As a child of the 80s, I was raised on bloodshed. Practically everything I did involved the quintessential adolescent male power fantasy, one expressed by countless Arnolds, Stevens, and Jean-Claudes. High body counts, bottomless clips, and an arsenal that defied physics was my paintbrush, endless hordes of faceless (and often nonwhite) foes my canvas, and the painter a muscle bound, bare-chested, man . It was always the two Bad Dudes rescuing the President’s daughter or Arnold rushing to save the innocent and virginal girl, no questions asked. If there was a woman with a gun, it was only a matter of time before she herself needed rescue. Even Linda Hamilton needed Michael Beihn to do the heavy lifting. Just like when I would steal my sister’s Barbies to use as POWs when playing with my GI Joes, the women were there as collateral, living breathing plot devices.
Sure, women were important (somebody had to be rescued), but they were never the pulling the trigger. No, the killing and exploding were reserved for the men, the surrogates for my hormonal bloodlust. A girl protagonist? Ha. No way. Nope. That just didn’t happen . Even the developers of 80s and 90s action flick homage Broforce are struggling with how to reconcile the male driven world of guns and glory with the need for equity among badasses. Female protagonists were the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow of inclusion that my teenaged self could never quite glimpse through the fog of testosterone.
I wish Bleed , the new-to-Steam action platformer by Ian Campbell, had been out back then. It’s a lovely reminder that heavy weapons and bulletime aren’t the sole territory of bulging biceps and swollen necks. Bleed ’s protagonist, Wryn, is doing more than blowing away endless hordes of faceless monsters; she’s hunting down the myth of the female videogame character and putting it to rest in a hail of hot lead.
The story of Bleed is beautifully simple. It’s the year 21XX and Wryn wants for nothing more than to be the greatest action hero in the world. In order to do this, she has to defeat the world’s greatest heroes from the past century. She can triple jump, slow down time, and has access to a weapons locker that would make Chris Redfield jealous. She’s also got pink hair, ass-kicking boots, and a bloodlust that can only be sated by crossing the names off her rivals off her kill-list. For all intents and purposes, she’s already the world’s greatest action hero, an amalgamation of every blood-soaked visage to grace a movie poster.
There’s one big difference though: she’s a girl.
Mechanically, her gender makes no difference. She doesn’t have the flowing hair of Bayonetta, her clothing budget supports more than just scraps, and there isn’t a special PhysX plugin dedicated to her breasts. Her special attacks don’t involve rainbow ponies, you don’t have to randomly pound ‘X’ to overcome ovarian ‘hysterics,’ and the ending doesn’t involve a dashing male character for her to fall in love with. Sure, she has pink hair, but I know a lot of dudes who would break your face in two if you made fun of their pink hair.
In an interview with the PA Report , even Campbell highlighted how unimportant Wryn’s gender was to the game, saying that the choice was born entirely out of the fact that he’d never made a game with a girl before. On the surface, Bleed isn’t about striking down systemic sexism or outdated gender roles. For the same reason that Evan Narcisse praised Remember Me’s over at Kotaku, it’s the lack of importance that’s so refreshing . Remove a choice few pixels and Wryn could’ve easily been a dude, continuing the longtime male monopoly on doling out death.
Despite Campbell’s inclusive attitude, Wryn still has to prove herself to the world. Much like every woman who casually makes a nerdy comment only to be beset upon by demands to prove her ‘nerd cred’ it can’t simply be assumed that Wryn is a hero, she has to earn it by defeating a host of heroes forgotten by time. The opening scrawl even declares that the heroes, ranging from dragons to robots to shape shifting blobs, are due for replacement and that the world needs to be reminded of what a true hero looks like. These bosses, all standbys of the male dominated action world, are stale and ready to retire. It’s a sign of the times, the changing of the guard, the shifting of the paradigm. We’re ready to move past shirtless machine gun totting meatheads blasting the token stationary robot wall boss and evolve our idea of what a hero is, the range they can encompass. Not just overblown masturbatory fantasy, but a real person wearing real clothes, out to prove to the world that they matter.
Wryn even confronts some of the more problematic images of female character design when she goes up against Bunny Rockette, the third boss and only woman to make it into the pantheon before her. Bunny, with her pigtails, big boobs, and short skirt, is an allusion to the role female characters occupied back in the 90s and early 2000s, with even strong women like Lara Croft being enjoyed for far more than just their agency. We’ve come a long way since Red Lotus in Deathtrap Dungeon –Lara actually gets pants now!–and by taking down Bunny, Wryn is putting a bullet between the eyes of what nearly every female character used to look like.
It doesn’t help much that Bunny herself is a robot, a gun toting Stepford Wife in pink. Somewhere out there is a scientist who crafted Bunny, most likely a man (the only person in the game who demonstrates a talent for robotics is the male antagonist). The only other strong female character is a literal production, a horrible chimera of over-sexed traits.
As an isolated image, there’s nothing overtly offensive about Bunny’s busty appearance. Jenn Frank’s wonderful piece decrying the meaning attaching to boobs does a great job laying out why just having big boobs doesn’t instantly equal objectification. The problem lies in the what the breasts mean in the greater context of female protagonists. In a medium where ‘giant’ was the default ‘bust’ setting for decades, it’s hard to look at another chesty pig-tailed lady and not be reminded of the dark days when Tess from The Last of Us would’ve faced the apocalypse in a baby tee and heels. The conversation wouldn’t have been about whether that was acceptable but instead about when she was going to get a spread in Playboy .
Bunny’s elimination is a halting, imperfect step though, representative of the figurative blood that will most certainly need to be shed before the battle for inclusion is over. As evidenced by the passion inspired by the speeches given at GDC 2013, there’s a seething rage just underneath the surface of this battle between the dominant patriarchal system and those who wish for something better. As nice and simple as it would be for Wryn to have drawn Bunny Rockette to her side, that’s simply not enough right now. Banners must be hoisted, armies rallied, and war waged.
The final “hero” and level are one in the same, a massive dragon that Wryn enters by hiding in an equally oversized apple. She subverts the power story of the male dragon slayer, actually becoming the valiant knight rather than simply the damsel in distress. Wryn is no wailing lady trapped in a tower, nor is she Princess Peach stolen away by Bowser and his nefarious family. She’s the one thrusting the sword straight into the heart of the beast, bathing in its black blood. This Sleeping Beauty doesn’t need a Prince Charming to do her dirty work.
Even better, she gains entry by similarly subverting a thing that has caused women more grief than anything else in Western society: the apple. Ever since Eve supposedly took that first bite, men have been pointing at women and saying “Yeah, but you owe us for that Eden thing.” Original Sin? Yep, Eve’s fault. Sorry ladies, better bear the burden of your mythological forbearer. Even the supreme power of childbirth, something revered by practically every other culture in the world, is often considered little more than punishment for that one succulent nibble. Having Wryn ride an apple into the heart of the beast is a brilliant move, a final fuck you to a patriarchy using the very tools of oppression they crafted.
And, of course, at the very end, a dude sweeps in and takes the credit. That totally never happens, right? All that stuff in Mad Men with Peggy is total bullshit.
It’s not like he even deserves it, having done nothing but send waves of increasingly annoying robots at Wryn. Until the very end of the game, he doesn’t even show his face, something Wryn even comments on. When they finally do fight, he brings every single weapon Wryn has, functioning like a blonde haired palette swap of her. The only thing that sets them apart is the legitimacy granted to him by the countless thoughtless inclusions of male heroes that preceded him. His claim to the throne isn’t supported by talent or reason, but by a tradition stretching back to the Greek myths where Zeus appropriated the power of birth.
Wryn blows him away, a final nail in the bloated coffin of the myth of the male hero. It’s time for the people of Bleed to accept that the greatest hero in the world is a regular old girl, no fancy costume or plastic surgery required. It’s a happy ending, with Wryn tearfully thanking the player for their role and wishing them the best of luck in making their dreams come true. The world of 21XX cheers her on, accepts her, and declares their love for her. She’s the hero they wanted all along and they know it.
It’s the future we should be striving for; one where heroines are celebrated for their bravery rather than their tits.
Growing up in the 80s and 90s, I wish I had been exposed to more games like Bleed. If the men of my generation had experienced the same kinds of positive female protagonists, ones who aren’t fetishized or cast as gender-neutral options for the perceived “female gamer” audience, then perhaps it wouldn’t have taken so long for us to realize that there’s a problem. Perhaps we wouldn’t all be fighting over semantics, but instead unified to meet the issue of equity in videogames head-on. Perhaps .
Then again, it is the future. 21XX is looking pretty sweet.
