Pragmata works because it isn't a "sad dad" game

Pragmata isn’t a sad dad game. It shares a lot of the basic trappings—yes, its central relationship is between a grown man and a young child(-shaped robot)—but it rejects some of the subgenre’s more vexing attributes. Crucially, Hugh Williams—the space-faring beardo shooting his way through a moon base controlled by a killer AI—is neither sad nor a dad, or even much of a father figure. He’s not even really protecting his child-like charge. “Well-adjusted family friend or way older brother game” doesn’t have the same ring, though, so that old label has been firmly affixed to Pragmata pretty much since its very first trailer debuted.

Hugh is almost uncomfortably composed. He isn’t ashamed of some past he tries to keep hidden. He doesn’t hint at some collection of loved ones he’s hurt before. He doesn’t decry the violence he’s constantly perpetrating (perhaps because he’s exclusively shooting 3D-printed robots that are endlessly recyclable, and not actual humans). What we learn of Hugh’s life is remarkably mundane; he grew up, went to college, got a job that took him to the moon, and then bad stuff happened—around him and not because of him. The most interesting and distinctive thing about him is that he was adopted, something he discusses at length with Diana, the child-shaped robot he’s teamed up with. His advice to her consists of generally pretty good notes on how to be a decent person in a functioning society, and not warnings of what not to do pulled from personal experience; it can all be a little greeting card-y, but that’s preferable to the strained seriousness of the lightly likable sad dad standard. Beneath the tough space marine cut of his bulky armor, Hugh’s actually a pretty boring working stiff who doesn’t appear to have any of the deep-seated trauma that is the foundation of the entire sad dad stereotype.

Even if he was suffering from PTSD, Hugh’s relationship with Diana would fly in the face of sad dad cliches. Hugh’s not protecting Diana at all; she’s protecting him. She might look like a young child (worrisomely, and to the game’s detriment), but Hugh would die in the game’s first 10 minutes if it wasn’t for Diana. Even the biggest pushover of an enemy would be incredibly hard to defeat if Diana wasn’t cutting through their defences first. Diana’s hacking, which the game represents through onscreen puzzles that players have to complete while simultaneously controlling Hugh and his guns, also inflicts significantly more damage than all but Hugh’s most powerful weapons. Hugh’s essentially a glorified vehicle, ferrying Diana around while she does most of the heavy lifting—not a sad dad, but a dad cab.

Pragmata does eventually poke sharply at sad dad cliches—but not through the character of Hugh. It’s gradually revealed that Diana was created as a medical test subject—a lifelike substitute for a scientist’s real daughter, who was dying of disease back on earth. That long-gone doctor, seen only in holographic recordings, is a legitimate sad dad; he’s not remorseful for any violence he committed, but for failing his sick daughter to help an uncaring corporation. His sadness doesn’t break towards recalcitrant heroism, but leads to the crisis that endangers his entire lunar settlement, because hey, the sad dads are usually villains in the end.

Pragmata is not deep or smart, and it is not engaging on an intellectual or emotional level. It’s not impressed by its own assumed depth, though, and doesn’t insult the player like so many games that try to be profound. It’s just a game that tells a competent story about likable characters, and doesn’t let that story get in the way of the things it does do very well—namely, the action, exploration, and problem-solving that make it a game. Hugh’s no sad dad, but an example of decent, respectable, non-toxic masculinity—which is in too short supply these days.