I had a peculiar experience shortly after turning thirteen years-old. My uncle Bob was the epitome of class and cool in my mind. He lived in New York City with his artist boyfriend and knew about a world of culture that I only had the vaguest ideas about. As a birthday treat, Bob offered to take me to what would be my first Broadway show, a performance of Show Boat. As we drove into the city though, I was increasingly perturbed by the signs plastered all over town for Big: The Musical. What the hell was the point of that? Big was perfectly fine as a movie! I couldn’t conceive of a single reason why this perfectly charming story needed inexplicable dance numbers crammed into it. Ever since, I’ve been very much at odds with adapting works of art to other formats. It is, by and large, a pointless endeavor with rare positive results.
Bioshock is a flawed game but its narrative achievements far outweigh its mechanical shortcomings. It isn’t even the raw meat of its story that’s successful, though it’s impossible to deny the elegance of its setting and novelty of its Randian premise. Bioshock is beautiful because its narrative is built around the question of player agency: Are we in control at all? Are we bound by destiny, fate, and the need to “get to the next level”? Its tale is inseparable from its medium. This is why the announcement that Gore Verbinski will be directing a film adaptation is so aggravating. It’s not that Verbinski’s brand of bombastic fantasy is ill-suited to the fantasy world of Rapture, far from it. Verbinski has already shown great skill in crafting nautical adventures for the screen. The problem is that Bioshock is a game, not a movie.
Hollywood, would you kindly come up with your own ideas?