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I’m sorry, I’m obsessed with the Halo Infinite crisis gorillaThe biggest of moods
The biggest of moods
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And so in Escharum we got an imposing, violent alien with a personal vendetta against Big John Halo. He could have been the dullest, most generic War Bastard going - arguably, much like Tartarus fromHalo 2. But he was not. Escharum was weird, strangely likeable, and genuinely compelling, and all I want is to endure more monologues from him and find out his general deal.
For a start, there’s the fact that he seems to… like you? There’s no doubt that Escharum wants to murder the shit out of you, but the whole of his short monologue is underlaid with a sort of incredibly aggressive affection. Not the false bonhomie of a supervillain “welcoming” the hero to their lair with an evil laugh, but the excitement of someone meeting their hero who they also hate with every fibre of their being.
“but here you now stand…”
So, when he turns to face you after his moment of reflection, and inexplicablysteps outof the hologram he’s been speaking from to get right in your face, the look of motion-captured joy on his face is as thoroughly pure as it is terrifyingly bloodthirsty.
In deciding to kill him, you’ve just given this knackered old bruiser a reason to live. “This is my last fight,” he confesses, before going on to shout with what feels like genuine relief, that “our story will outlive us both”. All these less beastmode emotions are buried under macho hollering, but they’re unmistakable.
Escharum has clearly been consumed for some time with the fear of dying as a footnote in history. But now, whether he wins the fight or you do, you’ve saved him from irrelevance. In fact, he probably assumes that the Chief feels the same way, so much so that “set a fire in your heart, Spartan!” comes out more rapturous more than it does threatening. It’s hard not to find him likeable in that moment, and given the outlandishly close distance from which that whole final section is filmed, it utterly nails you to your chair. We’re used to writers trying to make us care about their protagonists, but trying to solicit pathos for a villain, especially one so unambiguously menacing as this, is a lot more impressive.
Is it silly to care this much about a speech from a ridiculous alien baddie in a Halo game? Nah, it’s not. This is space opera, remember, and it’s called that for a reason. Space opera stories are stories told in all caps, with emotions too big to fit into ordinary people or places, and wringing maximum passion from the ostensibly ridiculous is what it’s all about. Sure, the plot of the Halo games is complete spaghetti in places, and often doesn’t make sense. But then, it doesn’t make sense in regular opera when people sing at deafening volume instead of having normal conversations, does it? It’s a genre where you have to commit absolutely everything to the bit, without apology, or else produce something dull, forgettable and cheesy.
It’s not even like I’m really invested in the Halo lore. It’s fine, as lore goes, but it only really works for me when I’m tearing through the middle of it in a car named after a pig, while a load of monks sing my theme tune, and I’ve got scant mental space left to think about the details. I’d go so far as to argue that “high pulp” like Halo (a phrase I use very much as praise) is less concerned with generating a coherent, tidy plot than it is with generating a sense of mood.
And when it comes to moods, an eight-foot-tall, chronically insecure gorilla having a gigantic mental breakdown three inches from your face is about as big as they come. Flood or no Flood, sprint or no sprint, local co-op play or not, I’m sold.
Whatever you call it, hit ourE3 2020tag for more from this summer’s blast of gaming announcements, trailers, and miscellaneous marketing. Check outthe PC games at the PlayStation 5 show,everything at the PC Gaming Show, andall the trailers from the Xbox showcase, for starters.
