198X and Being Players in a Dangerous Time

NOTE: This piece describes 198X in detail. I encourage you to play the game yourself. It’s currently available on Steam and PS4, costs $10, and takes about 90 minutes to play.

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There’s a song I love by the Canadian singer-songwriter Bruce Cockburn called “Lovers in a Dangerous Time.” To me, the song is about how the things we might take for granted as a normal part of our lives most of the time can feel frivolous or wasteful in times of great crisis, yet it’s also in those difficult times that we may need those things the most. I mean, how can you go on a romantic getaway when immigrants are being held in nightmarish conditions in concentration camps here in the United States? But on the other hand, isn’t it in these times that we most need to be reminded of our own humanity, the humanity of others, and why a better world is worth fighting for?

When you’re lovers in a dangerous time
Sometimes you’re made to feel as if your love’s a crime 
Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight 
Got to kick at the darkness ‘til it bleeds daylight

Personally, I often find that many video games, movies, television shows and other types of art that I normally enjoy begin to feel hollow and indulgent when I can’t escape the awareness that moral atrocities are being committed by my own government. However, it’s also true that such times are precisely when art that cuts through the crap and makes me feel something deep and genuine is more vital and necessary than ever. 

Twin Peaks: The Return was essential to me during the first year under Trump, not for being the most “woke” thing on TV (it wasn’t) but for being such a strange and uncompromising show that watching it felt like being blasted with a high-pressure water cannon that washed away the cynicism I’d cloaked myself in as a way of enduring the horrors of the week. On one episode, David Lynch’s own character, FBI agent Gordon Cole, tells chief of staff Denise Bryson, a transgender woman, that he told the agency men who didn’t accept her to “fix their hearts or die,” and there was the show itself, each week, working its own magic to fix my heart, to keep me human in dehumanizing times. 

For me, the new video game 198X enters this same category; it’s one of those rare and urgent works that does what we most need art to do when we most need art to do it. In 198X’s launch trailer, we see footage of games from an assortment of genres as the protagonist, Kid, says, “This is not just a beat ‘em up. This is not just a shoot ‘em up. This is not just a racing game. This is not just a ninja game. This is not just an RPG.” This trailer got me fired up for the game because I felt as if I knew exactly what Kid meant. When I was a kid myself, back in the years of 198X, games were much more to me than what they may have appeared to be on the surface. In my desperation to escape from anguish both internal and external–the pain of gender dysphoria, a home racked by alcoholism and instability–I could turn even a simple, tedious game like Capcom’s run-and-gun Commando, one of the few NES cartridges we owned, into a valiant struggle to triumph over the forces that threatened to swallow me whole. 

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Like me, Kid is an expert at finding deeper meaning in the space between themselves and the game. And it only makes sense, since like me, Kid has a need for escape, and a need for meaning. 198X avoids the use of any gendered pronouns for Kid–the only voice we hear throughout the game is Kid’s own, as they narrate their own story–but I believe Kid might be trans or genderqueer. At least, in the absence of the game asserting otherwise, this is my headcanon. I have to admit, seeing a character like Kid in a game still feels like coming across an oasis in a desert. Such representation is so rare, and so precious to me, that it feels life-giving. Brilliantly delivered by Maya Tuttle, Kid’s narration offers us tremendous insight into who they are, even as they remain a fiercely guarded individual. During one of the game’s many gorgeous pixel art interludes, Kid reminisces about how they used to frequent a nearby video store with their father. “But then, we didn’t go there anymore,” Kid says, hinting at some undefined strife that has driven their family apart. “It was no big deal,” Kid says, revealing just what a huge deal it was.

198X’s narrative offers little in the way of specifics, and to me, this only makes it stronger. It asks us to identify with Kid as a player, to feel the games the way that they do and to understand how those games might take on a meaning that reaches beyond the basement arcade that becomes Kid’s refuge. When you start 198X, you’re immediately thrown into Kid’s experience as a player. The first thing you see is an intro sequence and title screen for Beating Heart, a beat ‘em up released in the year 198X. You hear the sound of a quarter sliding into the machine, and then it begins, you’re playing, controlling a brawler in a red hoodie–Kid’s signature color–clobbering an assortment of punks who are out to stop you for reasons that are never explained. They don’t need to be. Kid feels antagonized by the world. Fighting just to survive. That’s why the act of defeating the people who stand in Kid’s way is meaningful. 

198X is a game about how games can mean more to us. If it didn’t let the games that Kid plays within it make their own kind of meaning, unfettered by story specifics, it would undercut its own effectiveness. Unlike so many pixel art games that play as homages to the past and simply want to replicate and capitalize on our memories, 198X is interested in commenting on them, in exploring just what our experiences with the games of the past may have meant to us. Stories in games back then were routinely disposable but that doesn’t mean that the games didn’t mean anything. They did. Through their imagery and music and the way they made us feel, they took on all kinds of meaning, offering places where those of us who felt like losers could be heroes, where those of us who never felt like we fit in here in the real world could belong, could be wanted, could be needed.

Thankfully, 198X prioritizes emotional truth over historical accuracy, allowing the games that you play as Kid to do things that real arcade games of the 1980s never did. After playing Beating Heart for several minutes, making your way out of a subway station and onto a city street, something surprising happens: the camera pans up and away from our hoodied hero to take in an unreachable skyline in the distance. Beating Heart fades out, and it’s only then that we first see Kid, alone in their room in their suburban home, a city in the distance representing all the freedom and possibility that Kid dreams of, but it may as well be a million miles away, for all the good it does them. 


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Unable to achieve that kind of escape, Kid finds a different kind at the local arcade, telling us, “In front of these machines stood some of the coolest uncool people I had ever seen. They were the freaks, the geeks, the misfits, the outcasts, the real rebels, part of something the outside world could not understand, or even knew existed.” Is that the kind of narration some people might find cheesy? You’re damn right it is, and thank goodness for it. I have no patience right now for irony. Give me something earnest, sincere and openhearted. Kid may be emotionally guarded but 198X wears its heart on its sleeve and I am here for it. 

My favorite moment in 198X comes a bit later, after Kid reveals their crush on a girl at their high school. “Oh, man, that girl was born a rebel, free to go wherever she wanted to,” Kid says as we see their crush peel out of the high school parking lot in a black sports car, leaving Kid quite literally in the dust. “Free in a way I could still only dream of,” Kid says, and instantly we’re presented with the title screen of 198X’s driving game, The Runaway, which begins with a black sports car speeding off into the distance, leaving Kid’s car, your car, a red sports car in the foreground, pursuing the driver of the black car and the freedom that she represents. 

The Runaway’s most direct reference point is probably Sega’s 1986 racer OutRun (one of the best games of all time, as I talk about in this video), but OutRun offers an escape. In The Runaway, Kid can’t quite get away from reality. You make your way from a barren desert to the outskirts of a city, and Kid begins to speak, completely blurring the already thin lines between their real life and their experiences with the games at the arcade. “Nothing could beat the rush of the highway,” Kid says. “The speeding cars reminding me that there was a way out, a road to somewhere, the city on the horizon. I’d drive all night to get to that place,” Kid says with their characteristic guarded longing, and just then, a soaring, yearning guitar screams above the ambient synth soundscape, sending chills down my spine. So often in the games of the 1980s, music was where emotional complexity could flourish, even when the narrative was just a flimsy excuse for you to run through deathtrap-laden levels and blast killer robots, and 198X’s score is consistently up to the task of capturing the heightened emotion of the period’s best video game music, but what it does here is special, even by those lofty standards.

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It’s a piercing, perfectly calibrated moment, but it’s not the last of The Runaway’s surprises. You make it to a bridge, speeding past highway signs that indicate you’re getting closer and closer to the city as Kid talks about how the games at the arcade have changed their life. “Down here, I was free. I was in control. No one told me where to go or what to do. The only bad part about it was having to come back up to the real world.” Just then, you run out of time. Your car slows to a stop. All the other cars speed on, bound for the city, but for you, it remains out of reach. And isn’t that just how it feels sometimes, like there are freedoms that others enjoy, that elude you, no matter what? It is for me, anyway.

The final game you play as Kid in 198X is called Kill Screen. A rudimentary first-person sci-fi RPG of sorts, it has no analog in the actual arcade games of the 1980s, so far as I’m aware, but that doesn’t matter. 198X is an emotional journey, not a historical one. In Kill Screen, you must slay three dragons, all the while taunted by an artificial intelligence known as Motherboard, clearly a stand-in for Kid’s own mother, or at least for the ways in which Kid has come to see their mother as a symbol for all the ways in which they’re trapped. It’s here in Kill Screen that 198X takes its only real missteps. Among Motherboard’s taunts are some statements that feel too plain and standard to evoke the intensity of Kid’s struggle. Sure, when a parent fails to connect with you as a person, even comments like “DO YOUR HOMEWORK” and “DON’T STAY UP” can be painful reminders of the yawning distance between you and them, but in the context of 198X’s economical storytelling, these generic phrases fall flat. Other phrases hit harder, though. When Motherboard’s cold robotic voice intones the words “YOU ARE ERROR,” a Zelda II reference that also pointedly encapsulates how I often felt in the world and how I imagine Kid does as well, I laughed, but it stung a little, too. As I triumphed over the challenges of the dungeon, Motherboard resorted to merely repeating “HELP HELP HELP,” and I felt that Kid’s mom was almost certainly hurting in her own way, unsure of how to connect with her child, the two of them talking past each other, neither sure how to close the gap.

What does Kid’s defeat of Motherboard actually mean? Where does Kid go from here? I don’t know, and I’m glad the game doesn’t try to spell it out. All I know is that there are still possibilities in Kid’s life, just as there are still possibilities in mine, and that games can mean something valuable and real, even when the world feels like it’s falling apart. 

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I don’t expect 198X to work on everybody the way it worked on me. After all, it’s a game about how deeply personal our experiences with games can be, how games can take on larger meanings in the context of what’s happening in our own lives. We take our life experiences into the games with us–Kid’s ambiguous gender identity, for instance, is hugely meaningful to me, in ways it may not be to others–and we take the meaning we find in the space between ourselves and the games we play back into our lives. 198X doesn’t just understand that; it captures what it is to find the kind of meaning you so desperately need in a game right when when you so desperately need it, and god, do I need it now. This is one of the best games of the year.

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