NOTE: This review contains minor spoilers, but torment is best experienced blind.
The college semester is over, and I can finally start writing again. Let me tell you all of a game I'd been playing over the past two weeks.
1. The game logo on Steam.
Black Isle Studio's, Interplay's, and later Beamdog's[1] Planescape: Torment is a 1999 CRPG "cult classic." It was published during the so-called 'golden age' of CRPGs, primarily isometric CRPGs. It runs on the same Infinity Engine that powered Larian's Baldur's Gate, and it, too, is a DND-based game, set in the obscure campaign setting of Planescape. However, unlike BG1, Torment is far more story-driven. In it I played as an immortal man, The Nameless One (TNO), who woke up alive in a mortuary for the dead. Throughout the game, I spent my time figuring out everything I could about TNO's nature. Why is TNO immortal? What was his life before his first death? How could he become mortal once more?
How can I sell you on this game? Perhaps the premise of an 'immortal amnesiac' may be of prime interest? Yes... the premise alone implies two things of great deal. I shall discuss both as starting points for broader analyses.
Philosophical, Full Writing
For one, the 'immortal amnesiac' implies that Torment would delve into the philosophies, of life, of death, of legions, of the planes beyond. And that it did. On this front, Torment did not disappoint.
An example of its exploration of, say, death, would be the faction of the Dustmen, who run the mortuary in which you start the game. They believe that life on the "Material Plane"[2] is fake life, and everyone's true purpose is to achieve "True Death." They celebrate and manage deaths and believe it to be the ultimate end for which people prepare their whole lives. For the 'dusties', death is their god, the central source of meaning which creates the road on which they shall walk. A grim belief system, reflected indeed on the colorless gray-brown of the members' long robes, and the gothic, dark-floral interior of the mortuary.
2. The slab in the Mortuary on which TNO awakens.
Starting the game with the Dustmen and their "True Death" serves as a notable backdrop for the main character, TNO, and his central conflict of immortality. I love TNO. He is quite unlike any other RPG main character that I've played. See, this particular main character is far from the first TNO. Every time TNO dies, he reincarnates but forgets everything. Thus, he finds throughout the story that he is but one in a long line of many past versions of him.
With this take on immortality, Torment implants unto the main character the conflict of the split self. TNO, in all his incarnations, never quite feels like 'himself'. Everything that he is, possibly he had been before. And his past selves? Oh, they hate him. They need him. They help him and stop him, for he is not 'The Nameless One', yet he would say the same to them, to his pasts. And in writing him in such a manner, TNO becomes every character in one. He was thrice evil, once prude, twice good, once shrewd. And, really, what better character is there than all? The splitting of the self reminds me somewhat of the show Severance—outie Mark and innie Mark both know of the other's existence, but individually they claim their self as the 'real' Mark. My TNO, the 'real' TNO. But why should it? Why should none of the previous TNOs, the ones we don't play, be the real one? And in one fell swoop, you and I are thinking about the nature of reality and agency. Philosophy: a great lure.
Beyond just its philosophical breadth, Torment's quality shows, of a broader sense, in its writing. I like to describe this game's writing as 'full'. Full not that it's quantifiably sizeable; in fact, it's relatively short for a CRPG (and we may see part of why, later). No, the writing is full in that it leaves no page, no character, no dialogue behind. Full in that everyone had been transcribed soul. Full in that your heart is left full after an hour of play. And it does so with utmost conciseness, wasting as few words as possible, or rather, treating each with equal importance.
In writing side characters, for instance, Torment gives you just enough—all that you need—to care. Let me give some of my favorite examples of side characters who appear for no more than a few minutes. A Dustman by the name of Sere, the oldest member of the faction, can be found in a bar. She had grown skeptic of the Dustmen faction when, on the day she had grazed death, everyone around her cheered for her to perish. Likewise, a 'Doubtful Skeleton', seeing the dullness of the catacombs and having been persuaded by a Dustman to die, had regretted clinging onto life. These two characters are two sides of the same coin. They, who individually have little impact on the game on the mechanical level, graciously show cracks in their individual beliefs, and both, when put together, show a haunting sense of alienation from their community and peers. What's more, they are intentionally sitting on the edge of their belief, leaving the choice to you, the player, to give them the advice that may tip them toward one direction or another. Convincing the Skeleton to die or Sere to live will not affect your journey, but it will underline its trajectory.
3. Sere the Skeptic, in the Gathering Dust bar.
Choice matters here. In online discussions that included Torment, I have seen it compared to, or be called the 'spiritual precursor' of, Disco Elysium. That comparison is apt, for the stories and characters of the two are largely shaped by actively made, constant, trickling choices. Your character—your TNO—has a DND-based alignment (Lawful Good–Chaotic Evil) that is affected by dialogue choices, and these choices are neither few nor far between. Even your combat class (Mage, Fighter, Thief, or Priest) is dictated by dialogue, not by a character creation menu. Therefore, abiding by the rules or telling a harmless lie may make or break your Lawful alignment, which in turn may affect the availability of future opportunities.
4. The icon for the 'Neutral Good' alignment.
In practice, the differences in what one may experience from each alignment or class are not as diverse as other CRPGs (like Disco Elysium) may allow. Still, I confess that there are many fresh experiences that can be had from repeat playthroughs. Furthermore, it is the dynamic shifting and molding of self through active choice that really set Torment apart. Much like its very multiverse[3]: through choice, you can shift, and through your shift, beliefs can shift, and through the movement of beliefs, the planes can shift.
"If enough people cared... if enough people truly believed that the trees should live, they would." – Mourns-for-Trees
Torment's writing is, in many respects, impeccable. It is philosophical, concise, and breathless. It is dark, like the darkness of the manufactured sky that envelops Sigil. But the 'dark' of the matter—the truth—is despite the harrowing torment in the planes, Torment is still wonderfully soulful. It gives even those on the margins of runtime a-plenty time of day, with not a word wasted, not a soul ungiven.
But what of the game's, well, gameplay?
Gameplay of Death
The other implication of an 'immortal amnesiac' is that death may play a unique role in the play experience. And it does so in interesting ways.
Death in Torment is a way of explaining the all-too-ubiquitous respawn mechanic. When TNO dies, he doesn't inexplicably return to a 'previous checkpoint' as if by ludic magic. The concept of immortality provides answers for this typical mechanical oddity in a manner satisfactory and self-explanatory. Furthermore, special interactions with companions, who stay with you through death and resurrection, can be unlocked postmortem. Oddly, though, Chris Avellone's (lead designer's) manual for Torment states that "death serves to advance the plot," even if there is only one major instance where death is required, per se. In that climactic instance which I won't spoil, death is executed well, but it would've been great to have more moments of "required death," especially for such a thematically tight game.
5. An example of a tattoo.
Indeed, the writing and gameplay of Torment are commendably on the same wavelength. Death is a narrative device and a mechanic. Choice leads to alignment, which allows certain equipment or items to be used. The recurring element of bodily mutilation and desecration manifests in the abundance of tattoos as the 'armor equivalent' which focus on symbolic stat buffs rather than defensive capability. Also, the game's extensive acceptance of violent or nonviolent approaches means, depending on what you want to do, you'll either be doing a lotta talkin'... or a lotta swingin'.
And how could I forget the quality that inextricably ties Torment's gameplay and narrative? Their genre subversiveness! Torment does its damnedest to set itself apart. It avoids tropes as if the idea of 'trope' disgusts it. Writing-wise? It has a reviled hag that's neither pure evil nor misunderstood good; a waning religious preacher as a warrior whose blade depends on the strength of his false faith; a 'brothel' not for sexual lusts, but for debate and intellectual discussion; and a reprehensible main character, physically and morally 'ugly', unlike the vibrant sunshine characters in more popular titles that embody the word 'good'. Gameplay-wise? It has a floating, wimpy skull for a damage-soaking tank; a final chapter that is too hard to complete via any form of combat; and a semi-hidden area that explains in-universe fast travel and features a loving parody of the old, cuboid dungeon crawler style of game. The darkness and chaos seen throughout Torment's through-line taint its every corner. As a result, narrative and mechanical motifs emerge which, while different, all work toward one cohesive picture. Through its incessant uniqueness, Torment becomes an iconoclast of CRPGs.
Of course, gameplay cracks show throughout Torment, and I fear they are my most prominent critique. I'd be remiss not to point out the two major difficulty spikes that appear throughout, three if you count the final area which is so hard I start to think it's intentionally designed that way because I just ran around the swarms of enemies there. The words "gameplay of death" take on a different meaning when I reached the penultimate area and was greeted by: a fetch quest that's about as snooze-inducing as that new Drake triple-album, a poorly communicated 'point of no return' (which I had mistakenly entered...), all in a town smaller than even the beginning area (how's THAT for trope subversion). Turned out, the penultimate area was rushed and bigger plans were once drawn before schedule constraints required it to be shortened and shipped off to a different designer, who may or may not have misunderstood what Avellone meant by "torment." Thus, there is a remarkable decrease in quality at that point, which at least thankfully picks up again near the end.
6. A key art for the game.
You know what else about the game is killing me? It is lowkey misogynistic. This isn't so much a "prominent" critique as much as it is a subtle and pervading feeling. Of course, such an argument is hard to wrestle with. One may reasonably contend that since Torment's world is one deeply rooted in all manners of evil, the placement of dozens of prostitutes throughout the streets, and the appearance of such quotes like "Women were the reason I became a monk," and "Women have always walked our path with us...and they have suffered, and it is always their choice," which fascinatingly pairs well with, "When you feel, instead of think, there is little room for choice," are all chalked up to 'reflections' of 'yet another evil'. Of course, this 'mirror to society' surely must also explain why the two female companions, one a smart succubus and the other a silver-tongued street girl, strong women in their own right, are both suddenly head-over-heels for TNO, with the latter even carnally desiring him upon first conversation. Certainly, this explains why these two female companions, who are with you for almost half the story, stand at the back of one of the game's key art (see above) while an armored 'Mercykiller', with spikes that protrude so ridiculously far they look like the teeth of FNAF nightmare animatronics, takes up as much of the image as the main character despite having only an hour of screen time. By this point, this 'mirror of society' becomes a 'degrading parody', and, suddenly, in fear of critiquing such an otherwise amazing game, which I too dearly love, we start to treat it like how we would a Murakami novel; we just ignore all of this, at which point the misogyny evolves into 'remnant of its time'.
I'm being harsh to prove a point, but I understand why some may not see this, or me, eye-to-eye. The "misogyny" I say here is not prevalent or visibly oppressive. Rather, it exists under the breath, in the letters of the words. Gender power structures inform this game's idea of 'love'. At least two, and arguably four, female characters would kill themselves for TNO, despite one of them having been manipulated all her life to love him, and the other only knowing him for barely a month. Perhaps it is in that sense where Torment is tormentingly 'real'? I love Planescape: Torment so much which is why I point this out in the first place. For a work of art that hails as 'subversive', could it not have at least done something different in this manner, too? Women are allowed to be their own characters with their own lives and motivations, so we're not failing the Bechdel test or anything. The 'brothel for debate' alone is a great counterexample to what I'm criticizing. Just that when I look at the full picture, I remain somewhat disappointed.
But let me now center myself and give the closing words, for, truly, given all that I have described, Torment remains one-of-a-kind, and for what it's accomplished deserves love and respect all the same.
Final Remarks
Planescape: Torment is a special game in the midst of the 'golden era' of isometric CRPGs. It is about an immortal amnesiac who journeys to find his mortality once more, and through it, he learns of the world, the philosophies of life and death, and the nature of belief. Torment avoids the combat-heaviness typical to the genre, allowing one to enact their decision-making to solve problems primarily by dialogue or not. Being story-driven, the game is breathlessly concise, thematically cohesive, and delightfully unique.
It does, however, has its cracks. Sections rush through without depth or substance, the difficulty falters, and a lowkey misogyny stains the dialogue box. In some ways, it is torment in a literal degree.
I say these, though, because I love this game. I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry a tear or two while playing. It really is one of my favorite RPGs to date. And while it may not be considered a 'monument' of the genre, it is a notable exception to the classic RPG formula, an iconoclastic sui generis. I hope that when I die, I may be reborn having forgotten everything just so I could experience the planes all over again.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Beamdog produced the Enhanced Edition, which is actually the version that I played.
[2] The "Material Plane" is the plane that contains all life and matter.
[3] The planes—well, specifically the "Outer Planes"—are shaped and formed by beliefs in the Material Plane. When beliefs change, the Outer Planes move with.
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