The city of Los Santos, fifteen years just after it appeared in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, is a sight for the misty-eyed. But exactly where does the mist come from? Is it a fog of nostalgic tears? Is it the graphics, which, powered by the PlayStation two, appear to sweat? Or is it rather that the streets are glimpsed behind the glass of a CRT tv (as they have been for me these final handful of weeks)? Possibly it is all of the above, plus the way the art path – performed by Aaron Garbut and Alex Horton – favours colour more than crisp lines. The ground is a grey blur and the buildings melt into a sky the hue of honey.
It is all incredibly hot, which is fitting for a game set in the permasummer of the West Coast of America, in 1992, and which released, in 2004, amidst a haze of hype and controversy. It would be affordable to assume that my memory of it would have acquired a related fuzz. It has not. If something, the years considering the fact that the release of San Andreas have cooled and clarified my recollections of it certainly, it appears extra vivid than Grand Theft Auto IV and Grand Theft Auto V. Why on earth really should that be the case? One particular answer is straightforward: the voices. The game is jammed with A-list Hollywood talent and encrusted with uncredited gems: Geoffrey Cantor, Couzin Ed, Andy Dick, Patton Oswalt, Fred Melamed, Marge Redmond, Joe Lo Truglio, Jackie Hoffman, Wil Wheaton, Kenneth Choi, Ken Foree. All supplied the voices of pedestrians or wafted on the radio waves.
Add to that the primary cast: the likes of Samuel L. Jackson, James Woods, Chris Penn, Frank Vincent, Debi Mazar, William Fichtner, and Peter Fonda. Or, to be precise: Jules Winnfield from Pulp Fiction, Lester Diamond from Casino, Good Guy Eddie from Reservoir Dogs, Billy Batts and Sandy from Goodfellas, Roger Van Zant from Heat, and Wyatt from Quick Rider. Aside from the prestige of pulling in actors that normally throng the silver screen, possibly even extra priceless is the notion of populating a game with a gang of prepared-famed crooks. If there is a single theme that permeates the bulk of Rockstar’s back catalogue, it is America in distinct, the way that crime rolls via the nation and its history like a river of rusty water. San Andreas grasps at its topic by filtering it via the founding myths of the films, just as an adolescent plasters their walls with posters.
Precisely the sort of adolescent, in truth, described in the book Jacked: The Outlaw Story of Grand Theft Auto, written by David Kushner, which information the history of the franchise. Kushner describes the salad days of Rockstar Games’ president and co-founder, Sam Houser, for the duration of a time in which he ‘wore his hair long’ and ‘let his footwear scuff’: ‘He’d trudge down to the nearby library, checking out videotapes of crime films: The Getaway, The French Connection, The Wild Bunch, The Warriors.’ San Andreas marks the final occasion on which Rockstar furnished a game with a complete-powered celebrity voice cast the latter Grand Theft Auto games and each Red Dead Redemption and its prequel, Red Dead Redemption II, opt for relative unknowns. It is as although the studio decided, in paring back the splashy casts, to manufacture its personal myths.
Could it be that the explanation San Andreas burns extra brightly in my thoughts is that Rockstar has been significantly less effective in the forging of its personal legends than in the glittering, interactive realisation of these that currently linger in our collective moviegoing subconscious? As Aaron Garbut puts it, in Kushner’s account of the improvement of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City, ‘The aim is to make the player really feel like he’s starring in his personal fucked-up Scorsese cartoon.’ And but, strange to inform, the joy of playing San Andreas – now as it was fifteen years ago – is borne of some thing extra innocent, significantly less fucked-up. Of the game’s brightest stars, the only actor who does not totally match the criminal profile is Peter Fonda, yet another man who wore his hair extended and let his footwear scuff, who plays a dope-fogged hippie known as The Truth. Fonda was extra of an outlaw than a hoodlum, and his renowned line, spoken in The Wild Angels, sums up the straightforward appeal of the series completely: ‘We wanna be totally free to do what we wanna do. We wanna be totally free to ride.’
On the complete, it is a sentiment with which I will not quibble, getting enjoyed scores of open-planet games that would be neither as open nor as worldly have been it not for San Andreas. But there are a couple of caveats. I come about to have began The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild this month (I’m firmly of the belief that the new really should be taken with a excellent assisting of the old), and I identified myself greeted by the game’s sense of freedom as a single would embrace an abyss. It was so abruptly and brilliantly huge it was as well a great deal to take, and I identified myself clamming up and clicking the Switch to sleep. Thank God I had the opening of San Andreas to retreat to, which sees its hero, CJ, landing in Los Santos just after a stint on the East Coast. I often believed it as well slow back then – clotted by Rockstar’s self-assurance. Now I appreciate the groundwork.
The leisurely pace, the liberal peppering of cutscenes, and the low-rent flavour of the early missions, which drum the nearby geography into your brain: there is a dated sense of slow ritual to San Andreas. It is not so a great deal a willingness to make pricey demands of our patience (which, on the proof of the opening hours of Red Dead Redemption II, Rockstar is nonetheless plainly empowered to do) but extra of an understanding that an appetite for freedom and excitement is all the extra potent for getting reared in restraint and revved up by the low-essential. Therefore the early missions, which have you riding bikes, spraying graffiti, and ferrying your mates about town – to quick meals drive-throughs and into back-alleys to invest in guns. It is this, more than a decade on, that I blame for my adore of open-planet languor: my attachment to the early game that has me hanging back just before the half-way point.
And there is nonetheless no other game I would rather play when it comes to the art of hanging back, even if it implies lugging an archaic lump of plastic and glass onto my coffee table. There is practically nothing in Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas that is anyplace close to as damned by the roaring torrent of time as the term ‘portable tv,’ which has acquired an irony nearly as acute as the back discomfort that awaits these who would try to honour such a descriptor. Nonetheless, I would advocate employing a single, if you can for a single factor, it implies playing the game as it was meant to be played, rather than a remaster, which, to my eyes, appears to scour the game’s surfaces, thinning the paint, so to speak. For yet another, it implies you will be playing the game on either a PlayStation two or an Xbox.
I say this not for the reason that I stay helplessly in thrall to hardware of a specific vintage but for the reason that it certifies a complete soundtrack. The greatest harm performed to San Andreas, as the years have fallen away, is the expiration of a quantity of its music licences. I Do not Give A Fuck, by 2Pac Hood Took Me Below, by Compton’s Most Wanted Express Oneself, by NWA Operating Away, by Roy Ayers You Dropped A Bomb On Me, by The Gap Band Operating Down A Dream, by Tom Petty Lady To Lady, by Joe Cocker Funky President, by James Brown Hellraiser, by Ozzy Osbourne Killing In The Name, by Rage Against the Machine and various extra have been reduce from later digital copies of the game. The believed of playing the PlayStation four version bears the weight of heresy.
That could sound melodramatic – and playing it in any form is a pleasure I wholly endorse – but San Andreas has grow to be a sort of record, and any chips and scratches in its legacy are a matter of grievous alarm. Aside from a welcome dose of delirium, my time in Los Santos has been salted with sadness. I hadn’t realised that it had enshrined a quantity of souls no longer with us: Chris Penn died in 2006, Frank Vincent in 2017, and Peter Fonda just this year, in August. They reside on in their films, but I urge you to devote some time in their firm, along with a chorus of other voices and songs, in a game that tends to make you really feel like you are gazing via a greasy window into the previous, and hearing, in spite of the autumn chill outdoors, the frozen sounds of a distant summer time.