So, the world’s gone crazy. We’re on the brink of an unconscionable number of deaths and a crippling global recession where toilet paper is the new Bitcoin. One of the most amazing things is that we can see it all coming. We’re tied to the tracks as a runaway train bears down. Aren’t predictive models fun?

Something I’ve learned these past few weeks is that you need to step away from it. Easier said than done, but beelining from distance learning to lunch to family time to dinner to watching the news to restless sleep is a formula for mental exhaustion. Especially with kids, your natural inclination may be to fill the calendar with activities. My wife and I are learning to embrace screen time more heartily because everyone needs quiet time.

That being said, now that you’ve binged Tiger King and can’t bear to read another COVID-19 explainer, where do you turn next? In this ongoing series, I will make a few recommendations.

Video games can be art

“Video games are for kids.” “I don’t have the hand-eye coordination.” “It’s not art.” 

OK, slow down Roger Ebert. 

Allow me to set the bar for great art. Does it “make you feel a certain kind of way”? That’s art. At their peak, video games create an experience akin to binging an enthralling television series. Sure, you make your own choices in video games, which leads to variations in adventure for each participant, but the best still deliver a personal, awe-inspiring journey by the final curtain. 

My first experience with this phenomenon was 1997’s Final Fantasy VII on the original Playstation. I’d never played a role-playing game before and it offered no surface appeal to me. I simply bought into the hype from the gaming press and took a flyer on it. And, wow. I was blown away by how much I cared about the characters and their arcs.

It happened again in 2018 with Red Dead Redemption 2 on PS4. Just like Final Fantasy VII 20 years earlier, media hype (a 97 Metascore!) lulled me into a genre that I hadn’t enjoyed before. And boy, did I ever take to this open-world action-adventure. Although I enjoy the occasional western film, like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and The Unforgiven, I don’t consider myself much of a fan. RDR2 quickly made me a die-hard.

The complicated arc of protagonist Arthur Morgan is riveting. The fate of the outlaw Van der Linde gang is gripping. The villains beg to get their comeuppance. The world is immersive in the truest sense. The map is expansive, varied, and alive — oh is it alive! From the snow-capped mountains of the north to the cactus peppered prairies of the southwest, and all the fully explorable swamps, plains, forests, and caverns in between, it’s something the likes of a great film epic. Think Dances With Wolves, The Revenant, and the Westworld series — in fact, the Westworld comparison is quite apt, sans the sci-fi robot stuff. I’m acutely aware that there is no match for mother nature IRL, and I would never argue that a contrived pixel form could begin to compare; however, the proxy that Rockstar Games created is extremely impressive and compelling in its own right. 

I found peace in exploring every nook of the world, often with no other motive than “because.” I picked the unique flora of each ecosystem to sprinkle into campfire recipes or to craft into survival items. I hunted the fauna of each region for profit or new duds from trappers. I got held up at by local outlaws (damn you, O’Driscolls!). I had the choice to participate in villainous activities to enrich my cash flow — at a moral cost — or take the high road that might eventually lead to my <ahem> redemption.

The story of Hamish

While there are lots of dramatic moments talked about in RDR2, one of my favorites is something of a mundane side quest. Once, as I (playing as Arthur) passed by O’Creagh’s Run, a lake in the East Grizzlies, I came across an old, one-legged codger named Hamish Sinclair. He was laid up against a stone. Turns out he got kicked from his horse “Buell” and needed assistance tracking his steed down. After I found and returned Buell, Hamish explained that he lost his leg in the Civil War but still loved to hunt and fish. In gratitude, he invited me back to cast a reel and track prey some time. 

Over the course a few spread out visits, I took up Hamish on his offer. First, he spun a yarn about a large pike in the lake he referred to as The Tyrant. After some struggles, I managed to reel in “the old bastard.” Another time, we set out to find a wolf that had been stalking the area. After foiling a clever wolf-ambush, we bagged ourselves a pack of pelts. Finally, on my last visit, we pursued a huge wild boar, which unfortunately got its tusk into my good friend. 

Throughout our ventures (just a smattering of the mountain of content in RDR2), Hamish stressed the value of crafting his own fishing lure, recounted how gruesome the war was, and admonished the industrialization the world around him (a central theme in RDR2). 

After all we’d been through in four side quests, I was brought to tears when with his dying breath, he bestowed Buell upon me. I think I was so moved by this story arc, and the entire game, because my late father was smitten by nature and the wilderness. The elder Hamish leading Arthur on the hunt contained a father-son dynamic. Dad took me fishing as a boy. We didn’t hunt, but we attempted a hike up Mt. Whitney when I was a teenager, unsuccessfully. Decades later (and older) he conquered it, solo, on a much more arduous 43-mile trail while hauling 50-some pounds on his back. 

While tracking the wolves, Hamish and Aruthur had the following exchange:

Arthur: Wolves shouldn’t come so close to people.

Hamish: Yeah, it’s strange. When the whole country was wild, they could go where they liked. Now they’re stuck hiding in the few corners of the wilderness we got left. 

Arthur: It’s a feeling with which I can sympathize.

Hamish: This ain’t a country for wild animals, nor wild men neither.

Before his untimely death four years ago, my father would whimsy aloud about retiring and moving away from it all to a cabin in the woods. I don’t think he was joking. Unfortunately, I never got to find out. It turned out this was no world for that wild man. 

As the saying goes, art holds a mirror to society. This particular set of side missions represents a microcosm of the game, a game that reminded me in no small way of sensibilities that are very familiar. In my estimation, that is art.

RDR2 suffers its criticisms. Simple tasks can be repetitive and plodding, sometimes feeling like a chore. The plot and characters can be cliché. There isn’t a lot of real choice in the main story. Still worth it. All of it.

Red Dead Redemption 2 was recently re-released on PC, adding greater detail to an already gorgeous world. You’ve got time on your hands. We all do. If you own a PS4 or Windows PC, pour a highly gratifying 35 hours (approximately) into this game. It will make you feel a certain way.