Cory Barlog and his team over at Sony Santa Monica took a gamble when making 2018’s God of War. A gamble which included shifting much of the essence that made the original franchise and its iconic protagonist the massive success it was to a new perspective—literally and figuratively. Instead of brutally eviscerating the pantheon of Gods in the Greek mythos, you were now doing the same (albeit with far less blind rage, sort of) within the Norse mythology. Speaking of rage, Kratos was now a father again and had learned the costs of his prior actions that were led by anger. Now a twice widower, he must learn to walk a new path; to be a greater man for his son. Combine this sudden shift in tone with an all-new modern cinematic perspective, a far leaner and more grounded story with characters that feel things, and an axe-throwing mechanic that will go down as one for the ages, and you have yourself the modern God of War. Yet, for as much as I loved my time with 2018’s Game Awards “Game of the Year“ award winner, it’s only now that I’m over thirty hours into its sequel, God of War Ragnarok, that I’m beginning to understand my main issue with this modern duology.
When you begin the original God of War from 2005, you immediately get this sense of scale and spectacle. The game opens with cinematics and narration revealing the tragic history of Kratos and his barbaric acts as a Spartan captain; putting you in the shoes of this harsh man on the course for revenge. It’s not long before you’re set off into war-torn Athens, watching as a giant Ares tears the lands asunder with thousands being killed in the background that’s coloured with the reds and oranges of flames and destruction. You quickly understand the stakes of what’s happening and your place in this crumbling city; watching as Athenians scurry in fear and desperation through the cobblestoned alleys as you mow down hordes of monsters, inevitably catching some innocents in your line of fury. Athens feels alive; this world feels alive; the Gods you face off against throughout these classic titles feel Godly. This sense of scope and riveting recreation of a famed mythos is exactly what is missing in Sony Santa Monica’s critically acclaimed reimagining of one of Sony’s most beloved IPs.
Compared to the classic titles, the recent God of War games feel small, barren, and lack a sense of impactful world-building. It’s interesting because, compared to the linearity of the classic games, both of Sony Santa Monica’s titles, especially Ragnarok, offer more exploration with added side-quests and freely explorable “hubs” throughout different realms. Yet, these realms and side-quests don’t do much to contribute to the world-building. They never made me feel like I was a part of the Norse mythology; they were set dressing. The art direction is great, but there’s no clear environmental storytelling, active NPCs to interact with, or something during my traversal across the lands that made me connect with its history. All I ever got were the stories Mimir told me during our excursions which, though interesting, felt like distant folktales that didn’t feel attached to the world around me. From the grand tales of the battles against Aesir Gods to the more intimate ones like his relationship with Sigrun, these tales are told with passion but are just that: tales.
With such a massive calamity as Ragnarok driving the narrative of the second game in this duology, you’d think there’d be this sense of urgency throughout the realms. But that isn’t the case. The stakes are high amongst the main cast of characters, sure, but that sense of dire panic wasn’t felt in any way throughout the realms I visited. I was frankly shocked at how barren and nearly lifeless the dwarven realm of Svartalfheim was. I was hoping, this being a newly added area for Ragnarok, that I’d finally get to interact with some interesting NPCs and get a deeper look into the mechanics of this wider world. But upon my first visit, all the dwarves scuttled away into their homes, which Mimir shrugged off by explaining it was a response due to their distrust of a God like Kratos. This frankly just felt like a copout. Instead of learning about the history of Svartalfheim and the dwarves’ fickle relationship with Odin and Asgard through the dwarves themselves via side-quests or other environmental storytelling, you’re told about it, once again, through Mimir as you row your way through these beautiful empty lands.
The same goes for Alfheim, the realm of the elves. Instead of being an active member, or even a curious bystander, of the war between the light and dark elves, you’re unengagedly moseying through the realm to get to your objective; killing both light and dark elves alike without any further interaction with them or their story. It’s a shame, honestly. Both the dwarves and elves have interesting lore and active stories that are in many ways connected to the primary story that could have been wonderfully explored, which would have gone far in making this world feel far more vast. Instead, it all just culminates into a bunch of aesthetically beautiful nothing. It honestly feels like the only characters in this world are Kratos, Atreus, Mimir, Freya, Brok, Sindri, the Aesir Gods, and the handful of others that act as plot devices. If each of these characters didn’t bang on about how “Ragnarok is coming,” I frankly doubt I would’ve guessed it was by simply interacting with the world.
Compare this with a game like Final Fantasy XVI, a game that took a decent bit of inspiration from Ragnarok, at least on the gameplay front. Valisthea is not the prettiest of video game worlds; far from it and it pales in comparison to both modern God of War games. Yet, the stories within it are incredibly rich. In only a handful of hours, I understood the primary conflict between not only the characters but each of the realms. After several more hours, I was completely entrenched in the politics between each of the houses, and actively getting involved with local disputes; all of which were driven by fantastically written side-quests that put character writing above all else, and world design that shifted with the game’s ongoing narrative. But of course, it’s not just about side-quests. The classic God of War games were incredibly linear hack-n-slash titles that didn’t offer much depth in terms of character writing. However, in terms of establishing its setting and presenting its mythology in a way that aptly portrayed its (quite literally) larger-than-life characters and story, it succeeded tenfold.
I much prefer the intimate, more vulnerable and subtle character writing of Sony Santa Monica’s God of War. I prefer their Kratos. These characters resonate with me far more than the ones I came across in Greece in the mid-2000s. And even if some of the life lessons can veer on the side of moral platitudes, the writing always manages to hit a nuanced emotional core and properly builds character relationships that I care for. My only gripe is that this love for vulnerable storytelling isn’t given to the world and characters outside of the ones driving the main plot; leaving the nine realms bereft of the rich storytelling that the Norse mythology is undoubtedly capable of.
