If you’re a geek older than forty, one of the tough/weird adjustments you’ve had to make in your life is that there was a point where you could reasonably expect to at least sample every significant geek media release…

… and then you couldn’t.

In the ‘90s, for example, I could reasonably expect to watch every science fiction TV show and play every geeky board game.

Today you could dedicate every waking moment of your life and you still wouldn’t be able to do either of those things.

And this extends to movies, roleplaying games, video games… All of it.

At first you think, “I’m just getting old. If I was still young, I could stay on top of all this.”

But that ain’t it.

I lived through the transitions from “there are three channels on your dial” to cable television to the modern fire hydrant of content. Having a local channel become a Fox affiliate — a fourth network! whoa! — was a significant event in my life.

We talk about the “last Renaissance man” — the point at which it was no longer possible for a single person to meaningfully master all fields of human study. In the last forty years, we’ve passed a similar threshold in media.

Looking back across that watershed, an important thing to understand is that, because it was possible, there was a cultural pressure to actually do it. To be part of the geek scene, you needed to know — wanted to know! — the shibboleths.

Pre-1970ish, SF fans could read every major SF novel.

Pre-2005ish, SF fans could watch every major SF TV series.

But, like the proverbial lobster, we have been imperceptibly transitioned into a reality where that’s NOT possible. And, just like the lobster, this creates a lot of stress.

Some of it is self-imposed.

Some of it is external.

“You haven’t watched [insert show here]? I guess you’re not a real fan!”

The scene then fractures.

I can’t learn all of those shibboleths, so I’m going to focus on one specific slice of geek media and learn THOSE shibboleths: So anime becomes its own, increasingly separate fandom. And then there’s so much anime that it, too, fractures into sub-fandoms.

When this fracturing takes the form of excluding rather than focusing, it can turn toxic. This is usually draped in conspiracy rhetoric and/or bigotry: Women or black people or story gamers are trying to steal our fandom!

Now we’re starting to see the emergence of mega-franchises producing so much content that it’s not just a matter of not having time to read every science fiction novel; it’s that you only really have time to engage with this ONE, all-consuming media tentpole. (And maybe squeeze a few other things in around the edges.)

This creates a bizarre paradox: We have a prolificacy of media vast beyond the bounds of comprehension; a cornucopia that would stagger the imagination of, say, an SF fan in the ‘50s.

But, simultaneously, the consumption of any single individual person is increasingly homogenous.

In the late 2010’s, how many people had 50% or 80% or 100% of their trips to the cinema be exclusively MCU films?

There are antecedents to this. From 1990-ish, for example, Star Trek and Star Wars both produced enough tie-in fiction that if you fully engaged with it you would probably read little or nothing else. There was a time when you could casually read every Marvel comic… and then you couldn’t.

It’s just becoming more common.

And this creates an interesting challenge for the megacorps driving these mega-franchises. You can push more and more of the all-in-one, all-consuming fandom… but only up to a certain point.

Once you exceed a fan’s capacity to consume everything — to learn every shibboleth — then the fandom will either radically schism (possibly toxically so) or, worse yet (for the megacorp, anyway), abandon the franchise entirely.

Dungeons & Dragons is an interesting case study here.

Pre-1984, or thereabouts, you could buy and read every single official release for the game. Starting in 1984, the number of modules being published each year was becoming onerous, but pre-1989 even a moderately devoted fan could still easily engage the major releases.

After 1989, on the other hand, AD&D 2^nd Edition’s release schedule became a firehose of content. (Even ignoring the 300+ tie-in novels and video games and comic books.) No one could keep up with it, so the fanbase schismed along natural fault lines (“I’m only going to buy Dark Sun books!”) or dropped out.

D&D 3^rd Edition and 4^th Edition tried to maintain a more sustainable pace of releases so that fans could at least afford to purchase the books, but the TYPE of material they primarily released (PC options) couldn’t be brought to the table fast enough, so fans would, once again, become saturated and then drop out. (This is the fatal flaw to using a supplement treadmill to support an RPG line.)

D&D 5^th Edition, on the other hand, initially dialed back the pace of releases and focused more heavily on adventure material (which is more consumable; you play the adventure and then you need a new adventure). The result is that even casual fans didn’t feel disconnected from the shibboleths or incapable of consuming the content: “Strahd” and “Dragon Heist” and “Auril” and “Baldur’s Gate” were all recognizable references to the vast majority of the fandom.

In the last couple of years, however, the pace of D&D 5^th Edition releases has increased, the shibboleths are beginning to slip, and there are clear signs that the fanbase is fracturing. (Which is probably not great news going into a new edition.)

The Marvel Cinematic Universe is having a similar problem: Yes, the slip in quality (precipitated by a brain drain of all the major creators) is a contributing factor, but the more fundamental systemic problem is that the amount of material being released increased to a point where even people who wanted to keep up with it all couldn’t. The result? Fans, particularly casual fans, started checking out.

And, as the MCU demonstrates, the more you create the impression that “everything is important” and that a fan needs to “watch everything” in order to keep up, the more dramatic your crash will be the instant you pass the threshold at which fans can no longer do that: They won’t just dramatically scale back their engagement. They’ll drop out completely.

So if you’re running a mega-franchise, what’s the solution?

It basically boils down to releasing material at a pace that your audience can consume it.

That sounds simple, but it’s shockingly easier to succumb to temptation, ramp up your release schedule, and break the whole thing. Partly because modern capitalism / greed demands perpetual growth. Partly because your loudest and most hardcore fans will happily consumer FAR MORE than the majority of your audience, and if you heed their call they’ll be all that’s left in the burnt out husk of a once vibrant community. And partly because creating stuff is fun, and as your resources grow the allure of creating even more stuff — stuff you couldn’t have dreamed of creating just a few years ago! — can prove overwhelming. There’s also likely more and more people involved in the mega-franchise as it grows, and it will become increasingly difficult for that not to fuel an exponential pattern of growth.

Now, let’s flip it around: You’re a fan of a mega-franchise and it’s growing past your capacity to “keep up.” What can you do?

Broadly speaking, you’ll either need to let the franchise go or you’ll have to figure out how to change the way you engage with the franchise so that the “consume all” credo of collectorism doesn’t rob your joy.

That might be identifying some subset of the franchise (creators, characters, specific settings, etc.) that you’re most interested in. (Although be warned that the worst mega-franchises will make this difficult by constantly disrupting every segment of the fandom with “events.”) It might be withdrawing from new releases and just enjoying the stuff you love. (Were you really enjoying everything the mega-franchise was offering? Or were you buying some of that stuff just out of a sense of obligation?) Or it might be finding some new way of engaging with your fandom, perhaps by creating fan art or fan-fiction or Youtube videos, in a way that makes you more than just a passive consumer and gives you greater power to make your fandom what you want it to be.

And, of course, the best time to start figuring this out is BEFORE the franchise has become all-consuming in your life and knocked out all of your other interests and hobbies.

Bedlam in Neverwinter is a D&D-themed escape room board game for 2-6 players.

Which is a lot of stuff for designers George Feledichuk, David “Duvey” Rudow, and Leo Taylor to cram into one box.

If you’re not familiar with the escape room board game genre, the basic format is a box filled with hidden cards and sealed containers or envelopes. Players are presented with a series of puzzles, and the solution to each puzzle will indicate which card to draw or sealed box to open in order to find the next puzzle.

In the case of Bedlam in Neverwinter, this primarily takes the form of a card deck and map boards. Each card has a three-digit number on the back. The map boards, on the other hand, depict different locations that the players can explore, each labeled with a three-digit number which indicates which card to draw when you go there. In addition to advancing the narrative of the story, each card may also include instructions (to draw additional cards, for example) or a puzzle (the solution of which will be a three-digit number indicating which card to draw).

If you’re not familiar with D&D, then… Wait. Really?

In any case, D&D is a fantasy roleplaying game in which players create characters by selecting their race, class, and ability scores. The actions taken by these characters are resolved by rolling a 20-sided die, adding a bonus from a relevant ability score, and comparing the result to a target number. There’s also a combat system in which damage is tracked and characters die if they lose all of their hit points.

All of these elements are also found in Bedlam in Neverwinter, albeit in a heavily modified form: Players will create their characters by selecting from a familiar range of races and classes, each of which will grant them proficiency in one of the six ability scores. Each class also has a unique, themed skill/power and will gain additional abilities as they level up at the end of each adventure.

Various cards will require either solo checks (which the current player rolls) or group checks (everyone rolls and at least half the group must succeed). Each check has one or two ability scores associated with it, and if you have a matching ability score you add +1d6 to your d20 roll.

Combat is resolved via round-robin skill checks against the monster’s target number. Weapons and other items can be equipped, granting additional bonuses if your attack roll is high enough. (For example, if you roll 17+ with a Sword of Sharpness, you deal +1 damage.)

And that’s basically it: Bedlam in Neverwinter consists of three adventures, each with a separate deck of cards and map boards. As you play through each deck, you’ll discover and overcome puzzles and monsters. The box states that each adventure takes about 90 minutes, but our experience was closer to 2 hours. (But we did have an ultra-excited 7-year-old playing with us, which may have prolonged things a bit.)

IMPRESSIONS

There will be ONE MINOR SPOILER in the discussion that follows. It will have no impact or insight into the puzzles or other hidden secrets of the game, but ye have been warned.

My overall takeaway from Bedlam in Neverwinter is that it’s an extremely easy game. The box lists a difficulty of 4 out of 5, but at no point did the group I was playing with feel remotely challenged: The puzzles were all trivially dispatched and the combat never once made us feel in danger for our lives.

As a result, it really felt more like an activity than a game. I mentioned that we played it with a fairly young child, and that may be an ideal use case: A pleasant way to pass some time with your friends and/or family. We certainly enjoyed it as such.

The biggest question I have about the game is why, if it’s called Bedlam in Neverwinter, is the entire story set in Icewind Dale? It’s quite baffling, honestly. My best guess — and it’s just a wild guess — is that somebody said, “Don’t we have a movie coming out in 2023 that’s set in Neverwinter?” and a few references to Neverwinter were shoved in and a new title pasted on the cover.

(I’m not going to get more specific than this because, again, I’m trying to avoid spoilers. But it’s very baffling.)

Bedlam in Neverwinter’s biggest flaw, however, is the map boards. As I mentioned before, the idea is that you put a map board on the table and then each player chooses where they want to explore, places their miniature there, and reads the associated card describing what they find. Unfortunately, the illustrations on the map boards don’t match the card descriptions. The first sentence on a card will be something like, “This body appears to have been…” and you’ll look back to the map board in confusion because there’s nobody there.

The first few times this happens, you may think you’ve made a mistake, but you haven’t. The bigger problem, however, is that this failure is so pervasive that selecting map board locations is basically just random noise. Other decisions make this even worse. For example, there’s one map where a clearly Dexterity-based activity is depicted. So you send the Dexterity-proficient character and… ha! ha! Nope! The skill check here is a Charisma-based check where you encourage the most dexterous character in your group to do the activity. (The most dexterous character does not actually contribute to the check in any way.)

I’m not certain if this sort of thing was a deliberate bait-and-switch or just more bad design, but either way what could have been — and arguably should have been — the most significant interactive element in the game is needlessly rendered meaningless.

Like the rest of the escape room genre, once you’ve played through the content once, you’ll be done with the game forever.

Which, ultimately, brings us back to what I said before: The game basically plays itself, but the activities along the way are a pleasant way of passing the time.

You’ll want to keep in mind, though, that like other escape room board games, Bedlam in Neverwinter is not designed to be replayed: You’ll play this once and then never again. (Unlike some games of its type, however, Bedlam in Neverwinter is not destructive, so you could reseal the envelopes and pass it along to someone else easily enough.) You’ll want to keep that in mind when deciding whether or not to grab a copy.

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STINK

Stink was the heir to House Greygloom, but Stink was naughty. Stink’s father – Lord Baleen of the Tinfoil Ilses – was naughty, too, and as punishment Stink became the ward of House Snark. The Snarks were nice to him and, looking back on that, Stink is pretty sure he didn’t deserve it. Stupid, stupid, Stink. He abandoned his brother by another mother, abandoned his sister by the same daddy, and abandoned his oaths. He deserves to be Stink. He did terrible things. Turned on his friends. He killed… those boys. Now the pretty lady is asking him to do nice things, but that doesn’t sound like the sort of thing Stink is good at. He doesn’t have the balls for it.

SULKWELL TUBBY

“I know who yer daddy is.” – Sulkwell Tubby

But Sulkwell wishes he didn’t know his. Randy Tubby was Lil Finger’s frat brother, and he’s the sort of guy who heard the saying that, “The true path to the Porcelain Throne lies through books,” and thought it meant that the only place worth using a book was the privy. Sulkwell ended up thinking the same thing, but only because the privy was the only place he could read without being tormented by his father and his brothers. As soon as he turned eighteen, Sulkwell got the hell out of there… and it was definitely his own idea, he’ll swear to it. Josh Frost is best friend in the whole world.

LIL FINGER

Lil Finger is the sort of fellow who believes that the best pickup lines are all Yo Momma jokes. He could never understand why this hadn’t worked with Waitin Snark, and with all the logic of a werewolf in heat he concluded that it was because he was fated to fall in love with her daughter, Sanserif. Oddly, however, the Yo Momma pickup lines aren’t working on her, either. He thinks the problem might be that he has a wife, but the Yo Auntie jokes aren’t working, either. Women are weird.

BERRY OF TART

When she was a young maiden, Berry of Tart dreamed of becoming the Iron Chef, a title which she had significantly misunderstood. How, exactly, she wrought such miraculous pastries while using nothing but a sword is one of the great mysteries of the age. Her blueberry tart, which became known as the Sapphire Isle, was particularly spectacular. Although she was eventually named the Queen of Tarts, Berry was never able to claim the title of Iron Chef due to rank misogyny.

DAVE ONION

Dave Onion, captain of the black-sailed Unsinkable II (don’t ask what happened to Unsinkable I), delivered Tijuana Bibles and whiskey to Lord Canceled’s men during Bobby’s Rebellion, helping to keep their morale up and their resolve stiff. (Tijuana is the name of Lil Finger’s brothel in Jester’s Landing.) When the war came to an end, Lord Canceled had Onion knighted, but also sentenced him to have his nipples cut off as punishment for his past crimes as a smuggler of pornography. Sir Dave was fine with this. Male nipples are useless, and he has no time for useless things. Plus, the scars are bad*ss.

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KELLY C

Queen Dani Rainybrith of House McDragonface, First One They called This, Queen of the Eunuchs, Some Slaves, and Other Random Dudes, Lady of the Umpteen Kingdoms and Protectess of Eastereg, Lady of This Castle I Guess, Kelly C of the Bigass Meador, the Flame Retardant, and Handcuff Remover. When Kelly C isn’t posting pictures of her adorable kids (#dragonmom), she enjoys horseback riding, wine tasting, and deep conversations with her hubby, Karl Go-Go. She and her brother don’t talk anymore. He knows what he did.

KARL GO-GO

Whenever a Sorippedi dancer loses a dance-off, they must cut their hair. Karl Go-Go has never cut his hair. He has worked his way through the Nine Free Dance Clubs, conquering each of them in turn, and now he’s ready to bring his act – and his fan club, the Raving Horde – to Eastereg, where he hopes to make waves in the competitive partner-dancing scene with his new wife Kelly C and earn a spot on Dancing with the Dragons, the hottest show around. Dragon Picking? The Jester’s Landing Shuffle? The Gold Pour? Go-Go has mastered all the moves of the dance floor, including the most important move of all: After all, a Karl who cannot Ride the Pony is no Karl.

RURAL JURAH

“Staberys Rainybirth, no stabbing! Staberys, no stabbing! Staberys, no stabbing!” Rural did the best he could, but Staberys never really understood the call of the dance and never accepted that Kelly C and Karl Go-Go had become united in their passion for a good two-step.

Rural Jurah was once the finest dance coach in Eastereg. When he was a younger man, he married his dancing partner, Lynette, after they won state together. Lynette, tragically, was addicted to spangly leotards, and was disappointed when Rural became more interested in line-dancing. Desperate to keep his wife happy, Rural eventually sold their back-up dancers into slavery… which, it turns, out is very, very, very illegal.

LORD VARIES

Do you have a friend who you would trust with your life? Good for you! Odds are pretty high that he’s actually selling you out to Lord Varies. The good news is that Lord Varies swaps sides so often that he’ll probably be working for you by next week and your secrets will be totally safe with him.

DRAGONS

ROAR, roar, roar. Roar, ROAR, roar. Roar, ROAR. ROAR, ROAR, roar. ROAR, ROAR, ROAR. ROAR, roar. Roar, roar, roar.

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TOFFY BRATSFOREONS

Everyone dreams of having loving parents. And Toffy’s parents love each other very, very much. Probably a little too much, honestly. After a successful and fulfilling childhood of torturing and “executing” various small, furry animals, Toffy graduated to a young adulthood of torturing and executing people. The utterly banal “cleverness” and petty mundanity of his arrogant sadism have made Toffy universally beloved, if nowhere other than in his own mind. Toffy’s mother has arranged any number of weddings for her precious little angel, but Toffy feels like marriage would be the death of him and has been deftly postponing the happy nuptials by completely alienating every single one of them.

CERIOUSLY BANNISTER

Ceriously is the only daughter of Trywin. Despite the recent death of her husband, King Bobby Bratsforëöns, she has been coping with what is certainly immense grief with a stiff upper lip. The support from her brother Shamey during this time of trouble has also been remarkably stiff. All she cares about now is making sure that her children – Toffy, Malteaser, and Toblerone – can all enjoy the lives they so richly deserve. And if anyone gets in the way of that, Ceriously has a cannister of whoopass and wildfire with their name on it.

Malteaser’s recent nosebleeds are a little troubling, but she’ll be fine. Probably.

SHAMEY BANNISTER

King Hairy McDragonface was caught with his pants down when he was stabbed on the Porcelain Throne by Shamey Bannister. This low blow echoed throughout the Umpteen Kingdoms and Shamey has been known as the Kingslayer ever since. Shamey remains a member of the Kingsitters, and his twin sister often remarks how handsome he looks in the all-white cloak and gold armor.

TYPSION BANNISTER

The Red-Faced Baron of Boobies and Booze! Also known as the Little Lusher and the Green Fairy, Typsion is the youngest child of Lord Trywin. He has always used his clever wit to overcome the prejudice he’s had to deal with his entire life. And, if that fails, he’ll just get people drunk enough that they forget how short he is. His sister Ceriously refuses to drink with him and also refuses to ever let him forget how short he is, so Typsion tries to avoid her as much as possible. But not as much as he avoids his father: Typsion likes to marry random women he’s just met in an Elvish Chapel on the Jester’s Landing Strip and then see how long it takes for his father to figure it out and issue an edict annulling the wedding. It’s a petty sort of revenge, but it’s the only thing Typsion is capable of. At least for now.

TRYWIN BANNISTER

Trywin is the richest and most powerful man in the Umpteen Kingdoms. Historically, the Bannisers’ power derives from the intersection of several influences: First, their long-standing support of the UKSPCD (the Umpteen Kingdoms Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Direcorgis; a Bannister always spays their pets). Second, the strategically advantageous position of their capital Castle Rock (from which they regularly export moody writers of bestselling horror fiction). Third, the constant and untiring support of the Tinfoil Bank. Trywin has made it clear that he intends to fully restore the luster of the Bannisters’ name, starting with the spaying of all the werewolves of House Remus (as remembered by the tragic song “Full Moons of Castamere”) and culminating with placing his grandchildren on the throne by virtue of marrying his only daughter, Ceriously, to King Bobby Bratsforëöns.

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