Introduction: Dustborn – The Next Big Flop in Gaming?
Dustborn was supposed to be a standout title from the Norwegian developer Red Thread Games, backed by the publisher Quantic Dream. Instead, it quickly became infamous as one of the biggest flops in recent gaming history.
With hardly more than a handful of concurrent players on Steam, the game has been ridiculed for its over-the-top messaging, divisive themes, and a profound disconnect with its intended audience.
But what led to this colossal failure, and why was the game even funded in the first place?
A Post-Apocalyptic Tale With a Heavy-Handed Message
At its core, Dustborn is a single-player action-adventure game set in a dystopian future version of the United States, renamed the “Republic of America.” The game’s world-building revolves around an America that has splintered into factions, isolated by political and ideological lines, reflecting a fractured nation grappling with its own internal conflicts.
The player is thrust into a grim narrative where freedom of speech has become weaponized, and words themselves can literally hurt or heal. The game markets itself as a narrative-driven experience, with a significant emphasis on the “power of words.”
This theme manifests in gameplay mechanics where dialogue choices can influence outcomes, but not in the nuanced way seen in successful games like Mass Effect or The Witcher. Instead, Dustborn relies heavily on a linear, predetermined path that often feels more like a lecture than an interactive experience.
The narrative, inspired by the political events surrounding the 2016 U.S. Presidential Election, aims to present a reflection of the current socio-political climate through a hyperbolic lens. Characters are depicted as exaggerated stereotypes meant to embody various social issues, from racial tensions to gender politics.
The game takes these issues and amplifies them to an extreme, intending to provoke thought but often coming across as preachy and didactic. While games have long been a medium for social commentary, Dustborn does so in a way that leaves little room for interpretation or player agency.
Its attempt to marry gameplay with its political message feels forced, leading to a disjointed experience that neither engages nor entertains.
Political Statements Disguised as Entertainment
The origins of Dustborn are rooted in a clear political motivation. Development began in 2017, just months after Donald Trump was elected President of the United States. According to the developers, the game was conceived as a response to what they perceived as a dangerous turn in American politics.
They envisioned the game as a platform to critique authoritarian tendencies and the erosion of democratic norms, using their narrative to draw parallels between their fictional world and real-life events. By focusing on themes such as social justice, race, and political polarization, the developers hoped to engage players in a dialogue about these contemporary issues.
However, the game’s approach was anything but subtle. The narrative is steeped in overtly partisan messaging, leaving no doubt about the developers’ political stance. The dialogue is filled with heavy-handed metaphors and caricatures of political figures, with clear nods to real-world counterparts.
This has led many critics to argue that Dustborn fails to deliver a balanced or meaningful exploration of its themes. Instead, it comes across as a blunt instrument wielded to hammer home a specific viewpoint, alienating players who might not share the same ideological leanings.
This one-sided approach limited the game’s appeal, turning it into a product that struggles to find an audience with an all time high on Steam of 79 players online. For comparison, Wukong, a very successful game, has an all time high of 2,415,714 players online on Steam.
The Game’s Reception: Instant Rejection from Gamers and Critics
Upon release, Dustborn faced swift and harsh criticism from both gamers and critics alike. The game was lambasted for its clumsy storytelling, repetitive gameplay, and overt political messaging. Many players felt that the game was less an interactive experience and more a sermon, with little room for personal interpretation or engagement.
Its emphasis on heavy-handed social commentary left many feeling alienated, as the game appeared to prioritize its political message over the quality of its gameplay and narrative. This alienation translated into dismal sales figures and an almost non-existent player base.
Critics, too, were unimpressed. Reviews frequently cited the game’s lack of subtlety and its failure to offer a compelling or enjoyable experience. While some acknowledged the game’s attempt to tackle important social issues, they criticized its execution as ham-fisted and overly didactic.
Rather than fostering meaningful dialogue, the game polarized its audience further, reinforcing the very divisions it sought to critique. In the end, Dustborn became a textbook example of how not to blend social commentary with entertainment, failing to resonate with players and critics on both an artistic and commercial level.
Woke to the Letter: A Scene from the Game
Dustborn goes beyond mere political messaging by positioning “wokeness” as the only correct perspective, taking it to its most extreme form. The game heavily promotes woke ideology, which emphasizes factors like race, skin color, or sexual orientation over merit or character.
In one particularly revealing scene, Dustborn encapsulates its broader conceptual approach through an interaction between the protagonist and a policeman. The scene begins with the officer asking if the protagonist has seen a particular person, providing a description that includes the detail that the individual is Black, alongside other characteristics.
The game immediately prompts the player with a hint: “They seem… super weird about RACE. Think we can capitalize on this anxiety, kid?” This prompt offers the player an option to press a “trigger” button, causing the protagonist to accuse the policeman of racism.
The accusation is not based on any clear evidence of prejudice but is instead portrayed as a tactic to manipulate the situation and achieve the protagonist’s objectives. This scenario is meant to be played as a strategic move, using accusations of racism as a tool rather than addressing the actual complexities of prejudice or misunderstanding.
This scene exemplifies Dustborn’s larger concept by promoting the idea that “wokeness”—in its most extreme form—is the correct approach to social interactions, even when it means weaponizing serious accusations like racism for personal gain.
The game presents this manipulation as a legitimate strategy, reinforcing a view that prioritizes identity politics over genuine dialogue or understanding. It suggests that dismissing differing perspectives and using identity-based accusations to shut down conversations are not only acceptable but necessary.
By doing so, Dustborn amplifies the critiques often levied against woke ideologies: that they focus more on optics and surface-level issues rather than engaging with deeper principles of merit, character, or meaningful discourse. In attempting to position wokeness as the right way, the game ironically ends up serving as a caricature of itself, proving the critics right.
What might seem like a parody of leftist tactics is, in fact, presented in earnest by the game, suggesting that such methods are not only acceptable but necessary. By doubling down on this divisive ideology, Dustborn alienates a broader audience and entrenches itself as a polarizing, and ultimately commercially unsuccessful, piece of (non-)entertainment.
Why Was Dustborn Funded?
The decision to fund Dustborn raises eyebrows, especially considering its controversial content and limited appeal. The game received substantial financial support from the Norwegian Film Institute, an organization primarily tasked with promoting Norwegian culture through film, television, and, more recently, video games.
The Institute’s involvement in the gaming industry is relatively new, and its mandate includes supporting projects that are considered to have artistic merit, cultural relevance, or significant market potential. The question then arises: what did the Institute see in Dustborn that warranted such a sizable investment?
The answer lies in the Institute’s funding criteria, which are based on a “culture test.” To qualify, projects must meet at least three out of four criteria related to Norwegian language, culture, or artistic contribution. On paper, Dustborn managed to tick the necessary boxes, likely due to the involvement of Norwegian developers and its framing as a culturally significant narrative.
However, the decision to fund a game so deeply rooted in American political discourse, with little relevance to Norwegian society, suggests a misalignment between the Institute’s funding priorities and the actual content of the game. This disconnect highlights broader issues within the funding body and its understanding of the gaming landscape.
The Funding Process: Cultural Quotas and Questionable Decisions
The funding process for Dustborn reveals much about the complexities and challenges facing the Norwegian Film Institute.
The criteria for funding emphasize cultural relevance, but they are also vague enough to allow for a wide range of interpretations. To secure funding, a game must demonstrate artistic quality, market potential, and relevance to Norwegian or Sami culture.
In theory, these criteria are designed to support creative projects that contribute to the cultural landscape of Norway. In practice, however, the process often favors projects that can meet these broad standards without necessarily demonstrating genuine market viability.
What complicates matters further is the decision-making process itself, which relies on an internal panel composed of Nordic game professionals. This panel is responsible for evaluating the artistic merit and market potential of each project, a task that is inherently subjective and fraught with biases.
The choice to fund Dustborn over other potential projects reflects not just a commitment to supporting “artistic” endeavors but also a willingness to back politically charged content, regardless of its actual appeal or commercial prospects. As a result, games that might have broader market appeal or more relevance to Norwegian culture can be overlooked in favor of projects that align with the panel’s own preferences or ideologies.
The Aftermath: What Went Wrong?
The failure of Dustborn cannot be attributed to a single factor but rather a combination of misguided creative choices, flawed marketing, and a fundamental misunderstanding of its target audience. The developers appeared to overestimate the appetite for a game so heavily steeped in American political commentary, especially one that lacked nuance or balance.
By choosing to focus on a highly partisan narrative, they alienated potential players who might have been interested in a more balanced or thought-provoking exploration of the same themes. Moreover, the gameplay itself offered little innovation or depth, making it even more difficult for the game to stand out in an increasingly competitive market.
Furthermore, the Norwegian Film Institute’s decision to fund the game reflects broader systemic issues within the funding landscape for creative industries in Norway. The reliance on public grants creates an environment where developers are more incentivized to cater to the tastes of funding panels rather than the broader market.
In the case of Dustborn, this approach resulted in a product that may have met the cultural criteria for funding but ultimately failed to resonate with consumers. The aftermath of this failure highlights the risks associated with a funding model that prioritizes ideology and artistic expression over market viability.
The Broader Implications: A Flawed System Exposed
The case of Dustborn sheds light on the broader issues plaguing the Norwegian gaming industry. Unlike Sweden and Denmark, where private investors play a significant role in supporting game development, Norway’s gaming scene remains heavily reliant on public funding.
This model stifles innovation by creating a dependency on state grants, which are often awarded based on cultural quotas and artistic merit rather than genuine market potential. As a result, many Norwegian developers find themselves trapped in a cycle of dependency, producing games that meet funding criteria but fail to achieve commercial success.
This flawed system also discourages risk-taking and experimentation, as developers are incentivized to play it safe and cater to the tastes of funding panels rather than pursue projects that might have broader appeal or commercial viability.
In the long run, this approach undermines the growth and sustainability of the Norwegian gaming industry, preventing it from reaching the heights achieved by its Scandinavian neighbors. The failure of Dustborn serves as a stark reminder of the need for a more balanced funding strategy that supports creativity while also encouraging financial independence.
Lessons Learned? The Need for Change
The failure of Dustborn should serve as a wake-up call for both the Norwegian Film Institute and the broader Norwegian gaming community. It highlights the limitations of a funding model that prioritizes cultural quotas over market realities.
For Norway to cultivate a thriving, self-sustaining gaming industry, a shift in funding priorities is essential. Public grants should focus not just on meeting cultural criteria but also on supporting projects with clear market potential and a path to financial independence.
Moreover, there is a need for greater transparency and accountability in the funding process. By involving a wider range of voices and perspectives in the decision-making process, the Norwegian Film Institute could ensure that its funding decisions better reflect the needs and interests of both developers and players.
This shift would help create an environment where creativity is nurtured, innovation is encouraged, and the industry is set on a path toward sustainable growth.
Dustborn may have been a failure, but it also offers an opportunity for reflection and reform. Learning from this experience could pave the way for a more dynamic and competitive gaming industry in Norway, one that balances cultural objectives with commercial realities.
Ultimately, the lessons from Dustborn highlight the importance of aligning creative projects with market demand and player expectations. If the Norwegian gaming scene is to flourish, it must adapt to these lessons, supporting projects that not only advance cultural or artistic goals but also demonstrate the potential for broad appeal and financial success.
Only then can Norway hope to replicate the success of its Scandinavian neighbors and establish a robust, globally competitive gaming industry.
Conclusion: Dustborn’s Legacy – A Game That Should Never Have Been Made
Dustborn’s journey from a politically motivated concept to a spectacular commercial failure illustrates the pitfalls of funding models that prioritize ideology over market realities. The game’s flop raises critical questions about the role of public funding in creative industries and highlights the need for a more sustainable approach to fostering innovation and growth.
Whether Norway’s gaming scene can learn from Dustborn’s missteps remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: games designed to divide are rarely destined to succeed.
