For the unfamiliar, the Fallout franchise sets role-players loose into a retrofuturistic, post-apocalyptic America. Starting out in isometric form in 1997, the series would jump between developers and publishers until it was realised, in its current, recognisable form, as an extension of Bethesda Game Studios' first-person, open-world game design philosophy- a science-fiction counterpart to the Elder Scrolls' immersive fantasy experience. With the latest entry, Fallout 76, released on November 18th of last year, there has never been a more poignant time to imperil Fallout’s ultraconservative appeal.
The franchise tells satirical narratives of the future, with the “76” in Fallout 76 referring not to 1976 but 2076, and these narratives are often satirising conservative politics and lifestyles; suggesting that all a conservative mindset can give to us is the apocalypse. When we question why the Fallout franchise can seem so accommodating to audience’s who would, on a surface level, appear opposed to the game’s, and its developer’s, expressed values, we can see a few potential answers staring back at us. The first is simple: gun fans like gunplay. On a ludological level, Fallout’s lone-wanderer-with-a-gun approach to game design resonates with a subgroup of gamers who have an active interest in firearms, along with small government political policy; the open world allowing the player to enjoy the fantasy of a nomadic, libertarian existence. Yet, this reading is painfully myopic, on account of the wider, cultural appeal of gunplay. Naturally, there is a strict role of guns in the formation of the modern conservative identity, but gunplay in games is enjoyed across a vast swathe of fan subgroups and, certainly, conservatives have no monopoly on firearm fanaticism. So we are obliged to look beyond this and, when we do, we can see that actual conservative spaces have been carved out within Fallout fan communities themselves. I assert that this particular fan space exists, not due to the text, but in spite of it.
In the case of the open world's inherent appeal to far-right gamers, we see a selective enjoyment indicative of the wider ironic detachment that characterises not just engagement with Fallout, but with engagement throughout the digital era. Whilst the conservative reads the lawless wasteland as a reflection of policy and an idealised storyworld, they can simultaneously detach themselves from the deviant sexualities and lifestyles that make themselves present in the game and which run counter to their worldview. This is prominent in conservative fan assembly around the term, “degenerate”, used by in-game characters (and game director Todd Howard) to deride unsavoury storyworld elements. Accommodated by the in-game factions and multiplicity of in-game ideology and identity, any gamer (not just the ultraconservative) can engage with every constituent element without feeling that any one has any meaning outside of its fictional habitat.
There’s a prevailing belief that one can engage, ironically, insincerely, with every element of the digital era and this has incubated the normalisation and legitimisation of increasingly reactionary viewpoints. On the alt-right, Dr. Alice Marwick has said that “irony allows people to strategically distance themselves from the very real commitment to white supremacist values that many of these forums have”, which particularly rears its head with Fallout’s beloved fascist faction, the Brotherhood of Steel. To engage, ironically, with Fallout is to engage unironically with its satire. This, in turn, accommodates an unironic, unironic engagement, as an (reactionary) audience can only then read Fallout sincerely. They can read the promise of post-nuclear freedom and renewed Americana as part of the franchise’s brand, disregarding any subversive affect its creators may have intended.
The dissonance between conservative engagement and a proposed satire of conservatism, then, actually matters little; intentionally or not, Fallout’s constant negotiation and renegotiation of meaning allowed the creation of a space that could be filled by the ultraconservative and the hypernationalist. This though begs the question, where did the right-wing elements come from to fill this space? What is it about the world of Fallout that is so appealing to them?
Retrofuturism, a term used to describe the utopian fantasies of the futures of yesteryear, is perhaps the crux of the question around Fallout’s conservatism. In retrofutures, we see again the science fiction iconography that went hand-in-hand with that era; for the 1950s this included jetpacks, flying cars, homes of tomorrow and so on. Remnants of Fallout’s retrofuture are seen scattered across the wasteland, the abandoned vaults with every Cold War styling and amenity are littered with “Mr. Handy” servant-robots (and even the aliens of the franchise are more reminiscent of Roswell and UFO fervour than any other sci-fi touchstone), but the post-war, post-apocalypse has little to offer in its longing for yesterday’s future. It is in specifically pre-war sections of the game (flashbacks, simulations and the ilk), which are not the franchise’s focal point, where the retrofuturistic conservatism shines through.
As each new entry to the franchise gives an obligatory return to the pre-war retrofuture of the 2070s, Bethesda Game Studios reiterates a prognostalgia, a sincere sadness for a future that never came to pass, which characterises the rest of the game. This is seen in Fallout 3’s opening, where the main protagonist grows up in a time-capsule-like vault, and its sequel Fallout 4’s also, where the main character was present in the nostalgic pre-war era. Whilst other studios working on the IP forsook such direct flashbacks, Bethesda Game Studios weaves this sombreness, this regretful tone throughout the experiences of both games. This gives way to the accommodation of what I call the myth of Fallout. Rather than a legendary myth, this is a myth of the Barthesian sense, where in which the nuclear fallout depicted in the game is not the end of the world, but instead a rebirth of conservative politics. The promise of this myth is that, after the bombs fall, the nostalgic, conservative past will be returned to us, imbued with new vigour to pursue the same American ideals and dreams as ever.
No aspect of the game series encapsulates this renewed, militant Americanism like Liberty Prime; a pastiche “Iron Giant” who foregoes anti-militarism and anti-nuclear sentiment for an uncritical adulation of “democracy” and American capitalism. Liberty Prime, appearing in Fallout 3 and Fallout 4, is shown as an imposing, if retrograde, American military marvel. Like any good American soldier, he is deeply patriotic, spouting anti-communist slogans and propaganda akin to what may have been heard during the Cold War. It’s even wrong to call the giant robot an instance of nuclear deterrence, as he hurls miniaturised atom bombs at his enemies. As metallic shouts of "Death is a preferable alternative to communism," ring through the battlefield, the robot exists as the zenith of Fallout’s retrofuture; a technological marvel constrained by the hatred and prejudice of its time of creation. It is, then, noteworthy how beloved the automaton became. Not as a criticism of myopic Cold War militarism, but as a sincere, bastion of libertarian values. Even now he is a touchstone for the reactionary, the ultimate vindication that their reading of Fallout is the right one. Take a look at some fan commentary from a YouTube compilation of Liberty Prime quotes:
Not only is the line between fiction and reality blurred, with desires to see the giant robot crush the enemies of fascism, but so is the line between satire and sincerity. In the unironic, uncritical responses to characters such as Liberty Prime and storyworlds like Fallout, we can see that the transformation of democracy from a rule of government to a set of intrinsically American values and beliefs has abetted the anti-democrat to take the violent pursuit of "democracy" into their own identity. As Liberty Prime would declare, "Democracy is non-negotiable," and now is a broader referent, one that encapsulates the American project as a whole. Fascism may be anti-conservative, in that it doesn't seek a return to the past but a rebirth based on past iconography, but it is that very distinction that attracts the ultraconservative and the fascist alike. Fallout's promise of a nuclear apocalypse which ushers in traditional values exists as both a return to Cold War Americana and a rebirth of the nation state, allowing a ground zero from which fascistic imagination can play.
The idealised past (that of course never existed) is revisited, in Fallout, in a form of perverse utopia. The ultraconservatives find, in Fallout's wastelands, a utopian world, free from the constraints and responsibilities of our present one. We can see this idealised past again, throughout the franchise’s Americana aesthetic. Particularly, the music creates a strong sense of nostalgic longing, but not for the in-universe character. These songs, famous jaunty pop tracks from yesteryear, are nostalgic for a prior state of the world. A world promised to the ultraconservative player, after the bombs fall. With Fallout 76's promotional material, merging The Ink Spots’ "I Don't Want To Set The World On Fire" (popularised by Fallout 3) with John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads", we can see that the anachronism (Denver's song was released in 1971, long after Fallout's 50s point of reference) means nothing. The music is not representative of the world's past, but rather our world's past which is, in turn, this world's present. The themes and tone of Denver's song are no coincidence either; a classic country song ushering you back to a vague notion of home; communicating the idea that the world offered in Fallout is a home, of sorts. One which appears as a safe space for the moral workings and philosophical lenses that no longer seem to have such a home.
As opposed to most retrofuturistic narratives, the core of the Fallout franchise actually affords us an element of subversion, threatening to turn the conservativeness inherent to retro on its head. We are brought into a storyworld where every American imagineer had their dreams fulfilled, where conservative social values (like the nuclear family and white suburbia) remained unchallenged, and yet this can do nothing but yield armageddon. The question of why Fallout’s future is so 50s referential, in particular, has been bounced around for a while, but I think I finally have the answer. The retrofuture isn’t merely a representative of an uncritical, happy time that can be universally enjoyed before the horrors of nuclear war takes it away; the retrofuture tracks a specific narrative, one where social values don’t accelerate to keep up with technological progress. It condemns retrofuturistic ideals specifically by having the outcome of their implementation being a nigh-total apocalypse. Why the 50s? Why invoke the imagery, language and iconography of Cold War? Simply, because it can be nowhere else. The unabashed Space Age optimism running alongside profound domestic and international anxieties in Cold War America is a duality that can not be undersold. To turn the retrofuture against itself, Fallout pushes this duality to its final, deadly conclusion.
Fallout, though, can never seem to outrun its sincere readers and perhaps this is because its very nature as a video game denies any definitive communication between authorial intent and an audience reading. This is, of course, only exacerbated by situating it in the open-world, role-playing genre. It may be the case that this openness is going too far for a developer to manage. You cannot simultaneously offer freedom of choice and effectively communicate a singular message or cohesive world.
So, to some, Fallout's wasteland is a utopian dream of rebirth, tapping into the spirit of manifest destiny. America, after nuclear war, can once again become the new frontier, pursuing a patriotic endeavour for a future characterised by its past. Whilst I’ve expressed that this is a counter-reading of the text, it is worthwhile to examine the culpability of Bethesda in the curation of this perspective. With Fallout 76's recent launch, a game that promised to transition the series from retrofuturistic satire to post-apocalyptic fun with friends, we cannot just assume that Bethesda has experienced a “death of the author” moment and lost all control over their text. Rather the commitment to apolitical, open design has cultivated this ambiguity of meaning in order to fulfil its escapist promise and to ensure a cross-political appeal.
Bethesda operates within a political vacuum, arbitrarily flitting between political statements so as to best sell the latest product. Wolfenstein played into antifa, "bash the fash", imagery in a sensational, timely campaign, yet The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim (and, as I’ve laid out, the Fallout franchise) has intentionally curated appeals to the far-right, ultraconservative. White nationalism and imperialism are a window dressing Bethesda Game Studios often deploys uncritically, leading to a perennial contradiction between the proposed corporate ethos and the actual corporate product. Game franchises such as The Elder Scrolls and Fallout, which promote player choice and determination, simultaneously depoliticise and construct an in-game political sphere from which the player can act out political conflict with a sense of ironic detachment. There is no right-wing or left-wing, but Stormcloak and Imperial or Brotherhood of Steel and Railroad.
The trailer for Fallout 76 has currently amassed over 32 million views on YouTube and moves the subject of the franchise away from the conservative satire of previous entries, declaring in no uncertain terms that this latest franchise entry is about rebuilding America in the image of its idealised past. It seems that, on some level, Bethesda are embracing their nostalgic, hyper-nationalist base. There are, of course, always extremists willing to take counter-readings of popular texts. There is always a reactionary community that will contort and contrive to find representation or legitimisation from popular media, seen ever since the internet's very first hate sites. This, however, should not absolve the product that makes such entities feel welcome. At the very least, they should be interrogated. Fascism makes alliances and, in American fascism, it makes alliances with the traditionalist, the nationalist, the militarist and finds financial backing in big business and wealthy elites. For a long time, the perception of gaming as juvenile has absolved this particular industry of meaningful criticism. But, when we can see the conservative coalition forming around media products, we should not take that as an inherent reality of the form.
