Medal of Honor: Above and Beyond review: frustratingly episodic

Medal of Honour: Above and Beyond is a frustratingly episodic experience, crippled by stop-start pacing and a “jack of all trades, master of none” mentality. At various points in this game, stemming of course from the popular FPS gaming franchise, we drive a jeep, operate a tank, fly a plane, fight in the trenches, and perform missions on foot as an Allied soldier in Europe during World War II. But nothing sticks. During the rare occasions when it gathers momentum, approaching something resembling an engaging rhythm, the developers demonstrate an annoying tendency to press the proverbial reset button and plonk us somewhere else—engaging in some other (soon to be interrupted) activity.

As you can tell: I was thoroughly irritated by Above and Beyond, and that’s without mentioning its long and dull dialogue sequences—in which you can’t wait for the jibber-jabber to end. After about two hours I was very happy to return from the virtual war and never go back. There was, however, a moment early on that jumped out, striking me as a fine example of how narrative-based solutions can address technological limitations of present era VR. This moment is a combination of tutorial and configuration sequence, as well as an interesting dramatic scenario, in which we find ourselves lying on a stretcher in an infirmary after suffering injuries on the battleground in Tunisia. 

The event that caused these injuries occurred during an act of bravery that transpired just before the narrative begins. Which is a bit of a cop-out: as if the developers thought it was too hard to stage this important, story-triggering event, and said to hell with it—we’ll just refer to it through dialogue. Injuries have left us unable to speak, establishing a justification for our lack of ability to verbally communicate with (or be understood by) non-player characters. Instead of operating an immersion-breaking dialogue tree, we’re instructed to use hand gestures such as thumbs up or thumbs down—a simple but novel solution, germane to the reality of this world. 

The scene in question is presented as an optional “interactive exam,” administered by the clipboard-wielding Dr Thatch, who is positioned to our right. Thatch reestablishes our lack of speech and proposes an alternative: “I know you’re having some trouble speaking after what happened in Tunisia, so let’s just use hand gestures, eh?” The doctor then rolls out a series of questions and assigns a set of tasks. He asks us to pick up a pistol that appears on a bedside tray, for instance, and presents other, more configure-y options, i.e. choosing between smooth or flick turning. 

These options appear in non-diegetic boxes, which are unnecessary and remind us we’re participating in a mediated experience. But at least we confirm our selections with a thumbs up or thumbs down. This part of the production embraces scholar Marie-Laure Ryan’s salient observation, made in her book Narrative as Virtual Reality, that in VR—like in real-life—“all action passes through the body.” 

This early scene on the stretcher, with us unable to move or speak, also reminded me of Dalton Trumbo’s 1971 film Johnny Got His Gun, which focuses on an American soldier who sustains horrific injuries on the WWI battlefield, losing all his limbs and leaving him unable to see, speak, hear or move. Often in VR we feel like Johnny—experiencing presence in the virtual world but frustratingly little agency or input.

Having the protagonist unable to speak through Above and Beyond, communicating only by hand gestures, could’ve transformed a limitation into a story event with interesting narrative and gameplay consequences. Sadly, however, Above and Beyond does little with it, most of the time seeming to forget about it entirely. Occasionally the need for gestures resurfaces: about an hour in, for instance, a colonel faces us and asks whether we’d like to join the OSS (Office of Strategic Services) and we answer with a thumbs up or thumbs down. The “thumbs up, thumbs down” thing could’ve gotten old pretty quickly, but it’s an excellent idea—giving this frustratingly higgledy-piggledy experience a modicum of innovation.