It took me a really long time to summon up the nerve to play Grand Theft Auto. It took me a really long time to even take the series seriously. It’s not that I ever stayed away based on some kind of smug intellectual elitism or outright morally righteous offense at the idea of a game based primarily on beating average citizens to death on the streets, taking their money and brutalizing all classes of society from the crookedest cop to the heartiest hooker. During all the trials and tribulations the series has had over the years when it’s been a frequent and popular target for attacks by groups seeking to effectively ban such games from circulation with overzealous ratings no store would dare touch with a ten-foot cattle prod, I always lent my sympathy to Rockstar, even defending them once or twice in conversations here and there.
No, I didn’t stay away from GTA because I didn’t want to play the game, but because I felt I didn’t have to. After reading a few reviews, I thought I got the jist of the game, and frankly didn’t see what all the fuss was about. I didn’t have to play the game because I thought I already had, in my head, and frankly, it sounded boring.
Open-ended overworld? Been there, done that in Zelda and Metroid, I thought. Non-linear gameplay? Fool me once with the Sim series, I said, shame on you, but shame on me if I’ll ever ride that boat again. Morally ambigious violence, aesthetics and storylines? I’ll leave that one up to the imagination. Basically, I didn’t see any new ground being broken by what I’d heard and read about the GTA series, but there was one thing about it that always piqued my curiosity a little bit:
Vice City.