Perhaps one of the smaller takeaways of Deadpool’s success: people like “meta.” Media that acknowledges that it is media has officially entered the mainstream. This opens up a great opportunity to talk about what I (and many others) think was 2015’s best game. “Undertale” takes the concept of being meta above and beyond, showing how you can use it on several layers to make something truly masterful.
For those unfamiliar, “Undertale” is a game about a kid who falls down into a cavern and enters the world of monsters. Having been trapped there by humans for years, they seek one more human soul to break through the barrier trapping them there. I want to try my best to go without spoiling the game, but some spoilers are inevitable; given the developer's constant insistence that people play the game before reading in-depth conversations, consider giving the free demo a try before reading.
“Undertale” is "meta" in every conceivable way a piece of fiction can be, starting with the most obvious sense. Two characters make it clear that they are aware of the player character, and that their universe is running on game rules. This is fine on its own, but the game commits to making a self-aware tone, not just a storytelling gimmick but uses that style to humanize both characters. One of these characters uses this information as an excuse to become lazy, accepting that no matter what he does, everything will ultimately be erased and restarted. Despite this seemingly one-dimensional nature, he becomes a fully realized character during the game's "Genocide" Run (which forces you to kill every single monster). Finally forced to act, he reveals himself to be highly competent and lethal, turning from a regular nihilist to a fully realized figure.
The game also uses its "meta" nature in the context of the game as a piece of interactive media, namely, the rules and structure of the game itself, specifically the combat sections of the game. The rules of a turn-based combat system are constantly played with. For example, a character backed up against the wall in a fight might decide to just not attack, leaving it as his turn forever. At one point, another character destroys the “Mercy” option on the screen, forcing you to fight him. These are the little things that give the game a sense of uniqueness.
But what I love the most is that “Undertale” explores the relationship between the player and their character. One of the characters who breaks the fourth wall serves as a sort of parallel to you the player. When he discovered he could exploit saving and loading, he spent time trying every possibility imaginable, making friends, helping certain people, trying different strings of events. But after a while, this character decided to start destroying everything, not because he wanted to, but “because I just had to know what would happen.” Ouch. Because “Undertale” does such a great job empathizing its characters, you’re forced to confront the notion of these characters as real people, whose lives you continue to tear apart with your meddling and manipulation. As a result, the main character isn’t the protagonist, you are. They are just the vessel through which you interact with the universe, a sentiment perfectly hammered home with the game’s best ending, where a character begs you not to restart the game so everyone can just be happy.
The best video games are those that play with the conventions of the medium and explore the relationship between the play and player-character. “Undertale” does these better than any game in recent memory. What would have otherwise been a fun adventure becomes a thoughtful analysis of our behavior in the virtual space, all because it took a tactic typically used for laughs to make a bold statement.
