Distinctly Human: A Critical Review of ‘Death Stranding’
Death Stranding is one of the most important games of this generation. So rarely does a game intentionally and successfully challenge the form to any memorable extent. Death Stranding is a mainstream title that reminds us games can be engaging and enjoyable, regardless of how fun we may or may not consider them. It is a conscious, self aware craft where both gameplay and narrative each function as a sort of meta commentary on game design, storytelling, and humanity. Death Stranding is profoundly engaging.
The Gameplay Macrocosm
The guise is traversal and it’s the majority of Death Stranding’s gameplay. The immediacy of surface level interactions, strands of individual actions that form simple microcosms, works in harmony with the foresight necessary for planning and executing deliveries. Death Stranding’s gameplay is a macrocosm replete with feedback loops in which simpler mechanics with less initial interaction work together to form complex interactions that are direct consequences of player choice.
Feedback Loops
Private rooms initially serve as a simple resting place where you can maintain Sam’s hygiene and well-being, slamming a few complementary Monster energy drinks. However, as Sam traverses a disparate America, connecting people to the chiral network, the private rooms evolve in purpose and function. The mechanics of showering to procure anti-BT equipment and chugging monster energy drinks to increase maximum stamina aren’t complicated – in fact, they’re hardly an interaction – but they eventually become conscious decisions that affect traversal, especially if Sam does not partake.
Choosing not to shower or chug Monsters can have adverse effects on traversal. Perhaps the timefall is dense on the way to a package’s destination, or Sam doesn’t have enough equipment to scale a cliffside or cross a river. Without the anti-BT equipment, navigating BT infested timefall zones becomes a major pain, and without the increased stamina, the terrain becomes less manageable. In this way, these microcosms of gameplay maintenance like energy drinks and hygiene are individual actions that contribute to the overall gameplay.
Private rooms aren’t the only feedback loop that keeps the gameplay consistently engaging. Preparation for Sam’s deliveries includes planning routes, crafting appropriate equipment, and managing cargo weight. Each of these things interact with and directly affect the others. Planning routes requires assessment of terrain and paths. That assessment defines “appropriate” equipment. The equipment you choose gets converted to cargo which must then be managed according to weight and size.
The culmination of these things then impact another subset of mechanics regarding center of gravity and momentum: the two constant mechanics at play throughout Death Stranding. Cargo that is not well balanced will force Sam to struggle to find his center of gravity, throwing him off-balance frequently. When Sam is off-balance, he stumbles, increasing his difficulty to come to a halt before toppling over. And should Sam topple over, there is a high probability that his cargo will be damaged, resulting in poor delivery results (or in rare cases, game overs).
It is clear that there is depth to Death Stranding’s gameplay, as evidenced by the sheer volume of standalone “tips” delivered throughout a playthrough, eventually making otherwise mundane or simple interactions more meaningful. There is always something new to learn or do in a different way. Meeting new people or traveling to new places often provides Sam with equipment upgrades that precede a necessity to change the way he travels over new types of terrain. As a result, crafting items are added frequently, and with each new upgrade, equipment, or item comes additional features to the core gameplay. None of these features are groundbreaking, but most are certainly thoughtful.
And perhaps that’s where the gameplay falls short most. Somewhere in the tedium of traversal and delivery, the new items and upgrades don’t always feel that useful or are completely overshadowed by a previous item that is more effective. Despite the obvious depth of the overall mechanics, there is little that makes it into Sam’s cargo except the essentials for each trip. The many checks and balances inherent to weight management, cargo balance, and momentum management do not encourage experimentation. This further contributes to a sense of repetition and monotony, although that’s what should be expected when considering the macrocosm.
Spelling out the interaction pipeline for Death Stranding’s mechanics helps develop a sense of the gameplay and it’s substituent parts as microcosms. Each interaction contributes something to the next, and what happens as a result of those interactions informs the larger set of decisions Sam needs to make when preparing for his next delivery. Feedback loops are not new to video games, but they certainly haven’t been as poignant as Death Stranding makes them.
Managing every single mechanic with meticulum in repetitive cycles can come off as boring to some, but it is critical for successful traversal of any kind. Assessed individually, they can seem insignificant and mundane, but when considered as contributors to the whole, their significance evolves, each aspect becoming more meaningful in the larger context of traversal. Everything that contributes to the execution of Sam’s journey becomes a part of the microcosm, and the way all of these things interact creates those feedback loops that collectively build the macrocosm. Whether or not we find these things fun is irrelevant. They are engaging. Death Stranding consciously substitutes immediacy for foresight.
Storytelling and Narratives
Death Stranding builds complex narratives on multiple axes. These complex narratives should not, however, be confused with storytelling. Of course, there is the world of Death Stranding and everything in it, including a story that plays out over the course of 40+ hours of feedback loops and the occasional shower with Guillermo Del Toro. When considered as a text, Death Stranding says a lot about lofty concepts like human connection and the effects of or feelings associated with isolation, mourning, grief, loss, and love to name a few. These ideas are not exclusive to the story or the world of Death Stranding, rather they are altogether supported by it. The world and the story act as a primer; fertile topsoil that cultivates and enriches a garden of narratives.
Death Stranding’s story is choppy and at times beyond suspension of disbelief, but the many smaller narratives it pushes are fulfilled. This distinction is important because both the story and the narratives are meaningful and conscious crafts, each with the intent to satisfy or at least compliment the other. Though the narratives do not fully manifest in the story, they are pushed further by the gameplay. Death Stranding is like a fully realized thought experiment that fails to deliver in practice. It is critical to understand this failure to fully synchronize the intent and the delivery, which leads to the ultimate topic of this “review.”
Meta Commentary
Has someone ever told you you’re playing a game incorrectly? Or that a game isn’t for you? That’s bogus. You cannot play Death Stranding incorrectly and it’s absolutely for anyone willing to pick it up, even if it is challenging to finish. But if you’re involved in any sort of commentary about the gameplay and its features or mechanics, you certainly should consider what the relationship is between the intent of such mechanics and how you make decisions based on that. I’m not going to tell you that you can play Death Stranding wrong, but I am certain that many critiques are ill-founded, lacking a larger context of critical consideration.
Death Stranding is prolific with underlying concepts that are reinforced through the entirety of the game. The mechanics and the story are a direct result of the world, and as such each feeds the other. The story provides the agency with which we make deliveries while the ever evolving mechanics allow us to explore the world further, moving from story beat to story beat.
Tedium in the Midpoint
At about the midpoint of the game, there is an extreme drought in story beats. The game becomes almost exclusively about delivering cargo back and forth between a few cities without making serious progress on the tense, unfolding narrative. This stretch of 10+ hours is tedious and wearing. Micromanaging every aspect of travel – that gameplay macrocosm – grinded down on my soul like Sam’s cargo digs into his shoulders. I dreaded confrontation with the terrorist groups because it depleted my resources extremely fast and the consequence of making a mistake was even more time spent recovering. I hated spending time in private rooms but understood the burning necessity of stamina management and travel preparation. And by the time I had even made it to the mountains, I loathed the imprints my R2 and L2 buttons had left on my index fingers.
I cursed the game a lot during this time, but before I passed any judgement, I took a moment to think about what it all meant. Not just to me, but to Sam. I thought about it off and on throughout the day. Considered different angles and perspectives to explain this lengthy section of deliveries with seemingly no narrative payoff. I eventually arrived back at the concept of foresight substituted for immediacy.
There is a narrative being pushed here. We may take for granted that Sam’s character is our plaything in all this, that – behind the screen in the real world – we are so consumed by “what’s next” that we rarely think about what is. Sam, through us, must carry the burden of reconnecting America. By having an extreme drought of story beats and an intense focus on the gameplay – and the frustrations therein – we share in the concept of Sam’s burden.
None of this felt “fun.” It didn’t need to. I’d argue it wasn’t supposed to. There’s meaning behind the tiny interactions with Sam in the private rooms where we get the slightest glimpse into his personality. The funny faces in the mirror, the way he talks to BB, the silly gestures he makes while on the bed all contribute to the concept that Death Stranding wants us to feel more deeply connected to Sam Porter Bridges. Whether you enjoy the gameplay loops or not is irrelevant. Our experience is vicariously Sam’s experience, and it is extremely significant.
The Significance of Challenging Our Perspectives
To further push the significance in challenging our perspectives or preconceptions, let me pull from an example that put me through an absolute roller coaster of emotions and ideas early in the game. I kept receiving little-to-no points for delivery speed and was becoming frustrated that no matter what I did, it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to achieve much in that category. So I decided to try rushing through multiple BT zones on a reverse trike. As expected, it was a disaster and I was swept away to my first monstrous BT encounter. Having never seen anything like this before and knowing I wasn’t equipped to handle it was exhilarating. I remember thinking I had stumbled my way into a boss fight and was excited to give it a go. That is, until I was eaten.
It was here that I realized the consequences of what I had done. After repatriating, I woke to find the land ruined in the wake of a devastating voidout. The path through which I had traveled was demolished and there was no bringing it back. Without knowing much about BTs or how this world functions with them in it, I had learned so much over the course of a 20 minute expedition that the game simply hadn’t revealed to me up to that point. It was marvelous.
In awe of the experience, I pressed onward to the next city through another BT infested zone in mountain terrain. This time it was terrifying. I knew what happens when you face their consequences. In my haste, I had destroyed a sizeable chunk of the map and in doing so felt that I had come to understand the stakes. Not only is it destroying the world, it impacts the resources and routes that I, the player, have available. It fundamentally changes a portion of the game. Such massive, game altering destruction is epic in the world yet my failure is so local behind the controller. This stuck with me because it is not for Sam’s life that you fear, it is the consequences of dying that make repatriation terrifying.
Then came the fight with Higgs’ squid-billy BT at Port Knot City. I made a careless jump and stumbled just as it charged me. My remaining HP was depleted instantly and my heart sank like Sam into the black tar below. Just before this fight, Higgs perfectly set the stage with a few chilling, intimidating lines. He broke the fourth wall to let both me and Sam know that the consequence of failure just so happens to be the sweet release we so longed for. It was a clear jab at the idea of a “boring” deliveryman premise. My heart pounded with anxiety and excitement, mortified at the thought of annihilating Port Knot City, but oh how sweet it would be to experience that level of failure. To really rub my nose in the dirt would make me feel every ounce of consequence to my carelessness.
To my disgust, Sam repatriates and is simply revived back into the fight. I felt like I had been lied to. Like I had been cheated. Like the rules of the game had suspended themselves, despite going through similar motions as before. The logic of the story fell apart for me in this moment. why didn’t the BT eat me like Higgs was so confident it would? Why would Die Hardman press me on the kind of danger the city was in should I fail? And then why didn’t any of that weight exist after I had failed?
I thought about this for a while, perplexed at the inconsistency. Much of the early game brings to light the tedium of being a porter, and that concept is carried on the back of Sam being so reluctant to work for Bridges in the first place, constantly resisting their requests. Indeed, it would have been a sweet release to finally be free of Bridges quest. Indeed, it would have been a sweet release to stop clutching the R2 and L2 buttons, to stop managing stamina, cargo, and equipment, and to stop navigating infuriating terrain through timefall downpour or BT infested zones. But that isn’t Death Stranding’s story.
Higgs’ performance pushes a narrative. It’s a clear jab at playing a delivery boy in a game that purposefully keeps you from doing much other than carrying medicine and supplies over and across abysmal landscapes. Something that needs to consciously break the fourth wall as a means of expression. And the BT won’t eat Sam because there is still a story to be told. So much more to be said and explored that Sam can’t possibly end the story here.
I distinguished Higgs’ performance as a narrative apart from the story, and considered narratives and story as separate perspectives through which to reconsider my agency and Sam’s agency. I used this distinction to critically assess Death Stranding holistically. It certainly informed a majority of my gameplay and how I thought about the game as the story unfolded, the concepts pushing their way to the forefront of the experience. I began questioning the importance of the story, the gameplay, the concepts, the narratives, and all the things that Death Stranding says or does. I began distinguishing Hideo Kojima from Death Stranding, Norman Reedus from Sam, Mads Mikkelsen from Cliff.
I interviewed some colleagues before writing this and I’d like to share a specific perspective that may shed more light on my experience. I asked Ben Vollmer, founder of Epilogue Gaming, what he thought it might mean to challenge an art form, specifically in the context of video games, and he said the challenge consists in “pushing the boundaries,” and that “inherent in this is failure.” He continued, contesting that “if you have to scream [that your game is different] from the rooftops, the game isn’t speaking for itself.” I agree. But I also think that Death Stranding never had as much to say as the people who made it.
Elevating the Form
Death Stranding has a cast unlike any other game: Norman Reedus, Mads Mikkelsen, Lindsay Wagner, Guillermo Del Toro – to name a few. Initially, I was averse to this idea as I have been with so many other universes that use real people as overlays to fictional characters. There’s nothing that breaks my immersion quite like someone real attempting to act like characters I already know, especially the ones I feel I know well. But there are a multitude of things happening with the way Death Stranding handles real people representing fictional characters that are unlike those other universes I partake in.
Death Stranding was designed from the ground up with these characters in mind. It is a new world unlike many others we’re used to. There were no preconceived notions of Sam as a character, just the conceptual lens of Hideo Kojima. This makes the characters uniquely adaptable, unlike characters we already source material for like those from Marvel or DC. Perhaps it’s why Norman Reedus as Sam Bridges has always felt natural instead of forced.
But all personal deflections aside, the stacked, renowned cast puts Death Stranding on a different platform than other games – a platform akin to film where we can now begin an open dialogue with movie stars and filmmakers. This is also what I meant when I said Death Stranding is “a mainstream game.” It adds a gravity to video games that we’ve never seen before, opening a slew of complex theory to develop around video games on a similarly massive scale to film.
Distinctly Human
These concepts and many more are of the utmost importance because Death Stranding is distinctly human. We are a herd of storytellers engaging in one another’s stories while simultaneously experiencing our own. Kojima mentions in this interview how he expresses concepts of connection through the symbolism of the hand. And I would like to add that not only can we compare functions of the hand to stick and rope, but also to voice and eyes. We connect in as many ways as we communicate. The two are close relatives. Death Stranding is communication of human connection.
Death Stranding is a video game, but it is an absolute challenge to the form, a work of art that expresses the perspective of its creators, especially Hideo Kojima. It is a truly rare feat in any artistic medium to cast such a clear reflection of one’s creative vision into the work of art itself. When I play Death Stranding, this reflection is so crisp that I can’t help but feel connected to Kojima himself, not unlike the idea that a painting is a sort of window to the artist.
Death Stranding is one of the most important video games ever made.
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Were it up to me, I would not score this game. I cannot express enough that no number assignment will ever be relevant in a discussion of what’s important when it comes to any game. Nor do I consider our score questions very relevant to a critical review. However, I do think it’s worth scoring for the potential discussions that may arise from number values, especially if the final score surprises you.
