On first glance, Starfield seems like a dream for enthusiasts of detailed gameplay. It showcases an expansive and technical cosmic environment where elements like oxygen and gravity appear significant. With countless locations to discover and a variety of skills to master, it promises an engaging experience.

However, in reality, it may be Bethesda’s most user-friendly title, offering only superficial interpretations of its systems, all wrapped in a layer of unnecessary complexity to distract from its simplicity. The game populates its universe with numerous buttons and switches that players cannot interact with, creating a disconnect between its visual appeal and actual gameplay mechanics. This disparity likely contributed to the disappointment felt by many players upon its release last year.

When comparing Starfield to other Bethesda franchises like Elder Scrolls, the expectations are clear. Players wield swords or spells and embark on quests utilizing these tools. Over the years, the interfaces and mechanics have become more intuitive, yet the fundamental concepts have remained consistent. Fallout swapped swords for laser weapons and introduced a screen-based interface strapped to the player’s arm.

Starfield claims to offer a broader experience than these previous titles, presenting players as space explorers with limitless potential. Yet, in practice, players find themselves performing similar actions to those in Skyrim, just across a larger expanse. The game retains the screen-based UI from Fallout, but the illusion falters as myriad buttons and screens invite interaction, only to deny it. The UI no longer feels like a personal tool; instead, it becomes a part of the game's intricate yet hollow aesthetic.

Rather than providing an engaging interface, Starfield’s cumbersome UI dominates the screen. Although players receive a physical watch early on, the game relegates this prop to insignificance, displaying relevant information in a standard UI element instead. The overall experience is a confusing blend of simplicity and complexity.

My appreciation for the original Star Wars films largely stems from their low-budget aesthetic, particularly the elaborate wall panels adorned with mysterious buttons. Starfield’s so-called “NASAPunk” style adopts this aesthetic, saturating the environment with realistic-looking panels and switches that seem interactive.

In film, it suffices for characters to pass by someone manipulating an enigmatic panel, adding depth to the narrative. However, games thrive on interactivity, and Bethesda has long marketed its titles on the premise of deep player engagement. In Starfield, the abundance of flashing lights and buttons ultimately detracts from this promise, as most serve merely as decorative elements, disappointing players who expect meaningful interaction.

Starfield compounds this lack of interactivity by frequently depicting the character interacting with panels that yield no real function. Each time the character boards their ship to embark on a new journey, they engage in a series of motions that seem tailored to the various cockpit designs — yet players can’t replicate these actions. The game presents a facade of tactile engagement without any genuine gameplay.

This artificiality extends into ship combat, which strives to emulate the complexity of classic simulations like X-Wing or Wing Commander. Players can allocate energy among ship systems, but this is presented through an unappealing UI rather than interactive physical controls. Ultimately, players will primarily seek to maximize power across all systems to succeed.

Some of these issues might be overlooked in a game with a more cohesive design. However, the internal production aesthetic fails to align with the game’s narrative. The story unfolds three centuries into the future on an alien mining colony, yet players are greeted with outdated-looking computers resembling technology from the 1980s. Their lack of interactivity leads to frustration as players attempt to engage with what appears to be touchable machinery.

Interactive computers employ the same full-screen menu system, regardless of their planetary or factional context, suggesting a universe with standardized technology.

The gameplay mechanics, while competently executed, are typical of open-world RPGs. Players will run, jump, jetpack, fight, collect items, and engage in dialogue throughout their adventures. While these elements are expected in the genre, the production design and marketing led many to anticipate something more innovative.

This disconnect may stem from the visual elements littered throughout the game, which naturally prompt players to want to interact with them, even when they serve no purpose.

A similar dissonance has emerged in early previews for Star Wars Outlaws. While the game seems visually impressive, some critiques label its gameplay as “outdated.” This criticism is puzzling, as it appears to effectively deliver what is expected from its genre, much like Starfield does. Are gaming genres themselves becoming antiquated? Without the structure that genre provides, how can mainstream audiences and major studios find common ground? While it’s possible to create new systems that function in novel ways, it raises the question of whether that would enhance gameplay or simply be deemed a failed experiment.

I don’t categorize Starfield as outdated in the traditional sense; rather, I reserve that term for games that feel timeworn, not those that adhere to genre conventions. My experience with the game has been enjoyable enough that I completed the main storyline. However, the production design and core gameplay elements don’t quite align as effectively as they do in Bethesda’s earlier titles. The vastness of the world, filled with buttons, suggests that something more profound should be happening, even as players engage in the same familiar content. It may be “outdated” in the sense that RPGs have existed for quite some time, but it remains a solid entry in the genre, even if it doesn’t break new ground.

I’m not advocating for a game where players could interact with countless buttons. However, their presence renders the world feel static instead of vibrant. During the Xbox 360 era, dynamic physics objects added character to game worlds and action sequences, a quality that seems to be diminishing as we chase more realistic textures and lighting. The buttons in Starfield don’t compensate for this absence. While physics objects still exist, they may be overlooked amidst the game’s hyper-detailed environments.

A certain level of abstraction is beneficial for creating a playable experience as game worlds evolve. I wouldn’t want developers to spend years ensuring that every button on a spaceship had a function, even if that would be impressive initially. Nevertheless, the lack of thoughtfulness in Starfield’s UI design feels audacious. It relies on the illusion of complexity and the aesthetic of screen interaction while fundamentally offering the same gameplay tasks. The visual embellishments may be fun but misled many players into believing there was more depth than truly exists, even if that complexity wouldn’t necessarily fit within the genre.

As Starfield culminates in a whimsical and fantastical manner, I almost wish it had fully embraced the multiverse trend and created more explicit connections to its other game worlds. There are a few delightful nods for long-time fans, but a deeper integration with its other narratives would provide context for its lack of innovative progression. Nevertheless, Starfield’s universe is too grounded for fantastical elements to disrupt its “science-based” premise, revealing the many ineffective button panels as mere aesthetic choices designed to obscure the repetitive gameplay. Such a shift would be more creatively honest, yet potentially less appealing to dedicated fans.

This is a light-hearted RPG disguised as a serious title, and it disappoints both sets of players. The comical aspects aren’t prominent enough to captivate some, while the serious elements turn out to be mere facades. Adjusting the difficulty settings might enhance the challenge, but no adjustments can bridge the peculiar gap inherent in its visual design.