Games With Grey

Assassin’s Creed III’s narrative is unprecedented in scope and in ambition; it is a major triumph, decidedly epic in construction. Consider most obviously the opening prologue, total manifestation of epicness. Spanning roughly five or six hours in length, it is fair to describe the prologue – and by slight extension the entire narrative proper – as a slow burn. With so many, less ambitious or more directed titles, by the one hour mark conflict has been established, principal players introduced. Instead, in these opening portions the narrative expressly dwells on one character and one character alone – the enigmatic Haytham Kenway, gentlemanlike and aristocratic in deportment (though a fair degree of defining darkness and brutality lies just below that calculated veneer of aristocraticness; Haytham is as much villain as hero). Indeed, even as narrative scope widens beyond the prologue, as additional villains are introduced and developed, as new warfares and struggles are waged, Haytham’s presence is always felt, even while tangibly absent from the scenes being staged; his characterization is masterful, and alongside his enigmaticness comes a fair degree of almost inexplicable likability. Brimming with charm and charisma, Haytham awes even as he commits murders and orchestrates violence. And Haytham does commit murder and orchestrate violence – even from the first. For the narrative’s opening moments revolve around murder, assassination. Haytham, exploiting his gentlemen like status, easily infiltrates an opera house, entering the establishment in a motivated state; a target must be assassinated, an object claimed. Effortlessly succeeding in the endeavor, the object is seized – and with it a fair degree of curiosity. One bit of crucial insight is gleaned – America, vast, colonial America must be explored. And so Haytham quits England and crosses the blue Atlantic, sustained by his characteristic confidence and an ample supply of vigor, resolve.

Even in the opening, then, America morphs into a character in its own right; indeed, it is just as essential – more essential – than Haytham himself. In a rousing and affecting scene, Haytham sights the humble-if-striking Boston skyline from aboard the vessel ferrying him across the seas. The title proudly shows itself: Assassin’s Creed III. But reflecting the plodding pacing, traction is not claimed here but is instead defrayed. And so Haytham’s tale winds onward, ever onward for a number of additional hours, as his efforts in the colonies are painstakingly detailed. Recruits are enlisted – cautiously and wisely so, of course. Alongside this gradual process of literal expansion comes an expansion of knowledge; in time, Haytham obtains much of what he sought. While these opening moments – opening hours – occasionally meander, player interest is preserved – always. Just as this player interest does begin to diminish – the prologue begins to feel overwrought – revelations are made; the opening concludes in dramatic and striking fashion. 

It is easy and instinctual to state here, “now the narrative begins in earnest,” but to do so is to minimize the prologue’s impactfulness and its uniqueness. Haytham’s influence and presence persist, even as he is displaced by his own son, later given the moniker Connor by mentor and confidant, Achilles. Superficially, Connor and his development resemble, say, Ezio Auditore and his development in the Ezio Trilogy, the three series titles immediately preceding this one. As with Ezio, the player observes, intimately observes, Connor’s growth and development – manifestations of epicness emerge even here, as the player is even witness to Connor’s conception, Haytham taking as lover a creature of the forests, a Native American woman named Zio. Years pass in an instant – Connor is born, Connor grows, and the player first controls him in his childhood years, years of mostly unchallenged bliss, clashing greatly with all the succeeding years, fraught with conflict and devastation. Immediately following this sequence – which culminates in a tragic fashion as inklings of future violence emerge in the figure of Charles Lee, Haytham’s lieutenant of sorts with aims for Connor’s homeland, brimming with value for the Templar Order, which Haytham heads – destruction erupts, and never truly dissipates. And so Charles Lee encroaches; and so Connor’s defining weariness and skepticism expand. His character growth is remarkable, and he is a worthy replacement for his father Haytham, absolutely. Indeed, while Connor lacks the charisma defining Ezio – or even and especially his own father – his complexity far eclipses Ezio’s own; Connor’s characterization is masterful, too. Connor ages into early adolescence over the rapid span of but twenty or thirty minutes of playtime, though not before an early catastrophe; the village is assaulted and consumed by flames in an attack orchestrated by Lee. Zio dies in the inferno, dies in Connor’s thin and youthful arms. Hardened by the endeavor, following cryptic guidance by a village elder, Connor quits the village and pursues a strange symbol – the Assassin’s symbol. The quest leads him to Achilles and the declining Davenport homestead which the ailing-yet-surviving Assassin Achilles calls home, a homestead similarly ailing and in terrible decline. 

Now the narrative begins in earnest. Epicness is not rejected, is never rejected, though the narrative adopts a more conventional and predictable cast. After showing ample reluctance, Achilles admits Connor into his fold. And after countless years of concerted training, training which honed the mind and the body both, Connor is inducted into the Brotherhood. Motivations are many. The Templar Order expectantly dwells at the heart, ever preoccupying Connor’s thoughts; they must be toppled, their endeavors halted and reversed. To this end, Connor becomes a dismantler, calculatingly assaulting the Order, targeting one member and then another in turn. The game neatly claims its identity as an Assassin’s Creed title. Just as Ezio Auditore had a wall of targets in the villa Auditore, Connor has his own wall of targets in the Davenport homestead. It is rather fair to state that the narrative stalls here, as little new ground is tread, the game actually embracing relative derivativeness. Connor circulates throughout the American colonies, pursuing this figure and then that figure, sometimes meeting with considerable opposition, othertimes meeting with relatively easy success; his training serves him well; Achilles is a capable instructor, ancient and ailing though he is. While ample attention is lavished upon each of these Templar targets, and while they all claim distinct identities, it is difficult to care for these targets or about their ultimate fate (barring enigmatic and charismatic Haytham, of course). It is easy, however, to care about Connor’s struggle and more specifically his people’s struggle. For the nature / civilization melee is intense and constant, and the player instinctively rallies behind Connor because they care for Connor’s people and their eventual fate; poignancy, true poignancy, thrives here. And so the player is aligned with Connor and his cause to the last, and rather predictably Connor meets with success, total success. All targets are in time toppled, Haytham Kenway and Charles Lee among them. And ever reflecting poignancy, the game boldly advances the thought that Connor’s people are tragically beyond preservation – the civilizers will advance ever onward – and Connor’s story does end in a triumphant, challenging, and thought-provoking fashion. Fulfillment is elusive, of course. For all his successes, Connor feels only apathy, perhaps literally destroyed by his earlier actions, though showing no real regret.  

It is impossible to overpraise the core explorable environments, whether speaking of colonial Boston, New York, or even the quaint Davenport Homestead and, especially, the sprawling Frontier. As is the case with the Assassin’s Creed series collectively, these environments serve a transportive function; the player is literally taken backwards in time some two hundred and fifty years, transported to a society which was certainly civilized, though existing at the fringes of civilization – the nature / society warfare is waged, ever waged. Boston is first introduced, and for all its resounding successes – and they are many – the city generally lacks surprise, being decidedly “New England” in cast. The architecture is decidedly New England, of course, and for an American the environments generally lack the exoticisms inherent to, say, Renaissance Italy or Crusader-era Jerusalem. Still: Boston is dazzling, with its many quaint churches (frequently featuring towering-if-austere steeples) and with its overabundance of gables, prominently featured throughout. The streets aren’t exactly thronging with people, though a fair degree of NPCs populate the Boston streets, moving to and fro, some wearing literal rags – see the prominent orphan population – others wearing more refined garments, suggestive of prosperity, or at least stability. Sonically, however, the streets are bustling, with heralds constantly speaking of the pressing matters of the day, reflective of the lessened literacy, while roaming hounds ever make their howls upwards towards the heavens, icons of man’s civilizing impulses – and nature’s rejection of total tameability. Roving patrols of redcoats, meanwhile, are commonplace, and many prominently feature a dedicated drummist, ever banging the drum, constant reminder of the troops’ presence and motions, menacing yet somehow beautiful; the drum is simultaneously imposing and sweetly disarming. Boston is, simply, breathtaking, arrestingly so; world-design is another triumph, even as imaginativeness does not overflow; the game instead favors realism. Boston generally rejects the ostentatiousness of a city like Paris or London, featured later in the series – set apart, it is decidedly American even while cast in the English and European mold.

But also crucial to these environmental successes is this: the constant dynamicness. For time is constantly in motion, and the environments proper directly reflect this constancy. And so, at predetermined narrative intervals, the seasons pass from summer to winter, the summertime months bringing with them overwhelming and wild foliage, while the wintertime months bring with them sparsity and decay – and of course a beautiful degree of snowfall, immense in the Boston city streets, literally overwhelming in the sprawling Frontier. With this seasonal change, each individual environment possesses multiple distinct identities; Boston in the autumn is decidedly different from Boston in the winter. The environments, then, are multifaceted, and this multifacetedness expands further still when considering the weather effects – and of course the day / night cycle. Even here, change is constant, with sometimes torrential rains, and sometimes dazzlingly bright, clear and cloudless days, each following one another unpredictably. Lighting is masterful, with crisp interplay of light and dark. Nighttime explorations are suitably moody affairs, even when exploring bustling Boston, (which is, suitably, somewhat less bustling at night) while the cityscapes generally show the constant march of the civilizers, the constant desire to expand and control; it is easy to imagine the vast urban sprawl which would come later. Essentially: the environments are peerless, easily eclipsing in grandeur the already-profound narrative. Some slight complaints could be leveraged towards the explorable New York City, introduced at roughly the narrative’s midway point. The city is expectantly beautiful, but save for the minimized presence of gableing and a few general architectural changes, New York does little to assert and claim its own distinct identity from Boston proper. True, Ubisoft cleverly and masterfully portrayed one city district as gripped by an inferno not dissimilar to the inferno which seized Connor’s village; the effects of the Great Fire of New York are fiercely felt, with charred remains of one-time opulent buildings. This destruction is rather mournful and distressing to process, and again indicates the strengths of nature, untamable in many ways. 

While the Boston / New York environments show considerable similarities, still New York, once introduced, does inject some vitality into the experience; variety, even if restrained, is ever an asset. It must absolutely be stressed, though: this is not Assassin’s Creed II, which featured such wildly divergent cities as Florence and Venice, cities with their own decidedly distinct identities beyond mere weather effects and seasonal fluctuations. In this regard, some inferiorities do exist. But these inferiorities are immediately checked – consider only the Frontier, arguably Ubisoft’s greatest achievement in environmental design, even today, some twelve years after initial release. Exhilarating to explore, the location is logically yet creatively designed, and sees Connor lithely leap about from tree branch to branch, crossing considerable distances without ever directly touching the ground (though the player is empowered – they can navigate the lush or dying forest floors, though this is a comparatively boring endeavor) In the wintertime, traveling by trees has many practical advantages – the heavy snowfall considerably inhibits movement; Connor cannot conquer nature. The animation quality here is dazzling, and Connor’s command over the trees and their branches serves a distinguishing function – he can climb them like Haytham cannot, for Haytham lacks proper training and even the incentive for said training (thick forests such as these are no doubt scarcer in his native England). The weather effects are very fiercely felt in the Frontier, and its exploration is a consistent delight. Overflowing creatively, towering cliff faces have their presence, many scalable, believably so – for Connor exploits niches and crevices in his vertical ascent. Waterways are abundant, too, whether speaking of feeble streams or undulating rivers and waterfalls; it is easy to imagine their painful frigidness in the harsh American winter. The contrast between the Frontier and New York or Boston is immense, and navigating the Frontier is almost liberating, for new movement opportunities are present here which are actually lacking in the cityscapes – and in essentially all other Ubisoft titles. Freshness is ever preserved, as this environment is explored, then that one; the world-building and presentation are impressive indeed.     

Assassin’s Creed III’s gameplay meets with repeated successes, though it is defined more by refinement than by total innovation. Still, the refinements approach near perfection: the game is a sheer delight to play. As before, gameplay is essentially a three-pronged affair, with combat, stealth, and exploration alternatively emphasized. Owing to the environments’ collective beauty and dynamicness, it goes without saying that exploration is a rewarding and engaging affair. But these rewarding and engaging sensations are only amplified by the graceful traversal systems. Here, with basic locomotion, the changes accompanying the shift in game engine are fiercely felt. For in the Ezio Trilogy, Ubisoft had the tendency to lazily recycle animations, most prominently the animations for exploration. Connor, however, handles entirely differently from Ezio or even Altair, though movement’s overall intuitiveness is preserved; the movement mechanics are easily grasped, and once mastered are consistently exhilarating – especially in the Frontier, with its abundance of trees, branches, and cliffs, all navigable with grace and ease, just as Boston’s and New York’s towering steeples are scalable with grace and ease. Connor’s climbing style is more plodding and calculated than Ezio’s or Altair’s, and this ploddingness and calculatedness thus serves further distinguishing functions; the exaggerated litheness arising from Revelations’ hookblade is absent here, all in favor of relative groundedness – or at least relative plausibility; the game ever aspires for realism, even as Haytham’s animations are essentially identical to Connor’s own. But very clever animation changes further enhance exploration’s enjoyability and seamlessness. One dedicated button when held, for instance, places Connor into a unique state, wherein he will cross any encountered obstacle in a graceful fashion, never losing any momentum. And so he might slide below a fencepost, or might mantle over a waist high brickwork construction and so on. Connor’s movement, then, is defined by this – gracefulness, organicness. Seeing him navigate the trees and the mountaintops communicates his ample powers and his ample talents, some inherent, some only instilled and fostered by countless years of practice and countless years of implementation. 

A second emphasized pillar is of course stealth. And here, too, is the embodiment of refinement. The “social stealth” mechanics have seen preservation – enter into close enough proximity with a pair of roaming or stationary NPCs, and Connor is essentially undetectable by the opposition (at least until said proximity is quitted). As before, partially occupied benches can be used as concealment, too, while Connor can also enter wells and hay stacks for evasive purposes – here is a prototypical Assassin’s Creed title (though this is not necessarily a failing). Mostly, though, opportunities for social stealth’s implementation are lacking; it seems an afterthought, or a system merely included out of expectation; to reject these systems would be like rejecting the older Assassin’s Creed identity – here, the game is conservative. A more dramatic and wholly new inclusion, however, revolves around the empowering and intuitive cover mechanics. In the Frontier particularly, overgrowth is commonplace, representative of nature’s considerable resiliencies, which extend even towards Boston and New York, though to an expectantly lesser degree. Said overgrowth is exploitable and strengthening; Connor, when so concealed, is undetectable, making unmolested advance safe and secure. In many situations or owing to personal preference, a more offensive approach is desired; the opposition must be silenced permanently. Reflecting this, whenever so concealed the player can whistle, an act which attracts the hearer to the player’s location, where they can be either dispatched or, should the player act less aggressively or mercifully, avoided. Superficially, this is a slight or insignificant inclusion. In practice, it empowers the player greatly, enhances flexibilities, and dense underbrush becomes a literal savior and a true bastion; a traditionally trivial object adopts monumental importance. Similarly novel, the player can also exploit walls and other surfaces for cover. And, so concealed, the player can employ the whistling feature here, too. The absence of a dedicated crouch button is fiercely felt, and these inklings of player empowerment only make one yearn for the total empowerment in stealth first introduced in Unity some two years later. In stealth, Assassin’s Creed III is a simple if needed stopgap; stealth is a further locus of refinement not total advancement, suggesting that gameplay ambitions do not meet narrative ambitions. 

In combat, however, perfection has been achieved – or something approaching perfection. Visceralness abounds; Connor’s fighting style is ruthless indeed; opposition falls with ease, and in gruesome fashion. Despite this (relative) easiness, which stems from combat’s impressive overall intuitiveness, combat is occasionally taxing and demanding, for a skill-based component is preserved; the automatedness first implemented in Brotherhood is scaled back – scaled back but not removed outright. The chain kill mechanic is again included and emphasized; once a foe has been dispatched, a subsequent foe can be just as hastily and effortlessly dispatched; all the player need do is point the analog stick in their direction and press a single button. Further depth is connected to enemy variety, each enemy type behaving differently and possessing distinct vulnerabilities and invulnerabilities, some being genuinely threatening – sighting them causes sincere distress (and a fair degree of excitement). Captains cannot be countered in the conventional fashion, for instance, while bulky, ax-wielding foes are similarly immune; their heavy, sluggish blows must instead be dodged, whereupon opportunities for a lethal and seamless counterattack emerge. Once these strengths and weaknesses are recognized and then that knowledge internalized, the combat goes essentially unchanged; an engagement in the opening moments is foundationally identical to an engagement at the narrative’s conclusion, even as the player periodically obtains new combat tools like the devastating rope dart, which can also be used in stealth and as a true tool of terror. The game instead relies on the flashy and extravagant animations to preserve player interest as predictability gradually yet totally settles in. Combat soars, though, even as it suffers from dramatically reduced opportunities for self expression and even creativity. True, Connor has access to a myriad of different weapon types, capable of wielding pistols and inventive melee weapons like hatchets and more conventional ones like swords and even hulking battle axes, but the precise button presses involved are unchanged from weapon to weapon. Variety is elusive, predictability abundant.   

For me, Assassin’s Creed III serves as Ubisoft’s magnum opus. The game meets with repeated and almost instantaneous successes, the plodding prologue courting player interest in a unique and unexpected fashion. The game’s greatest, unquestioned flaw is related to crafting and to progression. Regarding the former, the player can craft a litany of distinct objects, primarily though not exclusively for mercantilist functions; items, once crafted, can be traded for (sometimes considerable) profit. Unfortunately, these systems are poorly and vaguely explained, and worse still they are unintuitive and clunky in design, needlessly and frustratingly so. Accordingly, I neglected these systems almost entirely, and I feel as though, alongside that neglect, nothing substantial was lost; the mechanic, then, is brimming with flaws – and even outright dullness; the system is superfluous. Progression systems are similarly flawed. Craftable objects beyond mercantile ones are numerous and diverse, spanning consumables, equipment upgrades, and so on. Fair enough. But damnably, many of these objects are pointless. Money is not necessarily abundant, though it does exist in fair measure – the mercantile systems are again valueless. Equipment upgrades are useful in theory – the capability to carry additional bullets or arrows is empowering indeed – though that usefulness does not make their acquisition exciting in nature; it is simply unrewarding and unnecessary to slog through the unintuitive menuing. Most frustrating, however, are the craftable equipment upgrades – see most frequently and prominently weapons (and occasionally armor sets, strictly cosmetic). While these objects are numerous, and while some of them are alluring, their acquisition is totally unneeded. True, a pistol which enables the player to shoot two or three bullets before reloading will always trounce a gun which can fire but a single bullet, though it is entirely probable, easy in fact, to complete the entire game with the starting weaponry, or the relatively basic weapons sold in stores. 

Progression, then, is essentially meaningless. And by extension, so too is the hunting. Brimming with potential and complexity – the player can manipulate bait, snares, and so on, while different weapons inflict varying degrees of damage to the hunted animal’s harvestable components – this meaninglessness is particularly painful; hunting could have been integral to the gameplay; it is not. Something similar could be said of the sailing systems. As with the hunting, these sequences are brimming with complexity. And yet, they are scarcely emphasized, are ancillary to the narrative, save in a few select instances. This does communicate Ubisoft’s wisdom – these missions do not have universal appeal, and to force them upon the uninterested player would be to alienate said player. This thought is intriguing indeed, for Black Flag embraced the sailing components to the last, using ships for exploration and combat, whereas here the naval sequences feature combat almost exclusively; the open-world approach seen elsewhere in this game is actually lacking in these instances. Still: here Ubisoft experimented, and in Assassin’s Creed III’s sailing portions, a wonderful foundation was constructed – though unfortunately, that wonderful foundation goes largely unexploited, though these systems’ complexities suggest they were not an afterthought hastily included late in development; true care clearly exists here.

Assassin’s Creed III‘s narrative is anchored by a fiercely strong individual, though a figure decidedly detached from, say, the Ezio Auditore who sustained the three immediately preceding series titles. Connor and Ezio both are, again, wildly different. Differences, when abundant, potentially serve alienating functions. Players were used to Ezio, and Connor is not Ezio; in personality, the pair are essentially diametric opposites. Given these bold clashes, it follows, then, that Connor embodies potential alienation, at least for seasoned veterans of the series. For me, his stolidness is admirable – even as that stolidness frequently signals death and destruction, even as he shows a characteristic apathy for all but his people (and to an extent Achilles and the Assassin Brotherhood proper, once so initiated). Clevely, too, in creating Connor Kenway, Ubisoft totally seized upon the potentialities of place and history. In the Ezio Trilogy, the player navigated historical places and discoursed with historical figures. Fair enough. There, though, potentialities were underutilized. It was certainly interesting to discourse with the Medici or wage warfare with the Borgia, though their presences and complexities were not truly exploited. The inverse proves true here, as the player alternately participates in the Boston Tea Party, Paul Revere’s Midnight Ride, and a litany of pivotal Revolutionary War battles, many cinematic and visceral, all the while communicating with real figures as diverse as Benjamin Franklin and George Washington. Assassin’s Creed III is considerably and beautifully steeped in place, to a greater extent than in any other AC title; all potentialities attached to the compelling if grounded setting are seized upon. Raising many poignant and challenging questions, the game is affecting. Complementing that affectingness is memorability; Connor’s journey, his odyssey, will never be forgotten, even as Desmond’s own journey meets with repeated stumbles. 

Regarding gameplay, the modern-day sequences are more elaborate than ever, absolutely. A fair bit of Desmond’s tale transpires in a bunker of sorts, built by Those Who Came Before, seemingly millenia ago. This certainly has the potential to be boring, just as the vast majority of earlier modern-day sequences were boring – see most obviously the original Assassin’s Creed. But wisely, Ubisoft elected to send Desmond and Desmond alone to a myriad of different locations around the globe, all in search of objects, power supplies of a sort, which together enable entry into the bunker’s true depths; Ubisoft have clearly learned and grown as developers. And so the narrative sees Desmond scale a New York City skyscraper, only to parachute from said skyscraper’s zenith onto another, rather distant one, onto a building which contains one of said power sources. Impressively, the player controls Desmond as he makes this ascent. His animations are identical to Connor’s, which is rather illogical when considering lore; Desmond learned how to be a capable Assassin through Ezio and Altair, who controlled entirely differently. Still, these limitations are easily understood; it might have been difficult for the developers to program Desmond differently, while these altered animations might be confusing and disorienting to the player. Still: here, the modern-day gameplay sequences are elaborate indeed. Beyond infiltrating a heavily guarded and armed skyscraper, at one point Desmond also infiltrates a sprawling arena of sorts in distant Brazil, infiltrates it while a fighting match is being waged. The space is absolutely bustling, and the player must steer Desmond around expecting and alerted guards, seemingly basic agents of Abstergo. Near the mission’s culmination, the player actually directs Desmond over parapets and the stage where the match itself is waged. In an especially bold affair, one which concludes these outings, Desmond even infiltrates the villainous Abstergo Industries, itself, cutting down countless Templars, including the prominent, influential, and admired Daniel Cross. These sequences are admirable, excellent even.  

Desmond’s narrative, conversely, is steeped in failure; it is total nonsense. Periodically, Desmond discourses with the vision of Juno, prominent member of Those Who Came Before. Her character design is certainly creative and impressive, though her words are not; true bizarreness abounds, as does nonsensicalness. She delivers lines like the question, “what is consciousness but a series of electrical impulses?” It is simply ridiculous, almost pretentious. Here, Ubisoft fail as writers. Somewhat daringly (and thus rather commendably), the narrative conclusion is bleak and unconventional. While it would be unfair to spoil the ending for those who have not played the title, it is safe to say this: Desmond is presented with an ultimate choice, by Juno and the newly emerged Minerva both. In so many games, the developers would allow the player to make this choice themselves. Ubisoft does not; Desmond’s actions are fixed. This is very novel, especially in an industry which increasingly valorizes player choice. The ending itself is expectantly nonsensical and frustrating, of course, though still Ubisoft must be praised; inklings of epicness and true grandeur again emerge. But while Desmond’s tale is excessively bizarre and personally alienating, Connor’s is not. Here, Ubisoft meet with their truest and greatest successes; Connor is a masterful protagonist. Haytham Kenway, controlled for some hours, is also impressively developed, and Ubisoft’s decision to include two distinct player characters, father and son, reflect their swelling ambition in this title. Assassin’s Creed III is easily my favorite game in the series, and the Remaster is impeccable; gripping profoundness overflows.