Disco Elysium is a rare and precious gem indeed: a video game that utilizes the language of the medium to its full potential. Interactivity is woven into the very fabric of the narrative, as fundamental and inextricable as words and images. There is no separation between “gameplay” and “storytelling”—they’re one and the same, synonymous and indistinguishable.
Its systems are deceptively simple: in basic terms, the designers combine mechanics from point-and-click adventures, RPGs, and visual novels into a perfectly harmonious genre hybrid. The player must navigate sprawling, labyrinthine dialogue trees, gathering clues to solve a murder mystery. Completing certain objectives earns experience points, which are used to level up your character’s attributes (divided among four branches: Intellect, Psyche, Physique, and Motorics); equipping articles of clothing and other miscellaneous items further increases these stats. Depending on how you “build” the protagonist, these upgrades may make him more perceptive, charismatic, or intimidating, opening new avenues of exploration and investigation—and providing a crucial advantage during the D&D-style “skill checks."
Seems easy enough, right? Just min-max your abilities, exhaust every conceivable dialogue option, and save scum frequently to circumvent the fickle RNG—the usual cheap, brute-force strategies. Or so I mistakenly believed—until a magnificently structured set piece totally subverted my expectations. I won’t discuss the twist in detail here; it’s far too delicious to spoil. Suffice it to say that your skills—which manifest as literal disembodied voices, dispensing hints, guidance, and nuggets of wisdom that you’ve been conditioned to trust without question or skepticism—are revealed to be fallible; they’re akin to unreliable narrators, subject to biases and prejudices. Even successful dice rolls don’t necessarily guarantee accurate information or favorable outcomes—a blatant weaponization of the user interface that irrevocably alters how the player engages with the material. You can’t merely tap buttons and skim through flavor text until the end credits roll; achieving victory will require you to actually pay attention, exercise a degree of critical thinking and logical reasoning, and make judgments based on your own personal values (rather than blindly following the advice of the flawed hero's internal monologue)—thus lending your choices (and the consequences thereof) a greater sense of urgency, gravity, and emotional significance.
And that is what makes Disco Elysium so special: it constantly deconstructs itself, recontextualizing its relationship with the audience. You don’t play this game; it plays you.
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