I finished Inscryption (2021) about a week ago and wanted to let it settle a bit before writing about it. Because the experience was jarring. Probably – though – in the best way possible. It was jarring because, if developer Daniel Mullins had chosen to leave a few small portions of the game out, I think it would be my favorite video game of all time, beating the likes of Baldur’s Gate 3, Griftlands, and Slay the Spire. That’s pretty high praise from a deckbuilding warlock like me.
So, where did Inscryption fall short? I can pinpoint exactly where: its FMV elements. FMV stands for full-motion video, and it refers to games that use pre-recorded videos to present action. While Inscryption is probably only five percent FMV, with most of that being optional, the times where it does shift into a little movie are nauseating. The production value is bad, and the acting leaves me wondering how it could have possibly slipped by in what was otherwise such a meticulously considered labor of love.
It’s the kind of acting that took me out of what was one of the most meaningful digital experiences of my life and thrust me into a lane of criticism that feels wrong. Yet the justification is right there in the fact that the majority of the game’s lore is told through these bad actors and these jarringly produced videos. The meta on top of the meta can only be understood by watching them. What’s more, the game ends with a completely alienating FMV moment that I hated. I hated it because of the way it was filmed, the way it inserts unnecessary violence into a game that thrives by toeing the line between violence and semiotic comfort, and I hated it because it brings the whole thing to a clean end when Inscryption’s entire schtick is about rejecting simplicity and any kind of linear pattern of storytelling. Right up until the end, that is.
95% of the game is magic, but that 5% of FMV bullshit made me wish someone could have told Daniel Mullins just how hard it is to watch those videos. To see an entire genius work marred by something outside his expertise. He’s one of the most gifted narrative designers and game developers on earth. Why did he try to be a movie producer at some of his opus’ most critical moments?
I was talking this over with my dad on a walk recently, and we came to the benevolent conclusion that if Mullins was more heavily edited during his production process, that Inscryption would probably not include many of its weirdest elements that make it so wonderful. We might never have seen my favorite part, where the horrifying adversaries you face throughout the game wax poetic about being deleted while playing bastardized versions of the card games you know and love. What’s more, we might never have gotten the sick Yu-Gi-Oh! reference that gave me actual shivers.
Mullins does everything right but the FMV and that ending, so what does Inscryption have to say about the way endings affect our perception of art? Two thoughts come to mind for me:
- Endings have an outsized impact on how we view works of art and media.
- That doesn’t mean we can’t remember what we love about stories with bad endings.
Because, being human, we’ll never be fully able to remove ourselves from what is known: that everything must come to an end. We obsess about endings, be them in media or our own lives. What is death? Why do we have to die? Why did Inscryption do that? Couldn’t Star Wars have just stayed in its lane? And don’t even get me started on Game of Thrones!
So, if we “enjoy the journey,” as it were, but hate where we end up, where does that really leave us? With a meaningful experience. Meaningful especially because we care enough to interrogate how a “bad ending” makes us feel. Meaningful because we can share those thoughts and enter into a discourse with other fans. Meaningful because this kind of connective tissue is what can ground us in a world that all too often feels overwhelmed and overbearing.
Hating an ending can be the beginning of a new friendship or the spark that pushes you to write or sing or act. Not because you want to do it better, but because you want to explore how something made you feel. Connecting with those feelings can culminate in a life well-lived or an acrid moment. The choice is yours.
I’ve made mine. I love Inscryption. Although it will never be my favorite game because of the parts I just can’t stand, it may yet be my favorite game to talk about. And isn’t that much better?