Rapture: Art Deco as the soul of the place

The term unique has been overused in our contemporary language, but it’s undeniably appropriate to describe the underwater city of Rapture. Oppressive yet haunting, Rapture fully deserves the status of genius loci, a term borrowed from the landscape and environmental industries to designate a place with a powerful and memorable identity.

The essence of Rapture derives largely from its location: the Atlantic abyss. This choice was not made at random; it was intended to isolate Rapture from traditional terrestrial geography while maintaining an essential link with nature. Indeed, the town is anchored in the earth’s crust, developing in harmony with the contours of its environment. But this connection goes far beyond mere geography: it’s vital to the city’s very survival. Rapture draws its energy from oceanic geothermal vents, an authentic source of power that lends the city remarkable tangibility and credibility. The Hephaestus power plant highlights the vital importance of this energy to the city’s prosperity.

Rapture’s geographical coordinates, marking its precise location on a map, add an extra dimension of mystery and realism to its narrative. This duality between a concrete location and an almost mythical existence creates an unsettling atmosphere, placing the city in a captivating zone of ambiguity, while bringing it closer to our own world.

The grandiose idea of an authentic underwater city is a crucial pillar in creating a sense of belonging to Rapture. Like an homage to the tales of Jules Verne or the myth of Atlantis, we are irresistibly drawn to the mysterious depths of the oceans, swept away in wonder at the grandeur of the aquatic city. By exploring audio recordings and unearthing clues scattered here and there, we gradually reconstruct the history of Rapture as a place. This process feeds our curiosity about this underwater metropolis, transforming it into an authentic, functional city, far more than just a fictional setting where we’re content to play vigilante.

The systems and technologies that structure the city play a crucial role in this perception. Rapture’s countless stores, businesses and services contribute to a palpable sense of economic and social life, even in the most dilapidated corners of the city. Transportation systems such as the Bathysphere and the Atlantic Express train offer total immersion in the city’s connectivity. Rather than simply observing them, we have the opportunity, if only for a moment, to experience Rapture as a full-fledged citizen. This interconnection between the city’s different zones seems to be the fruit of meticulous design, reinforcing the impression of realism that emanates from its genius loci.

This impression is further heightened in the depths of Minerva’s Den, where we discover the retrofuturistic computer systems that drive the city: Rapture Central Computing, or “the brain of Rapture”. We then become aware of the crucial importance of these systems in ensuring Rapture’s prosperity, as well as their post-fall role, embodied by the Thinker and the Rapture Central Computing systems struggling to maintain their functioning despite the ravages of time.

The true essence of this functional yet enchanting underwater city lies in its inhabitants. They play a crucial role in shaping Rapture’s genius loci, embodying human interactions, the consequences of their actions, and successes and failures on a profoundly human scale. This dynamic is particularly poignant when we observe Rapture’s metamorphoses over time and the impact they have on its residents: from the glittering jewel depicted in “Burial at Sea”, home to seemingly blossoming citizens, to its dilapidated, fallen state in BioShock and BioShock 2, where the last Adam-obsessed survivors seem indifferent to the slow decline of the city around them.

Rapture breathes the rhythm of Andrew Ryan and his Randian philosophy, permeating every corner of the city. An invisible hand guides the city’s destiny, as evidenced by the audio diaries and video messages scattered throughout the city. But this influence takes physical form from the very first moments of BioShock, when the lights come on inside the lighthouse, revealing the colossal bust of Ryan and his provocative phrase: “Neither gods, nor kings, only man”. This scene is the first palpable manifestation of the philosophy behind Rapture, and its impact is all the more striking when we consider the connotations of the concept of genius loci. Originating in ancient Rome, genius loci was associated with a “god or spirit presiding over the place”, a definition that seems uncannily consistent with Andrew Ryan’s presentation of himself as the “god” ruling over Rapture.

Despite the clearly anti-religious nature of Ryan and his city, this “divine” aura surrounding Rapture’s founder at the entrance to the town lends the genius loci a spiritual, even supernatural dimension. The evolution of the meaning of genius loci from its original Roman concept is particularly relevant to Rapture, which seems to embrace both definitions: while Ryan undoubtedly appears as the spirit presiding over Rapture’s destiny, a crystalline image of genius loci emerges as well.

Stories rooted in reality and imbued with multiple layers of hidden meaning possess an undeniable power. Rapture’s philosophical underpinnings, woven into the very fabric of the city, lend an unfathomable depth to its essence. Arcadia Park is an eloquent example of this. Initially designed by scientists and botanists in Ryan’s pay to provide oxygen and food for the city, it was first accessible to citizens free of charge, before becoming a paying attraction by Ryan’s own decision. The latter is preceded by a memorable audio recording in which he recounts having voluntarily destroyed his own land park to avoid making it accessible to the public while living on the American continent.

Stories rooted in reality and imbued with multiple layers of hidden meaning possess an undeniable power. Rapture’s philosophical underpinnings, woven into the very fabric of the city, lend unfathomable depth to its essence. Arcadia Park is a prime example. Originally conceived by scientists and botanists on Ryan’s payroll to provide oxygen and food for the city, it was first accessible to citizens free of charge, before becoming a paying attraction by decision of Ryan himself. The latter is preceded by a memorable audio recording in which he recounts having voluntarily destroyed his own land park so as not to make it accessible to the public while living on the American continent.

The very essence of Art Deco permeates every corner of Rapture, shaping its tangible aesthetic and instilling an atmosphere of unparalleled elegance. The city’s skyline is undeniably reminiscent of New York, and it’s easy to attribute this similarity to the influence of the iconic Empire State Building and Chrysler Building, erected just before the advent of Rapture. The city’s architects, the Wales brothers, undoubtedly drew their inspiration from these iconic monuments, seeking to recreate a similar style and presence.

Within the buildings themselves, the imprint of Art Deco continues to guide the design and decoration, with spaces generously adorned with sumptuous sculptures and adorned with luxurious materials, finely worked with exquisite craftsmanship. Every room, every bar, every boutique reflects this decadent opulence, with gleaming parquet floors, flowing seating and boldly designed furniture embellished with gleaming metallic finishes. The walls themselves are adorned with vibrant works of art, from posters extolling the virtues of Atlas to hanging artworks and plasmid advertisements, offering a spectacle of vibrant colors and striking contrasts.

Even the seemingly innocuous elements of Rapture bear the distinctive mark of Art Deco. The airlocks, partition doors and air vents of the little sisters all reveal an elaborate geometric design, testifying to the depth of thought that went into their conception. These details, often in sturdy metal, lend a touch of industrialism to Rapture’s reliance on rigorous, solid metallurgy. Rapture doesn’t just draw inspiration from Art Deco; it embodies it. Every aspect of its architecture, from its symmetry to its bold geometric lines, reflects a city conceived according to a coherent design strategy. The colossal engineering required to build Rapture is sublimated by strikingly beautiful finishes and furnishings, reinforcing the wonder that emanates from the city.

The underwater city is imbued with a sense of nostalgia and a palpable sense of the passage of time. The city manages to encapsulate an era often evoked with tenderness, characterized by its elegant style and the charismatic aura of its inhabitants. A time when every man wore a hat and suit, when language was tinged with singular expressions, such as Sinclair’s use of the term “sport” or the use of poker references in ordinary conversation. The popular music of the time, the voices and sounds that resonate throughout Rapture, also contribute to forging an authentic soundtrack.

Time and nostalgia deeply shape the player’s experience, making the return to Rapture after a decade feel both natural and compelling. Having explored the ethereal skies of Columbia in Infinite, players are drawn back to the shadowy allure of Rapture, eager for one last immersive journey. Time has left its unmistakable imprint on the underwater city—once a gleaming utopia, now a crumbling, rust-streaked metropolis. Its infrastructure groans with age, yet the city retains a haunting beauty, evoking a powerful sense of nostalgia.

As players uncover secrets through Rapture’s ruins and audio diaries, one question lingers: what is Rapture’s true depth, and where exactly is it? Hints scattered throughout the series suggest it lies in the northern Mid-Atlantic. The name of the rail system (Atlantic Express), literary nods to Atlas Shrugged, and coordinates briefly mentioned in the game (63° 2′N, 29° 55′W) all suggest a location west of Iceland. Whether these coordinates point to the city’s true position or simply the protagonist’s plane crash site remains uncertain, adding to Rapture’s enduring mystique.

In Bioshock, we witness a majestic humpback whale and an enigmatic colossal squid. Humpback whales aren’t the ultimate marine mammal champions when it comes to deep-sea diving – that distinction belongs to Cuvier’s beaked whale, which can reach depths of up to 3,000 meters. Humpback whales, on the other hand, prefer to operate close to the surface, although some have been observed at depths of up to 100 meters. Colossal squid, on the other hand, are abyssal creatures, but their rarity makes their distribution unknown. Their imposing wingspans make them the natural hosts of Rapture’s surroundings, where food resources seem abundant.

In Bioshock 2, players have the privilege of encountering another giant of the seas: the great white shark, moving through the corridors of a freshly flooded level. When the level dries out, we discover schools of herring floating on the ground. Other biological clues underline the fact that Rapture is a relatively shallow city, both philosophically and physically. In Bioshock 2, much of the city is enveloped in kelp, an algae that requires sunlight to thrive through photosynthesis. All this suggests that Rapture is closer to the surface than to the ocean abyss.

Rapture is a marginally autonomous city. It requires heat. It needs electricity. It thirsts for oxygen. Fortunately, a source for all these necessities lies close to the coordinates revealed in the game. Rapture is built on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, where the separation of two oceanic plates provides access to a colossal source of geothermal energy. It is this same source that powers a substantial part of Iceland.

If Rapture were in the depths of an abyssal trench, it would be progressively buried by an incessant rain of marine snow, turning into a mud-soaked wasteland. However, Rapture sits on the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, atop this imposing underwater mountain range, close enough to the surface to catch the sun’s rays. Given this geological context, the constraints of human engineering and the marine fauna evolving around the city, it’s reasonable to assume that the base of Rapture lies no more than 150 meters below the ocean’s surface.

Perhaps the most revealing detail about Rapture’s depth limits lies in the presence of the city’s iconic Big Daddies. These colossuses move about in imposing diving suits. Modern atmospheric diving suits can take an individual down to 300 meters below the surface. The JIM suit, now obsolete but the closest modern equivalent of the Big Daddy, could reach 400 meters. However, Big Daddy suits are not of modern design. In Bioshock 1 and 2, we learn that they are made from leather and rubber, with numerous openings. Their technology is more reminiscent of the old, heavy diving suits of the turn of the century.

Unlike the Carmagnolle wetsuit, which, though visually impressive, never made it into diving, it’s more likely that Big Daddies technology derives from the standard US Navy Mark V helmet diving suits used from 1918 to 1986 (reliable technology remains reliable). These suits could operate at depths of up to 100 meters, and sometimes more, but divers ran risks by pushing the limits. For example, the technology available when Rapture was created in 1946 would only have enabled the town to be placed at a maximum depth of around 150 meters.

It appears that Rapture, like Andrew Ryan and the Objectivist philosophy that inspired his utopia, while grandiose in its vision, is in fact much shallower than it first appears. The juxtaposition of all these constituent elements of Rapture, be it its rich storytelling, complex history or philosophical underpinnings, fuses harmoniously to create a place of unparalleled and memorable atmosphere. The level of detail in its design and the depth of its meaning give Rapture such a powerful genius loci that it stands out as one of the most remarkable videogame creations of all time. Rapture has left an indelible mark on our minds, and even a decade after its debut, it still shines brightly, eternally etched in our collective memory.