Dante’s Inferno Was Visceral to a Fault

This column is a reprint from Unwinnable Monthly #188. If you like what you see, grab the magazine for less than ten dollars, or subscribe and get all future magazines for half price.

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Finding digital grace.

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[Author’s Note: It has occurred to me that I miswrote last month that Bayonetta was the one riding the motorcycle up to fight Jubelius at the finale of Bayonetta 1. It’s actually her gal pal Jeanne who does the motorcycling, enabling Bayonetta to proceed with the metaphysical ass kicking. My apologies. {Editor’s Note: I never finished Bayonetta 1 so I didn’t correct this.}]

Content Warning: Mentions of self-harm in the story and via gameplay mechanics.

One of the things I said when this column started is that no matter how trashy a game’s handling of religious themes, I did not want to simply rip a game to shreds over that. Because you see, sometimes you get something so trashy that still accidentally works. Kind of. Sort of. And my word . . . Dante’s Inferno rides that line so precariously that at various points, I contemplated dropping it or unpacking it with a two-part column to encompass how to fix its issues. Except the fundamental issues of Dante’s Inferno are precisely why this column exists.

And like Dante’s Inferno, there’s an aptly timed parallel piece by Paste’s Madeline Blondeau. I highly recommend it as a companion piece, even if I can’t offer quite the same level of absolution she grants the game. I recognize the apt irony, since its central defining mechanic is whether to absolve or punish the damned of Hell. It’s what sticks most with Blondeau, and I understand why, I’m just not so sure that it’s Visceral reflecting on morality and sin within Catholic doctrine or simply indulging in adolescent edge. If she’s the angel on this game’s shoulder, then I suppose – is it possible to be a devil’s advocate when you’re condemning a game on Hell?

Inferno is an inherently unpleasant game, and I still can’t decide if that’s by design or just my brain trying to justify the several hours I spent trudging through it. Mechanically, it’s a subpar God of War clone, with rough balancing and poor pacing. There are even forced encounters that would be better suited to an optional challenge mode that you’re required to endure.

If for whatever reason you are playing through the game, let me save you some trouble with a tip I got from a walkthrough by MKFireAndIce: to get past the “stay in the air for eight seconds” challenge? Just do the punishment/condemnation grapple on one of the enemies for eight seconds, pressing the B button just slowly enough to drag things out. No air-juggling required!

What made things worse was that despite being a game made in 2010, critiquing centuries old history that we’ve largely agreed as a society was fraught with horrendous errors, it makes incredibly dated mistakes of its own. Misogynistic portrayals of women are unfortunately quite common, to the point even a female boss, Cleopatra, defers to her male counterpart despite her towering over you. She instead shrinks down when you defeat her lover, and inexplicably comes onto you? You defeat her by thrusting while atop her, only for your scythe to instead be piercing her side. It was, to put it extremely politely, deeply uncomfortable. The situation of Tiresias’ gender is handled far from delicately, raising the question of why even including them.

Some of the rings of Hell you visit aren’t even all that well themed around their given topic, such as Greed, and others are presented in such a tone-deaf manner that it actually made me furious.

Visceral’s handling of self-harm in Dead Space 2, which is involuntary and due to the influence of a malevolent space obelisk, is far better handled than what’s presented here. In Dead Space 2, it’s a metaphor for guilt and shame crushing down on its protagonist. In Inferno, it’s a mechanic you can even use against enemies. The Suicide Forest has the hazard where Dante can potentially be driven to kill himself with his beloved’s crucifix. There’s a “suicide fruit” power unlocked for surviving the level to use against enemies – though it merely stuns them. Even one of Dante’s optional powers, Martyrdom, involves self-harm to damage enemies. Dante inexplicably stitches a cross to his chest, screaming in anguish in a cutscene in the start of the game as he first dons this cross.

As someone who has had to talk people down from potential grievous self-harm: do not do this.

On one hand, I want to explain it away as maybe they were trying for some New French Extremity shocking disgust. That it’s all in service to something, if nothing else. Yet it the lacks the coherence for that. Despite the emphasis on choice, nothing you do changes Dante’s arc. No matter how transgressive a story about how Dante’s violence condemns him as much as it unwittingly saves him could be, it results essentially in a shrug. Much as I appreciate a game daring to ask “can you forgive others who’ve made grievous errors?” it never escapes the edge for the sake of edge enough to make it a game worth swallowing.

I want media that challenges my beliefs – for creatives from new perspectives to explore the multifaceted miasma that is Abrahamic faith. The multitude of differing perspectives, what’s canon or not, and divisions of doctrines can be fascinating. There’s so much you could play around with . . . but sometimes those creatives fall short.

Yet despite it all, sometimes, a game breaks through that reminds me that the potential can pay off. Like Dead Space 2. You wouldn’t think of Dead Space 2 as a particularly spiritual game at first glance. I mean, the main antagonists are a corrupt church-government conspiracy deluding people into worshipping a rock that turns them into The Thing-esque abominations! How could that possibly be constructive about spirituality?

Except that’s the thing. Growing up, I related so hard to Isaac Clarke, Dead Space’s beleaguered, series-long protagonist. He overcomes so much internal turmoil, all while resisting being converted by those around him. Yet through it all, Isaac overcomes it through acts of empathy and care.

He has every reason to be a cruel, vindictive, heartless man. Instead, he almost condemns himself to certain death just to save even a single soul from the abyss that’s been unleashed. He shoulders guilt, pain and fear for others, whether they deserve it or not. He remains true to his convictions, finds grace for himself in his mourning, opens his heart to the idea that there might be more to all of this than he expected and stands strong even when that trust is twisted against him. All of this is conveyed without any elaborate systems, just the natural actions of the player.

How could I not find Isaac Clarke to embody what many a religious person goes through? Especially a progressive religious person. Dead Space 3 even gave me one of my favorite moments of defiance in the face of evil that I’ve ever seen. “You can’t have us…” Isaac Clarke growls at what is literally referred to as a Devil Moon. This man, the size of an ant, staring down a giant, like it’s nothing in the face of his faithful determination to do what’s needed until it’s done. That is so damn cool! That is the sort of thing Dante’s Inferno could’ve delivered.

And I’m not just out here asking for games that make me feel good about my beliefs. INDIKA – gosh, we have to get to INDIKA at some point. It’s one of the most profound stories about loss of faith that I’ve ever seen. It’s far from perfect – it really fumbles discussing sex and sexuality – but it’s fascinating. It coincidentally also has one of the best written versions of the Devil in modern fiction.

I want there to be a Dante’s Inferno in this world worth playing by more than just the morbidly curious. I believe we can have it too. I believe we can use religion and spirituality, as both themes and concepts, within our games to make them stronger. That’s why I’m writing this column. That’s why even when a game infuriates me like Inferno, I want something constructive to come out of it.

Even if it’s about an edgelord grimdark game about a hilariously, inexplicably British sounding Florentine poet wielding Death’s scythe to rip the Devil a new asshole. Because that should be metal as hell. So, I’ll keep waiting for someone to do that idea justice.

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Elijah Beahm is an author for Lost in Cult that Unwinnable graciously lets ramble about progressive religion and obscure media. When not consulting on indie games, he can be found on BlueSky and YouTube. He is still waiting for Dead Space 4.