My review of The Outer Worlds 2 begins with a retelling of the first unexpected curveball the RPG threw my way. Barely out of the intro and having made exactly two vending machine purchases, I was offered the consumerism flaw. This puzzled me. As it turns out, this event had good reason to puzzle me.
You see, since the game emerged into early access late last week – a time frame during which only those who spunked around £30 extra for the game’s preorder premium edition can play it – other folks have run into this flaw, and assumed that it must be dunking on them for having bought that more expensive edition.
It makes perfect sense, and honestly I’m a bit narked with myself for not making the connection immediately. In my defense, the flaw isn’t listed among the extra bits offered by the premium edition on storefronts as far as I can tell. Nor is it explicity labelled with the words ‘premium’ or ‘deluxe’, as the corporate appreciation premium pack moon man gear which has been hanging out in my inventory all 40 or so hours is. So, since my character was given dialogue which suggested them to simply be very dumb due to my accepting of this flaw designed to make fun of my superfluous spending, I guess you got me, Outer Worlds 2. Touché, Obsidian. Well played.
But, wait just one second. If the flaw’s designed as a fun little Borderlandsy meta dunk on premium edition purchasers, it’s taken on rather a different meaning in this case. You see, as is usually the case with reviews outside of instances in which companies decide not to send out codes for whatever reason, I was given an early copy of The Outer Worlds 2’s all-singing, all-dancing premium edition for free by publishers Microsoft. We certainly didn’t specify an edition we wanted, so as often happens it was the publishers’ understandable decision to send me, a person who’d be critiquing the game and publishing thoughts, the swankiest version of it.
In 99% of cases, that boring behind-the-scenes admin wouldn’t be something worth telling you about, but in this one, it’s created a set of circumstances which have turned Obsidian’s joke totally on its head and into something I honestly find a fair bit funnier. I promise that isn’t just because quirks of fate mean it’s not ended up a gag at my expense, either. I love a joke, be they good, bad, or indifferent. As long as the circumstances/company are appropriate, I’m generally in favour of firing away the funnies, even if they’re tortured punchlines doomed to fall flat.
There’s something uniquely hilarious about this one. A studio who, whether at their own behest or under duress from their corporate overlords, are doing a swanky premium edition offering the chance to play early and having a little laugh about people, er, buying that thing they’re selling. Then it inadvertently pings right back around. Cue this Faith No More cover I’m fond of. After all, even if my position as a journo who hadn’t bought the thing wasn’t anticipated, what about folks who might get the premium edition free through the likes of competitions or just wait until sales eventually render it cheaper than the standard edition of the game is at launch?
I know, I’m giving far too much thought to the ramificiations of this harmless and fun little gag, but having realised what’s happened, I can’t help but feel it rather sums up the Outer Worlds 2 experience in a way I hadn’t intended. Instead of a scenario with promise of something that could be New Vegas-level great, but to me ends up feeling closer to Avowed-level good, you get something skewered by reality into a version of itself that doesn’t quite match what was anticipated or hoped. It’s a lot like many of the lines uttered in jest and parody by the conniving corporatists of Auntie’s Choice sounding akin to something you might find in a very real layoff memo or marketing pitch from Obsidian’s parent company Microsoft.
Folks might well still laugh if your jokes are funny or self-aware enough, but it’s a lot more difficult to satirise or mock something if you’re part of it, without risking those efforts ringing a bit hollow. Especially if you’re deliberately working a lot of your wink wink, nudge nudge corporate spoofing into the more expensive edition of a product you’re trying to sell.
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