Being like a teenager in Uncharted 2, exploring adulthood in Uncharted 3

Adulthood is difficult to define – sure, there’s the legal definition, which relies on an arbitrary number of years to designate being ‘of age’, but everything is a little hazy beyond that number. With good reason: what it means to be an ‘adult’ is an ongoing consideration; you’re likely to maybe never ‘feel’ like an adult. Maybe one day you wake up and ‘decide’ that it’s about time you called yourself that: an adult. For whatever reason, that’s what you are that day, an adult. Less amorphous, however, is the path toward adulthood, the framework involved in ‘coming of age’. We have a clear understanding of what ‘childhood’ means, and there are markers of ‘adolescence,’ too. In particular, I think that games’ penchant for delving into morality is characteristic of what it cognitively means to be a teenager, and that recent attempts of tapping into adulthood, or perhaps the slightly less esoteric idea of maturity, result in blunder.

Consider, for instance, the difference between Uncharted 2 and Uncharted 3. Uncharted 2 starts out with Nathan Drake scrounging his way out of a train wreckage in the middle of an icy wasteland. The impact of the scene cannot be understated: we arrive en media res, which establishes confusion and later, once we grasp the scope of the danger Drake finds himself in–we’re hanging off a cliff!– exasperation. The reason is simple, but effective: we see Drake at his most vulnerable, and this situation challenges our preconceived notion of an invincible hero. Drake is hurt, seriously hurt. He could die.

What is striking about this scene is the circumstances that got Drake there–Honor Amongst Thieves. The premise, carried by down-to-earth, likable characters is remarkably nuanced for the minimal spurts of narrative stringing together what would otherwise be a series of set pieces. Here, Drake explores relativism: put in simplistic terms, the idea that there are no black and whites in life, but rather shades of gray. This is a concept that surfaces most prominently during our teenage years, when we start forming conceptions of what sort of morals and ethics we hold, and how to judge the world around us. Here, Drake has to evaluate whether or not there can be such a thing as “honor amongst thieves.” The premise is this: Drake is after treasure once more, but in his pursuit, complication arises as he’s betrayed by his informant, Flynn as well as by Chloe, an old flame. Though arguably all scoundrels alike, this betrayal floors Drake.  Drake possesses a moral imperative to protect his own–even if they’re all thieves–and it’s shocking to him that others would break that trust.

Admittedly, Drake’s predilection for “do the right thing” is naivety at it’s best, but nonetheless the betrayal and the complexities surrounding that situation ask us to think upon some of the nuances involved with morals. The central question could be said to be ‘who do we do right by, and why?”, and it’s during our teenage years where we begin to actively consider questions like these. The ‘newness’ of it all–given that we’ve never seen Drake in a situation that is this complex–makes it feel as if we’re helping Drake come to terms with nuanced world view for the first time, as if he was a teenager. Later, when we meet Chloe once more and Drake ends up forgiving her, we end up revisiting her motivations: could it be that she’s worth forgiving? At this point we may realize that Chloe’s imperative is survival, not selflessness, and when Drake refuses to only look out for himself by keeping Elena and Jeff safe- reporters who get involved, mid-heist – she finds this moral tenet threatened. Protecting Elena and Jeff means Chloe’s chances of survival are diminished; Chloe tries to reinforce this reality on Drake, but he won’t have it. He wants protect everyone.

The character’s nuanced exploration of ‘honor amongst thieves’ and the relativism it elucidates becomes a narrative device that gives reason for us to wade through an otherwise mechanically mediocre game. Nobody plays the single player of Uncharted for the manshoot, after all.

Uncharted 3 attempts to take Drake’s personal growth to a level that I readily attribute to ‘adulthood.’  Before I delve into that, let’s get into definitions. As I stated earlier, it’s difficult to pinpoint what exactly adulthood means, but for the sake of this article, I am defining adulthood through the idea of ownership of responsibility. The New York Times stipulates that there are five major milestones that cement the transition into adulthood: “completing school, leaving home, becoming financially independent, marrying, and having a child.” These milestones have the same overarching axiom: responsibility. You become responsible, after all, through self-sufficiency and the appropriate consideration of others. The premise of Uncharted 3 may be exactly like the previous games–Drake is after treasure once more–but this time, the incentives driving Drake are called into question. How responsible Drake is, especially in relation to his significant other, Elena, and his ‘family’, Sully, is called into question.

Treasure hunting, you see, has become all-consuming to Drake. He puts those closest to him–Elena, Chloe and Sully–in danger for the sake of the chase, without much concern for their well-being. The reason why he’s risking it all is never justified. At best, we can attribute Drake’s obsession with treasure to having his dreams stolen from him when he was a child. One of the earlier scenes in the game shows Drake as a teenager in a third world country, and after he finally tracks down the key to an ancient treasure pursued his alleged ancestor Sir Francis Drake, the treasure is snatched away from Nate. This is a loss that sticks with Drake for decades, and works toward a larger narrative of loss – Drake grew up an orphan, without a family, without a past to cling to. So he makes a new one: he’s the descendant of the awe-inspiring Sir Francis Drake. The fantasy Drake concocts gives his otherwise empty life meaning. In this sense treasure hunting becomes Drake’s way of weaving himself a worthwhile legacy; to etch his name alongside the likes of Sir Walter Raleigh, Marco Polo, Lawrence of Arabia. It’s an act of escapism that we as gamers know all too well.

That insatiable pursuit is no longer acceptable for Drake, the ostensible adult with impending responsibilities and people to look out for. The central theme of the third game–responsibility, justification of the life we pursue as adults–is mishandled, though. We never see the consequence of Drake’s actions. We are continually told that Drake’s pursuits might get someone hurt, might result in something unpleasant, but that moment never actually comes. The moment when Drake is forced to suffer the consequences of his actions by losing a loved one, it turns out that oh, that person didn’t actually die and it was all in Drake’s head. This could have been an effective scene anyway, but it’s not. That the drama is staged by magical drugged water that Drake casually ingests, in an lost city we don’t learn about until the very end, where everyone was driven crazy by this water. This all happens in the middle of  having to fight a new enemy type: ancient boogeymen. To me, this fantastical framework lessens the seriousness of the moment. Drake might have learned his lesson (for all we know he’s simply been scared!) because suddenly, ancient drugs in a level that almost felt rushed, abrupt, a repeat of the “lost city” final level of Uncharted 2?

Nonetheless asking us to consider why Drake pursues his adventures and how long he can keep doing it is a particularly ‘mature’ question. The problem is, the extent to which we can mediate upon that question is limited when we are asked to indulge in a never ending stream of action and violence. There’s barely any room to breathe, save for a short ‘ lost in the desert ‘segment that ends before we can really start chewing on the circumstances that led us there. Contrast this with Uncharted 2, which had a premise and characterization were strong and nuanced enough to string together the gameplay elements. This is true in spite of the disconnect between “Drake the good guy we know and love” and “Drake the senseless killer who mows down armies for the sake of frivolous treasure.” I’m not saying we didn’t notice the ludonarrative dissonance, just that we were able to enjoy the game in spite of it. Uncharted 3 doesn’t allow us to overlook that disconnect when the game asks us consider why we’re chasing a child’s fantasy in the first place.

As I mused on Drake’s motivations, I noticed that the more you mow enemies down, the more exasperated you become as you realize that no, there really isn’t a good reason for why you’re doing all this. I don’t think this is an intentional result. It would cement Drake as an unlikable, vapid character and I doubt that’s what Naughty Dog intended. Moreover, there’s technically there is little difference in the gameplay between Uncharted 2 and Uncharted 3. Uncharted 3 feels as if it was built to glorify and privilege that very gameplay, but I say this relative to how much care and attention was put in the other elements of the game: there are a myriad blunders with plot and the pulled punches with the narrative. This is unfortunate, given that the shooting elements are the least memorable thing to me about the Uncharted franchise. It’s difficult to shake off the feeling that they focused the most on the gunplay and setpieces when you consider that Naughty Dog says the game came from “conceiving and building out gameplay scenarios within a desert locale.”

The conclusion of the game implies that Drake now knows what things are the ‘real’ treasure–Elena, his love interest, and Sully, his father figure–but (and pardon my assumption) when you know there’s future Uncharted games down the pipeline, the gravity is lost. Are we really going to believe that Drake has grown past his frivolous treasure hunting pursuits when that realization would put an end to the franchise? In my mind, that’s the only conclusion that would validate the journey and reinforce Drake’s growth: him giving up treasure hunting. Sully is getting old. Elena wants to settle down. Drake can’t keep doing this forever, right?

Ultimately, the third title in the franchise turns out to embody the idea of “deception” in the most tragic of ways. Uncharted 3 is a game with the artifice of heart, whose pulse only quickens to vapidity of adrenaline, of action. You’re tricked into believing the game will meaningfully explore mature themes, but Naughty Dog doesn’t go all the way. As a result, my disappointment feels more pronounced: they were so close to nailing it! Instead, they give us just another shooter. Perhaps this was unavoidable, given that the reality is that games have been stuck in an arrested development for a long while. Only recently have we started to explore ‘adulthood’ through games like Catherine and Heavy Rain, and it’ll take some time to develop sophistication in that department.