You can say yes. You can pick Roman up, drive cautiously (or recklessly), listen to him ramble about his hopeless crush on Mallorie, and watch the neon blur past. For ten minutes, the murder stops. You are just two immigrants in a crappy car, trying to feel something other than fear. These moments of quiet, optional domesticity are what make the violent crescendos hit so hard. You are protecting something fragile. GTA IV has one of the most thematically coherent endings in gaming history. Without spoiling the nuance, the choice you make at the end is not between good and evil. It is between two forms of grief. Do you pursue revenge, knowing it will cost you everything? Or do you take the money, the hollow, blood-soaked payout, and try to live with the ghost?
Niko’s tragedy is that he is too smart for the world he inhabits. He is a veteran of the Yugoslav Wars, a man who has seen the banality of evil up close. He speaks with a weary, Eastern European fatalism that cuts through the game’s cartoon violence. When he kills a man, he doesn’t quip. He often looks away. He tells Roman, “War is where the young and stupid are tricked by the old and bitter into killing each other.” This isn’t bravado; it’s trauma. grand theft auto iv
This tactile misery is the game’s greatest artistic achievement. It says: Freedom is not fun. Freedom is terrifying. For all its strip clubs, comedy clubs (a brilliant, dark addition), and bowling alleys, GTA IV is a profoundly lonely game. Roman calls you constantly, desperate to go bowling or drink vodka. “Cousin! Let’s go bowling!” has become a meme, but its subtext is devastating. Roman is alone. Niko is alone. In a city of eight million strangers, their friendship is the only real currency. You can say yes