Amid the carnage I almost miss the pop-up message proclaiming the general to be dead and the mission complete. Emerging from the tank I take a moment to survey my handiwork: the base has been reduced to rubble; all burnt out buildings and twisted ragdoll corpses.
The brief moment of reflection on life, loss, and the eternal struggle for freedom is broken by my companion, Guapo – an alligator wearing what looks like Evil Kenevil’s jacket and whose name translates to ‘handsome’ in Spanish. He gives me a look I interpret as suggesting he’s as aware of the ridiculousness of the situation but that we’ve all got our jobs to do, and then pads off towards the next waypoint. Viva la revolucion!
Perversely (or, perhaps, astutely), as the Far Cry franchise’s settings have become more recognisably real-world (the Himalayas, Montana), its relationship with reality has become ever more frayed.
Anyone coming to Yara, this sixth instalment’s thinly fictionalised facsimile of Cuba, expecting nuanced political commentary, insight into the dynamics of oppressive dictatorships, or even a cohesive character arc, will be sorely disappointed. It’s a sandbox stuffed with landmines; a high-definition Hollywood backlot designed to be blown up in as many ways as possible,
Taken at face value, this is fine. Fun even. Far Cry 6 is a game in which you play a freedom fighter armed with jerry-rigged ‘Supremo’ weapons powered by pilfered uranium and which fire poison grenades capable of making your enemies switch sides and attack each other. Despite the photo-realistic scenery at no point will you be in danger of confusing this with a Santiago Alvarez documentary.
That said, there are frequent jarring juxtapositions of tone. The writers of Far Cry 6’s main plotlines want to tell serious tales of sacrifice and loss that pick away at the futile cycle of conflict but they’re constantly interrupted by moments of staggering silliness, such as the optional cockfights which play out like games of Street Fighter.
