GTA V: Trevor

Some thoughts on Grand Theft Auto V:

1. I am still a shitty driver.

2. I still can’t aim.

3. Holy shit, Trevor.

4. My fear of planes translates into the virtual world.

5. When attempting to take cover, I usually end up on the side of the wall/lumber stack/dumpster under fire, rather than behind it. From the perspective of my attackers, I just fall to the ground and curl into the fetal position whenever someone starts shooting at me. This is pretty consistently a bad tactic.

6. Why in the fuck can you not throw environmental objects at people anymore? I walked up to a construction site on my first day of playing, spied a stack of bricks, and was like “Shit yeah, let’s party.” And then, like some kind of cruel joke, I found that I could not even lay hands on them. I had a pile of bricks. Unsuspecting targets were all around me. And yet, I could do nothing but stand there as they smugly paraded their unmarred skulls in front of me. I felt powerless.

Why did you take this away from me, Rockstar?

7. Trevor.

Instead of one main character, this GTA has three. You can switch between them (once they are unlocked). While you are playing on one of the characters, the other two are going about their own business. So when you switch back to them, they are not where you left them and are typically in the middle of some other task1.

Usually not murder though. That only seems to happen when you are in control. This makes me think that the underlying story is actually that you are a malevolent possessing spirit fucking with the lives of these people for your own amusement. You take control of them, go on a killing spree, and just as you are standing over a pile of bodies and burning wreckage, you peace out and leave them to deal with the aftermath. Think Fallen. Or a Shedim.

It is worth noting that I did not give the GTA series the credit it was due until (relatively) recently (c. TBoGT). I just took it for your typical murder simulator (you know, like most games), and not the freaking brilliant satire of . . . everything that it actually is. My b.

1Trevor is usually just vomiting. Or staring into the sun.
Tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply