The Game Boy: Why Games Need to Quit Wasting Time

I think The Darkness II's Jackie Estacado deserves an award for being more utterly screwed in a single instance than any other videogame character in history. So here's the tale of the tape: I – playing as the main character of all first-person shooters: camera-glued-to-the-main-character's-forehead – was locked in a dark, dingy room while a horde of vaguely supernatural mob goons turned my mega-mansion (and my horde of vaguely competent regular mob goons) into a gory pile of mob goop. “Mansion under attack, lol #firstworldproblems,” I could almost imagine Jackie tweeting if he hadn't also been, you know, crucified at the time.
Then one of my none-too-subtle foes wheeled a TV inches away from my eyes so as to – both literally and figuratively – rub my face in what was to come. “It's your own personal snuff film,” he proudly announced. On the screen were two of my particularly talkative underlings – beaten, bound, and on their knees, with backs mercifully turned away from the pistol pointed in their general direction. “One lives, one dies. Pick.” And I should have cared. I really should have.
But I didn't. Not in the slightest. So, what changed between the original Darkness' masterclass in characterization and this sordid tale of heartlessness and heart-eating? Simple: time.
And I'm not referring to the intervening period between Darkness I and II's respective releases – nor, for that matter, one of the most well-known songs off Pink Floyd's “Dark Side of the Moon.” Rather, I'm shining the demon-snake-disintegrating spotlight on in-game time or, in this case, lack thereof.
See, the first Darkness is, in my opinion, among the few games that have really leveraged one of the most underused gadgets in gaming's arsenal: the lack of a predefined time limit on our experiences. There's no clock ticking things away – the hours that make up a dull day, for instance. A book's pages will eventually run out. Films have to squeeze all manner of meaningful plot and character development into the cramped confines of a couple hours – a task I imagine to be much like putting a ship into a bottle the wrong way. And, of course, all good TV shows inevitably get canceled by Fox.
Games, however, are free to paddle down the timestream at their leisure, hard drive/disc space willing. So The Darkness crafted the now-infamous sofa scene. In it, players were given the option to stow their guns, temporarily shut off the portion of their brains scientists are now calling “The Rambo Cortex,” and watch a movie with Jackie's girlfriend, Jenny. For an hour-and-a-half. As I've written countless times, it was brilliant. I spent real-life quality time with a human-shaped stack of zeroes and ones, but it felt entirely authentic. There were no cars, rockets, or Kool-Aid Men crashing through walls. The screen never faded away into infinite swirling abyss of black that is the jump cut to another scene. It may not have been real in the strictest sense, but it was damn close.
The Darkness II, meanwhile, is akin to a rollercoaster ride that abruptly and haphazardly leaps onto other rollercoasters. It barrels forward at breakneck pace, pausing only briefly between levels to let you chat with your motley crew of meticulously dressed mobsters at Jackie's mansion. Admittedly, even throwaway conversations are very well-written and acted, but when I had to choose which friendly mafio-so-and-so to execute on the spot, it felt like I was indirectly splattering the brains of a casual acquaintance – not someone I'd rather take a bullet for. And most certainly not a close friend I'd worked with and fought alongside for two years. Because, in truth, I'd been around these guys for a combined total of roughly two or three minutes. I barely knew either of them.