Dear Ezio – A letter to Assassin’s Creed’s greatest protagonist

Dear Ezio,

The Ezio Collection, remasters for the three Assassin’s Creed games that feature you, my darling Ezio Auditore, as the protagonist, is out. I can buy it now. I can relive the adventures we had in Renaissance Italy years after the fact, and they may or may not stand up to scrutiny and/or hindsight. A lot of people called that a collection like this would happen at some point, whilst also never suggesting a remaster of the original Assassin’s Creed, or Assassin’s Creed III, would be gratefully received by the public.

This is because neither Assassin’s Creed or Assassin’s Creed III are fronted by you. This is also why it’s called ‘The Ezio Collection’ and not ‘The ACII Collection’ or ‘Assassin’s Creed II and Its Sequels That, Somewhat Unhelpfully, Don’t Have Numbers in the Title’.

There’s a little armchair and fireplace for you, Ezio, in the heart of anyone who is, like me, a confirmed Assassin’s Creed mark (a term which I believe means something like ‘idiot who falls for it every time’ that I have picked up from listening to people in the office talk about wrestling, a theatrical spectator event I think you would most understand as being like full-contact morality plays). You were the only Assassin whose shoulders were broad enough to carry more than one game. It was you who breathed life into Ubisoft’s flagship franchise, back when it was still new, and barely a franchise. I find myself asking why that was.

Your trilogy, Ezio, is situated perfectly in the pantheon of Assassin’s Creed games. Yours were released between two games that are widely regarded as being some of the lower points of the series: the original AC laid a foundation that, while solid, needed improvement, and ACIII was a bit of an overwrought history lesson where the stabbing was punctuated by Paul Revere mugging at you furiously about going on a ride at midnight, and being the actual person who threw the actual tea in the actual Boston harbour. Reliving history is not as cool as the musical Hamilton might have people believe. I’m sorry, Ezio, but I don’t have time to explain all the pop culture references you won’t understand in this epistolary-conceit article.

This timing balances you between two room-temperature-water protagonists. Altaïr, before you, is an admittedly badass faceless killer with a strict moral code, but is also nothing beyond that, even talking in an emotionless robotic way that speaks to his upbringing as a tool to kill people. This is fine, in so far as he is a person-shaped void that I can fill while I play the game, but he also leaves as lasting an impression as the person who stood next to me at the bustop – the one that stood quietly this morning, not the one who shouted conspiracy theories and asked me what happened to Princess Diana (this is genuinely true; it was last week).

ACIII had Ratonhnhaké:ton, also known as Connor. A Native American of the Mohawk Nation, tutored in the Assassin Order by a crotchety British-Caribbean dude living in a falling down mansion, and having a pivotal role in every major event of the American Revolution had the potential to be way more interesting that he sadly turned out to be in the game. Connor was justifiably angry at the entire world, but at the same time inexplicably did almost anything anyone told him to as long as they loosely implied it would help him get revenge. But none of this matters to you, Ezio. You don’t even know what America is.

When I first knew you, you were a swaggering, smooth talking, brash teenager, climbing into his girlfriend’s window at night and getting into gang fights even though the Auditores were a respectable family. Your fullness of character is highlighted by the lack thereof in the assassins either side of you. You were my delicious sharing size Mars Bar between two fun size Milky Ways. Yet I wasn’t thrust into your shoes when you were already an established assassin. Over the course of the three games I followed the entire life of Ezio Auditore, from your birth to your death, via the heartbreaking tragedy in your youth, your growth into responsibility, and, eventually, hanging up your hidden blades to become a wise old family man. I got to know you intimately, and thus became invested in your story. 

It’s a trick they tried to replicate in III, but it didn’t stick: I spent several hours getting used to controlling his dad, before being suddenly yoinked into Ratonhnhaké:ton’s idyllic childhood to play hide and seek – for what seemed like hours – as a way of making the concealment tutorial immersive. I’m sure you would have found it boring too, Ezio.

Ubisoft seem to have learnt that stoically pissed off isn’t necessarily an enjoyable flavour for protagonists to come in, and since then have mainly gone with vaguely rakish. The Frye twins, Arno Dorian, and Edward Kenway all have a bit of a twinkle in their eye, but none of them (with the possible exception of Edward, who had a similar arc of growth) strike the right balance to make them as diverting as you, Ezio. Oh, they’re not so bad, but they seem like pale imitations of you, like how Lidl sell ‘Badger’s Creek’ wine; if you like milk then why not try MULK.

Whether the games around you have aged well or not, you deserves to be on current gen. Ezio Auditore is the best Assassin’s Creed can be – and I’m sure you, still a little cocky, would agree, with a winning smile. You’re a reminder that Ubisoft’s flagship series, classically one of my favourite series, is capable of growth and improvement. It can be engaging, and charming. It can be exciting, and I hope it will be again.

We’ll always have Florence.

Love, Alice

Editor’s note: 

Dear Alice,

What is Mars Bar?

Love Ezio