Gods and Men – God of War, Quarantines, and Interrupted Journeys
“Do not mistake my silence for lack of grief.” – God of War
As I walked toward my audition, I couldn’t help but notice how empty Times Square was. It was the first truly beautiful day of the year, but people were unnerved by the specter of Covid-19. I understood. My pockets were filled with disinfectant wipes that I ran over every surface I touched. I avoided crowded elevators. Still. We felt somewhat prepared. My wife and I moved to New York in early February but were getting our feet under us. We knew the neighborhood, had a stash of non-perishables and, thanks to the concerns of my public-health-nurse mom, were stocked with enough hand sanitizer to fill a bathtub. I thought we were ready, but there was a nagging feeling that I couldn’t quite write off as simply a product of my nervous nature.
Four days later, our entire apartment was packed and we were driving to Kentucky. It might sound indulgent to say the whole ordeal felt harrowing, but even as we spent the sixteen hour drive listening to our favorite podcast with our cat on our laps, neither my wife or myself could shake the feeling that there was a monster over our shoulders. We arrived at three in the morning, unpacked the rental car, and collapsed in my childhood bedroom.
The next couple of days passed very quickly. We caught up on sleep. I finished some scripts that were due. I shouted upstairs at my dad and stepmother about what they were watching on television to try and keep some sense of normalcy. I felt very grateful. I was in a safe place with people I loved. I was able to fully quarantine away from them. My wife and my cat were with me. We were, and continue to be, incredibly fortunate.
But then what?
Against my better judgement, I’ve been an Xbox guy for some time. The last PlayStation exclusive game I played was The Last of Us, when a friend loaned me his system for a month. Dad had a PS4 in the basement and I needed a project. God of War (2018) seemed like a project worth my time. I’ve never played a God of War game, so I didn’t have a real familiarity with the characters. Still, I heard it was great. Game of the year. Why not?
Now comes the part where I feel like I have to talk about the game. This isn’t supposed to be a review, but here’s the long and short of it. The combat is satisfying and visceral. The visuals are gorgeous and detailed. The score is great. The sound design is great. The mission structure, supporting characters, dialogue, all great. Like I said, I had no relationship with the main character (Kratos, a very mortal god), but ended my time in the game as a convert. I couldn’t stop telling people how much I loved this experience. The game is a masterpiece, which made me so thankful because I needed a masterpiece.
God of War is a lonely game. It’s about grief and growth and trying to become a better person despite the history you may be so desperate to escape. It begins with Kratos chopping down a tree. He and his young son, Atreus (Or “Boy”, as Kratos more often refers to him), are preparing a funeral pyre for Atreus’ mother. They go on a quick hunting trip as she burns, and they return to gather her ashes and fulfill her final wish – to sprinkle her remains from the highest peak in all the realms. From that point on, it’s a story about a father and son who don’t quite understand each other. Like most fathers, Kratos can’t help but worry at his son’s perceived weaknesses and the brutality of the world they inhabit. Like most sons, Atreus doesn’t understand his father’s past and wants to live up to Kratos’ standard, even when he can’t fathom why. For the first half of the game, it’s just these two, spending time together and alternating between terror and wonder as their world expands and their relationship deepens.
Terror and wonder, like seeing a titanic serpent rise from a lake and speak to them in a long dead tongue.
Terror and wonder, like walking through a nearly empty Times Square on the way to an audition you didn’t realize would be your last.
Being at your father’s house when you’re past a certain age is a strange experience. Sleeping on a bed that seemed huge in your childhood and cramped as an adult. Posters on the walls of things that were important for reasons you can’t quite remember (Did I even buy Badrock #1?). But there is a sweetness that can’t be denied. Cracking open the copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany I read in high school blasted my memory awake. I’m able to drink the sweetest water on the planet, made so because it was the comfort I found during so many dark nights, half awake and wandering from my bed to the bathroom. My wife and I walked through the woods to the home that used to belong to my grandparents, me pointing out landmarks along the way. The walk is now much shorter than I remember.
Though we have a yard to walk around in, we’re still confined to this place. We are, like most people, essentially trapped. Kratos and Atreus gave me vistas. They gave me adventures and challenges and quantifiable obstacles to overcome in a time when the only goal is to stay inside. Before we left New York, I left our apartment twice in ten days, doing everything I could to stay healthy for an acting job in Arizona that has since been postponed until September. After a near month of self-quarantine, I needed a world of escape and, in my time of despair, God of War provided. I did everything I could to put off finishing the game. In the mornings, I would read through guides that would help me find every nook and cranny of their world. In the afternoons, I would throw myself at the Valkyries, a series of optional bosses meant to test the skills you’ve built in game. At night, I watched the documentary produced by Santa Monica Studios about the development process in twenty-minute increments, and became charmed by Corey Barlog, the creative lead behind this story that took me so completely. But it wasn’t just that I was looking for a thing to do. The relationship between Kratos and Atreus was so genuine; it made sense that they would want to spend time together. So I played. So they could.
I finished God of War and took a breath. I turned to my wife and said, “That was a hell of a game.” It had all but convinced me to switch consoles. I wasn’t going to miss out on an artistic experience like that again. It inspired me and made me greedy to be a part of something as great as this game was (I immediately went to the Santa Monica Studios website to see if they were hiring writers.). It distracted me when things in life had taken a dark turn. It gave me a reason to be excited to get up in the morning and, in the aftermath of our life being put on hold, a reason to get out of bed is as close to a miracle as one can ask for.
Life has been a mishmash of emotions since I took that walk through Times Square. As with most people, I’m trying to find ways to occupy my time. I’m writing and creating while trying to binge art that inspires me (I finished another game last night: Celeste. The metaphor of “climbing a mountain” was made clear by how my hands ached after completing levels. It gave me a personal perspective that I couldn’t get simply by watching Free Solo.). But God of War felt different. It wasn’t a game; it was a companion. A relationship I was able to inhabit as stress mounted all around.
I mark my life through art that changes me. Buying Voodoo by D’Angelo in high school – watching De La Guarda as a college kid – binging the first season of Succession as my wife and I packed for our first stint in New York. Like that well-worn copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany that I kept in my backpack, they sit and wait for the proper moment to bring you right back to where you were when you first encountered them. Someday, I will play the sequel to God of War and it will bring me back to my father’s basement, unstuck from time; an adult in my childhood bedroom. When the world was uncertain and fearful and I was able to turn to those I loved the most for comfort. To my family, to my wife, and to a story told well. I am so grateful.
