Without reading the reviews beforehand, I expected a high-stakes robbery, potentially breaking into a museum or some other Indiana Jones-esque escapade from the title “Dr. Langeskov, The Tiger, and The Terribly Cursed Emerald: A Whirlwind Heist”. However, the game opens up with a decidedly benign and lackluster workroom, and you shortly find yourself making the ‘heist’ happen for another player. Though there are humorous lines and events interwoven throughout the gameplay, the rigid linear structure and single comedic focus reveal a big limitation of its design. Ultimately, Dr. Langeskov operates more as an interactive short story than a game, similar to an out of pocket joke that only really works once.
Don’t get me wrong, the overall premise of the game is pretty nifty. Advertising a high-stakes thriller with the implied anti-hero narrative, yet delivering on an unglamorous, albeit chaotic backstage experience is electric. However, the theatrics sugarcoat reality that there is very limited ‘play’. When I think of games, even story-based ones with limited freedom, there are still choices, branches, or interactions that lead players to want to replay them. However, in Dr. Langeskov, the buttons, papers on the ground, and levers are all an illusion and are effectively page-turners. The player has no control over the storyline, pretty much to the point that it is a traversable short film. There are no puzzles to solve or decisions to be made, and the only changes are slight dialogue adjustments.
This lack of player agency serves as a direct example for Roland Barthes’ central idea in “The Death of the Author.” Barthes argues that “To give an Author to a text is to impose upon that text a stop clause, to furnish it with a final signification, to close the writing.” (The Death of the Author, page 5) Through his flowery language, Barthes insists that the text’s true value and interpretability only come alive when we separate out the creator’s intent. Dr. Langeskov overwhelmingly ignores this separation. The panicked narrator constantly dictates each and every action, showing that the game creator remains in control. As the path is linear, the game imposes the ultimate “stop clause” on the player by banning any exploration or creation of your own meaning. Players are simply characters acting out lines in a script. This point of view highlights why the experience isn’t replayable: the player is never fully released to let their imagination run wild.
The overall value of the game is derived from its shock value and surprise. The initial reaction to the setup/premise, as well as all of the other chaotic and unexpected events, is funny but the impact is heavily front-loaded and dies off relatively quickly. I found myself wanting for specific scenes to finish and to be able to go on to the next stage. Especially towards the end, it felt like the fire scene and keypad scene were dragged out, and all of the lever and button mechanics had already been played out in earlier scenes. Without being able to explore new areas or alter the fate of any characters, replaying the game is effectively re-reading a short story where you already know the plot twist.
However, categorizing Dr. Langeskov as a short story instead of a game in the traditional sense doesn’t detract from its purpose; in fact, it offers a potential reframing of interactive media in general. Historically, gamers yearn for digital experiences that provide boundless content, a near-infinite replayability, and require an immense amount of time to master. Dr. Langeskov leverages the mechanics and medium of games to depict a short linear narrative, much like a skit or sketch comedy. I think these can have their place and value, especially in this case for an easily accessible (free) game.
Pugh’s work has great comedic timing and a novel meta level premise. However, it remains a fleeting and kind of ephemeral experience. Much like hearing a hilarious one-liner, we can laugh at the shock value, then move on, with no point in repeating it as we fail to extract much value from hearing it again. All in all, while it may lack the sprawling freedom that most games hold, Dr. Langeskov demonstrates that there is still value in a well-told story (just once).
