Grand Theft Auto: high art

The much maligned and most popular computer game looks like gratuitous violence. But look closer at the context and surrounding milieu of the game, and it emerges as a stinging rebuttal to unfettered capitalism and American cultural and military hegemony.

by Chris LaVigne <clavigne@republic-news.org>

People have good reason to dislike the infamous Grand Theft Auto videogame series created by Rockstar Games. After all, the series has managed to completely destroy Western society, leaving us all at the mercy of the bands of murderous youth who now freely roam the streets armed with chainsaws, flamethrowers, and a zombie-like compulsion to create corpses out of anything still living. I remember the day after the latest game in the series, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, was released last October and the murder rates in all Western countries instantaneously increased by 1,000%. Over the next few weeks, governments toppled. Militaries crumbled. And now anarchy reigns.

Wait. Actually, none of that happened, did it? Grand Theft Auto hasn't destroyed the world - imagine that. Of course, reality rarely matters much when one wishes to seethe with moral outrage. Politicians and parent groups still talk about the games as though they were the equivalent of a cultural nuclear bomb, set to go off at any moment and obliterate our society.

Even many within the game industry try to distance themselves from Grand Theft Auto. An article in Game Developer magazine about the "Ethics of Game Design" featured numerous game designers putting down the franchise. With the confidence of a man calling the sky blue or Ashlee Simpson talentless, John Whitmore of 2015 Studios (co-creator of Men of Valor) remarked, "It's hard to call a game like Grand Theft Auto high art."

Whitmore couldn't be more wrong. The Grand Theft Auto games are not only works of art, but are among the most politically engaged pieces of mainstream art to come along in the last ten years. Through developer Rockstar North's brilliant integration of anti-establishment themes into their plots, world design and gameplay, the Grand Theft Auto series has delivered a powerful message to millions of gamers around the world. Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas is the masterpiece of the series. Its depiction of the United States through the fictional state of San Andreas presents a scathing critique of American consumer culture, the horrible social inequalities that it perpetuates, and the damage it causes to the rest of the world.

Non-gamers are used to hearing about Grand Theft Auto's violent content and how the games freely allow players to engage in criminal behaviours ranging from carjacking to homicide. They've probably read somewhere that in the games you can have sex with a prostitute and then kill her and get your money back. However, because they don't play the games they complain about, non-gamers never understand the context in which such violence takes place. Imagine showing a violent scene from The Godfather to someone without letting them see the rest of the film. It would look awful. Seeing the same scene in the context of the whole movie, however, would allow them to see that the violence is an integral part of that film's commentary on the way capitalism encourages the ruthless pursuit of money.

In the Grand Theft Auto series, there are radio stations within the game which provide context for the violence and carnage that you see and cause onscreen. Throughout most of the game, you can choose from a variety of different stations (rap, news, country, oldies, etc.) to provide the soundtrack for your adventures. Besides music, the stations include a variety of spoken word segments as well. Hearing these talk shows, spots of DJ banter, and spoof commercials gives depth and meaning to the world your character inhabits. It doesn't sound pretty. Listening to the radio, one quickly pieces together a picture of the United States as a shallow, hypocritical, and violent place populated by self-centred individuals focused on bettering themselves at the expense of the less fortunate. In this context, your character's abhorrent behaviour in the game seems almost unremarkable.

Here's a good example of one of the satirical commercials heard on the radio stations of San Andreas. The ad is promoting author Mike Andrew's speaking tour in which he tries to convince people that, as his book's title puts it, Rags Are Riches:

Mike Andrews: "Understand that it's okay to be poor. There needs to be poor people. We rich are the yin. You are the yang. We need you!"

Man from Audience: "Mr Andrews, I've had a run of bad luck and I was wondering if the state could help me get back on my feet."

Andrews: "This is the negative kind of self-obsessed greedy talk that doesn't help anyone. My program will teach you a new outlook on life. Instead of complaining about being poor, enjoy it. Watch TV. Don't vote. Who cares?"

Man: "But I'm homeless"

Andrews: "You've got it all wrong. Society doesn't owe you anything. The government has better things to worry about, like killing innocent people. You already have everything you need, so enjoy your lives."

The game is filled with such satirical content, all of which position the crimes and violence perpetrated by your character (in San Andreas, you play African-American gang member Carl Johnson, known as CJ) against a background of increasing disparity between rich and poor and US government-sponsored violence against foreign populations.

The implication of a massive divide between the haves and the have-nots in American society is confirmed by your experiences as CJ within the game. While the conservative co-host of the in-game radio show "I Say, You Say" is promoting her segment on "people who don't have health care and are genuinely happy not to be burdened with it" and a caller to the "Tight End Zone" sports show says the city should be "clearing out more housing projects for golf courses," you can drive through Los Santos (Grand Theft Auto's take on Los Angeles) and witness firsthand the stark differences in lifestyle between the impoverished ghettoes of Ganton and Las Colinas and the posh mansions of the Mulholland and Richman neighbourhoods. When you hear an ad for "creative plastic surgery" telling you that not being perfect is un-American, you may be driving through one of the rundown trailer parks and shantytowns that dot the San Andreas countryside and instantly realize the huge discrepancy between the ad's message and the reality of the world you're experiencing.

The content on the radio stations also makes it clear that these disparities are not accidental. They are the direct result of the economic and social policies of the United States government. Hosted by husband-and-wife team Peyton and Mary Phillips, "I Say, You Say" pokes fun at the brand of confrontational debate shows that pit a left-wing and right-wing host against each other to discuss issues of the day (the verb "discuss" here meaning "to incrementally raise one's voice while repeating the same points over and over again"). Erudite Peyton sums up the couple's differing opinions on how the country should be run: "Is it, as I think, a case of share and share-alike, love your fellow man, and all wear matching jumpsuits while working on a hydroponic farm growing potatoes? Or kill or be killed, crush the weak, starve the poor, as my wonderful wife thinks?"

Mary is a rabid conservative - think Ann Coulter without even the pretense of a conscience - and her comments offer a hyperbolic glimpse into the particular kind of capitalist mindset that rules modern America. On whether smoking should be banned, she says: "Well, this is a simple issue. Democracy at work again in our state. Seems like a good thing when you first look at it, but democracy only works when you agree with it. Then it's best to favour a totalitarian state." When a caller admits to having killed several illegal immigrants and asks if he can get a tax break for his crimes, Mary is enthusiastic: "Ask your accountant if you can register them as dependents. Then, hide most of your net worth offshore in a complex money-laundering scheme designed to support the drugs trade. Then you can pay virtually no taxes and complain about how awful you think the whole country is, knowing you're doing as little as possible to help. Yes, it's a great opportunity for some profit-centric thinking."

Grand Theft Auto certainly doesn't portray the United States as a free market utopia. As well as unflinchingly exposing the country's class divisions (much like the films Boyz in Da Hood or Menace II Society from which San Andreas draws a lot of inspiration), the radio content characterizes American capitalism as corrupt and dishonest. Commercials for the fast-food chain Cluckin' Bell draw attention to the company's horrendous treatment of animals, disgusting environmental record, and its regular use of political bribes to avoid criminal prosecution. A particularly funny public service announcement that discourages parents from buying an "outdated" and "dangerous" bicycle for their children - "Don't let your teenager drive a bicycle. Be a mother, not a murderer." - is suspiciously co-sponsored by the San Andreas governor's office and the Maibatsu Car company.

Politicians and corporations are clearly not to be trusted, but you can't count on San Andreas' media to hold them accountable. Talk radio station WCTR is a brutal parody of the way corporate interests control American news. Owned by the Ammu-Nation chain of gun retailers (purveyors of "everything to make you feel manly and patriotic"), WCTR's station identification messages facetiously identify it as bringing you the "news and talk that our sponsors agree on" as well as "all the news the government wants you to hear."

San Andreas falls somewhere between the X-Files, Oliver Stone's JFK, and Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 in its portrayal of the US government as fundamentally dishonest and corrupt. The WCTR news (whose Rupert Murdoch-approved slogan is "we distort, you can't retort") offers a glimpse into the secret operations that the American government is undertaking in foreign countries and the media's complicity in keeping information about such activities away from the public. "Finally, in foreign news, a suspected US agent was caught in Panama selling weaponry to right-wing guerillas causing a major incident," one report begins before the broadcaster continues at a much faster pace. "But we plan mostly to gloss over the implications and hope you enjoy some sporting activity tonight."

This political satire soon becomes a major part of the game's plot as your character finds himself taking orders from a government agent involved in "battling threats in Latin America by any means necessary." His methods include trading and dealing drugs to raise money for "overseas interests" as well as "financing militaristic dictators in exchange for arms contracts." And while the government's tactics are highly illegal, the agent justifies them as the only way to protect the United States and, specifically, its capitalist culture. "Kids like you, you expect heroes," he yells at CJ. "We're fighting a war out there! I'll be a hero and I'll lose. And what'll we have? Communism in Ohio. People sharing. Nobody buying stuff. That kinda bullshit."

This is the America of San Andreas pared down to its essence: a place where violence and crime are simply tools for making money. If this is the context in which you immerse yourself while playing the game, then your criminal behaviour as CJ fits in perfectly. Your lawlessness simply conforms to the standards set by the leaders of American society.

Like all great satires, Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas forces its audience to look at themselves in an unforgiving mirror. "The point is: you and me Carl, we're the same," the US agent explains. While CJ engages in a state-wide spree of murder and mayhem, the American government and US businesses are busy sowing violence and conflict all over the world while letting thousands of its own citizens languish in poverty. It's not surprising that many people don't like what they see in a Grand Theft Auto game; it's not a flattering image. But while gamers pretending to kill prostitutes is certainly disturbing behaviour, in the grand scheme of things, the virtual crimes committed in San Andreas are nothing compared to the real ones being perpetrated every day that go unnoticed. Hopefully, non-gamers still have some moral outrage left to share.

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