If videogames pride themselves on providing escapism, then fantastical worlds, with little to no basis in reality, are surely an inconvenience. Before transporting them from their everyday lives to somewhere, or something, more exotic, fantasy games have to sell players on the fact their worlds are worth visiting. Castles, magic and other imagery plucked from childhood stories might ease the process, but to create a world from scratch, when there are so many real places to which we all long to escape, seems unnecessary – let it never be said that videogames and their creators aren’t willing to go far out their way to avoid reality.
Armed with knowledge, skill and style, we move through places, inaccessible to us in our daily lives
With a level of awe often reserved by games for sweeping, fantastical vistas, Hitman regards both exteriors and interiors lifted from real life. It appeals not to the daydreams of children and teenagers, but the aspirations of adults. When – like videogames – we’re in our mid-40s, and presumably before, we’re no longer enthralled with being space marines, explorers or unstoppable heroes. We long for wealth, status, and sex. We want to escape, but our fantasies circle good food, cold drinks, and beach front property: we think about retiring and traveling the world. To describe in words Hitman‘s locations, which range from a fashion show in Paris, a cittadina in Italy, and a luxury hotel in Bangkok, would diminish their lustre. More important is how these places are presented to us. Hitman trades in aspiration and escapism, but not in satiating our desire for either. On the contrary, it makes the things we want feel ever more unobtainable.
As Agent 47, the world’s greatest assassin, we navigate Hitman‘s environments with ease. Should a guard restrict us from entering a certain area, 47’s assassin “Instinct”, activated with a single button, lets us construe a method of distracting or dispatching him – using 47’s superlative strength, we may also simply render the guard unconscious. Wearing disguises lets us access off-limits rooms. Intelligence briefings and a highly detailed map, combined with 47’s cool demeanor and confident swagger, let us feel like we understand and belong in these locations. Armed with knowledge, skill, and style, we move through places, inaccessible to us in our daily lives, with precision and grace. Superficially, we are not just part but a controller of glossy high society. Actually, our position there is always precarious.
As the tokens of escapism are called into question, so too is the very desire to escape
Regardless of our picturesque surroundings, we cannot relax or luxuriate. The sun-dried alleys of Morocco, maroon hotel balconies of Bangkok, and cool, deep-blue cocktail lounges of Paris are invites into a desirable world, but always we are held back. Interactions in Hitman are limited. An expensive tray of amuse-bouche may be poisoned, but not sampled – when 47 sits to read a newspaper, in the warm Sapienza afternoon, an on-screen prompt reminds us it’s just a ploy to “blend in.” Such is Hitman‘s treatment of aspiration. Its fantasy is truer to life, more tangible, but still incomplete. As people, longing to retire to easier lives and sunnier climes, we will always, regardless of place and position, be left with unfulfilled desire. The locations we romanticize – the world of Hitman, replete with luxury, style, and ostensible good living – is similarly caveated.
Beneath the Italian town is a secret lab, used to create chemical weapons. The Paris fashion show is in fact cover for a meeting of a terrorist Illuminati named IAGO. A pop band staying at the Bangkok hotel is fronted by a singer who murdered his girlfriend. If our interactions in Hitman both tease and deny us access to the refined, pleasurable world, the game’s environments refrain also from total commitment to escapist fantasy. Natural geographical beauty, brilliant architecture, material wealth.
Videogames typically offer these things to us without mitigation; when we escape it is always to somewhere nicer. Hitman re-frames desirable locations and lustrous surroundings as almost inherently venal – as the tokens of escapism are called into question, so too is the very desire to escape. The game doesn’t carry a cohesive moral. If it did, it likely wouldn’t be so trite as “be satisfied with what you have.” But by simultaneously whetting our appetite for its glorious locations, and revealing them to be unsavory, Hitman questions if escape to somewhere else is as holistic solution to unfulfillment as videogames usually imply. Undoubtedly, we still want to go where the game takes us. But it makes clear that both we and 47, despite our wonderful surrounds, are still subject to worldly duress.
If videogames pride themselves on providing escapism, then fantastical worlds, with little to no basis in reality, are surely an inconvenience. Before transporting them from their everyday lives to somewhere, or something, more exotic, fantasy games have to sell players on the fact their worlds are worth visiting. Castles, magic and other imagery plucked from childhood stories might ease the process, but to create a world from scratch, when there are so many real places to which we all long to escape, seems unnecessary – let it never be said that videogames and their creators aren’t willing to go far out their way to avoid reality.
With a level of awe often reserved by games for sweeping, fantastical vistas, Hitman regards both exteriors and interiors lifted from real life. It appeals not to the daydreams of children and teenagers, but the aspirations of adults. When – like videogames – we’re in our mid-40s, and presumably before, we’re no longer enthralled with being space marines, explorers or unstoppable heroes. We long for wealth, status, and sex. We want to escape, but our fantasies circle good food, cold drinks, and beach front property: we think about retiring and traveling the world. To describe in words Hitman‘s locations, which range from a fashion show in Paris, a cittadina in Italy, and a luxury hotel in Bangkok, would diminish their lustre. More important is how these places are presented to us. Hitman trades in aspiration and escapism, but not in satiating our desire for either. On the contrary, it makes the things we want feel ever more unobtainable.
As Agent 47, the world’s greatest assassin, we navigate Hitman‘s environments with ease. Should a guard restrict us from entering a certain area, 47’s assassin “Instinct”, activated with a single button, lets us construe a method of distracting or dispatching him – using 47’s superlative strength, we may also simply render the guard unconscious. Wearing disguises lets us access off-limits rooms. Intelligence briefings and a highly detailed map, combined with 47’s cool demeanor and confident swagger, let us feel like we understand and belong in these locations. Armed with knowledge, skill, and style, we move through places, inaccessible to us in our daily lives, with precision and grace. Superficially, we are not just part but a controller of glossy high society. Actually, our position there is always precarious.
Regardless of our picturesque surroundings, we cannot relax or luxuriate. The sun-dried alleys of Morocco, maroon hotel balconies of Bangkok, and cool, deep-blue cocktail lounges of Paris are invites into a desirable world, but always we are held back. Interactions in Hitman are limited. An expensive tray of amuse-bouche may be poisoned, but not sampled – when 47 sits to read a newspaper, in the warm Sapienza afternoon, an on-screen prompt reminds us it’s just a ploy to “blend in.” Such is Hitman‘s treatment of aspiration. Its fantasy is truer to life, more tangible, but still incomplete. As people, longing to retire to easier lives and sunnier climes, we will always, regardless of place and position, be left with unfulfilled desire. The locations we romanticize – the world of Hitman, replete with luxury, style, and ostensible good living – is similarly caveated.
Beneath the Italian town is a secret lab, used to create chemical weapons. The Paris fashion show is in fact cover for a meeting of a terrorist Illuminati named IAGO. A pop band staying at the Bangkok hotel is fronted by a singer who murdered his girlfriend. If our interactions in Hitman both tease and deny us access to the refined, pleasurable world, the game’s environments refrain also from total commitment to escapist fantasy. Natural geographical beauty, brilliant architecture, material wealth.
Videogames typically offer these things to us without mitigation; when we escape it is always to somewhere nicer. Hitman re-frames desirable locations and lustrous surroundings as almost inherently venal – as the tokens of escapism are called into question, so too is the very desire to escape. The game doesn’t carry a cohesive moral. If it did, it likely wouldn’t be so trite as “be satisfied with what you have.” But by simultaneously whetting our appetite for its glorious locations, and revealing them to be unsavory, Hitman questions if escape to somewhere else is as holistic solution to unfulfillment as videogames usually imply. Undoubtedly, we still want to go where the game takes us. But it makes clear that both we and 47, despite our wonderful surrounds, are still subject to worldly duress.
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