The Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe Edition on Creating, Releasing, and Living with Artistic Expression
How a simple little game continues to tackle big issues artists face in our hyper-capitalistic, ROI-obsessed world.
Years ago, when there was a massive “indie boom” in the videogame world, I played, and enjoyed, The Stanley Parable. It was a fun, interesting game that took you down strange, dark paths and asked questions most videogames simple weren’t doing. A lot of the indie darlings of the time filled a niche that major publishers had failed at, and a game like The Stanley Parable being released by a major studio was virtually impossible.
This boom included stuff like Stanley; FTL; Braid; Papers, Please; Dear Esther; Thomas Was Alone and a lot more. Each game brought something new to the table, while doing spins on classic gameplay elements. So yes, at the time, I enjoyed The Stanley Parable but never really saw the need to play it again. It was fun, cheeky, and a perfect example of what a game could be, but it was what it was, right?
When a re-release, The Stanley Parable Ultra Deluxe came out, I have to admit; I didn’t understand why I needed to purchase the same game again. By name alone, it seemed like a remaster or simply additional content being released for an older game, and descriptions left it feeling like just a remake. We get it. The game was fun, but the industry has sort of moved on from that era, and that game itself has been iterated on many times over.
A few people I trust and respect talking about playing the newer version and finding it to be a worthwhile endeavor made me bite the bullet and pick it up during the Steam Summer Sale. What was new this time was that I was playing it and my kids were around. Kids who simply didn’t exist in 2013 when the game came out and when I played it. These guys weren’t here, nor had they really ever seen a game like it before. Each of my boys watched me play a part of it, and at first wondered if it was some sort of horror game as the aesthetic and vibes are certainly… you know.
After one watched me play through a lot of the original content, which he found to be pretty funny and interesting, the other one tagged in. He didn’t really get what the game was or why I was playing it, and frankly, I hadn’t triggered the newer content yet, so I was flummoxed myself. When I was walking by the sign for “new content” he told me to do it, so I went for it. Following through the arc of the newer content was interesting, because it really touched on things that only artists and creatives could understand.
The creators of this game had made such a wonderful, strange little game that was critiquing game design itself, and how do you follow up after having a hit game that’s so meta and strange? Both of the designers behind the original branched off and did their own things, but were drawn back together to make this one, and it takes no prisoners. It seems simple enough, on the surface, but it quickly starts scraping into the inner essence of what it means to create things for audiences. One of my kids was watching during the whole extended sequence about the illusion of player choice, which he thought was fun, and then through the section tackling criticism.
That part really got to me.
The Stanley Parable was so revered at the time, and well-reviewed, that it’s hard to imagine it being anything but a modern day classic to many. Yet, like everything else, of course, there were detractors. Walking through these set pieces and reading these negative, awful reviews, my son asked why people were so mean. Also, why if everyone loved the game, why care about the few people being mean? And it really brought about something that’s hard for others to understand. There’s a certain level of discomfort that goes with getting praised for work, especially when you put something of yourself into it and aren’t sure it’s great.
Because, for a lot of us, even if something is loved, knowing there are people out there that don’t get what we’ve made or even have a visceral, negative reaction is hard to shake off. I got to explain to my kiddo that it’s something that haunts most of us. Sure, some talk tough and say “I don’t read my reviews” or “they don’t phase me,” but that’s not the whole truth. If it’s available, there’s a chance we’ve seen it. The Internet is public, after all. I tried to explain it, and then I brought up a few pages for one of my own books. This led to showing him all the ratings on Goodreads, Amazon, Kobo, and Apple, and how overall it was an over four-star book that most people loved. I showed him all the glowing praise, the wonderful words spilled in favor of my work, then I showed him the few rotten ones. The ones that made no sense, or were critical of things that were intentional, or the ones that are borderline nonsensical.
Again, he asked why people were like that, and why they were so mean, and if it bothered me. I was honest, and I said that it doesn’t bother me most of the time, but there were times when I felt bad about my work and I’d think about some of these reviews. That even though there’s so many wonderful words in the wild about me and my work, I can’t remember them. I remember the bad ones, though, and I knew the creators of The Stanley Parable felt the same way.
As we explored the portion of exploring a sequel to a game that in no way needed one, including marketing speak and flashy displays, and cynical implementation of player suggestions, I was comforted in knowing the folks behind this game understood. Creating art is hard. Sometimes that art soars far beyond where you expected it to. Other times it stalls out and nobody is listening. When nobody is listening, you just wish there was someone—anyone—who would give a shit. Then, sometimes, when people are listening, you want them to just go away.
All of this was so beautiful. It’s exactly what I want a piece of art to do to me. I want something that’ll leave me with questions and thoughts, or will make me feel seen and understood. I’m glad there’s a game like The Stanley Parable, and I’m thankful there was an Ultra Deluxe version, too.