Editorials
The Horror of Interplay’s Brutal Post-Nuclear RPG Classic ‘Fallout’
It’s obvious to say that the Fallout series has come a long way since it first hit PCs back in 1997. The series’ appeal has grown considerably since that time, as has the RPG genre itself. Still, even with the modern entries and their appeal, there will always be something special about the original Fallout games by Interplay and their internal development division, Black Isle Studios. While not outright horror, there was enough grittiness in the original Fallout, not to mention the over-the-top violence, dark humour and horror elements, that appealed to those looking for something bleaker with their roleplaying games. It’s that bleakness that still keeps players coming back all these years later.
The events preceding Fallout had a global nuclear war devastating the world and destroying modern civilization in October 2077. Those who survived the war took shelter in underground Vaults. Nearly a century later, you are the Vault Dweller, a human born and raised in Vault 13, which is located in Southern California. Vault 13 has a crisis on its hands, as the controller chip for their water purification system has malfunctioned, resulting in the vault no longer being able to recycle its water. You have been elected by the Vault Overseer to travel to one of the other vaults to find a replacement. You only have 150 days in order to do so, before Vault 13’s water reserves run dry. Along the way, you’ll encounter other vaults and settlements, including the various factions found in Southern California such as the Brotherhood of Steel, the Children of the Cathedral, and the Super Mutants, led by The Master.
Even before getting into the gameplay, the thing that immediately hits many players upon loading Fallout is its presentation and atmosphere. It’d be a crime if you didn’t mention Ron Perlman’s narration during the opening cinematic with his iconic line about war never changing. The delivery of his exposition is enough to paint a harsh and unforgiving world before even starting the game. Delving into the game’s environments, the retro-futuristic art style of the 1950s merged with the grimy, broken feel of a world devastated by nuclear war to create a world that is fascinating as it is hostile. The game also drew upon films such as Mad Max 2 to add to its post-nuclear look and feel with the burned-out cars, leather jackets with and spiked shoulder pad, corrugated metal shacks for dwellings and so on.
Accentuating that hostile feeling is the brutal over-the-top violence in Fallout, which definitely fit the horror quotient for many. If juxtaposing The Ink Spots’ rendition of “Maybe” with the violent news footage of US forces executing a Canadian citizen during the opening cinematic wasn’t jarring enough, it was the violence in the gameplay. During the game itself, you had characters having their upper torso blown to shreds by a well-place shot from an SMG or minigun, exploding like a “blood sausage” (a phrase from the game’s advertisement, and a reference to Wasteland), having their flesh burnt off before their skeleton crumbles into a pile of dust, or being reduced to a pile of goo. Then you had the incredibly gory unique death animations for certain characters. If that wasn’t enough, Fallout allowed players the one taboo in many media, which was the ability to kill children. Of course, if you did it, you were given the Childkiller reputation, which resulted in huge penalties for your character.
Complementing all of this was Fallout‘s equally desolate-sounding score by Mark Morgan. Once again, here’s a soundtrack that perfectly enhances the atmosphere and visuals, creating a great sense of foreboding, while also upping the tension whenever you had a tough task ahead of you. It certainly wouldn’t feel out of place if it were used in a film like The Hills Have Eyes that emphasized the remoteness of its setting, while also hinting at the unknown danger that lay ahead.
Of course, none of this mattered if the story and gameplay weren’t up to snuff. And yes, it’s as potentially unforgiving and tense as the world of Fallout itself, with those horror overtones coming out on more than a few occasions. The obvious one starts with the Ghouls, the humans mutated by radiation who reside in Necropolis, also known as the City of the Dead. Given the viewpoint from which the game is played, you don’t actually get to see a Ghoul “up close” until you converse with Set, the leader of Necropolis. With the loss of skin, exposed muscle, heavy scar tissue and raspy voice, it’s pretty easy to see why they’re referred to as zombies by non-Ghouls (though they aren’t actually dead). The area’s set of related quests take you through Necropolis and into its sewer systems, which thanks again to the foreboding atmosphere and hostility of the locals (and their factions), makes it one of the more horror-filled places in all of Fallout.
And then there’s the Mariposa Military Base, home of the Super Mutants and their leader, The Master. Again, you don’t get an up close look at the Super Mutants until you meet the Lieutenant of the Master’s Army. While not as grotesque as a Ghoul, the appearance of the Lieutenant certainly fits the idea of a monster. None of that comes close to The Master, however. The amalgamation of flesh and technology, The Master’s appearance is appropriately over-the-top, but is still horrific. Matching The Master’s appearance is the way he speaks, with one robotic voice, two male and one female, teetering on the edge of ridiculousness while also being frightening. Equally frightening is the The Master’s ability to penetrate the mental defenses of others, preying on their fears. As a result, players would need to seek out a psychic nullifier if they chose to fight The Master. And should players fight The Master, they’re rewarded with another disturbingly violent and over-the-top death animation should they succeed.
The original Fallout didn’t rely solely on horror to appeal to gamers, but it was a vital component that made its way into several aspects of the game that helped turn it into the success that it still enjoys 25 years later. The later Fallout games, regardless of whether it was the original Interplay games or Bethesda’s current offerings, continued the same idea of courting aspects of horror without fully committing to them. Would a full-on embrace of horror make for a good Fallout game? That’s debatable, but the horror aspects would certainly be missed if they were dropped entirely, as it’s clear how much repeated trips to the wasteland benefit from slipping on occasion into the genre.
Of all the films in the New French Extremity movement, Baise-moi may be the most shocking.
From its aggressive English language title Rape Me to several scenes of unsimulated sex, Virginie Despentes and Coralie Trinh Thi’s 2000 film may not drip with the subgenre’s trademark blood and gore, but the story’s overwhelming nihilism feels like a middle finger to the patriarchal establishment.
Inspired by Despentes’s 1993 novel of the same name, Baise-moi stars adult film actresses Raffaëla Anderson and Karen Bach as Bonnie and Clyde-style criminals who rampage through France leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. But this fierce story has a tender core. When we peel back the layers of explicit sex and ostensibly senseless violence, we find the tragic tale of two young women desperate to reclaim their power in a world built on male entitlement.
After a brief glimpse at our female criminals, Baise-moi opens in a local dive bar. A boorish man plays pool with his friends while callously dismissing his girlfriend’s concerns. She hasn’t seen him in nearly a week and simply wants to know if he plans to come home. But he angrily brushes her aside, insisting that he doesn’t have to answer for his selfishness. We will never see this couple again, but their one-sided dispute reflects a world in which women must beg for attention from men who see them as less than human.
Throughout this uncomfortable argument, Nadine (Bach) has been drinking at the bar while men discuss her fondness for random sex. At home, she openly masturbates in the living room, refusing to be shamed by her nagging roommate. We learn that Nadine is a sex worker and follow her to a nearby hotel. Refusing to kiss her john on the lips, she dispassionately performs oral sex then watches TV while he fails to give her an orgasm. Despentes and Trinh Thi play with camera angles to show the extent of Nadine’s disinterest. More concerned with sausage being sliced on an infomercial, she has emotionally disconnected from her own body.
We meet Manu (Anderson), an occasional porn actress, under much more traumatic circumstances. While chatting on a park bench, she and a friend are hauled into a dirty warehouse then savagely assaulted by three strange men. We watch as Manu’s friend (played by adult film star Lisa Marshall) is repeatedly punched in the face while her clothes are ripped off followed by an extreme close-up of actual penetration. It’s a disturbing sequence that rivals New French Extremity’s most infamous texts. But this is the reality of sexual assault and Despentes and Trinh Thi refuse to shield the audience from what we are watching.
Though her friend screams and tries to escape, Manu stares daggers at her attackers while stoically obeying their commands. Her dissociation repels the angry man and he walks away, complaining about “fucking a zombie.” Manu will later explain this emotional detachment to her traumatized friend, saying, “If you park in the projects, you empty your car ‘cause someone’s gonna break in. I leave nothing precious in my cunt for those jerks.” Though they’ve not yet met, both Nadine and Manu have become so accustomed to being used for sex that they see no value in themselves. Manu assures her sobbing friend that,”It’s just a bit of cock. We’re just girls. It’ll be ok now.” then continues on with the rest of her day. While disturbing in and of itself, her response hints at prior trauma and the long-term pain of navigating a world filled with predatory men.
Despentes and Trinh Thi will spend the rest of the film subverting the classic rape-revenge structure. We never again see Manu’s attackers again and she is not driven by a newfound hatred of men. But her rage spills out wherever she goes, directed at anyone who dismisses her humanity. Manu’s brother responds with indignation and demands the rapist’s identities, seeming more upset about an insult to his family name than what his sister actually needs. When he implies that she somehow welcomed the assault, Manu shoots him in the head, steals his money, and walks out the door. Nadine finds herself in a similar position after strangling her conservative roommate to death. In parallel scenes we watch both women reach their breaking points and use murder to flee lives of shameful subservience.
Manu and Nadine cross paths in an empty subway station after the last train has left for the night. With nowhere else to go, they cut a violent path across France, careening towards Nadine’s vague errand. Their first victim is a well-dressed woman murdered for her ATM card. Though Nadine confesses sadness in the aftermath of the crime, she eventually admits, “now I feel really great. So great I almost feel like doing it again.” We remember Manu’s final words to her brother — “Bastards like you always have to hit something to feel alive” — and watch these newly liberated women succumb to the same temptation. Their crime spree seems driven by a need to reclaim power by dominating anyone who gets in their way.
Despite the carnage they leave behind, Manu and Nadine do not kill indiscriminately. Shortly after hitting the road, they pick up two strangers at a bar and have sex on their respective hotel beds. Though they do not physically touch each other, the scene ripples with intimacy as they gaze at each other instead of their men. In a traditional rape-revenge film, Manu would kill these unsuspecting paramours, punishing them for another man’s crimes. But she seems content with indulging in her own physical pleasure and the connection she establishes with Nadine. Both women have found a kindred spirit who will not judge them for asserting their own messy independence.
This is not to say that men are safe around these two unpredictable outlaws. Manu shoots a man in the street when he catcalls Nadine and they ambush and murder a condescending gun dealer. When a prospective john balks at their unapologetic promiscuity and insists on wearing a condom, Manu brands herself “the fucking condom dickhead killer” while mocking the man for his self-righteousness. She degrades and sexually humiliates him before using her high heels to stomp in his face.
Nadine has a similar response to another victim who tries to psychoanalyze her criminality. While opening his safe at gunpoint, the man flirts by insisting her crimes have been caused by a traumatic past only he can understand. Rather than fall for this faux empathy, Manu laughs in his face while Nadine shoots him to death on the living room floor. While certainly asserting their feminine strength, they do not lash out at just any man, but save their rage for male authority figures who condemn their feminist rebellion.
Though they rage against the outside world, Manu and Nadine have no grand illusions of victory and expect to die in the violence they’ve sparked. On a peaceful stroll, the outlaws discuss different methods of suicide, rejecting self-immolation as too pretentious. After tossing around options, they agree to do a bungee jump without the cord, though Nadine admits that she may need help stepping off the edge. To maintain the appearance of control, Manu suggests leaving a banner behind to frame their deaths as a courageous act rather than submission to the establishment. They will not let anyone rewrite their story and insist on going out with their heads held high.
It’s only through boredom that we uncover the hopeless heart of their true motivations. Blowing stolen cash on a fancy hotel, Nadine and Manu drink the day away while staring at the ocean, surprised that they have not yet been caught. With their faces on the cover of newspapers, they have achieved some notoriety, but failed to rock the system they despise. Simply described as two women, “one taller than the other,” their bombastic rebellion now feels more like screaming into the void. They may have found joy in rejecting rigid gender norms, indulging in random sex, and gleefully dominating toxic men, but the patriarchal world continues to turn. In this quiet moment, Manu and Nadine realize that they will not be remembered as vigilante heroes, but two waves crashing against an endless sea of male authority.
As we grow more attached to the ferocious couple, Despentes and Trinh Thi remind us of the women’s villainy, directly resisting an anti-hero narrative. Dressed to the nines, Nadine and Manu storm a swinger’s club where women openly service men. In another film, they would be feminist avengers, shooting violent johns while setting helpless women free. But Manu and Nadine kill everyone they see, leaving no one alive in the establishment. As a climax to this massacre, they force the bartender to strip and kneel on all fours before penetrating him with a loaded gun. It’s a horrific act of sexual abuse that mirror’s Manu’s own ordeal. We’re reminded that while the women’s anger may be righteous, their actions are not. Perhaps this is a showy escalation designed to force police intervention. Or has Manu become the very thing that once destroyed her life: a bastard who hurts others to feel alive?
This crime spree ends just as erratically as it began when Manu is shot while stopping for gas. Nadine burns her corpse beside a frozen lake, ensuring that no one can claim power over what little autonomy her body still holds. Dressed in a man’s suit, the grieving woman prepares to join her friend in death and holds a gun to her head. But she seems incapable of pulling the trigger. While remembering their short but violently joyful time together, we hear a gunshot and see Nadine fall to the ground. Seconds later she opens her eyes to find herself surrounded by police. The spell of her connection with Manu has been broken and the world has finally come crashing in.
We’re left to wonder what their rampage was for. They’ve failed to resist a dehumanizing social structure and will now be simply tossed aside. But the English translation casts an uncomfortable shadow over their motivations. Taken as a command, the worlds “rape me” seem to imply consent that is antithetical to sexual assault. It’s an unsettling turn of phrase that harkens back to a question Manu’s friend asked in the wake of her attack: “how could you let this happen to you?” Though it reflects the story’s aggressive tone, this translated title seems to blame the women for their destructive actions rather than interrogate the system they’ve tried to resist.
But there is an alternate interpretation, one that reflects the story’s tender core. A more accurate Enlgish translation would read “fuck me” or “kiss me,” perhaps nodding to sex positivity or the gentle kiss Nadine leaves with Manu before lighting her makeshift funeral pyre. These alternative titles seem to honor the women’s ferocious journey of self-discovery and empowerment.
Though flawed, villainous, and ultimately broken on a patriarchal wheel, Nadine and Manu have found a way to reclaim something precious in their unapologetic strength and authenticity.
Baise-moi is currently available to stream on Shudder.
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