“Disco Elysium is an extremely unlikely object: a full-length RPG built not by a software company, but by a cultural organization.” Robert Kurvitz,  lead designer/lead writer of Disco Elysium, started telling stories in the world of Elysium in his late teenage years for tabletop role-playing games with friends before writing a novel set in the world in ‘05. The novel was a commercial failure, it would be another ten years before Kurvitz began another project to bring the world to life. This backstory serves as the basis to say Kurvitz has been involved in Elysium for a while. That time has allowed care in building Elysium, with a world that feels well lived in by the time we arrive in Revachol in a game that does seem truly unlikely. 

Putting a pin momentarily in Disco’s artistic achievements, let's get into the politics. Communism, fascism, and centrism are implemented throughout as tools to communicate the state of Elysium and the place the characters occupy therein. Disco understands that the politics are inherent to being. The world of Elysium is fueled by a history steeped in political conflict. Everything Disco has to say is influenced by socialist roots and critique. Kurvitz and others at ZA/UM offer clear criticism of fascism as a contradictory mass of fools, centrism as a cowardly obstruction to progress, and socialism as a disorganized collective more focused on the theory than the practice. Each group is rightfully critiqued, and quite directly so. These writers get it and they infuse those critiques into the worlds characters.

The communist revolution has long been ended by capitalist invaders who continue to rule even as the cities slip further into decay. Martinaise is a city whose best days are long behind it. Even the central conflict to which the amnesiac police lieutenant, Harrier Du Bois, acts as audience surrogate is steeped in political strife. With the death of a strike breaker our boy Harry is on the case, having drunken himself into a stupor we step in to solve the case. Harry is a fuck up, that much is clear from the jump. Man lost his badge, gun, notebook, and mind in a three-day bender failing to impress upon any character that he has any clue what he is doing. This setup is great. It offers classic RPG paths for players who want to (re)define Harry, while also introducing that this bleak world has a humor sewn in. Harry’s mess is an opportunity for the player to feel free to experiment and oftentimes screw up without fear that it will impact their character's image. Meaning there is option to prove you can jump a gap or be cool without feeling like you are messing up some hero status Harry has obtained prior to you assuming direct control. In nearly every instance this humor is integrated with considerate skill as to never truly undermine the tragedy surrounding you. For as strong as the drama is written in Disco, it was the levity that brings a vast amount of heart to it. Harry can be a goofball and that makes him all the more human. He has had his dark days, with more to come, but in the end, he is just one man and so long as his methods work folks like Kim can respect his intention.

Speaking of intention, player action in Disco is wholly made up of walking around and interacting with people and objects then letting the thoughts in our head influence our understanding of the object, person, or world. It might be too much for you, but far more likely is that the game’s strong writing will carry you through–more on that later. There is some further depth to systems, mostly in the menus, but besides moving skill points around you can expect to find more dialogue here as well. The thought cabinet is a unique addition to the skill point system as it offers a very niche risk/reward system unlike other RPGs. The question of whether a thought will be beneficial to you long term–some that are excellent during the processing time can become albatrosses and vice versa–means you have to take a gamble (or google) to choose what you are dedicating precious space in Harry’s brain to think about. Further unlocking these thoughts, as well as doing general character building, incentivizes exploration and engagement with the worlds and the many checklist assignments you can volunteer for along the way. Harry is all too eager to jump headfirst into solving people’s problems, even those people who don’t think they have problems but really their husband is dead, and you have to break the news. Again, there is a humor built into some very morbid reality that blurs the line between comedy and tragedy in a way not many games are capable of doing well.

Disco is all about focusing on the journey not the destination. I was told this going into the game, but it is damn near irrelevant who killed the strikebreaker. Each piece of the puzzle opens up larger perspectives on the world and its conflicts. Harry, meanwhile, acts as a bystander, often challenging himself (i.e., the player) into forming quick stances on complicated issues. You can stand aside or listen as his internal monologue offers a pantheon of distinct characters trying to put their thumb on the scale for your next dialogue choice. It sounds a bit hammy, but it works, and it works incredibly well. The voice acting alone sells the internal dialogue. Hell all of the voice acting is top notch as well and adds depth on already excellent dialogue. Each character’s voice serves well encapsulating the character from the second you hear them. Cuno’s high pitched delivery tells you quickly this boy will tell you nothing that doesn’t accompany an insult. The Union gang leader, Titus Hardie, has a deep gruff delivery that quickly communicates the wall he is between Harry and the truth of the strikebreaker's death. It is hard to imagine the game without the voice acting, but full voice acting was only added in the Final Cut. These actors really add something substantial to a game like this that is driven by the quality of its writing.

You spend most of the early game learning, along with Harry, the state of the world. An amnesiac allows for very clear excuses for exposition and Disco utilizes this excuse at every opportunity. The writing therein is precise telling the player as much as it can without giving up too much of the mystery. And this goes beyond the main storyline. Some side stories, whether told through multiple encounters or through the ledger (even some cut from the game entirely) have a foreboding that stuck with me long after completing the title. Each scene drives Harry forward as the intrigue builds and releases in fragments. Although the greatest point of conflict comes from a standoff in the town square, I found the slow pace of most other revelations more satisfying as a form of storytelling. Not to say the standoff was without merit, it stands alone as the single moment in the game where the stakes are highest, and the player is under the most pressure to get it right. Regardless, it also stands as the singular moment the game focuses more on combat rather than dialogue. You can talk your way out of this one, but I lacked the character build to do so and had to fight it out. The Union gang got mostly wiped out, while Titus and Kim were saved by two good dice rolls. Even as the final act slows down, the writing remains sharp.

Strictly speaking, the map you are exploring here is small. It is two small areas with a dozen interior spaces between them. Nonetheless, the district of Martinaise like the rest of Elysium feels lived in. It has a history and walking through the streets and houses you get a sense of the decline this place has been through. The scale of Martinaise means you learn its pathways and building well before the credits roll. You learn about the people, their lives, and the relationships they have shared long before you arrived. It allows Martinaise, and by extension all of Revachol, to feel much larger than it is. By the time you have found the Deserter, most of your questions have already been answered through your exploration and consideration of Martinaise. On the Deserter, you only meet him once, but he is just as real as any character in Elysium. He has lost his life to the revolution–as most men would–and all that is left is a bitter defiance. You can expand on his situation by rolling the dice to perceive the Insulindian Phasmid, a stick bug with some ethereal qualities that has had an influence on keeping the Deserter alive and healthy for this long. His fervor fueled by the unreal. When the phasmid departs the Deserter’s will departs with it and he is rendered catatonic. Harry and Kim depart to arrange his arrest, knowing that he cannot muster the strength to flee.

There the game ends, with a suggestion that Harry has been renewed and his partnership with Kim will continue. The destination is simple, almost plain, but something greater is to be said about the revolution that is yet to come. One clear message of Disco is that all of this philosophy and political theater put on by the powerful is little more than kindling waiting to be lit. The sparks of change do not come from one era, but in moments that reshape the dynamics of power for the next era. Like Kentucky Route Zero, Disco Elysium is an exploration of being human in a difficult world. Capitalists brought ruination to Revachol and now its people are left to pick up the pieces. Disco provides a lens for its audience to understand the cause of tragedies, to fight injustice so that tragedy may not happen again, and if all else fails to find humor in this life.