The term “Dystopia” is thrown around all too often, usually as a uncritical hair-trigger response when describing something that looks remotely futuristic and glum. “Cyberpunk” suffers the same fate, especially whenever dark city streets are bathed in a rich, neon glow. For better or worse, Dontnod’s exploration of a Neo-Parisian society in the year 2084 ticks all of these boxes and then some, but in the midst of a sea of cliches, Remember Me’s segregated cityscape tells a more grounded story focused on the divisive impact technologically-guided societies can have on their populace. Set in a world where memories have become commodities, to be consumed as goods, altered at will, and influenced to change the perception of history, the oppressive nature of technology and the power it affords those at the top to sway and influence society is portrayed to its extremes, echoing our own world’s tendency for technological innovation to take priority over basic human welfare.
Sitting somewhere in social limbo, the inhabitants of Slum 404 aren’t so far removed “les classes dangereuses”
Despite its historical charm, Paris has a longstanding precedent of inequality especially when it comes handling the living conditions of anyone considered to be “other”; Be they of colour, within the poverty line, of foreign descent, or otherwise considered to be undesirable. Today modern Paris suffers from the unofficial segregation that rose from the existence of the Banlieues—suburbs and slums sitting outside of the sphere of wealth and influence of the capital’s central focal points. This isn’t a contemporary issue though, and the ideology of separating and distancing the elite and powerful from those less fortunate stems from the legacy of Georges-Eugène Haussmann’s 19th century transformative reimagining of the foundations of central Paris. What’s interesting is how Remember Me’s abundance of pristine high-rises mimics the same principles of Haussmann’s design—just as he inadvertently, or perhaps purposefully, pushed the lower classes towards the outskirts of the city, so too Remember Me’s elite seek to push the lower classes further downwards, towards the lowest levels of the city.
There’s a sense of mockery that comes from living in the shadow of a sea of highrises
The use of this oppressive verticality seeks to establish the attitudes towards Remember Me’s lower class as nothing more than refuse to be forgotten and discarded. It’s here that the game’s protagonist Nilin first meets the Leapers, an outcast group of malformed citizens that act as a stand in for victims of substance abuse which in this case comes in the form of corrupted memories. Their home rests at the very foot of the social pyramid, with piles of scrap and decaying material littering the hallways of their subterranean tunnels. Natural light in these chambers is almost non-existent as the Leaper homestead is overshadowed by the world above, leaving sporadic beacons and harsh spotlights to pierce through the darkness.
The Leapers domain extends far beyond the sewer system however, and as Nilin dives deeper into their territory it’s clear that even places can be discarded and forgotten by the upper echelons. An abandoned subway sits at the heart of the colony, decaying amongst the dampened squalor of its new inhabitants. Its one function as a place of mass transit contrasted against its disrepair as litter and maddened graffiti stretch out across its once clean walkways, with billboards and advertisements vainly attempting to attract the eyes of its disconnected passengers.
When surface light finally breaks through to the lower regions, it casts an overbearing an oppressive shadow of those living within the slums below. Sitting somewhere in social limbo, the inhabitants of Slum 404 aren’t so far removed “les classes dangereuses”, a phrase commonly used by the Parisian elite of Haussmann’s time to describe the working class inhabitants of poorer districts. Remember Me’s own “dangerous class” are expected to live in a community that depends heavily on technology to manage everything from doorways to memories and moods without ever truly being able to obtain the power that comes with these technological advancements. This is perhaps most evident in the way they’ve constructed their makeshift homes. Rusted metal sheets and wrought iron bars make up the rickety walkways that weave incoherently across tiered housing along the nearby waterways. Shanty houses built from whatever was at hand provides shelter for those unfortunate enough to call this home, and the abundance of graffiti sprawled across the walls serves as a social thermometer to the struggles of those within.
The domain of those in power is almost blindingly pristine
There’s a sense of mockery that comes from living in the shadow of a sea of highrises. Glimpses of a more comfortable life can be seen through the tangled web of cables and exposed machinery that drape across the fractured pathways and catwalks. Slum 404 is spared no indignation with its close proximity and reliance to the world above, as those living within are constantly bombarded by digital billboards, advertisements, and drones all trying to sell them on products and services they’ve all but been shut off from. The invasive nature of the memory-driven technology that exists within this world prevents any escape or respite, as even augmented reality is employed as a way to display messages, commands, adverts and more directly onto the world, allowing those with power the ability to contort and shape the landscape itself to serve their own ends.
Held aloft by their wealth, the richest and most influential citizens of Neo-Paris sit at the top of the numerous high rises that perforate the skyline of the Saint-Michel district, a testament to their perceived superiority to those below and to their arrogance towards the society over which they rule. Architects, corporate chiefs, military personnel and more claim this aerial circle as their own, and just as the lower regions sit in decay and disrepair, the domain of those in power is almost blindingly pristine. Tiny pockets of foliage line the streets, punctuating the doorways to a number of boutiques and kitsch cafes. Marble statues stand at every corner depicting the vanity of those that call this home, stripping away the cultural significance of their place in the city’s heritage to become something much more soulless. A golden trim lines the edifice of an open-plan shopping plaza, encircling a large angelic figure portrayed mid-subjugation of someone under foot. Even the storefronts go so far as to mock the plight of those below, with cafes bearing names like “Leapers and Liqueurs” cementing the disdain and disinterest of those considered beneath them.
Allowing those with power the ability to contort and shape the landscape itself to serve their own ends
Exploring the vast open spaces and towering buildings that hang above the city reveals a clinical, almost geometrically abstract approach to their design that is reminiscent of Daniel Brown’s exploration of algorithmically generated dystopian cityscapes. In his series “Dantilon: The Brutal Deluxe” Brown explores the brutalist nature of the quintessential horizons we come to expect from these future cities, and its striking how similar these computer generated scenes come to the design of those seen in Remember Me. We see angular, functional compartments stacked in precise order and devoid of much, if any, human input. We also see an erasure of the Parisian architectural flair as the newer structures drop any attempts to mirror the external detail shown on the older buildings. Balconies, accents, and decorative additions are all but forgotten and left behind as the wealthy push ever upwards, away from the past and from those they’ve deemed unworthy to keep around.
The Heterotopias Summer Sale is now on, offering all four issues bundled together for 30% off and 15% off on individual issues. Get over 400 pages of photo essays, criticism and mappings of game spaces and architecture here.
Thank you for your support!
The term “Dystopia” is thrown around all too often, usually as a uncritical hair-trigger response when describing something that looks remotely futuristic and glum. “Cyberpunk” suffers the same fate, especially whenever dark city streets are bathed in a rich, neon glow. For better or worse, Dontnod’s exploration of a Neo-Parisian society in the year 2084 ticks all of these boxes and then some, but in the midst of a sea of cliches, Remember Me’s segregated cityscape tells a more grounded story focused on the divisive impact technologically-guided societies can have on their populace. Set in a world where memories have become commodities, to be consumed as goods, altered at will, and influenced to change the perception of history, the oppressive nature of technology and the power it affords those at the top to sway and influence society is portrayed to its extremes, echoing our own world’s tendency for technological innovation to take priority over basic human welfare.
Despite its historical charm, Paris has a longstanding precedent of inequality especially when it comes handling the living conditions of anyone considered to be “other”; Be they of colour, within the poverty line, of foreign descent, or otherwise considered to be undesirable. Today modern Paris suffers from the unofficial segregation that rose from the existence of the Banlieues—suburbs and slums sitting outside of the sphere of wealth and influence of the capital’s central focal points. This isn’t a contemporary issue though, and the ideology of separating and distancing the elite and powerful from those less fortunate stems from the legacy of Georges-Eugène Haussmann’s 19th century transformative reimagining of the foundations of central Paris. What’s interesting is how Remember Me’s abundance of pristine high-rises mimics the same principles of Haussmann’s design—just as he inadvertently, or perhaps purposefully, pushed the lower classes towards the outskirts of the city, so too Remember Me’s elite seek to push the lower classes further downwards, towards the lowest levels of the city.
The use of this oppressive verticality seeks to establish the attitudes towards Remember Me’s lower class as nothing more than refuse to be forgotten and discarded. It’s here that the game’s protagonist Nilin first meets the Leapers, an outcast group of malformed citizens that act as a stand in for victims of substance abuse which in this case comes in the form of corrupted memories. Their home rests at the very foot of the social pyramid, with piles of scrap and decaying material littering the hallways of their subterranean tunnels. Natural light in these chambers is almost non-existent as the Leaper homestead is overshadowed by the world above, leaving sporadic beacons and harsh spotlights to pierce through the darkness.
The Leapers domain extends far beyond the sewer system however, and as Nilin dives deeper into their territory it’s clear that even places can be discarded and forgotten by the upper echelons. An abandoned subway sits at the heart of the colony, decaying amongst the dampened squalor of its new inhabitants. Its one function as a place of mass transit contrasted against its disrepair as litter and maddened graffiti stretch out across its once clean walkways, with billboards and advertisements vainly attempting to attract the eyes of its disconnected passengers.
When surface light finally breaks through to the lower regions, it casts an overbearing an oppressive shadow of those living within the slums below. Sitting somewhere in social limbo, the inhabitants of Slum 404 aren’t so far removed “les classes dangereuses”, a phrase commonly used by the Parisian elite of Haussmann’s time to describe the working class inhabitants of poorer districts. Remember Me’s own “dangerous class” are expected to live in a community that depends heavily on technology to manage everything from doorways to memories and moods without ever truly being able to obtain the power that comes with these technological advancements. This is perhaps most evident in the way they’ve constructed their makeshift homes. Rusted metal sheets and wrought iron bars make up the rickety walkways that weave incoherently across tiered housing along the nearby waterways. Shanty houses built from whatever was at hand provides shelter for those unfortunate enough to call this home, and the abundance of graffiti sprawled across the walls serves as a social thermometer to the struggles of those within.
There’s a sense of mockery that comes from living in the shadow of a sea of highrises. Glimpses of a more comfortable life can be seen through the tangled web of cables and exposed machinery that drape across the fractured pathways and catwalks. Slum 404 is spared no indignation with its close proximity and reliance to the world above, as those living within are constantly bombarded by digital billboards, advertisements, and drones all trying to sell them on products and services they’ve all but been shut off from. The invasive nature of the memory-driven technology that exists within this world prevents any escape or respite, as even augmented reality is employed as a way to display messages, commands, adverts and more directly onto the world, allowing those with power the ability to contort and shape the landscape itself to serve their own ends.
Held aloft by their wealth, the richest and most influential citizens of Neo-Paris sit at the top of the numerous high rises that perforate the skyline of the Saint-Michel district, a testament to their perceived superiority to those below and to their arrogance towards the society over which they rule. Architects, corporate chiefs, military personnel and more claim this aerial circle as their own, and just as the lower regions sit in decay and disrepair, the domain of those in power is almost blindingly pristine. Tiny pockets of foliage line the streets, punctuating the doorways to a number of boutiques and kitsch cafes. Marble statues stand at every corner depicting the vanity of those that call this home, stripping away the cultural significance of their place in the city’s heritage to become something much more soulless. A golden trim lines the edifice of an open-plan shopping plaza, encircling a large angelic figure portrayed mid-subjugation of someone under foot. Even the storefronts go so far as to mock the plight of those below, with cafes bearing names like “Leapers and Liqueurs” cementing the disdain and disinterest of those considered beneath them.
Exploring the vast open spaces and towering buildings that hang above the city reveals a clinical, almost geometrically abstract approach to their design that is reminiscent of Daniel Brown’s exploration of algorithmically generated dystopian cityscapes. In his series “Dantilon: The Brutal Deluxe” Brown explores the brutalist nature of the quintessential horizons we come to expect from these future cities, and its striking how similar these computer generated scenes come to the design of those seen in Remember Me. We see angular, functional compartments stacked in precise order and devoid of much, if any, human input. We also see an erasure of the Parisian architectural flair as the newer structures drop any attempts to mirror the external detail shown on the older buildings. Balconies, accents, and decorative additions are all but forgotten and left behind as the wealthy push ever upwards, away from the past and from those they’ve deemed unworthy to keep around.
The Heterotopias Summer Sale is now on, offering all four issues bundled together for 30% off and 15% off on individual issues. Get over 400 pages of photo essays, criticism and mappings of game spaces and architecture here.
Thank you for your support!
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