Right now, still trying to absorb the giddying clusterbomb of condensed exposition, subtle emotional clout, incredible spectacle and get-out-of-narrative-jail-free cards which hits in the final minutes of BioShock: Infinite, I just don't know how people are going to take it. That must be a bitter pill to swallow: how can they possibly meet such an undefined expectation? I doubt that someone who took issue with the ending of Battlestar Galactica or how Stephen Moffatt often papers over Dr Who's many plot holes with the loosest possible interpretation of temporal causality knew quite what it was they wanted to hear and see instead - they only knew what wasn't it. That's something the consumer of such tales must be prepared for, and will so often feel let down by, but conversely the author has to deal with the fact that the offerings of their own imagination may not possibly be able to satisfy someone who's become invested in the tale they began. The right buzzwords, pseudoscience and space-magic, and anything can be achieved, any discrepancy simply waved away. You're paying for them to share the contents of their head with you, and in any setting not bound by the rules of our Earthly existence, they can do and justify whatever they want. The thing about fantastical fiction is that you're completely at the mercy of the author. You're up there, wielding guns and magic, to bring someone the girl and wipe away the debt. It's set on a flying city in 1912, where racism and religious fundamentalism dictate society. BioShock: Infinite is a new first-person shooter from Irrational, creators of BioShock, System Shock 2 and SWAT 4.
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