Games With Grey

Assassin’s Creed: Revelations’ conservatism is its greatest failing; departures from the established series formula are slight, signaling originality’s painfully-felt absence. Some pushbacks inevitably exist, of course, and greatest departures – greatest injections of vigor and emotion – are intimately connected to the narrative proper, confined in ambition though still seizing upon epicness despite that confinedness. Ezio Auditore, charismatic and endearing Ezio Auditore, returns as primary player character, a not inconsequential statement. By this point, any given player approaching Revelations likely has some exposure to Assassin’s Creed II and its immediate follow up, Brotherhood. This exposure ensures that the player / player character relationship is intimate and intense from the first; player and player character are bonded in a singular, irregular fashion. Ezio ever serves as bulwark, commanding attention and admiration.  His masterful presence and swelling depth are both complemented by a genuinely heartfelt narrative, one alternately of sorrow and adulation, and one which does serve as a total break from the past. Emotions are frequently stimulated here – though of a rather different, subtler sort. In ACII’s opening, Ezio’s father and two brothers are violently hung before his own eyes – pained sorrow reigns supreme. In Brotherhood’s opening, meanwhile, after a very brief skirmish and an endured assault, Ezio sees his uncle Mario meet with a similar fate, cut down in a hail of gunfire by the villainous Cesare Borgia. Pathos, then, was an integral component in these two earlier narratives. Revelations seizes upon that impulse for emotional engagement and amplifies its intensity; humanity soars here, and Ezio’s depths of mind and feeling impart a tonal uniqueness.

One vital narrative motivation is advanced nearly instantly – Ezio is tasked with infiltrating the crypt of the revered master assassin Altair, Ezio’s metaphorical mentor. This crypt is suitably located below the towering fortress of Masyaf, former and greatest home of the Brotherhood, a thriving order under Altair’s wise guidance (though ultimately, his wisdom could not stave off a civil war – brothers turn against brothers in Revelations, in Altair’s precise narrative thread). And so Ezio assaults the crypt, desperate for ingress, animated by natural human curiosity; he excitedly puzzles over the library-crypt’s contents, knowing only that said content is of immense value, either from a scholarly perspective or a material, tangible one. The initial assault goes poorly; Ezio’s efforts are thwarted, though not before vital intel’s acquisition – Altair’s library requires five distinct keys to open. This knowledge is immediately succeeded by more knowledge: the keys are scattered about distant Constantinople, literal crossroads of Ezio’s world, a place Altair regarded as an exotic specimen – and consequently an alluring one. In Altair’s lifetime, the coveted keys are entrusted in the Polo Brothers’ hands, who transport them to that crossroads. Ezio mimics their earlier voyage, boarding a ship himself, making the travel across the vast seas in a state of palpable excitement. The skyline is sighted; emotion and playerexcitement soar; the opening is masterful, introducing a decidedly different, maturer Ezio.  

The narrative, an ambitious and two-pronged affair, splinters off almost from the first. One motivation sees Ezio, newly arrived in Constantinople, meddle with dynastic struggles, the petty, sometimes violent melees for the Ottoman throne. In this regard, the player is eventually embroiled in monarchical matters, bizarre and out of place indeed – Ezio is no diplomat, could not be further removed from such a designation. The aristocratic Sulieman, first appearing on Ezio’s vessel into the city, is portrayed as bookish and introspective in nature, never delighting in violence though realizing violence’s occasional necessity and its inevitable ubiquitousness. In this regard, he shows himself as a potentially capable leader, and his youthfulness, repeatedly emphasized, suggest his potentials for further growth and betterment. It is easy and instinctual to rally behind reluctant if self-assured Sulieman, his likability bolstered by the excellent and charming voice acting, which is almost as consequential as what Sulieman says. His complexities never match Ezio’s own depths of character, but Sulieman’s presence is a further injection of narrative vitality; his early emergence prompts directedness. But narrative ambition, ever narrative ambition, necessitates something more; ambition necessitates conflict, essential to all engaging and poignant narratives. One Prince Ahmet, relative to Sulieman, becomes the embodiment of villainy – even as he regularly constructs and projects facades of amicability and restraint. Here is a treacherous and subverting figure, whose treachery only expands as the narrative progresses ever onwards, as his precise relationship with the Templar order is revealed and developed. He desires Altair’s keys, too, and everything those keys might provide. He becomes a clichéd villain, animated by lusts for power and prosperity. His constant, embittered state defines him; if Ahmet could only occupy the throne, if he could only lay claim to Altair’s final gift to all humankind, happiness might emerge. Ultimately, it does not – Ezio thwarts all of Ahmet’s efforts. But while their conflict is intense, Prince Ahmet largely inspires ambivalence.

Compensating for this ambivalence is considerable emotional and cerebral engagement – the narrative is defined by inconsistency, not outright failure. One need only consider sweet Sofia Sartor, a bookish sort and a worldly, self-assured sort. Having intimate bonds to Constantinople in her youth, it follows her heart and head should lead her there again, to her birthland. And so she does travel, planting feet on Constantinople soil just as Ezio plants his own feet. Here is a divided and by extension an innovative figure. In most characterizations, the mentioned bookishness would inevitably and always clash with self-assuredness; these are mutually exclusive. Within Sofia Sartor, however, this is fast proven untrue – here is a creature of considerable depth, seemingly-disparate attributes wedded together neatly and beautifully. Her ample sincerity and transparency is just as disarming as her outward beauty and her knowledge. It is natural, then, that aged-yet-still-feeling Ezio should cling to her. It naturally follows, too, that she should requite his affections, owing to his lingering charisma, wisdom, and his own vast reserves of thoughtful sincerity. In so many narratives, a pair of starstruck lovers are frequently emphasized, lovers drawn together by fate from the first – perhaps even before birth and conception; fate is empowered. Revelations – Sofia and Ezio – mostly rejects this approach, even as Ezio is instantly smitten with graceful, red-haired Sofia. But such tradition is also upended, and it is fascinating and emotionally stirring to see their relationship organically and believably blossom with time’s passage. By Sofia’s constant prodding and natural sweetness, she draws out Ezio’s humanity and better self, challenging him to reacquire a stolen painting in one instance, to gather together a bouquet of flowers in another instance, to join her on a beautiful Constantinople picnic in another. Objectively, these are trivial acts, though still they are loaded with meeting, precipitating Ezio’s character growth and maturation, maturation already possessed in fair abundance. His wise reluctance and maturity ever influences his decision-making process, and this reluctance wreaks internal conflict; how much should Sofia be informed of his affairs and mission? Is informing her of the Assassin struggle like dooming her forever? Unable to live without her, Ezio confides in her, and the pair of beloveds succeed in their ultimate aim – Altair’s library is breached. Even so penetrated, answers remain elusive; crypticness ever abounds.         

Revelations’ gameplay is its worst manifestation of derivativeness, ambitionlessness. Like its predecessors, the game is an open-world game at heart, bearing the expectations inherent to said gerne, thriving in the present moment. The openness inherently underpinning this genre ever fosters exploration and the explorer’s impulse – and so it is Revelations, unmolested exploration prompting considerable and consistent delights. One need especially consider the locomotion systems, mostly unaltered though still subject to subtle refinements, perfections. And so the player will scale building after building, leap from rooftop to rooftop, the entire traversal act – beautifully and gracefully animated – exhilarating and invigorating. Towering structures are ascended, a survey of the sprawling landscape then conducted from these lofty, intimidating vantage points. Enemy towers will be battered into submission, their soldiers repulsed from the area, their influences reduced – though never outright destroyed. All of these statements could be applied to the trio of earlier titles (though the base acquisition and expulsion of enemies was not formally introduced until Brotherhood). Safeness again abounds, though in many ways the experience excels despite this safeness, for the core mechanics are foundationally flawless: whatever precise event – or nonevent – the player is involved in, ample enjoyability is a certitude; Revelations is a thrill to play, and this enjoyability undergoes a dramatic expansion as one new tool is implemented; Ezio is gifted a hookblade in the narrative’s opening portions, gifted him by the plucky if capable Yusuf, a figure occupying an elevated rank in the Constantinople Brotherhood. On paper, this inclusion is trivial, unrevolutionary. In practice, however, it is immensely liberating. For the hookblade greatly enhances movement speed while expanding maneuverability and the like; vertical and horizontal movement both benefit; marked hastiness is achieved. Carefully-distributed ziplines have a prominent place in the cityscape, and when ridden they further foster this hastiness, enabling highly cinematic horizonal traversal (indeed, all throughout Revelations, cinematic undercurrents exist always, periodically arising to the surface largely by way of clever camera manipulation). This one sole implementation lends the gameplay uniqueness, too, not simply because of the gameplay alterations and empowerments, but also because of the wholly new suite of animations, which set Ezio apart from all preceding and succeeding Assassins, sets him apart from even in past self. Enjoyability again surges, overflows, and the most mundane of objects, the hookblade, completely transcends all damning manifestations of mundanity; its implementation is ever thrilling.   

But gameplay is also defined by inconsistencies and superfluities. Most notably, again Revelations refuses to break from the past, even when such breaks have logical narrative groundings, logics which are ignored, a potential instance of developer frightfulness. Consider for instance the robust if intuitive economy system. First introduced on a limited scale in ACII – see the villa Monteriggoni, Ezio’s beloved familial homestead – this system was refined in Brotherhood, the player capable of restoring each individual Roman structure of note, from the smallest doctor’s stand though towards the monumental, majestic Colosseum or manifold other triumphal arches and churches. Here, these mechanics’ implementation was actually justified and justifiable; Rome was oppressed by the Borgia, and by expending acquired capital for the citizens’ benefit, Ezio was liberating the city and those selfsame citizens from that oppression. None of this applies to Revelations – no practical reason for restoring Constantinople exists; the mechanic is forcibly included, is half-hearted and unnecessary in implementation. Precisely these same sentiments could be directed towards the brotherhood management systems, first emerging in Brotherhood. With the passage of time and as Constantinople is explored, the assassin presence expands, Ezio engaging in constant recruitment, desperate to bolster the order’s strengths, memberships. Once a suitable team is assembled, the player can assign these individuals on various objectives throughout the Mediterranean and immediately surrounding world, seemingly for the benefit of the whole. Some slight U.I. alterations were made in the leap from Brotherhood to Revelations – and these are certainly welcome alterations and improvements, for they serve stylistic and practical functions simultaneously – but still this system seems terribly out of place, too, a further reflection of developer safety – if not insecurity. As with the economy system, were this system excised practically nothing consequential would be lost. Seeing the wide-ranging power and influence of the Assassins is sobering, certainly, in that it grounds Ezio and his struggle, and suggests he is not some godlike, indestructible character who can ever act unassisted – the Assassins humanize him. But still flaws abound, and the RPG mechanics underpinning the brotherhood management seem bizarre and basic indeed, though the tentative overtures at experimentation must at least be lauded (to an extent).

A pair of other gameplay innovations have their place, certainly, though even here flaws abound; Ubisoft forced in more unexciting mechanics all in pursuit of “newness.” And it is an unexciting newness – the systems are founded on flaws. One pursuit – bomb crafting – is a neat expansion of everything which came before; Ezio in ACII and Brotherhood both had access to smoke bombs, useful for diversionary functions, enabling escape from a perilous situation, or enabling an unchecked assault on those fallen victim to the smoke bomb’s impact area. From a gameplay perspective, these seemingly simple objects were empowering – devastating – indeed; they became an integral component of Ezio’s loadout upon first acquisition, permitting the surmounting of the seemingly insurmountable. In Revelations, Ubisoft injected ample complexity into this system, by including manifold different bomb ingredients and manifold different ways of combining those ingredients, each individual recipe altering a bomb’s efficacy and potential destructiveness – or distracting and disorienting capabilities. Now, bomb radius can be influenced, while the shrapnel released upon detonation is also controllable; caltrops exist alongside noxious gases, for instance. Still more, bombs can explode on impact, can stick to surfaces before detonation, and on and on go these permutations. Fair complexity exists here, though bomb crafting will likely go unengaged with by many players. Once a bomb or a combination of bombs have proven consistently successful in achieving various aims, it is likely those selfsame bombs will be relied upon always; the system goes neglected, a frustrating neglection. Ubisoft may have approached these systems with affection and respect, though still the implementation is half-hearted, existing solely for expectation’s sake.  

Such respect and affection are evinced elsewhere, too – see most obviously the inclusion of a tower-defense minigame. Periodically, the frustrated and rebellious Templars will mount an assault on an Assassin’s bureau, determined to seize upon the structure and reclaim it. Expectantly, the bureau’s defense largely falls upon Ezio’s shoulders. Bur rather than charging recklessly into the fray, meeting blade with blade, in these sequences, a more relaxed, cerebral stance is adopted, undeniably refreshing – for all throughout the game, the series, the hand and player dexterity are frequently and intensely stimulated; greater cerebral stimulation is largely relegated to the core narrative proper. And so the Templars commence their assaults, advancing futilely yet doggedly into a bottleneck, odds against them. It is Ezio’s job to ensure they do not upend those odds. And so the player determines which ally NPCs will be spawned upon the rooftops. And so the player determines whether or not to place barricades, and where precisely to erect them. And so the player determines the location of devastating mortar strikes, while sometimes the player can adopt a more direct role, firing Ezio’s wrist-mounted pistol to cut down some of the advancing opposition instantaneously. These tower-defense sequences are not repelling or abhorrent in nature – indeed, they periodically evoke delight, a strange and unique sort of delight. For the most part, however, they are inoffensive, and their inclusion seems an afterthought, included solely owing to fulfill the expectations of newness all video game follow-ups possess – a clear trend exists within Revelations, ever bound by those expectations. Fortunately, this mechanic’s presence is minimized, in that the Templar assaults are directly connected to Ezio’s notoriety. If it exceeds a certain predetermined threshold for a predetermined span of time, the Templars begin their advance. It is pitifully easy to erase notoriety, meaning that for most players the tower-defense systems will be encountered only a handful of times, each individual encounter mandated only by the central narrative proper. In time, these systems will also endure neglect; their newness cannot compensate for their pervasive dullness.             

For all its gameplay flaws, the constant iteration / innovation warfare, Revelations’ world-design and world-building are major triumphs – Constantinople is dazzlingly beautiful, a place brimming with atmosphere and with heart, brimming with newness, too. Brotherhood’s Rome, sprawling, rustic and disarming in its rusticness, was itself a major achievement. Despite that achievement, architecturally and atmospherically, Rome was a mere extension of, say, ACII’s opening environment Florence. That former city naturally possesses a sharper historical record, reflected in the architecture, sometimes dilapidated and sometimes carefully preserved. But still ample overlaps exist, thrive; repetitiveness thrives, and this thriving partially compromises the joys of exploration in Brotherhood; Rome was beautiful and imaginative, though that imaginativeness was absolutely bounded – Ubisoft’s insecurities resurface in this progression from ACII to Brotherhood. None of that applies to this title, Constantinople being a marked break from its predecessors. Given its crossroad status, it follows Constantinople should simultaneously feature eastern and western stylistics simultaneously. And so they do both have a presence, the skyline punctuated by countless middle-eastern minarets extending upwards towards the ochre Constantinople skies – and eventually the heavens resting just above those skies. The draw distance is exhaustive, Constantinople’s largeness communicating Ezio’s smallness. Color is masterfully manipulated, too. Ochre does dominate – see the skies and the sunsets, the buildings baking in that sunset – though blues have their place, too – see the skies after the sun’s setting, moon and stars taking her place. Constantinople and its depiction here are brimming with creativity. Justinian’s lovingly crafted Hagia Sophia, with its many domes, exerts its constant presence, a presence which actually serves a menacing if awe-inspiring function.  

For Constantinople is diverse indeed, broken up into several districts. The southernmost district is a decidedly impoverished district. Seeing scenes of squalor – and squalor abounds here – and then promptly looking upwards towards the distant if majestic Hagia Sophia only communicates the imbalances defining that Renaissance society, some – the masses – struggling, others – the few – existing in a cool and relaxed affluence, able to navigate these monumental structures gaily, ever deriving delight from their massiveness. This rift is observable even in the NPC models, the more prosperous areas boasting NPCs with extravagantly-dyed clothing, while the NPCs in squalor-filled districts wear humbler, less ostentatious garments. Reflecting place, though, relative modesty exists in all Constantinople; garish displays of the flesh are discouraged, perhaps vilified. NPC presence on the street is admittedly slight, but the constant noises of the city communicate its vibrancy and bustling nature. A dynamic day / night cycle, meanwhile, further stresses this organicness. Also, a clever division communicates a sense of environmental largeness (a sense which is ultimately illusory – Constantinople is not massive). This division revolves around the Galata district, a district separated from Constantinople proper by a vast body of water. Architecturally, the buildings and aesthetics are much the same, though somehow Galata has an identity distinct from mainland Constantinople. Imaginativeness again abounds, and a brief turn away from Constantinople through towards Cappadocia ensures that environmental tedium never settles in – exploration is consistently joyful to the last.    

It is instinctual to dismiss Revelations for its safeness and its unambitiousness, for both have their presence, a defining presence. Questions necessarily arise here, questions on the precise relationship between oldness and newness. To what extent should older design philosophies be preserved? To what extent should they be expanded upon? Should those selfsame philosophies be discarded outright, all for the supposed sake of progress? These questions are, again, especially rich here. For Revelations marks the ending of an era of sorts, as Ubisoft left behind Ezio and Altair both, a mostly satisfying ending, Revelations’ narrative stressing their mutual humanity and their natural predilection for suffering and feeling. The very next year, ACIII would release, running on an entirely new engine, and expectantly containing new design potentialities – Ubisoft were empowered in a new fashion, and the rift between Revelations and ACIII is palpable (though not as drastic as the leap from Syndicate to Origins, a literal sea change). In this regard, Ezio’s swansong marks the wonderful apogee of the earlier approach to Assassin’s Creed. But this swansong is also defined by paradoxes, again pointing towards developer insecurity. Clinging tightly to the blueprint of old, Ubisoftmakes only periodic – if very impactful and resonant – departures; see most obviously the narrative, mature and heartfelt. Consider also the world-building, Constantinople’s strange and exotic beauty still unrivalled by other environments in the entire succeeding series. In gameplay, predictability abounds. Outside of gameplay, though, the experience soars, for here originality overflows; wonderful deviations abound. The rejection of traditional open-world bloat is a unique and advantageous departure, too – all superfluous content is removed, and the game benefits from its hyperfocused approach. The Desmond sequences seem an afterthought, their inclusion flawed – they are laughably simple mechanically, are of miniscule length; the damning aftereffects of expectation show themselves, even as Desmond serves as valuable unifier. But the permanent turn away from Ezio and Altair is stirring indeed. Altair’s narrative conclusion is exciting, to be sure – his characterization in Revelations is masterful; he shows himself as far larger than the characterization present within the original Assassin’s Creed, released so many years earlier. But the conclusion to Ezio’s narrative is far more impactful and far more resonant. Seeing his conclusion is affecting indeed. This immense magnitude of feelings felt points towards Ubisoft’s total mastery of storytelling. Whatever Revelations’ faults, whatever the faults of ACII or Brotherhood, still Ezio Auditore exists as Ubisoft’s greatest, memorable, unquestioned triumph.