
Harry Dean Stanton in Paris, Texas. His character in the film grapples with rebuilding a shattered life.
There’s a common narrative occurring for people whose lives have been touched by videogames in their formative years. First intrigued by the novelty of interaction and control, you become enamored with the concept of manipulating a digital avatar until you achieve a certain kind of mastery over the process. Timing thumbstick rotations with button presses becomes a second language. A fluency in the average game experience emerges.
Yet as you mature, the straightforward, childlike adventures you loved grow ever so slightly less appealing. You start to wonder why, when film, TV and literature address complex, deep subjects on a regular basis, games repeatedly serve up tropes of rescuing princesses and gunning down masked men.












