Why ‘NieR: Automata’ is a Masterpiece
Somehow it didn’t click at the end of my first playthrough of NieR: Automata that there would be multiple routes to multiple endings: 26, in fact. As is standard procedure through most of the games I play, when the credits roll, I tend to set down the controller. Most “NewGame+” modes don’t interest me if there isn’t more actual story to be found. And unless a game explicitly demonstrates that the choices I’m making have an effect on the story’s outcome, I don’t usually dive back in for more. So when Automata mentioned that there were other intended ways to play the game, I completely blew off the suggestion.
If you had asked me about it when the credits rolled, I would have just said Automata was a “good” game. Good, not great. Then I realized, almost an entire year after the credits rolled, that I had only just begun the game. And that’s when this game elevated from “good” to “great,” a worthy contender among the likes of God of War, Bloodborne, Persona 5, and Red Dead Redemption 2 for game of this console generation.
I recently listened to an episode of the S.S. Spoilercast where the hosts of the episode dove deep into NieR: Automata. I went a little further into the podcast episode than I should have, and soon I was listening to the hosts discuss what are known as routes B-E in Automata. Apparently I had only finished route A, the 2B playthrough. I had no clue that I would find myself playing as 9S, A2, or any of the other characters. I had no clue that the story that comprises route A is only a fraction of the story the game is trying to tell. As someone once told me, if you haven’t played through routes B-E, you haven’t finished NieR: Automata.
When I dove back into NieR: Automata, it had been about a year since I completed route A. I remember loving the dynamic between 2B and 9S. I enjoyed the gameplay in its variety, from the hack and slashing action to the bullet hell autoscroller sections. The soundtrack was phenomenal, dynamic, and haunting. Everything about this game clicked for me. But by the end of route E, the final of the main endings, I witnessed this game blossom into a masterpiece of both narrative and game design.
When I say NieR: Automata is a contender for game of the generation and I call it a masterpiece, I am weighing those words heavily. And there is no other way to justify those words without diving into the deepest of spoiler territory for those endings. The primary reason I am confident in the term “masterpiece” is that Automata accomplished a kind of storytelling that could only take place in a video game. No film, book or TV show could tell the story that Automata delivers by the end.
For context, it’s worth noting that Automata has more gameplay variety than any game I’ve played to date. The game frequently changes up how it is played. Route A is primarily a hack and slash action adventure game with standard sword swinging mechanics, dodging, and supporting fire from your Pod companions that float alongside your character. Route B builds on these mechanics but instantly changes how you’re intended to engage with combat. The playable character 9S is a scanner android, which means that he specializes in hacking into robots, which sends the player into an arcade-like minigame of primitive shooting through mazes and eventually dodging against enemies. This singular shift entirely changed how I played the game around enemies even though the objectives were the same. Then routes C and D start to break down the gameplay mechanics entirely, often distorting the graphics, changing camera angles, and even breaking pre-established rules of the game.
For the sake of leaving something to experience in the game itself, I’m going to focus singularly on route E’s ending in terms of story. Route E is obtained by completing the aforementioned routes A-D. Upon completion, you’re encountered with a similarly arcade-like shooting game where your task is to eliminate names as they appear on the credits screen. You have to kill the developers, figuratively speaking. As you engage with this seemingly never ending battle against the credits screen, the bullet hell elements increase with frequency that feels somewhat unavoidable. Perhaps a skilled player has accomplished a hitless run of route E, but it’s safe to say that the game intends you to take some severe damage throughout this sequence.
As you repeatedly die to the bullet hell generated by the names that incessantly appear in the credits, the game begins to prompt you with demoralizing questions. It asks you things like, “Give up now?” and “Are you ready to admit that it’s all pointless?” These questions provoked me into a defiance that made me insistent that I could beat this credits sequence. After stubbornly persisting for some time, I died once more. Then, I received a new prompt from the game. I was asked if I would like support from other players who had successfully made it through this credits sequence. Of course, I accepted.
One thing to note about this sequence is that the ethereal song that plays throughout the credits begins with one vocalist. Alternating between English, Japanese, and apparently some language invented for the game itself, the song carries on. When you accept support from players that had come before you, other vocalists are introduced until you’re awash in a choir of voices in unison. I didn’t notice at first because I was so entranced by the hectic nature of the bullet hell experience, but upon reflection post-game, I was struck by the symbolic resonance that came about through this musical transition. As you accept help from other players, the singer accepts help from other voices.
One of the beautiful things about joining forces with previous players is that the game has already established – through bodies littered throughout the game – that there is a kind of subtle multiplayer element to Automata. You’ve grown to collect the fallen bodies of dead androids, as well as left death notes for future players, over the course of the multiple routes and playthroughs. So this credits sequence capitalizes on that established multiplayer element to suggest to you that these are real people whose files you’re interacting with.
As you eventually reach the end of the credits sequence in route E, you are faced with a choice. Do you want to help future players as you have just been helped? My natural instinct was to say yes, as it felt like the right thing to do. I’m sure it doesn’t matter at the end of the day whether or not my file is actually entered into the database of players who will reach route E’s ending. (I doubt the game is working on a supply and demand economy of save files.) But I felt an urge to give back, to say thank you.
Then the game goes a step further. To help future players, are you willing to sacrifice your save file? This gave me pause. After all, I had only recently discovered these alternate routes. Surely I should go back and seek out the other twenty or so routes that I missed. It took about 24 hours to complete my first playthrough of route A, so going back to recover all that progress was a daunting endeavor. Still, there was no way that I could in good conscience say no to this request. I had made it here because I accepted help from others. Hopefully others could pay it forward indefinitely.
So I clicked “yes” and watched painstakingly as the game took me on a tour of my inventory, individually wiping each item from the game. Eventually my file was wiped. I was overwhelmed with emotion. Not sadness, although there was certainly an element of loss to my emotions, and not quite joy either, because I knew in the back of my mind that my file was just one of thousands that won’t significantly alter the experience for another player. The only word that seems to encapsulate those feelings is “beauty.” Beauty in the sense of watching something bloom out of a game I originally thought was just “good,” and simultaneously realizing that the game, like all blossoms, must eventually wilt off and die. I was witnessing something that could only ever be witnessed for the first time, and I only was able to witness it as a participant in a video game.
When I returned to the main menu, my save file was indeed nowhere to be found. There were no “NewGame+” options, no backup files. It looked as though I had installed the game for the first time. Even though I willingly made that sacrifice, some part of me expected it to be a gimmick. I was almost skeptical that the game was going to allow me to wipe all my progress off the map. But then I realized that there’s something important to moving on. There’s something valuable in learning the lessons that the game was trying to teach the first time, rather than cling onto this vague idea of accomplishment that I feel whenever I scan over a previously completed save file.
I am astonished that a game like NieR: Automata exists. I am even more astonished at how flawless the experience can be. Every now and then I ran into a silly bug, but never anything unfair or gamebreaking. Most of the time, I was enraptured by the environmental design, both lush and barren. I was ensconced in a soundtrack that repeatedly reinvented itself, bringing familiar songs to new heights. And most interestingly, I was constantly adapting to the dynamism presented in the vast variety of gameplay mechanics. NieR: Automata is an amalgamation of what makes games great. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that way about a video game again.
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