Prison sucks. It’s kind of the polar opposite of a theme park; few people actually want to be there, children aren’t allowed, mixing genders is nearly unheard of, and admission—both acceptance and cost—is angrily paid for by other people. Prison especially sucks in the United States, where for-profit facilities often make questionable use of inmates and may or may not be reinforcing the school-to-prison pipeline. Culturally or Economically making sense of all of this has to be one of the most demanding and least fruitful jobs available, and I’d rather run the gamut of Dirty Jobs than acquire the education and perseverance necessary to deal with any of it.
With all of that in mind, I was still open to Prison Architect, a game about effectively designing and operating a prison. After all, real people wouldn’t be affected by the callous and commercially motivated arrangements made under my decree. In 2013, in the process of reviewing Papers, Please,I had already learned that falling prey to any plight of the downtrodden negatively affected my performance in the game, transitioning my in-game persona from an honest citizen to a nihilistic misanthrope. Prison Architect appeared to be gunning for the same sentiment, transitioning my assignment from a nuts-and-bolts appraisal of its simulation into rumination on the effectiveness of its message. With all of that in mind, it is necessary to detail a bit of the machine built to make Prison Architect work.
From the outside, Prison Architect appears to be a hundred thousand systems shaking hands with one another and creating varying amounts of conflict and accord. In its open, pure simulation mode you’re charged with the task of building a prison facility from scratch and maintaining the illusion of control over everything that happens there. Time happens at a minute an hour, and cash (which can be generous upfront) needs to be generated in order to continue building facilities, paying staff, and dealing with an incredible series of escalating problems. It’s hard to know where to begin (especially if you elect to save the campaign, which is also a tutorial, for later) so you start where it’s simple.
I needed to create a building for all of my incoming prisoners. Before I could do that I needed to make a foundation then designate the nature of that building, but I got hung-up trying to make that happen with a DualShock 4. While I was figuring that out, 24 hours of in-game time passed, and my first order of prisoners arrived and I had nothing to do with them because I forgot to build a reception area and also literally anything else. Hours later half of my facility was on fire and mostly everyone, staff and inmates, were dead and it was probably time to see what that campaign was all about.
Prison Architect’s five part campaign, which you should play immediately if it’s your first time with the game, is a bit gentler. It sets the player off with a basic set of instructions, doesn’t charge them with the task of managing unforeseen variables, and generally gives you enough to cash to make dozens of ill-advised investments in the facility. It also provides a mostly-done prison in need of one or two things, the likes of which it walks you through. I learned how to make buildings, hire workers, and create underground supply lines for water and electricity. I noticed that every single inmate has a personal profile, complete with a list of attributes that could be interpreted as strengths and weaknesses alongside their fellow prisoners.
I also learned that, per the CEO constantly buzzing in my ear, one of these guys had been sentence to death and needed to be electrocuted. For this to happen I also had to build a containment area/room before the actual kill room. I also had to build the kill room. Treated to a short vignette of this particular individual’s transgression, a premeditated double murder involving his wife and another man, the CEO made sure to tell me not to worry about it. A jury had found him guilty and I was merely carrying out the sentence dictated by the judicial system. Of course, by telling me not to care about it Prison Architect was explicitly telling me to care about it.
In an ideal situation, this sentiment persists throughout the entirety of your time with Prison Architect. Every unscheduled riot, every worker or janitor caught in the crossfire, and every troublemaker you have to discipline should add weight to the scale of your soul. This lasts for a while, especially when you’re given the option to institute recovery programs instead of straight discipline, and possibly find yourself getting attached to an NPC here and there. Eventually, however, Prison Architect transitions from an empathy generator to a numbers game. This is expected, Prison Architect doesn’t seek to operate as anything else, but, unlike Papers, Please, its nature and its length can’t support a longer emotional investment. It’s not that kind of game.
What Prison Architect has, and what it expects you to spend the time and brain space investing is, is heaps of systems operating over stacks of other systems. Playing through the campaign protects the player of some anticipated missteps—buildings need to have doors, don’t build the canteen too far away from the kitchen, someone is always probably digging a tunnel somewhere, it’s probably not a good idea to construct a morgue so close to reception—but it doesn’t reveal how to appropriately deal with each and every situation. Case and point, I finished the campaign, got knee deep into my own sandbox, and then found everything went to hell anyway.
Why did the workers stop building midway through when I had plenty of funds? Was there a tree in the way? Ok I demolished the tree. Oh it’s because they’re all dead. Why aren’t my riot guards moving where I tell them to? What if I hire some new guys? Ok, I did, why are they not working I really need to have this infirmary up and running—this continues for some time. Problems often beget other problems, leading Prison Architect to feel more like work than a game. There’s so much information to take in and apply, and without experience it’s not intuitive to figure out what you need and when you need it.
There are two solutions for this, neither of which are especially friendly. The first is to put your head down and keep at it, failing over and over until you learn all Prison Architect’s deep secrets and dark corners. This is something that I would have no problem doing if I had infinite time. The other method is to scour the vast resources of Prison Architect wiki’s and find a better explanations and instruction. I don’t necessarily fault Prison Architect’s creators with leaving the players to these two paths, I have no idea how one would even attempt to teach this game, but it still presents a significant road block. Prison Architect’s finer details aren’t some Dark Souls-like challenge to learn and overcome, but rather a basic set of rules that require constant maintenance.
It doesn’t help that Prison Architect’s interface feels unwieldy through a controller. Sectioning off land for construction, trying to select individual NPC’s, bringing up a series of menus to deal with an escalating series of problems all feel haphazardly affixed to two analog sticks and some buttons. It’s just so slow, and the idea playing Prison Architect with a mouse and keyboard seems like some sort of divine gift. Prison Architect’s case is further hurt by the considerably small size of its text (I will never understand how this isn’t accounted for in games that make the transition from PC to console. People are not sitting a foot away from their televisions). Honestly I’d even prefer a tablet version of the game to one that involves a console and a controller. I am sure the development team at Double Eleven did the best they could with Introversion’s game, but a complete fit may have been impossible.
Prison Architect’s frenzied sandbox is akin to food not prepared to my taste. Thankfully, a series of options exist to provide me with another meal. Rather than start from scratch, Prison Architect provides the option to play as the warden and operate a pre-existing facility. Dozens of prefabricated layouts are available, each with particular works (such as relying entirely on automation or an emphasis on recreational rehabilitation). You can still demolish pieces and add to everything at will, leading to an experience that, while truncated, still really gets to the heart of Prison Architect. Ownership over a creation is the obvious sacrifice, but operating as a Warden is still a huge convenience for those short on time.
Conceivably, Prison Architect could best operate as one of those desert island games you play for the rest of your life. Even the ephemera, like Escape Mode (which is a fine bonus but nowhere near a dedicated game like The Escapists) and World of Wardens (exchanging layouts with other users), could make it last a little longer. The only real life requirement is a careful combination of both time and patience. The former to learn the game, and the latter to refuse to quit the game when a tiny thing you forgot about creates an incredible disaster. Prison Architect’s trip to the PlayStation 4 might compound that equation with an unnecessary layer of obstruction, but the obstacle it creates isn’t impossible to overcome.
Perhaps the way to sustain interest is to fully opt-in to its indictment of the American prison system. Prison Architect’s social commentary has its shortcomings (especially with regard to race) but it’s still well ahead of most games aiming for any sort of subtext. Implications beyond Prison Architect’s simulation are visible everywhere you look, the only question is whether or not you have the gumption to let its systems to drive out any kind of personal response.
