Why You Should Watch Your Partner Play Red Dead Redemption 2

If you date someone who has ever laid their hands on an Xbox or PS4, you have probably heard relentless promises about Red Dead Redemption 2. If you’re me, you’ve watched countless YouTube videos about it as well (including a creepy German guy with hunting knives and white gloves whose channel is dedicated to the opening of video game boxes). Before the 26th of October arrived, I had never thought I would spend my free time watching someone play PS4, but Rockstar Games made this possible. After all, the joys of cohabiting are many, and this postmodern relationship arrangement also includes diving into a game’s narrative without even knowing where L3 is.

I have watched people play video games before, of course, with the same attention span that people who don’t like animals give to random dogs on the street. I’ve seen a little bit of GTA and learned more about the world of The Witcher. None of those stories, however, were as gripping and addictive as RDR2, nor had the breathtaking graphics (partly because my partner ‘invested’ in a 4K TV). For the last month and a half, it made perfect sense for me to spend a gloomy and rainy weekend curled up by his side, cheering for the ultimate antihero of the game, Arthur Morgan.

I have absolutely zero interest in playing RDR2, by the way. Zero. My only interest in video games happened more than 15 years ago and stopped with Game Boy Advance. But give me a couple of hours watching it and yes, what a time to be alive.

This game is better than Netflix. Seriously. RDR2 delivers a full, rich storyline without the elongated and boring milkings of narrative that Netflix has been delivering throughout the years. I went through the 10+ hours of The Haunting of Hill House, and yes, it scared me, it made me slightly curious about its mysteries and its ending, but I watched it mostly out of principle — Must. Finish. This. Series. For me, it was a fair meh — enough not to feel like I had wasted (too much of) my time. On the other hand, the adventures of outlaw Arthur Morgan in the gang of Dutch van der Linde at the end of the Wild West era, after a massive train job goes wrong, are far more compelling and just as surprising. It feels very refreshing to delve in the US nature of more than a hundred years ago — now that we find ourselves in the Trump times of intensive farming and urban centres -, and the game invests hard on how beautiful everything is, including wolf packs, bear attacks, tiny little orchids or canoeing down what must be a reference to the Colorado River. Rockstar’s fictional and virtual depiction of the US is invigorating, and the different climates and geographies are worth at least an afternoon of contemplating. Or at least that I what I tell myself.

Nature is just the icing on the cake. As a writer, what made me obsess over RDR2 was definitely the story — the most refreshing narrative I’ve encountered since watching Victoria (Sebastian Schipper) two years ago. The characters are complex and well-developed, miles away from the toxic masculinity one would expect from a typical western story, even though there are characters that are built with the macho way of life, not necessarily villains but still highly dislikeable. That’s one of the most delicious perks of the game: the emotional engagement that the story slowly builds not only on the gamer but also on the viewer. I can’t even turn a PS4 on, yet I care for and loathe its characters, missing them as someone whose favourite series just ended. Fuck Micah Bell. What will be of my afternoons without Arthur Morgan?

The well-built character arcs, the honestly surprising plot twists and ‘reader’s’ engagement are amongst the best I’ve ever experienced. And more: the narrative is incredibly inclusive and culturally relevant to the game’s historical context. Some female characters are campaigning so women can vote, and you can help them (and protect them, which I guess is not exactly feminist). In another feminist note, a young woman called Sadie goes from victim to one of the most badass characters in the story, with details that most male gamers might not realise (she wears trousers! In 1899! She is not there only to be someone else’s love interest!). For such a mainstream game, I was pleasantly surprised with the refreshing and discreet politically correct agenda that rewards with honour, for instance, when the character decides to kill what allegedly are members of the KKK. The depictions of the US government to Native American territory are interesting to follow as well, especially when accompanied by Charles, the half-Native American character.

The least likable characters turn out to be narcissistic, paranoid or borderline psychopaths; whilst the antihero starts his slow climb on the path of the redemption that gives the game its name. RDR2 explores humanity without falling into old-fashioned Manichaeism, fully developing the grey area between the us vs them theme intrinsically connected to most Wild West narratives. It talks about brotherhood and loyalty with more than the average psychological treatment of the quest for the ‘father figure’, developing instead the flaws and dangers of such liability.

Watching Red Dead Redemption 2 unwind has made me think a lot about good writing and the power and strength of excellent storytelling, the magic that captures and involves us in its warm, tangled webs. How tales of redemption can still feel refreshing and emotional, and how there’s still some original content to be drawn from the Wild West. And I can only hope for another prequel (or sequel), to once again be wonderfully smitten by Rockstar’s narrative — even if I have no idea where L3 is.