his extensive tenure and in that time, he’s averaged a remarkably low kill count compared to other officers in the same jurisdiction. Pretty impressive for a guy who's convinced his necktie is trying to coerce him into performing acts of debauchery. So, if Mr. Du Bois is actually an exemplary, nay; outstanding outlier in the RCM, why and how has he been reduced to the state of picking himself off the floor every morning in a stupor that not even Keith Richards could recover from? Simply put, his fiance left him and he took it upon himself to ameliorate the pain of loss and betrayal by pummeling his brain and nervous system with every and all illicit chemical compounds known to man. It’s a tale as old as time, and his fabrication of her as Delores Dei, the founder of humanism and the historical symbol of purity and beauty in Revachol, fully illustrates how deep his mental state has sunk. Becoming privy to Harrier’s personal history makes one realize that “Disco Elysium” isn’t a mindless combination of two enticing words coming together for the sake of marketing: it’s the rapturous state of consciousness that The Protagonist has formulated out of his chronic mix of uppers and downers. He’s taken the excessive and superficial aspects of the gaudy, late 1970s dance craze and obliterated his brain with the concoction to the point of hazy bliss. However, it’s fairly obvious that Harry’s coping methods are destroying himself and everything in his vicinity (especially his police carriage that he submerged into the snow during a drunken lapse of judgment). Fortunately, my interactive role as the player can either keep Harry clean from further idiocy or continue to ride this rollercoaster straight to Hell. At first, I directed Harry towards the path of degeneracy but as the game progressed, his detective acumen started to reemerge and some honest-to-God police work was completed. I didn’t let Harry give Cuno the speed that he confiscated from his dad, nor did I allow the anodic music group to sell drugs to finance their future club. I figured this case gave Harry an outlet to distract himself from his destructive habits, and the lack of indulging in his escapist fodder would eventually clear his mind and he’d rekindle his shrewd detective prowess through lucidity. I still had Harry take some speed, drink, and smoke cigarettes in moderation because I can’t expect him to quit cold turkey and live his life like a “Johnny clean cheeks.” Still, the fact that this character who has a storied background and clear motives can be altered and adjusted to act accordingly to either side of morality or degeneracy speaks volumes about the depth of Disco Elysium’s interactivity.
Perhaps my gradual pension for moral deeds and a competent working demeanor was incentivized by the fact that Kim was literally looking over The Protagonist’s shoulder and monitoring his every action at almost every waking moment. Collaborating with Precinct 51’s finest in the somewhat independent, grassroots RCM almost verges Disco Elysium into the realm of buddy cop territory. That is, if the comradery between the two officers includes one of them acting on pins and needles constantly in grave anticipation for potential embarrassment, unwanted publicity, or something inconceivably horrible caused by the guy who he’s been assigned to be by his side at all hours of the day. The dynamic between The Protagonist and Kim should naturally fit the archetypal “good cop and bad cop” cliche so overused that its mere mention should make everyone’s eyes roll. However, The Protagonist is both of those tropes while Kim is the rock-the support beam that balances his partner’s volatility. Kim is a cop with steadfast convictions, and unwavering professionalism that sets his sights on solving the murder he is assigned with The Protagonist serving as his only distraction. Kim is stoic, stern, and entirely straight-laced, minus his nightly cigarette that surprises even The Protagonist. Even though Kim sounds like a static and stolid character, why did I begin to dread the thought of disappointing him? Besides assisting The Protagonist in connecting the clues to the murder and providing support during interrogations, Kim also acts as a barometer for where his partner currently lies on the ethical spectrum. The liner notes of the ledger list many calculable statistics, and one of these numbers is “good cop points.” This number either increases or decreases from the starting point of zero, with positive numbers signifying adequate police work and negative ones for acting like an absolute menace. Where the cumulative number is placed also coincides with Kim’s disposition towards The Protagonist. Kim will start warming up to him and gain a newfound sense of respect and admiration for his partner if the amount increases and conversely, he’ll audibly sigh after every interaction and curse the day some moron gave The Protagonist the duty to protect and serve. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I became so accustomed to having him in close proximity throughout the game, but I genuinely grew attached to Kim as the game progressed. His wholesomeness is rather endearing and makes for humorous banter to bounce off of, and he possesses a smattering of secret eccentricities such as motor vehicle upkeep and pinball wizardry. Really, I enjoy Kim’s company because he seems to be the only level-headed person in Martinaise, someone who hasn’t lost their mind from general despair or political zealotry. Kim’s respect for The Protagonist is a two-way street, and the rightful lashing he dishes out to his partner for acting like a foolish jackass bordering on psychopathy pierces the player’s soul like being stabbed by a heated knife. Kim seems to be a reigning contender for the fan-favorite character of the game, so I’m not the only one charmed by the good-natured persona of this orange jumpsuit-clad lawman.
Kim’s judgment must have been the sole influence in guiding my behavior, for The Protagonist’s demeanor has little sway on the outcome of the murder case. After conducting a field autopsy on the corpse once the belt buckle holding him up has been severed from the tree limb, the main mystery of Disco Elysium’s plot progressively unravels a conspiratorial web of deception. Waking up in the Whirling-in-Rags on the second day will see the Hardie Boys setting up shop in an area with booths in the hostel’s cafeteria. The leader of this subsector of the union, the gruff, trucker-esque Titus Hardie, fully confesses that he and his gang murdered the man and hung him in the courtyard seconds after Harry casually asks him if he simply knew any little speck of information about the scene in the first place. In fact, Titus even details that his motive for conducting this impermissible offense was that the hanged man sexually assaulted a young woman staying in the hostel and it was an act of virtuous vigilante work. Figuring out that the hanged man was a mercenary hired on by the Wild Pines business conglomerate to intimidate the striking union workers that Titus and his crew are a part of certainly compounded the impulsion that led to the Hardie Boys taking matters into their own hands. Kim insightfully notes that no one would ever immediately confess to such a serious crime, so the core of the investigation is transferred over to Klassje, the rape victim in question who resides on the hostel’s roof looking contemplative. It turns out that the sex between her and the mercenary was consensual, so we can assume that Titus’s motives were spurred by envy instead of virtue. However, Klaasje’s aura and role in this investigation screams a certain film noir archetype that a Velvet Underground song forewarned would “build you up to just put you down” and “play you for a fool,” so her leads should be taken lightly despite the vital perspective she provides. From further prodding, it’s revealed that Titus and his merry band of men merely positioned the mercenary in the tree postmortem in an attempt to protect Ruby, a Hardy boy adjunct who operates the drug trade side project of the union who told them to stage the lynching. Klassje, or whatever her real name is, also admits that Ruby harbors a palpable lesbian crush on her, so her motive for whacking the guy from the window of her hostel room is clear as a diamond. Much of the later game is dedicated to tracking her down and once our police duo finds her under the floorboards, it’s likely that the player will roll the outcome where Ruby blasts her brains out with a shotgun after feeling trapped into dealing with the consequences of her actions. As the promising lead is literally blown to smithereens, the true climactic point of Disco Elysium awaits Harry and Kim in the Martinaise square: the tribunal. Obviously, the hanged man’s fellow Krenel mercenaries are none too pleased with the allegations that the Union killed their commander in cold blood, so the goons with the Michelin Man armor and semi-automatic weapons seek to spill Union blood as an act of retribution. Harry and Kim can intervene to try and simmer the scene down to a ceasefire with evidence, but the outcome of this duel with razorwire tension will always result in at least a couple of people on either side bleeding to death after shots have been fired. The red dialogue markers that further the scene also indicate that the result of the tribunal will practically be randomized and finalized, adding to the gripping unease of what is occurring. The tribunal is a frenzy of violence and chaos, and the uncertainty of the resolution is liable to make the player sweat bullets.
While there isn’t a section in Disco Elysium as heart-pounding as the tribunal, the result of the massacre is not indicative of whether or not the player came close to finding the true culprit. There are still plenty of unchecked prints to discover relating to the case, but a few circumstances of how the last few hours of the game will resolve vary depending on the outcome of the tribunal. For one, there is a possibility that our dear, sweet Kim Kitsuragi became a casualty in the crossfire and is either recovering in the hospital or has tragically ascended over the rainbow bridge. Either or, Kim’s absence will call for a substitute partner and hilariously enough, it’s fucking Cuno to the rescue. A genius, cunning ploy from the developers, indeed. For those of you who would rather not experience the final act of the game hearing rotten potty mouth every few seconds, reloading the game and bettering the odds of Kim’s survival will continue the regularly scheduled programming. Anyways, if the player is completionist conscious and has checked off every quest beforehand, they might be confused and annoyed that they couldn’t finish one where Harry tries to confirm the possibility that the bullet’s origin point could’ve been from farther away than up close and personal. Upon inspecting Klassje’s window, yet again, Harry deduces a fourth potential location: a remote island located at Revachol’s icy peak. Borrowing Lillienne’s boat, Harry and whoever is chewing his ear will venture to this dull rock to find that there is actually someone living and breathing on Martinaise’s least impressionable piece of land. The haggard geezer who camps out in the tall, dehydrated grass is Iosef Lilanovich Dros, but his title of “The Deserter” more than exemplifies the man’s life story in a nutshell. He’s a veteran soldier of the Revolution, a civil war that led to a paradigm shift in Revachol’s socio-economic practices. Or, at least he would be referred to by such a venerated title if he didn’t chicken out. Still, his paltry participation trophy is what kept him from being slaughtered like cattle, a fate that befell his friends who stormed into battle. Since then, the trauma of witnessing such brutality has led him to live a hermetic, off-the-grid lifestyle on the island for almost half of a century. To bide his time, all this decrepit victim of historical political strife does is spew vitriol on every Martinaise inhabitant, calling the bourgeoisie reptilian and the underprivileged, leftist working class a bunch of posers. Interestingly enough, one of this man’s other hobbies is shooting a rifle, and the trajectory of his position in relation to the Whirling-In-Rags matches the broken glass in Klassje’s window perfectly. With nothing to lose, Iosef details a full and honest confession that he shot the mercenary commander through his throat because he lusted after Klassje and was revolted by the sight of her fornicating with whom he considered to be a fascist cockroach. Harry calls his precinct to retrieve this guilty man from his location, and he returns with them back to Jamrock where he belongs.
Case closed, right? The whereabouts of the murder culprit are resolved and either Kim joins Harry as a permanent partner in his 41st precinct, or Kuno receives an avenue away from his drug addict deadbeat dad by enlisting in the precinct’s junior detective program. While all of the ingredients for a happy ending are pronounced, the end of Disco Elysium resonates with an ungratifying conclusion. I had been anticipating the unveiling of the murder and expected the revelation to elicit the highest sensation of success. I soon realized that the mercenary's murder is not the primary conflict in Disco Elysium, and the unraveling of the context behind the crime elucidates the game’s true ethos. Since the dawn of Revachol when it was a constitutional monarchy, the city and its people have consistently been in a state of unrest and woe. The former world capital has undergone more operations to change its appearance than Michael Jackson, and none have resulted in even an iota of tranquility or satisfaction. The developer’s home country was formerly a part of the Soviet Union, so the game is tilted towards a leftist political compass. Still, the game’s characters that represent these ideals are not moral, altruistic heroes striving for a better world. Many of them are racist hypocrites who are guaranteed to damage Martinaise as disastrously as the aristocrats they rebel against. Conversely, Joyce Messier, the Wild Pines representative, is quite kind and understanding towards Harry and aware of how the strikers perceive her even though she’s painted as the evil oppressor. Calling Disco Elysium “dystopian” would be a narrow assessment of the predicament of modern Martinaise. No one is outrightly subjugated, even though the tattered foregrounds would say otherwise. No, Disco Elysium’s summation of the situation can be boiled down to one damning concept: failure. Everything and everyone, regardless of class or credo, is failing and there doesn’t seem to be a solution in sight. This is why every circumstance in the game is left up to the luck of the draw, for any factored skill would better guarantee the likelihood of success. Disco Elysium is the only game I can think of where success and failure aren’t mutually exclusive, as the player can bomb miserably at every step and still complete the task at hand. Are the developers suggesting that human society is inherently erroneous and cannot exist under any governmental ruling? As harrowing as the “pale” is, perhaps it's the eraser this world needs to begin anew.
Because of Disco Elysium, I now subscribe to the myth that humans only use around ten percent of their brains. If this scientific theory is correct, then Robert Kurvitz is evidently the gifted outlier who can power all of his brain’s circuits at their full capacity. How else can you explain the original world he has conjured up that is so immensely rich and fascinatingly detailed that it is genuinely beyond comprehension how a human being could’ve fictionalized it all? One could attest that the game’s primary inspiration is an allegory for the sordid history of the developer’s homeland, but the parallels are masked so brilliantly in meticulously built lore and character depth that it’s practically unnoticeable. All the while, Disco Elysium is unpredictable, outrageous, introspective, and beckons for hours of replayability like no other game before it. Hell, I feel like I’ve only scratched ten percent of what Disco Elysium has in store for gamers with my feeble, average brain with this review. Still, that just means that every player will experience something that I didn’t and they can make their own conclusions. Ladies and gentlemen: I declare that we’ve hit another milestone in the gaming medium. I predict that Disco Elysium will be often imitated but never duplicated. Still, if game developers start adopting sharp writing, nuanced characters, and original mechanics, then I welcome Disco Elysium as the progenitor of this likely trend.
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