Batman: Arkham Origins (Multi-Platform)

Until now, the Arkham games were meticulously crafted to make me feel as though I wasn’t just playing a game, but taking up a mantle. Through meticulously built Bat-gadgets, clever level design and stories that drew heavily from the Caped Crusader’s rich mythology, Batman: Arkham Asylum and Batman: Arkham City lived up to the mission of Bruce Wayne: Protect the people, and protect Gotham City. But after suffering through only a few hours of Batman: Arkham Origins’ tired missions, frustrating boss battles, insipid writing and undeniably noticeable bugs, I felt a growing sense of disgust. To hell with its citizens: I wanted to watch Gotham City burn.
Sadly, since Arkham Origins is a prequel and Gotham needs to exist for the rest of the series, that isn’t an option. Set only a few years into Batman’s mission to stop crime, the game shows the first time he faces off against a new breed of criminal in the form of eight super-powered assassins hired to kill him. It’s a compelling premise that’s quickly abandoned when the game makes a compulsory, unavoidable shift in focus towards Batman’s relationship with the Joker.
Arkham Origins intriguingly purports to tell the “origin” of Batman and the Joker’s relationship, but the game has no idea how to develop these characters: They puzzle over each other for a single scene before immediately dropping into familiar rhythms. Instead of developing their relationship, the game tries to pose questions. Did Batman create the Joker? Is he just a criminal or, as Batman says at some point in the game, “something different?” Do they hate each other, or do they need each other? Unfortunately, all of these questions are answered more capably by almost every popular Batman story from the last 25 years, and Arkham Origins adds nothing new to the conversation.
Arkham Origins’ struggle showing this relationship can be traced directly to its misunderstanding of Batman as a character. The Batman on display is supposed to be inexperienced and rougher around the edges, but instead comes across as an idiot thug. He solves every problem with pummeling—including the final sequence of the game, which feels less like righteous justice and more like a merciless beating. On top of this, Batman is one of the victims of the game’s truly awful dialogue, as he’s either spouting dry, painfully obvious exposition directly at the player—often repeating what the story told me moments earlier—or ending a criminal interrogation with one-liners that would embarrass Commando’s John Matrix.
I found myself punctuating most lines of dialogue in Arkham Origins with heavy sighs and the occasional disgusted groan. The dialogue strains to impress by being needlessly technical, referring to a blood stain as “DNA impact markings,” or filling Barbara Gordon’s brief cameo with technobabble rivaling that of any early 2000’s thriller about the dangers of the internet. Often lines are painfully obvious to the point of ridicule, such as when a corrupt cop beating a homeless man exclaims, “Man, I hate the homeless!” And any time it tries for depth, it ends up being meaningless and overly familiar; Deathstroke’s dialogue could be replaced with the lyrics to Daft Punk’s “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger”, and the final showdown between the Joker and Batman sounds like overhearing someone drunkenly trying to explain the plot of The Dark Knight in a bar (not content to borrow from that film thematically, the game’s story concludes with a scene lifted almost directly from it).
The worst of it comes when the writing’s attempt to get colorful collides painfully with the incredibly poor voice-over work that makes up most of the games’ performances. Henchmen talk and sound like New Jersey caricatures, as if Gotham’s underworld was made up entirely of Andrew “Dice” Clays, Joe Pescis and Buddy “Cake Boss” Valastros. The Penguin’s henchwoman Tracey speaks with a Cockney accent so thick and nonsensical that I’m forced to wonder if the developers have ever spoken to a British person, or even seen an episode of British television. Candy, Penguin’s other sidekick, is the only notable person of color in the game and her dialog is problematic at best. Tracey and Candy’s appearance adds nothing to the story; they exist only to as sexual props for the Penguin and to be ogled by the player. Frustratingly, their only purpose seems to be to reinforce the series’ problem with women.
Spared from this indignity are Kevin Conroy and Mark Hamill, who voiced Batman and the Joker in countless animated versions and both games in the Batman: Arkham series before Arkham Origins. In their place are Roger Craig Smith and Troy Baker. Both set out to ape their predecessors, and while Smith stumbles occasionally, Baker’s recreation of Hamill’s Joker is fantastic. It’s doesn’t quite replace Hamill, whose voice has defined the character since 1992, but Baker stunned me by coming as close as he did.
The last main character left to examine is Gotham City itself, which is as poorly defined and sporadically characterized as its protector. Gotham retains the look and feel of Arkham City, which provides visual consistency until you remember that by the time of Arkham City Gotham is a rundown dystopia, with city blocks run into the ground by psychopaths and criminals. Turns out those maniacs didn’t do much damage, as Arkham Origins’ earlier Gotham is already full of rundown, filthy locations. Everything is leaking, broken, empty and destroyed.
This carnage defies logic. The Joker takes over an entire hotel, creating a demented funhouse and filling its halls with death traps and taking hostages, but somehow Batman, the GCPD and the citizens of the city didn’t notice until tonight? The Penguin’s tanker ship, the game’s first level, appears to be a paradox—it’s simultaneously sinking, floating, on fire and frozen. None of this makes any sense if you stop to think about it for a moment. I’m not clamoring for “realism” in my Batman game—please, bring on the crocodile men, the clayfaces and the immortal ninjas—but the game’s assumption that I wouldn’t stop to consider the reality of anything repeatedly shatters my suspension of disbelief.