The Bomb and You
Nucleares (2023) did not make waves in the world of videogames. Falling neatly into a longstanding tradition of dry and detailed indie simulators, the game has received praise for its accurate realization of a nuclear reactor facility but little other attention. When I played Nucleares, however, I experienced a feeling that no other simulator before or since has been able to deliver. Somehow I had managed to skip all guides and tutorials, vital steps in the process of running an entire reactor facility by myself. Each time I started the game, I would turn on the equipment and watch helplessly as things started to go wrong. One blinking red light turned into a blinding strobe, one siren into a cacophony. As the meltdown approached, all I could think about was how little control I truly had, and how little I really know about a technology that holds a very important place in American collective consciousness. As radiation spread through the facility and my skin melted off, I considered a time in history where that fear was much, much more real.
In the early days of the videogame industry, technology was coming under increased scrutiny in the public eye, in no small part due to nuclear anxiety. Japan’s post-war bubble economy had produced a mammoth tech industry, which in the following decades became a crucible for videogame development. In the wake of the only actual acts of nuclear war ever committed, the cold war was at its height, and nihilistic attitudes about nuclear weapons dominated the discourse. In 1981, strategist and writer George F. Kennan penned “A Modest Proposal”, an article warning Americans and the world about the intensity of the growing nuclear threat. He writes, “We have gone on piling weapon upon weapon, missile upon missile, new levels of destructiveness upon old ones. We have done this helplessly, almost involuntarily: like the victims of some sort of hypnotism, like men in a dream, like lemmings heading for the sea, like the children of Hamelin marching blindly behind their Pied Piper.” It was this horror of inaction that served as an inspiration for an entire genre of art during this time, represented perfectly by a videogame released a year before Kennan offered his proposal.
Missile Command has remained one of the staples of the arcade cabinet era, and its staying power has to do in large part with how it embodies the fear that paralyzed Americans throughout the Cold War. As nuclear missiles rain down from above, the player must protect a group of unnamed cities by sending out missiles of their own to intercept the incoming warheads. In contrast to how a game is normally experienced, a Missile Command player is always on the defensive, never attacking, and the only possible ending is total annihilation. In an article for Polygon, Alex Rubens detailed the explicit connection between the game’s mechanics and nuclear anxiety through its creator Dave Theurer. Theurer describes the nightmares that plagued him throughout the development of the game in which he would watch helplessly as nuclear missiles screamed down from the sky, knowing he was powerless to prevent his own demise. Missile Command is unique in how it disempowers the player in accordance with Theurer’s dreams. Much like my experience with Nucleares, I fight against the threat until it inevitably consumes me. I get a little further each time, but the only outcome is total destruction.
In 1983, artist Michael Smith developed an exhibit titled Government Approved Fallout Shelter Snack Bar. Inspired by an actual Reagan-era government plan for home fallout shelters distributed by FEMA, the space is designed to look not much different from a traditional ’80s living room, with an easy chair, record player, television set, and fully stocked bar. Notably, an arcade cabinet sits in the corner of the exhibit, interactable for any viewers who pass through. Rather than simply an additional piece of recreation to be juxtaposed with the macabre nature of the bunker itself, however, the cabinet contains a completely original game designed by Smith. Mike Builds a Shelter is a comically cynical game that perfectly matches the satirical tone of the rest of the installation. Playing as a lovingly rendered 2D “Mike”, the player rushes against the ticking clock of a nuclear strike (and the frustratingly slow speed of Mike’s walking animations) to carry boxes from a living room down into a secure basement. The entire experience of the game is very short, and victory is impossible. No matter how fast you go, the bomb will always take you first.
Interactivity is often cited as the main element that sets videogames apart from other media. Unlike movies, TV, books, etc, videogames give their audience some amount of direct agency over the art. It is interesting, when considering this, to see how nuclear technology is evoked as a means of restricting that agency to create an emotional resonance. The central theme tying all the game experiences that I have discussed thus far together is inevitability. Part of the fun is knowing that no matter what you do, the game will end and all will be lost. These are not the only examples, either. Franchises like Fallout and Metal Gear Solid have pushed stories of nuclear catastrophe to the forefront of game narratives, and more have followed in their footsteps. Each game has something unique to say, but once again we can notice a central unifying theme, likely influenced by the Cold War attitudes dominating the genesis of videogames as an artform: There is an inevitability in this technology, and it will ultimately consume us if we let it. We can try to keep pushing forward, but there is only one plausible outcome: Game Over.
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Jackson Cross is a musician, writer, and current undergraduate student at Boston University. When he is not in class, you can find him performing with his band Off-Time Jazz Collective or writing about video games, music, and culture on his brand new Substack.
