Pragmata Is The Antidote To The Last Of Us

I don’t intend to have children. Thanks to the miracles of hormone replacement therapy, I’m not sure if I could even if I tried. But I'd be damned if Pragmata didn’t make me desperate to raise a little android girl and protect her with my entire life.

Hugh Williams and Diana’s relationship throughout Capcom’s heartwarming sci-fi shooter is sickeningly sweet, with the stranded astronaut quickly taking the android under his wing and vowing to get them both back home to Earth by any means necessary. A tall order, but Hugh takes the magnitude of this task in his stride while ensuring that Diana gets her first chance in life to feel, act, and think like a child should. She has fun, and gets to play with toys, but remains constantly aware of the sheer gravity of her situation.

In a landscape of triple-A prestige video games where so many stories revolve around father figures trying to learn how to empathise and connect with their children by unpacking a slew of complicated trauma, it’s oddly refreshing to receive a subversive tale where the positives surrounding fatherhood are celebrated. Is it unrealistic? Potentially. But it’s so much fun.

Why Do Video Games Have So Many Sad Dads?

Video games used to be — and in some ways very much still are — a massive boy’s club. The vast majority of video games are helmed by straight cisgender men, and as a consequence, it’s common to see masculine ideas and trains of thought prevail in the finished product. There’s more diversity behind the scenes now, though the majority remains the majority. Games were in their infancy and so were many of the people and technologies responsible for giving them life.

Cory Barlog was just entering his thirties during the development of God of War 2 for PS2, a project in which he took on the role of director for the first time in his career. He was younger, more willing to dedicate brutally late nights to crunch, and ignore his own health if it meant a truly incredible game was the end result. I’d recommend going back and watching the terrific documentary on the sequel’s development and comparing it to the one released shortly after the 2018 reboot and compare how Barlog not only changed as a developer, but as a person, in the decade and change that separated both projects.

He appears more empathetic, more creative, and more mature. He’s become a father as well, something that became an integral influence on the characters, narrative, and overall tone of God of War’s masterful Norse saga. Kratos grew from a former god obsessed with revenge who brutally murdered his family into a man trying to learn from past mistakes.

Before you come at me, I’m not ignorant to the fact that earlier God of War games also explored the complicated circumstances behind Kratos slaughtering his family, but much of the original trilogy still prioritises anger over empathy and regret.

But Kratos is trying to grow as a man while also dealing with the grief of losing his wife and trying to raise Atreus, a young man he is desperately trying to prevent following in his dark footsteps. The first game is a triumph in character reformation, as the Kratos we grew up with and know as a bloodthirsty killer is presented as a man trying to keep his anger in check, and learning how to be more caring while never appearing weak. In this world you must be strong in order to survive, especially as a former god people have reasons to be fearful of.

The entire game feels like a reflection of Barlog’s own role as a father, and how being responsible for another life forces men to become more mature, considered, and abandon unhealthy masculine ideals that once defined them.

But this life change also brings with it considerable guilt, trauma, and re-examination of worth and purpose I have to imagine so many new parents go through. Ragnarok would expand upon this narrative conceit as we watch Kratos and Atreus grow further apart, only to reunite just as they need each other most. It’s incredibly profound, but also goes out of its way to avoid showcasing the joys of fatherhood.

Another obvious example is The Last of Us, in which you play a father figure who is yet again defined by decades of trauma and loss that shape how he approaches the care of a young child that falls under his wing. Joel Miller never got over the tragic loss of his daughter, nor would I ever expect him to, and this trauma immediately influences his bond with Ellie.

It’s only after the two are able to spend sufficient time together and work through their distinct emotions that Joel’s lighthearted nature begins to return. But even into the second game, days before his untimely death, it feels like Joel is holding back in fear of being hurt again.

Pragmata’s story isn’t as complicated nor thematically rich as either of these games, but its depiction of fatherhood understands that sometimes it’s okay to spin a yarn that isn’t heavily defined by the trauma of bringing another soul into this world. There is always hardship and sacrifice associated with parenthood, but sometimes it’s okay to champion the equal amount of joy that also makes up a large part of it.

Pragmata Isn’t Afraid To Embrace The Joys Of Parenthood

Capcom must have looked at the increasing popularity of parent and child stories in gaming and tried to think of a new means of telling this story without retreading familiar ground. The development team could have created a game where Diana is essentially treated as a hyper-intelligent pet you spoil with gifts back at The Shelter and nothing more. While this mechanic does feature in the finished product, she is also a character all her own with a unique perspective reminiscent of both an innocent child and an intelligent being wise beyond her years.

Hugh can relax on simulated beaches and campgrounds with her before playing a bit of hide and seek, but these fleeting moments of childhood wonder are consistently buffered by well-written dialogue that explores the harsh realities of growing up. Hugh consistently tells Diana that life is filled with beauty and potential but also reminds her of the dangers normal life can throw at people, how there will come a time to take responsibility for yourself and the people you care about. It’s delivered in a predictably saccharine manner, but I love that the balance is there, and neither perspective is ever discounted.

Some of my favourite parts of Pragmata are the conversations that unfold when you are exploring the game world. Diana is a naturally curious creation and will ask things you would expect a young kid to ask, even if beneath it all she’s a super-intelligent android.

While I won’t delve deeply into spoilers here, Pragmata is also a story about loss and the processing of grief from the perspective of both children and adults. Loss isn’t something you start experiencing once you’ve grown up, it’s a constant throughout life that is destined to be explained and processed in countless different ways.

Diana has lost the scientist who initially brought her to life and now exists without a purpose, while Hugh has to deal with the sudden death of his crew and clings onto Diana as a means to express his emotions and offer up a purpose to make it back home beyond saving himself.

This through line of melancholy is impossible to ignore throughout Pragmata, but the joy that Hugh and Diana draw from one another’s existence even amidst dire circumstances remains the core focus. How bringing someone into this world and teaching them right and wrong can be more than just an elaborate expulsion of one’s own trauma. It’s a part of this story, but does not define it. If we are going to keep on getting games like this, I hope they aren’t afraid to learn from Pragmata.