I’m proud to say that I played three of the 10 games chosen as Polygon’s 2016 Games of the Year, my reviews of which you can find below:

• Inside: A Review via ‘Death by Video Game’
• Firewatch: A Review
• The Witness: A (Cheater’s) Review

I also played Uncharted 4, which I thought to have a profoundly moving story and absolutely stunning visuals. My review, which somehow finds room to discuss Mega Man 7 and 2016’s atrocious Warcraft film, can be found here.

Also of note, Pokemon Go took the world by storm, something unprecedented in video games since the Wii. It may have seemed ambitious to deem it Game of the Year in July, but I’ll argue that due to its cultural impact, I wasn’t wrong.

Simon Parkin, Death by Video Game:

Games achieve chronoslip because they replace the real world with a new one that moves to its own laws of physics and time. This reality engages us totally, and we synchronise with its tempo.

Video games, from the simplest card game to the most vividly rendered fantasy world, consume our attention. When we become lost in a book, we enter a state where the fabricated world and its characters seem to real and pressing that we lose all sense of time. Small wonder it’s so easy to lose oneself in a good game, where one becomes not only an eavesdropper or onlooker on a world, but also an active participant in its action and drama. Video games go further than other fiction: they revolve around us and react to our every choice and input. Just as a piano needs a pianist or a violin needs a violinist, video games are lifeless without us. They need a player in a way that a film does not need a view to function.

Simon Parkin’s book, Death by Video Game, categorizes 12 different facets of video games that, for better or worse, make the medium addicting. Reading it, I felt vindicated. I wasn’t alone in my reasons for play, and was enlightened about the reasons others gravitate toward the activity.

As an entertainment medium, video games offer escape, control, and story. As a technology, they push the bounds of simulated physics, animation, textures, and lighting. As a social platform, they foster community via global communication and participation — each of these facets evolving rapidly year over year. In my lifetime, I’ve gone from playing limited, albeit revolutionary, 8-bit single-player side-scrolling jaunts to open world massively multiplayer online role-playing games to photorealistic action-adventure juggernauts.

After finishing the read — a difficult one to put down, mind you — came a steadfast itch to pick up a controller. No Man’s Sky, an exploration game with over 18 quintillion procedurally-generated explorable planets, which is briefly touched on in the book, had just been released. And Inside, Playdead’s successor to their melancholy indie hit Limbo, was gathering incredibly high marks.

In the debate of open-ended vs short story, I will always choose short story. Therefore, Inside.

Players are thrust into a dark and wooded area as a boy being hunted by mysterious men in trucks; dogs seek you as their prey. Peak X-Files. Once you have escaped the wood, you happen upon a farm and cornfield. Deceased wildlife pepper the dreary, fog-laden landscape. And what’s that worm-like thing sticking out of that pig?

You are eventually lead into the factory cum rabbit hole. The dark and cryptic mysteries you’ve experienced within the 10 minute introduction pale in comparison to what is “inside.”

More than their incredible art style, subtle and gradual storytelling with layers of mysteries, answers, and more questions, and impeccable taste for atmosphere, developer Play Dead’s fantastic switch-a-roo two-thirds into the game sticks with the player. A shock and horror convention is elegantly flipped on it’s head leaving you, the player, scrambling to rework your preconceived notions about the story and characters. It’s challenging, and in hindsight, speaks to the reaction and thought process of being wrong that so many feel today. Can we really be so sure about our truths? Are our beliefs simply sold to us by a manufactured narrative that elicits good as evil, god as grim, heaven as hell? How perceptive can we truly be? Is our mind a slave to the brain? Are we really in control?

It’s difficult to discuss Inside without giving too much away; therefore, I will leave you with an appropriate quote from what turned out to be an appropriately timed and, ultimately, serendipitous read, the aforementioned Death by Video Game:

Moreover, video games flatter us: their worlds exist for our benefits, and usually, revolve around us. A video game requires a player: without input, it is inert. Our world, by contrast, seems indifferent to us. The cogs around us, both natural and human-made, turn regardless of our interest or input. It is sometimes difficult to know whether we matter, whether anyone cares. When a company loses our details or forgets about us for some reason, we talk of being ‘lost in the system.’ This is how loneliness is seeded in the human heart: a sense that the world and all of its people are indifferent, oblivious.

Regarding differences between Star Wars story and saga films, I failed to notice the omission of the iconic Star Wars ‘wipe’ in Rogue One.

Rogue One director Gareth Edwards, in an interview with Empire:

4. The famous ‘wipes’ do exist in other cuts

We did have versions of the film [with] wipes, and then it just felt like we were doing it because we could. The wipes are the cheesiest thing in the world. The only time you can ever do it and not be cheesy’s in Star Wars. There’s part of me that wanted the wipes and things like that, but the film is supposed to be different. We were given a license by the studio to be unique from the others, and we just took that license and ran with it as an excuse to try and be a bit more out there.

While I won’t disagree with Edwards, I think “cheesy” is the wrong word. Whimsical, perhaps?

Michael Giacchino (Lost, Star Trek, Up) is the first Star Wars film composer to step foot in John Williams’ shadow.

Giacchino in an interview with Anthony Breznican, Entertainment Weekly:

Entertainment Weekly: So you were a late addition to the _Rogue One _crew…

Michael Giacchino: Yes, literally the last thing I expected I’d be doing this month would be this. I mean we were literally planning a vacation when I got the call asking if I could come and talk to them about it. At the time, it left me with literally four and a half weeks to write. So it was one of those decisions where you’re like, okay, well… And I was talking to my brother about it. He goes, “Oh, come on. You’ve been writing this score since you were 10! You can do this.”

Giacchino, the long time J.J. Abrams collaborator, had replaced Alexandre Desplat (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, The Grand Budapest Hotel).

EW: What inspirations will we hear in the music?

MG: It does borrow from traditions that both John [Williams] and George Lucas borrowed from when they made the original Star Wars, you know. George was looking at Flash Gordon, the old serials, and John was looking at [Gustav] Holst and different composers along the way to get a baseline for what he wanted to communicate. There is a wonderful musical language that John put together for the original films. I wanted to honor that vernacular but still do something new with it, something that was still me in a way.

My great friend Scott Kawai often makes the case that Michael Giacchino is the next John Williams, with a style heavy of colorful and memorable themes. Without reading too much about Rogue One, I assumed he had been the first choice for the film. The revelation that Desplat was the first choice was a shock to me. Desplat’s music is certainly incredible with an air of moody atmosphere, but does not strike me as “Star Wars”. I’d kill to hear his take on Rogue One.

There are inclinings of the saga’s legacy in Giacchino’s score— curious woodwinds and dancing percussion at the opening of “He’s Here For Us”— but there is a drive in the timber that strikes less fantastic and more brooding. It is immediately clear that the “stories” have room for exploration and departure from the “saga”. There are ties back to the episodic series, but at their core, Giacchino’s pieces are something new and derivative; they are always less memorable, iconic, or sure of themselves. Nonetheless, there are many times when the presence of brass brightens and lifts what is ultimately a grittier film to something more familiar and nostalgic— something more reminiscent of Star Wars.

As for the touches of William’s throughout Giacchino’s score, The Force Theme is heard when Bail Organa enters the frame. Likewise, The Imperial March is heard during Darth Vader’s appearance. During the film’s finale, both themes are heard as two iconic characters make stunning (re-)appearances, which can be heard in “Hope” on the film’s soundtrack.

However, the one that struck me the most was the piece backing Rogue One’s title card, the finale of “A Long Ride Ahead” on the soundtrack. Briefly teasing Williams’ Main Title sequence, it kicks off the iconic C-G half-notes but branches into something new and less confident.

Kathleen Kennedy says they’re trying to break from some of the traditional Star Wars tropes, like doing away with the opening crawl. Sounds like that applies to the music as well?

Kathy said that to me, too — “No one is asking you to do what was done before.” I feel it’s important to be me, but in this universe, we’re working within. That was sort of the challenge. It was never sort of, “Oh, you have to do this, this, and this.” It was always just: “Here are the emotions that we need to cover.”

As a story outside of the saga, Giacchino’s freedom is extremely evident, for better or worse. My question is whether or not Giacchino’s score will be the audible language of all Star Wars stories to come, or just specifically Rogue One? Even more specifically, is Rogue One’s title card sequence strictly Rogue One’s title theme, or has Giacchino defined the theme for all Star Wars stories?

The other changes—the omission of the opening crawl, lower-left location queues, a lone title card— are so heavy-handed that it leads me to assume the themes Giacchino has established for Rogue One will permeate future Star Wars stories.

Comfortable is something I am not right now. I am not comfortable with a Donald Trump presidency. I am not comfortable with America’s image to other countries. I am not comfortable with explaining to American children how this happened. I am not comfortable for women, the LGBTQ community, and people of color. I am not comfortable with any of this.

Uncomfortable is certainly the least of the emotions I am feeling now; far behind terrified, horrified, stupified, scared, shaken, gutted, disappointed, sad, guilty. But for a white Californian male, discomfort is resounding. I weep for the groups across the nation who feel geniuine terror at their core.

If there is one thing that has been magnified for me it’s that I was too comfortable under the Obama presidency. I was so comfortable with President Barack Obama at the helm that I stopped paying attention to Washington and the American People. It’s a shameful statement for someone who works on the periphery of the news industry and who has dreams of becoming a writer and, possibly, journalist.

At the start of the campaign season, I felt “fired up.” This was a vow to myself to pay attention. To watch the campaign closely. As it tumbled along, I felt comfortable with Clinton’s campaign, tactics, and temperament. That comfort grew by the fact that she was going up against Trump. How could anyone in their right mind vote for a politically untested, inexperienced, misogynist businessman who avoided paying taxes and was running on a campaign of xenophobia? Clinton had this in the bag! Once again, I became too comfortable and took my eye off of the details of the campaigns, the polls, and the People.

Being uncomfortable for the first time in a long time is a wake up call. If that’s coming from someone in the most comfortable of blue states, that certainly says a lot about the discomfort in America now. Hell, it might say more about the discomfort in America before now.

I grew up in what can be described as a left-leaning purple county (+7.3% Dem) and city (+10.6% Dem). I remember a someone saying that our town was as close to the Bay Area that Republican candidates felt they could successfully campaign. 53% of my county voted for Clinton; 42% for Trump.

My hometown was a potpourri of football players and farmers, punk rockers and commuters. I had a glimpse of blue sentiment in parts of town and cities to the west, and familial relationships in heartedly red counties to the south. I was never spoken to about politics or beliefs at home.

That would change when I discovered punk rock and a class called AP Government. A fire was sparked and propelled me to obtain my bachelors degree in political science. But I stopped there. Graduating in 2009 under an Obama presidency, the comfort kicked in and the fire went out.

A troublesome, odd campaign cycle and a trip to D.C. in October 2016 were enough to stoke the fire again, but it felt too late. I felt to uninformed in what the Obama administration had and had not done, secretary Clinton’s record (good or bad), and the state of rural America to hold educated conversation with others about the need to cast a Clinton vote. Beyond my given enthusiasm for a female leader and her common-sense views of equality in this great nation, my message became, “vote for her because you shouldn’t vote for him.” It wasn’t enough for her, it wasn’t enough for my arguments, and it wasn’t enough for the People.

I don’t know what the next step is. It’s safe to say that many of us don’t. That is what is so uncomfortable about this election. Did Trump simply play a base of America? Is this for ego? What does it mean that he’s flipped between a registered Republician then Independence Party then Democratic then Republician then nothing then Replublician parties? Does a “successful business man” not have the temperament for this job? Did he really see something we all didn’t? Is he really smart enough to find loopholes and dodge taxes? Can we trust him on Twitter? Can 140 characters warrant a trade war with China? Can 140 characters spark nuclear warfare? He certainly doesn’t want to go down as a failed president by committing to the promises made to his base, but he won’t want to be called a liar by them either, right? What does he actually stand for? How will he govern? Isn’t human decency the threshold for the job? How the hell did this happen? What happens next?

I am trying to not let fear get the best of me. Trying to quell many of these thoughts by rationale. But not knowing what this man stands for or trusting any of his actions is deeply uncomfortable.

I’m unsure of my next actions. I’m letting this sink in. I’m going for long jogs, focusing on work, and cascading into stiff drinks, hoping I’ll come out with some form of clarity and action. Until then, my wife and I have chosen to donate monthly to the ACLU and Planned Parenthood and are actively looking to other organizations, liberties, and efforts that may have the steepest of uphill battles ahead of them.

I do not blame president Obama or secretary Clinton. I blame myself for being comfortable in my own privledged bubble. Now, I am comfortable that my discomfort will propel me to be better informed, studious, and vocal.

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Some podcast episodes that have helped console my discomfort:

The One You Feed - Post Election Mini-Episode

Slate’s Political Gabfest - The “Even Longer National Nightmare” Edition

Vox’s The Weeds - Trumpocalypse Now

The Talk Show With John Gruber - Holiday Party