Let's talk about Father Gascoigne y'all, because his boss fight is one of the most well-designed things I've ever seen.
In my previous thread on Dark Souls, I set out to discuss that game as a whole, forgoing the specifics that make up the player's journey. Here, for Bloodborne, I will look more closely at one specific boss fight, with the hopes of showing the reader how this one fight contains within it everything that Bloodborne as a whole sets out to do. This will be a less personal thread and more of a technical/thematic one; but I hope it will be no less enjoyable.
Note: I have not finished Bloodborne's DLC yet, nor have I started pouring over every detail of the game's lore. Thus my interpretations of the game's themes are still based on incomplete information.
The following will contain minor thematic and explicit story spoilers for the first ~5 hours of the game, namely for everything encountered within Central Yharnam. Major spoilers will be clearly marked.
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Let us start with the following insight: Soulsborne games are viewed as "hard but fair" because they teach you how to play them.
This is in contrast to games in which the player fails through no perceived fault of their own. Games like Rain World (which I would nonetheless defend as an incredible, groundbreaking game) are unfair because the player is sometimes left with no clear lesson to learn: In the conversation between the game and its player, the player listens to the game and adapts their behaviour; but sometimes the game changes its mind, and decides to test the player on knowledge, skills, or ways of approaching the game's virtual world, that the game has not yet asked the player to learn. This leads to gameplay situations that the player feels are unfair. Thus: Clearly setting the terms for what is expected of the player, and following through on these ideas by testing the player on them, may be seen as one hallmark of great game design.
There are two important moments, in any game where this concept applies, where this process of teaching and testing must be at its best.
The first such moment is the game's beginning, where the game's basic mechanics must be taught well. For a very low-level example of this process, take Level 1-1 from Super Mario Bros:
The second such moment is the game's first boss fight, where the basic mechanics must be tested well. Ideally, if a player has the skill to overcome the first boss given the abilities that they then have, then they should be able to trust that they have what it takes -- the skills, the determination, the mindset -- to beat the entire game. For an example of a boss fight which tests the player's abilities very thoroughly and elegantly, take the Ginso Tree sequence in Ori and the Blind Forest, which is the game's first comprehensive test of all of the player's abilities up to that point (contrasted beautifully with a subsequent exploration of how a new ability changes things up):
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The above examples are all to do with testing the player on the gameplay mechanics with which they interact with the game. But there are more ways in which a player may relate to and engage with a game: We may roleplay; we may be emotionally invested; we may follow a game's story; we may consider its themes.
A great game is one that may be engaged with on a wide variety of levels. What, then, would a boss fight that tests the player not just on the gameplay, but on all of these things, look like? How might a game accurately set expectations not merely for its own gameplay mechanics, but moreover for the way we should engage with its story, the way we should engage with its themes, and the way in which we should approach the game as a whole?
We should look no further than Bloodborne's Father Gascoigne. His is the game's first mandatory boss fight (as well as, meaningfully, the game's first mandatory fight with a fellow hunter), and the first event in the game that not only tests the player on every gameplay mechanic that they will be tested on in the remainder of the game, but which furthermore provides the player with a thematic template that will carry them throughout the entire game. His fight teaches on a small scale those things that will permeate the game's story, its themes, and the mindsets with which the player might engage with the game on both a skill-based level and on an intellectual level.
Like all things good, let us start simple.
I. Father Gascoigne tests you on the basic gameplay mechanics.
Having arrived at the Tomb of Oedon, where the player will encounter Father Gascoigne, they will already have gotten ample opportunity to learn the basic mechanics of the game. Notably, the player will understand how to heal; how to attack; how to evade (including the difference between a roll and a sidestep); and how to make use of the level design to gain an advantage in battle.
Father Gascoigne's tests the player on all of these things. The first three here are trivial; the fourth is tested through the placement of graves scattered around the area, behind which the player may hide from Father Gascoigne's gun attacks to heal. Positioning yourself within the level is of primary importance here; and notably, in Father Gascoigne's second phase, the graves no longer protect the player, but instead are broken in the mad frenzy of the wolfman's attacks. You know how to fight with training wheels on; now show us that you can fight on your own!
There are two crucial gameplay mechanics, however, that the player might not have an understanding of by the time they've arrived at this fight. These are, of course, the twin mechanics of parrying and riposting. The game has given you ample space to discover these mechanics on your own in the hours beforehand; but just in case it wasn't clear, here is someone who is a hunter, just like you, with a gun, just like yours. At times he will doubtlessly (accidentally) parry you, leaving you paralyzed in the midst of the fight; more likely, however, is the fact that you will parry him. His incessant shooting, shown in this fight to give him a clear edge over the player, will encourage the player to shoot back at him, and at these times they might just catch him at just the right moment to leave him wide open, vulnerable to a wondrous, bloody riposte.
Finally, where many players might at the start have chosen the simpler, higher-damage gun that fires only a single bullet, Father Gascoigne's gun-shot is short-range but wide, covering a large area. This contrast between the two shot types will be very noticeable in this fight: Father Gascoigne may easily evade the player's bullets, whereas it is far harder for the player to evade his shots. This will teach the player who is used to the typical RPG idea that "Higher stats mean better weapon", that there is more to a weapon in Bloodborne than its numbers: Its form, its function, and its reach, are all important factors to consider.
II. Father Gascoigne teaches you the mindset of a hunter.
To win a good fight, you must not merely know your tools, but also how and when to use them.
Father Gascoigne will teach you when to use quick attacks: When he is human, nimble and evasive. He will teach you when heavier attacks might work: When he is beastly, recovering from one of his bigger attacks.
More importantly, he will show you what sinister rewards might await greed.
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Before we get into this, let's take a brief look at the role of greed in Souls games.
It's a well-known occurrence to anyone who has ever played a Dark Souls game: At the very last moment, when your foe has only a sliver of health remaining --- you get greedy. You forget your earlier carefulness and strike, come what may. Even near the end of a boss fight, when the player has managed to remain controlled and methodical for minutes on end, it's not uncommon for people to lose their calm -- and get killed as a result. This is a pretty bad habit for players to have; thus it is important that Bloodborne show its players, firstly that they have this habit, and secondly, how they might get rid of it.
In Bloodborne, specifically, we understand right from the start that the people of Yharnam are greedy for blood. (And perhaps we will find out later that other people were greedy for quite different things. We may even discover where that led them...) The role of the regain system is here specifically to give an extra dimension to greed on the gameplay level: Greed might give you great rewards, but with the enemies' quicker attacks, the risks have increased as well.
There is a final axis on which greed plays a role: At this point of the story (and this is a detail that will get mirrored beautifully later in the game), the ability to control one's greed is what separates humans from lowly beasts.
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Back to Father Gascoigne. To understand how greed plays a theme in his fight, we must understand the battle's brilliant duality -- namely, Father Gascoigne's two different forms -- which becomes the birthplace of a gorgeous cross-mirrored symmetry.
While Father Gascoigne is still a man, capable of speech and in clear control of his own actions, the player will generally find it fairly easy to be greedy with their attacks. Father Gascoigne hits hard, but not so hard that it's never worth the risk to just run up to him and attack. His bullets' outwardly increasing radius may force the player close to him. His quick recoveries will do the same; after all, if you're too far away from him while he recovers, then you'll already lose your opportunity to strike if you still have to move too much towards him. Finally, it is very easy to parry him in this stage, causing the player to greedily shoot away in the hopes of getting lucky.
In other words: Stay wary, absolutely; but also slash him to bits, and parry freely, and sidestep like a monster. In this phase of the fight, you will be extremely mobile, constantly and single-mindedly seeking openings, points of weakness in which you can take the risk of damaging your foe. You will fight not like a man, but like a beast that has smelled blood;
From Software, ever the master of small details, have Father Gascoigne sneer at you if he kills you, notably, while he is still human: "Too proud to show your true face, eh?" he says. "But a sporting hunt it was!"
He appears as a hunter, like you; but it is clear from his fight that his true face is beastly. If you fail to defeat him while he is a man, he will blame it on your personhood: Your reluctance to show your inner beast.
When Father Gascoigne is low on health, the fight changes: Father Gascoigne transforms into his beastly form. Were this an ordinary boss fight without a phase change, then most players would become greedy, so close to the end. Here, the phase change achieves the opposite effect: Father Gascoigne's movements -- once so measured and skillful -- become utterly mindless, trashing and slashing about; he becomes like a beast that is drunk on blood. It is at this point that the player must rein in their beastly nature, which they had given full reign in the earlier phase. This wolfman is wildly aggressive; a mindless, greedy approach will get you killed right away. Instead you must be measured and mindful -- you must keep your distance, evade carefully, and strike rarely. Stay back, even while your whole being is quivering, shivering to draw blood. You always saw your foe as prey, but if you want to survive, you must now reverse these roles: he is the beast, and you are the person.
Steady does it. Slowly you will win the fight.
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Thus you are taught: The end of a battle is the crucial part; lose your mind here, and you will not survive. This is, in itself, a great lesson to carry through the rest of the game. But the thematic aspects of the nature that the role of a hunter bestows upon you, are also enunciated eloquently by this fight. Control the beast within you; remember that it is your foe who is the beast, not you. When you forget this, you will lose yourself to bloodthirst, and become mindless.
It is the role of the hunter to balance the dual nature in their hearts; to use the rage and bloodlust of a beast without letting it consume them. The fight against Father Gascoigne shows the player first-hand how a fellow hunter might fail in this role; and through the symmetry inherent throughout this fight, the player's victory signifies their own success in this balancing act. In a game otherwise so free of structure, it is notable that the game's first mandatory skill gate becomes a thematically important moment: Father Gascoigne's fight is where players become true hunters.
III. Father Gascoigne teaches you how to engage with the game's story...
On the superficial level, we have the following pieces: A girl, who may be talked with; a mother who went looking for her husband; and a music box, which the man's children play for him whenever he forgets them.
Right, and then we have a big boss fight. Cool, right? You beat the guy, you get a brooch (free gem!), and then you continue on into Cathedral Ward. Good stuff.
The way the Souls games tell their stories has always confused many players, and in Bloodborne there's a clear sense that the developers wanted the player to not merely be able to follow the game's story, but to seek for it with a veritable greed in their hearts. This is done in part through the many mysteries which the player is met with upon starting: The night of the hunt, paleblood, the Hunter's Dream, blood ministrations, and so forth.
As always, a primary method of storytelling employed by Bloodborne is its use of item descriptions. Here, in the beginning of the game, where the player might still be sufficiently interested-and-not-overwhelmed to be convinced to try to follow the story, they are still likely to read item's descriptions, especially when said item is as strange as a music box!
In the box's description, you find a reference to a man named Gascoigne. Soon afterwards, you find a man named Gascoigne. Oh, what did these children do with the music box? They played it for their father. Well, here is their father now; maybe you can play it for him too.
Thus you are given a strong edge in the fight. Bloodborne teaches you that carefully considering and combining the story tidbits you get, may have great benefits, and that this is indeed the game's primary way of telling its story. After all, without this item, he would have been indistinguishable from your average videogame boss.
There is something deeper at work here. The game develops deeply its themes of men becoming beasts...
See also Old Yharnam, where the player meets a character who views these beasts as being people still.
IV. ..and he defines the dual themes that lie at the heart of the game's narrative.
We've already discussed how Father Gascoigne inhabits the theme of men becoming beasts. The way his character executes this theme, will be mirrored later in the game...
...namely, with Ludwig the Accursed. Here we find a truly fearsome boss: A beast who rediscovers his humanity. The theme of man-turns-beast is reversed here. Incidentally, the same crossed symmetry of human-beast identities that was present in the fight with Father Gascoigne, shows up here, but with the order reversed. It's nice that in the 'normal' world, the player's final phase is one of controlling their inner beast; but in the nightmare world of hunters gone blood-drunk, we end as one ourselves.
This reversed symmetry between the characters of Father Gascoigne and Ludwig the Accursed extends to their in-universe roles: Ludwig was the very first hunter of the Church; Father Gascoigne was one of the last.
This reversed symmetry between the characters of Father Gascoigne and Ludwig the Accursed extends to their in-universe roles: Ludwig was the very first hunter of the Church; Father Gascoigne was one of the last.
There are other themes later in the game, however, that already find their birthplace here.
Father Gascoigne makes us understand that our progress through the game is directly correlated with how well we balance our two natures. Thus, when people turn increasingly insane as the night progresses, and as hunters grow blood-drunk and manic, it is not unbelievable that the same does not happen to the player character: After all, the entire fact that they've come this far was a direct result of their ability to stay sane. Thus, stay sane they will. It's an elegant side-stepping of the whole "Player character is amazing and unique"-issue that plagues so many games' stories: The qualities that the narrative bestows on the player character, are only those that the player has already shown themselves to have. The narrative and gameplay are interweaved, becoming like one. It's a great way to design games.
(If there are interpretations of the game in which the player character is actually the insane one, however, then I stand corrected!)
But let's look at the mid-game theme shift. First we had humans being greedy for blood, and becoming as lowly beasts. Now we have humans being greedy for knowledge, and becoming as Great Ones. There's a clear hierarchy here --- beasts<humans<Great Ones --- with the same theme of greed connecting both relations in a symmetrical way. However, this symmetry is meaningfully broken by the game through its themes of knowledge.
To start with, we have that the player's desire to figure out the story, is symptomatic of a greed for more knowledge. (In fact, it's a very specific type of knowledge that is desired: It is knowledge pertaining to how the (virtual) world works. The player is far from the only one in this world, who has this desire.) The general idea of the game here is the typical Lovecraftian one: That knowledge, insight, is not always for good, and may in fact cause you only terror.
The fight with Father Gascoigne, so early in the game still, already shows us this idea in two different ways.
First, it relates knowledge to Father Gascoigne. The music box is very important here. The children say that it makes him 'remember' them, presumably whenever he's on the verge of becoming blood-drunk. Playing it to him during the fight will torment his half-crazed mind; the knowledge of who he once was, and of what he has done, proves to be more than he can bear. It does not do him any good to remember his personhood, now that he is so far gone. The truth can only harm him.
Second, the fight relates knowledge to you. You could have fought him as though he were a regular videogame boss, reaped your rewards, and continued happily through the game. But your greed for knowledge means that you now know the tragedy of what has transpired: You know, now, that he was a father gone mad; that he murdered his wife; that his children are now orphaned, and soon to be grasped by the night themselves. Most notably, there is no good that comes from knowing any of this. Bloodborne is tragedy, after tragedy, after tragedy, almost all of them unavoidable (despite the illusion of agency that having knowledge gives you!), with no bright spots in-between; all gained knowledge leads, ultimately, to pain, loss, and madness.
In the end, then, what was it for? This crazed lust for details. You know the truth, but little good does it do you. You've murdered a father. You had to. You've orphaned his children, but of course, you had to. Despite everything you knew, you were left no choice. Does it help this family, that at least you know their story? Does it help you live with what you've done? Onwards you go, in a hunt for more knowledge. Greedy, like a beast, you barely even consider what the rewards of knowledge may be.
(If there are interpretations of the game in which the player character is actually the insane one, however, then I stand corrected!)
But let's look at the mid-game theme shift. First we had humans being greedy for blood, and becoming as lowly beasts. Now we have humans being greedy for knowledge, and becoming as Great Ones. There's a clear hierarchy here --- beasts<humans<Great Ones --- with the same theme of greed connecting both relations in a symmetrical way. However, this symmetry is meaningfully broken by the game through its themes of knowledge.
To start with, we have that the player's desire to figure out the story, is symptomatic of a greed for more knowledge. (In fact, it's a very specific type of knowledge that is desired: It is knowledge pertaining to how the (virtual) world works. The player is far from the only one in this world, who has this desire.) The general idea of the game here is the typical Lovecraftian one: That knowledge, insight, is not always for good, and may in fact cause you only terror.
The fight with Father Gascoigne, so early in the game still, already shows us this idea in two different ways.
First, it relates knowledge to Father Gascoigne. The music box is very important here. The children say that it makes him 'remember' them, presumably whenever he's on the verge of becoming blood-drunk. Playing it to him during the fight will torment his half-crazed mind; the knowledge of who he once was, and of what he has done, proves to be more than he can bear. It does not do him any good to remember his personhood, now that he is so far gone. The truth can only harm him.
Second, the fight relates knowledge to you. You could have fought him as though he were a regular videogame boss, reaped your rewards, and continued happily through the game. But your greed for knowledge means that you now know the tragedy of what has transpired: You know, now, that he was a father gone mad; that he murdered his wife; that his children are now orphaned, and soon to be grasped by the night themselves. Most notably, there is no good that comes from knowing any of this. Bloodborne is tragedy, after tragedy, after tragedy, almost all of them unavoidable (despite the illusion of agency that having knowledge gives you!), with no bright spots in-between; all gained knowledge leads, ultimately, to pain, loss, and madness.
In the end, then, what was it for? This crazed lust for details. You know the truth, but little good does it do you. You've murdered a father. You had to. You've orphaned his children, but of course, you had to. Despite everything you knew, you were left no choice. Does it help this family, that at least you know their story? Does it help you live with what you've done? Onwards you go, in a hunt for more knowledge. Greedy, like a beast, you barely even consider what the rewards of knowledge may be.
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Perhaps the greatest and most inimitable quality of the Soulsborne games, is their coherence: Everything is related to everything. No detail feels wanton here; each tidbit of information can help you tease out other small truths, leading to a veritable cascade of insights about the game. Bloodborne in particular embodies this quality; like a fractal work, any one detail betrays the whole. Father Gascoigne's fight, so early in the game, is a fantastic example of this design philosophy.
There are many games already that have taken From Software's gameplay lessons to heart; but only few have tried to replicate the games' holistic qualities. Specific designs, like Father Gascoigne's fight, deserve to be analyzed and understood, so that we may better understand -- and perhaps some day surpass -- the heights that game design may reach.
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- If you liked this piece, please also see Night_Knight 's amazing thread about Lady Maria. Be warned: There are spoilers for the DLC within.
- Tomorrow, the Bloodborne community is starting a week-long online event in celebration of Halloween, called The Blood Moon. It will likely be a fantastic time to (re)visit the game and engage in jolly cooperation with each other!
- Bloodborne landed fourth on ResetEra's list of best horror games! Hurray, and thanks Gradon for this wonderful list. If you've been wanting suggestions for games to play this month, look no further.
- With the impending release of Sekiro, I think we should just bite the bullet and embrace the "Soulsbornero" moniker for these games. Look inside your heart, reader: You know that this is right.
- As much as I enjoy Bloodborne, I find that its mirrors guide my gaze ever further inwards -- never outwards, like Dark Souls so beautifully did. I think Bloodborne is an incredible work, in many ways superior to Dark Souls; but as much as I love how all of its statements refer to each other, in the end it seems the game has little at all to say. But then, I haven't completed the DLC, nor read The Paleblood Hunt. I might still change my tune.
- I will echo my previous endorsement of Rain World here too. Rain World is fantastic, y'all! If you liked what Bloodborne did with its themes, then you'll love how Rain World embodies its own ideas. It's an imperfect game, but a staggeringly intelligent one, and one that really cannot be missed.
- Another relevant endorsement: Zachary Mason's Metamorphica is an elegant, concise, and wildly inventive retelling/reinterpretation of Ovidius' epic, The Metamorphoses. The way it recognizes and morphs the old myths' themes would make it a contender for the best novel I've read in five years; its elegant writing and powerful imagery seal the deal. It's by far the most delightful work I've read in a long, long time, and given its brevity and accessibility, I can recommend it to just about anyone.
- I promised I'd write a post on Rain World. This is well underway: By now it is over 20 pages long. Given the game's ambitions, it'll take me some time still before I figure out a good red thread that may carry me as well as the reader through the game as a whole. Rest assured that it is coming!
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