From the vantage that the game was promoted and discussed at release for a peerless sense of realism, you could be even harsher. As you’ve been saying, the realism stuff is mostly bluster; the level of detail in the game is uncommon and creates a unique texture, but is not a substitute for real history. In some important ways I don’t believe the cost of development and the endless finessing of the presentation made the game more meaningfully complex or rich.
On the other hand, is the game itself bragging about those things? Or is it how video game culture conceives of it? Not intending to put words in your mouth or assume anything on your part KingTubb; I find it challenging to talk about popular games without reflexively acknowledging their place in mainstream video game culture, which affected my first time trying it in 2019. I couldn’t ignore ambient discussion of the game and what many players considered its virtues… aspirations to cinema and therefore artistic legitimacy, (supposedly) realistic detail, boundlessness in design, endless quests and customization and activities and several different brands of cigarettes… which was all difficult to appreciate when (a) I don’t otherwise enjoy Rockstar’s kitchen sink game design and saw or assumed the presence of many of their common issues here, and (b) immediately brushed up against the repetitive and laborious first few missions (ride here, establish the plot, ride here, wade through snow, raid cabinets, ride here, more exposition, ride here, shoot faceless enemies—die? do all that again, no skips), the awkward movement, the ridiculous number of button presses required to do anything, the same old Rockstar cutscene language, and so on. Not all these frustrations have disappeared: a few weeks ago I ran into a crash in the middle of a cutscene at the end of a 20-minute mission which I then had to do all over again, relistening to every conversation, replaying every set piece, all drama and urgency gone; it was a blemish on the previous several hours of the game.
Aside from bugs and crashes, I wouldn’t say I have any more patience for Rockstar’s design—my dislike for GTAV and the first Redemption have grown, if anything—but in RDR2’s case the carpet has been easier to tear away, and the hardwood floor easier to admire. Riding around the landscape is a worthwhile experience unto itself, and alone might make it the best game I’ve played this year; RDR2 is one of if not the only game which justifies this kind of ludicrous attention paid to lighting detail. All the concessions to realism work to facilitate role-playing—changing clothes, getting a haircut, bathing, eating, smoking, brushing your horse, going to bed at night, etc. It’s the most elaborate and self-serious box of toys ever made, and is more interesting because the toys sometimes have minds of their own.
Thinking about RDR2 like it’s Death Stranding helped, too: the rhythm of pressing buttons in both games is much slower than most others, controlling the character feels more like manipulating a marionette than the 1:1 acrobatics of a Mario. Traversing from one outpost to another without falling over or smacking into a tree is itself a victory; in turn performing ritual actions like grooming and sleeping, while mechanically superfluous, for me aesthetically reinforce the significance and weight of actions which do not factor at all into other video games, stuff like walking through camp while admiring the sunrise, feeding your horse periodically, and using the Howdy button combo to see what everyone in camp is up to.
I’m surprised to like the game as much as I do. It is patience-testing and rewarding on account of qualities mostly unique to itself