Resurrection: Fahrenheit

By Lewis Denby

We played an early build of Heavy Rain a few weeks ago, and while it certainly got us a little giddy, it also inspired us to look back to Quantic Dream’s last title, Fahrenheit.  Four years on, it remains a game that really ought to be played.  Here’s why.

You’d be hard pressed to find another title in which the most exciting sequences are the most mundane.

With Fahrenheit, the scenes that stick with me are just that: everyday, human events that completely surpass the science fiction themes of the main story. The scene where, torn between a passion for your girlfriend and for your job, you stand and apologise, grovel, as you grab your coat and head off for yet another unexpected shift at the police station. Or the one where, as another character, you attempt to fix a failed relationship, serenading your lost love with a sweet guitar melody.

David Cage is brave man. His passion for developing videogame narrative is almost unprecedented. His studio, Quantic Dream, is known for taking huge risks in this department. Their first game, late 90s action adventure The Nomad Soul, amalgamated an abundance of genres to create a rich, involving and utterly bizarre piece of fiction. Now, as the team works towards the completion of Heavy Rain, Cage’s ideas look set to be extrapolated even further, with impressive character work and emotional connection placed at the forefront, and recognisable gameplay taking a back seat.

But while The Nomad Soul played with these ideas, and Heavy Rain looks to refine them, it was Fahrenheit that really pioneered the technique. A complex murder mystery viewed from the perspective of several characters, it remains one of the most self-conscious games I’ve ever played. Its opening sequence sees you, the actor, instructed on your role in the film (ie. the game), with a digitised Cage himself taking the role of director. It’s ostensibly a tutorial level, in which you learn of Fahrenheit’s various unusual control mechanics, but it’s more than that. It’s an aesthetic and ideological statement. This is no ordinary game. It is, in a very real way, an interactive movie.

//Don’t upset the rhythm, no
There are some typical adventure game segments in which you directly control your protagonist, search for collectible items and converse with other characters. But they’re probably the least important, and certainly the least memorable. They’re Fahrenheit’s offer of base-level accessibility. Alongside a couple of infuriating forced stealth sections, they’re the least accomplished aspects of the whole experience.

Where the game becomes more interesting is in its numerous segments that entirely rip away the genre’s gameplay norms, replacing them with a sort of rhythm-action mini-game. You push the buttons when the screen tells you to, and a cinematic, entrancing action sequence takes over, with you arbitrarily driving the scene onwards. It creates a fascinating disconnect between player and character. I’m sure many will be familiar with film critic Roger Ebert’s famous assertion that videogames cannot be art, as they rely wholly on audience participation at the expense of carefully crafted authorship. If I were to offer a single example to refute Ebert’s claim, it would be Fahrenheit.

Occasionally, it feels awkward. At a number of points, the player character is clearly motionless in the scene – once even unconscious – but the game still demands you button-press along. And it is, sometimes, a little distracting. Some of the most interesting story developments layer a complex game of Simon Says over the top, and it’s easy to miss important lines of dialogue. But most of the time, it’s simply wonderful.

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