The End is Nigh: Burnout Paradise

By Martin Gaston

‘The End is Nigh’ is a weekly column by Play.tm’s Martin Gaston, pondering the nature of videogame endings and why we do or don’t choose to finish the games we play. This week: Burnout Paradise, and the thrill of a well-designed environment.

Burnout Paradise is one of the only racing games I’ve ever completed.

But its distinction is not that simple to define. Within the racing genre I have a peculiar habit of finding myself languishing around the middle sections, having experienced most of what the game has to offer. I find that the genre tends to lack the sufficient drive to propel me towards any sense of conclusion: these titles quickly find themselves back on my shelf, superseded by other games.

Burnout Paradise’s fundamental tenet is repetition, repetition, repetition. That alone hardly makes it stand out from the rest of its ilk. The crucial difference is the game’s staging grounds of Paradise City, perhaps the most detailed and functional open-world city crafted this generation. By connecting the game’s assortment of tracks into one traversable location, Criterion have removed the problem of disconnection from the genre.

Criterion can hardly claim to have invented the open-world racing environment, but their city is more nuanced and exquisite than the efforts of their peers. Paradise City never changes, but therein lays its genius: familiar sights become landmarks of experience. They become ingrained into your personal knowledge, and Paradise City’s nuances and quirks quickly become integral parts of a bigger experience. Although these roads, ramps and jumps don’t exist, you feel closer to your victories and more aware of the journey.

These fictional streets can even elicit the same sensations from the player as real roads: there’s the relaxation and comfort of barrelling round a familiar corner of a road well travelled, the perpetual discomfort of manoeuvring through an uncomfortable alley, and the soothing routine of observing the same sights on your favourite route.

The antagonist, in most cases, is the clock. Paradise City might be an exquisitely detailed environment, but for most of your time you’ll be ploughing through oncoming traffic far too fast to notice. The game tends to point you in roughly the right direction, but its directions are lacking in authority. This, I can only presume, is entirely deliberate: the only way to survive the game’s moderately demanding challenges is to become intimate with the roads yourself, and it’s this sensation that spurs the player forwards to completion.

Of course, this makes Burnout Paradise an especially daunting game. Many reviews preach a similar account, frequently encouraging players to stick with the game for a few hours. Few games perform such risky manoeuvres, with most favouring instant gratification to force an immediate bond. But, sometimes, it’s nice to experience a meticulously designed slow-burner. It’s all the more surprising when it’s a racing game.

Looking at how the game distributes its content is all the more telling. The game’s fastest cars are perpetually kept out of sight, and only delivered to the player at the very end of the game. The whole city might be accessible at the beginning, but even attempting a Stunt Run challenge at this point would be a waste of time. And when the player upgrades their driving license, progression through the city’s events are wiped clean: the game is forcing its audience to wait until they attempt the top-tier Elite license before allowing them the gratification of a mini-map covered in satisfying ticks.

It might often verge on the inaccessible, but going back to Paradise City feels like revisiting an old favourite haunt. I consider myself at the end of Burnout Paradise because of the intimacy that Criterion have forced upon me, not simply because I’ve seen the credits scroll.