There are stories that, even when you’ve been waiting for them for years, still manage to leave a bitter aftertaste. The closure of BioWare by Electronic Arts is one of these. Not because the Canadian studio was still the golden-age outfit, nor because the past decade offered particularly good reasons to be optimistic, but because witnessing the disappearance of one of the most important names in Western role-playing games should mean more than just a footnote in a corporate restructuring plan. And yet here we are, once again, watching a piece of gaming history end up in the shredder of financial priorities, accompanied by the usual circumstantial statements. tritacarne delle priorità finanziarie, accompagnato dalle consuete dichiarazioni di circostanza.
Today, 21 October 2026, Electronic Arts has confirmed the closure of BioWare and cancellation of the next Mass Effect, announced already in the distant 2020 and still in early development. The decision falls within a reorganisation that will result in the cutting of around 400 jobs, a quarter of them within the Canadian studio. The announcement was made to employees by David Tinson and Cam Weber, respectively EA’s Chief Operating Officer and Chief Studios Officer, via a letter explaining that the company has carefully reviewed its activities to prepare for the next phase of interactive entertainment. Less elegant translation: BioWare is no longer part of the plan.
The most grotesque thing is that Electronic Arts manages to label BioWare a legendary studio while announcing its closure. A well-deserved recognition, alas, arriving in the same document that declares its end. It’s a bit like congratulating someone on an extraordinary career while pointing them toward the exit. The difference being, in this case, that career helped shape an entire video game genre. that career helped shape an entire video game genre.
Why was BioWare not simply the Mass Effect and Dragon Age studio? It was the software house that created Baldur's Gate, helping to bring Western role-playing games back to the forefront when the genre was in a far from comfortable phase. It was the team behind Neverwinter Nights, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, the early adventures of Commander Shepard, and that Dragon Age: Origins — still, today, a reference point hard to match for many. Imperfect games, naturally, but capable of doing something you can't buy with an advertising budget: leaving a mark.
BioWare had a rare ability, that of convincing us our choices truly mattered. Not always was it so, and anyone who has experienced the controversy over Mass Effect 3’s ending will remember it too well, but the illusion worked because behind those choices were memorable characters, intelligently written dialogue and worlds that were pleasant to lose yourself in. personaggi memorabili, dialoghi scritti con intelligenza e mondi nei quali era piacevole perdersi. Non servivano stagioni competitive, pass battaglia o ricompense giornaliere per convincerci a tornare. Bastava voler sapere cosa sarebbe successo a Garrus, a Morrigan, a Liara o a uno degli altri personaggi che avevamo imparato a conoscere.
It would be intellectually dishonest to turn this story into the fairy tale of a perfect studio destroyed by a bad publisher. BioWare had deep problems, many of them internal. Mass Effect: Andromeda exposed the cracks in a troubled production, Anthem was a clumsy attempt to chase the live-service market, and Dragon Age: The Veilguard, despite finding admirers and receiving generally positive critical reception, failed to meet EA’s commercial expectations. All of this was compounded by years of shifting direction, production difficulties, and the departure of key figures who defined the studio’s identity.
The point, though, is precisely this: who decided that BioWare should chase markets and business models distant from its identity? Who deemed it sensible to transform a studio renowned for its narrative role-playing games into a machine designed to compete with Destiny's success? Not all bad choices can be blamed on Electronic Arts, but it would be equally convenient to absolve the publisher of all responsibility, as if corporate strategies, economic expectations and resource management had no influence on the games that end up in our shops.
Anthem, from this perspective, will probably remain the most eloquent symbol of an entire season, and also the title that has let me down most in the last decade at least. A studio that had built its reputation by telling stories and developing relationships between characters found itself pursuing a multiplayer model based on repeating activities and the promise of future content. It was not impossible that it would work, but it was legitimate to wonder why BioWare should have taken on that challenge. The answer, today, seems even harder to find.
Meanwhile, the world has moved on. Baldur's Gate 3, developed by Larian Studios, has shown that there is still a huge audience for complex, narrative-driven role-playing games rich in dialogue, consequences, and branching choices.The success of that title doesn't prove that every traditional RPG can become a commercial phenomenon, but it makes it at least difficult to argue that the BioWare model that had made them so successful is now irrelevant. Maybe the problem wasn't the genre. Maybe it was giving up completely on what the studio knew best.
And then there's Electronic Arts, of course. A company that over the years has built up a collection of illustrious names now vanished or profoundly transformed. Bullfrog, Origin Systems, Westwood Studios, Pandemic Studios, Visceral Games: different stories, different responsibilities, but a result that often ends up looking similar. Studios acquired for their talent and intellectual property, which, after years of reorganisations and strategic shifts, cease to exist. It doesn't mean every closure was avoidable, but the frequency with which this script repeats makes it ever less convincing that it's merely a matter of unfortunate coincidences.
What makes the picture even more unsettling is the corporate context. The closure comes just months after the completion of Electronic Arts' acquisition by a group of investors including Silver Lake, Affinity Partners and the Saudi Public Investment Fund, an operation that brought the company back into private hands. It would be wrong to claim, without further evidence, that the acquisition directly led to BioWare's closure. Yet it remains difficult to ignore the contrast between statements about investing in the future of entertainment and the decision to cancel one of the most recognizable studios in the entire catalog.It would be wrong to claim, without further evidence, that the acquisition directly led to BioWare's closure. Yet it remains difficult to ignore the contrast between statements about investing in the future of entertainment and the decision to cancel one of the most recognizable studios in the entire catalog.
The future, it seems, will continue to pass through the major commercial opportunities identified by the company: sports, shooters, Battlefield, Apex Legends and new projects tied to Star Wars. Choices understandable from an industrial standpoint, especially when considering investments and expected returns. But an industry that measures creative value solely through its compatibility with current financial strategies risks becoming culturally poorer, even when its balance sheets tell a different story.
There’s also a question that too often gets sidelined when talking about the death of a famous studio: the people. Behind BioWare are not just brands, franchises and teenage memories, but developers, artists, writers, programmers (god, I’m becoming Salvini), in short, professionals who spent years of their lives building imaginary worlds. Reducing everything to a percentage of the workforce, that reassuring 3% that appears in news stories about layoffs, means forgetting that for hundreds of people, this isn’t just an organisational adjustment, but a concrete and often traumatic change to their lives. change
And while the next Mass Effect is being cancelled almost six years after its announcement, there remains the feeling of a wasted opportunity. We don’t know whether it would have been a masterpiece, a mediocre game, or yet another letdown. Probably we’ll never know. But at least there was the chance to see BioWare try one final time to reclaim its identity, perhaps learning from the mistakes that had damaged its reputation. BioWare tentare un'ultima volta di recuperare la propria identità, magari imparando dagli errori che ne avevano compromesso la reputazione. Quella possibilità è stata eliminata prima ancora che potesse essere giudicata dai giocatori.
Perhaps the most bitter truth is that BioWare, in many ways, had already stopped being the BioWare we remembered. The founders had gone, many veterans had taken other paths, and its latest projects had gradually distanced the studio from what had made it special. The announced closure today does not represent the sudden destruction of an institution still intact, but the final chapter of a long and painful decline. And it is precisely this that makes it so sad: we had years to get used to the idea, without it making it any more acceptable.
In its farewell message, BioWare recalled how its games had become something more than just products, thanks to the people who had experienced, discussed and loved them. Perhaps this is the best way to describe what the studio leaves behind. Because BioWare’s games were not merely items to be bought and completed: they were stories that continued in conversations with friends, debates over moral choices, and relationships with characters that didn’t exist — yet, for some reason, felt more real than many others.
Electronic Arts can shut down BioWare, but it cannot erase what BioWare represented. It can halt the development of Mass Effect, turn off the lights in Edmonton’s offices, and bury three decades of history under the label 'restructuring'. But it cannot erase the first encounter with the Citadel, the battle against Malak, the discussions with travel companions in front of a camp, or that indelible feeling of standing before a universe that seemed to be waiting only for our decisions. And perhaps this is the most vicious irony of the whole affair. BioWare taught us for thirty years that choices have consequences, that power entails responsibility, and that sometimes the most convenient solution is not the right one. In the end, Electronic Arts has chosen the path it believes is most convenient.
Unfortunately, in this story, the worst ending wasn't written by BioWare.
