Pope Francis called the Internet “a gift from God.” In Netflix’s The Remarkable Life of Ibelin, it’s a gift put to good use.

When I was in high school, before social media, the internet was mostly chat rooms and message boards. I spent a lot of time on these message boards participating in text role-playing games with other kids from all over the country. These “games” were really collaborative stories where we each wrote from the perspective of our own characters. Offline, I was shy, overweight, and generally too timid to speak my mind. But the internet was a different story.

On the Internet, I was a theatrical villain bent on world domination. I was a wise, flirtatious superhero whose humor masked deep pain. I was a thoughtful survivor vying for power after the apocalypse, and a reluctant Chosen One leading a band of unlikely followers in a quest to save the world. Those worlds, those lives existed only in our heads and in digital text. It was virtual reality in every sense. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.

I remembered those days when I was watching The Strange Life of Ibelin. Director Benjamin Rhee’s Norwegian documentary won awards and rave reviews at this year’s Sundance Film Festival and is now available to stream on Netflix. The film tells the story of Mats Steen, a young man with a degenerative muscle disease who spent most of his short life in a wheelchair. Unable to participate in the same activities as his peers, he became an active player in online games. His favorite was World of Warcraft, a massively multiplayer online role-playing game set in the fantasy world of Azeroth, which Steen would spend hours playing.

When he died at the age of 25, his parents feared that his last years were very lonely. But when they posted the death on his blog, he was flooded with hundreds of messages from friends their son had made in the game. Through their testimony, his family—and viewers—learn about the exploits of Steen’s online alter ego: a powerful, charismatic adventurer named Ibelin. In a digital body, unencumbered by physical limitations, he went on long runs, climbed mountains, and fought dragons. But even more extraordinary was the impact he had on other players, the lives he changed through his compassion and friendship.

“Ibelin” uses traditional documentary mediums such as home video and interviews with family and friends, but it also uses newer mediums to immerse us in the world of Azeroth. Moments from Steen’s life as Ibelin are recreated through recreated gameplay footage with dialogue and narration from chat recordings and Steen’s own substantial, emotionally poignant artwork. This is certainly not the first time a documentary has used animation to tell a story; in one recent example, the 2021 Danish film The Escape used animated segments to vividly bring to life the memories of an Afghan refugee. In Ibelin, the animation allows you to see Stin’s online life as real and meaningful as his offline life.

It’s a provocative idea, even—or perhaps especially—now that almost every aspect of our lives is mediated through the Internet. We worry that people are leaving the real world for the virtual, getting lost in digital fantasies. We have seen how online communities can lead to radicalization and polarization, how the anonymity of the Internet fosters intimidation and abuse. All of these concerns are valid and worthy of consideration.

But it’s also worth thinking about how the Internet can be a force for good. In 2014, Pope Francis went so far as to call it a “gift from God,” saying, “The digital world can be an environment rich in humanity; the network is not made of wires, but of people.” This was my experience as a teenager on message boards. The community I found there was a gift during a lonely time in my life. My memories of early high school are blurry and generalized: classes, bus rides, and lunch tables. Much more vivid are my memories of the online adventures I had during those years: the personalities, the drama, the inside jokes, the lessons learned.

For me, it was not a rejection of the offline world, but a way of growing up. Embodying these characters allowed me to experiment with being bold, confident and vulnerable. It was a safe place to explore who I wanted to be until I had the courage to be that way all the time, online and offline.

Similarly, Ibelin sees Steen’s virtual life as a place where he could reach his full potential. In the offline world, his human dignity was often overshadowed (in the eyes of others) by his disability. But as Ibelin, he could show off his intelligence and charm, find romance, and communicate with his peers as equals. He wasn’t perfect, but we see how the game gave him a chance to learn from his mistakes, to seek reconciliation and forgiveness. Ultimately, it helped him discover the challenges he faced due to his disability and accept himself wholeheartedly.

It also gave him a great gift to be a positive influence on others during his short time on earth. One of the most striking examples is his friendship with Ksenia, a mother from Denmark who tried offline to find contact with her teenage son Mikkel, a young man with autism. Steen eventually suggested that she try connecting with him through the game, and became Mikkel’s friend and mentor as he entered their community. Both mother and son now believe that Steen helped them build a closer relationship. This is the legacy any of us could leave behind.

In this and other episodes from the remarkable life of Steen/Ibelin, the film offers a vision of a redeemed Internet: a place where true connection is possible and limitations can be overcome. In Azeroth, Steen made friends, fell in love, helped others in difficult times, and had the opportunity to live life to the fullest. It was virtual life. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.