Righto, then. Let’s talk a bit about computer games. Being a shy and somewhat awkward teenager, a lot of the most memorable experiences of my secondary school years came vicariously from a games console or our just-about-operational-most-of-the-time PC. I explored Super Mario World many times, I braved the twisted forests of Hyrule’s Dark World. I choked down a lump in my throat when Aeris died and I’ve had the waltz music from Balamb Garden’s graduation ball stuck in my head since 1999. None of that has much place in a Classics blog.
Instead I’m going to talk about the only game series from my teenage years that genuinely intersects with Classics and archaeology in a more or less (probably less) meaningful way: Tomb Raider. A lot has been written about Tomb Raider over the years. It was one of those era-defining games which breached the ramparts of even the most mainstream of media awareness. Alongside its contemporary, Super Mario 64, it’s credited with effectively defining the 3D platform-game genre when it was released in 1996. Its main character, Lara Croft, became a 90s pop-culture icon and she’s still by far the most famous female video game character. It’s on this – and her supposed appeal to legions of teenaged boys – that most commentary about the game has focused.
The thing is, as a boy whose teenage years almost perfectly map with the original games (I bought the first one in 1997 when I was thirteen and got each instalment until Tomb Raider Chronicles in late 2000, just before my seventeenth birthday), it was never about Lara. At least not in the sense that the popular stereotype would have it. That old cliché does a disservice both to the developers and to the people who enjoyed the games. The dubious charms of her cuboid derrière or appropriately pyramidal bosom were not what attracted me to the series. I found her screams and breathy grunts little more than embarrassing. As a main character she wasn’t an object to be lusted after – honestly, even shy teenaged boys aren’t that undiscerning! She was an avatar. Just like Mario or Link or Cloud Strife, she was a figure I could inhabit to explore a world. Her gender was irrelevant.
What I loved were the tombs themselves. From the opening section in Peru’s Lost City of Vilcabamba (a real place, though less snowbound and dinosaur-infested than it was depicted in the game), through Egyptian ruins, to the strange, bacony architecture of long-lost Atlantis, the original Tomb Raider struck a slow, quiet, and memorably solitary pace through a succession of magisterial forgotten ruins. The setting is in stark contrast to the modern cities and military installations infested with gun-toting villains which became de rigeur from the first sequel onward. First time out, it was all about the tombs, and wonderful they were. As you’d expect in a game which no-one could have foreseen would go on to spawn such an enduring franchise, the makers blow all the most obvious ancient civilisations in the very first game: Inca, Egypt and Ancient Grome. Continue reading