Say Misty For Me
I’m pretty much done with L. A. Noire now. It reached its thrilling conclusion. Dudes were shot. Flames were thrown (with a flamethrower). History was written by the victors. I got to be someone other than the douchey detective Cole Phelps for a wee while. And that was that. I believe there some free DLC available for it, but I’m not entirely sure I can be bothered.
As the credits rolled on the game I reminisced about all the characters I’d known and loved. Then I realised I could hardly remember any of them, because I just didn’t care about any of them. Except for one. The telephone operator.
In a world full of beautifully detailed, deeply forgettable faces, she was one of the only people who felt somewhat real. Admittedly she had rather inhuman abilities at looking things up in her files (she could tell you an address in a second or two!), but she felt real in a way that the mocapped people just didn’t.
Each time I called her on the phone and heard her answer, it felt briefly like I was connected to something my feet touched the ground. The rustling of papers as she looked something up had the feel of reality that the rest of the game simply lacked.
I will miss you, telephone lady.