The Open and Shut Secret World: The Lighter Side of Apocalypse

Part of a series on the death of a bad game with excellent atmosphere. Presume spoilers.

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Damnit, I've got 321 unused screenshots from V:tM-Bloodlines saved up (which is how I was able to illustrate my calling out Bloodlines 2's devs so aptly) and not a single one of Arthur Kilpatrick cackling with glee at watching Santa Monica "sliiide down the tubes" from his bail bond business. Oh well.

Drama!

Zombies ate my parents!

Drama!

Daddy ripped my heart out!

Drama!

Ghouls sludged up our tree roots!

Drama!

Werewolves ate our boyfriends!

Drama!

I was suckered into joining a cult, stuffed full of evil then discorporated into the eschatological conduit for anti-being itself!

DRAMA!!!

And now, this:

A beyond-ancient spirit of bygone ages wants you to help her figure out her Commodore 64 so she can keep up with the times. (Steampunk magitek was so much more user-friendly.)

No matter how fitting, how well executed a dramatic backdrop, the lengthier it grows the more it will require comic relief, even as the main plot waxes grimmer and grimmer. The main difficulty lies in properly incorporating humor into the setting instead of piling on random nonsense and pop culture references. Unlike most game designers, TSW's writers held a firm grasp on the difference between telling a joke and being a joke. For a game which incorporated so many external references that it could easily have devolved to a TVTropes article of itself, it also serves as a master-class in keeping humorous asides in-character.

And yes, that is entirely in character for bureaucrats.

For instance, from the moment you set foot in the game as a Templar, you're introduced to your new powers "through the medium of unreliable narration" by a character who could've stepped out of the TV miniseries version of Neverwhere:

But then again, it's entirely believable for a secret society to transmit introductory visions to new recruits by an easily-dismissed, inconspicuously conspicuous public figure. A jester.

 

So it goes. Characters make bleakly humorous assessments of their usually quite desperate situations, snap and snark at each other like the overstressed conscripts they are, stammer and stutter in the face of the inexplicable.

Marianne Chen there is aware of the humor in her statement. She's making a funny. She, the character, not merely her writer poking fun at her expense. A strained, awkward, terrified, Apocalyptic funny. Maintaining that level of awareness without descending into grandstanding adolescent feigned nonchalance elevated TSW far beyond the game industry's open disdain for good writing.