If a game requires players and a story requires characters, then the narrative-space of a video game can only be navigated by a hybrid of the two: a player/character with shared, symbiotic agency.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Interactive Tropes
So I started playing Heavy Rain last week and am enjoying it quite a lot more than I expected to. Perhaps it is simply the novelty of playing a game that is more than Just Another Shooter or Just Another Platformer that I find so alluring about it; I'm not sure. It is not without its flaws, but a post addressing those can wait until I complete the game, and that will have to wait until this so called apocalyPS3 passes. For now, I want to look at something which has previously played through my head but which Heavy Rain has caused me to consider from a different perspective: the relationship, or perhaps dichotomy, of interactive-ness and round-ness.
Narrative in linear mediums are more convincing, more believable, if the protagonist is more round. By 'more round' I mean more detailed, more fleshed out. The more we know about the protagonist, the more 'real' they feel, the more likely we are to suspend our disbelief of whatever fantastical plot they find themselves in.
On the other hand, by consequence of being interactive, video game protagonists are generally flatter. That is, they enter the story with very few personal characteristics pre-authored into them. This makes sense as the more attributes pre-ordained unto a character, the less attributes the player is able to endow through interacting with the game. A protagonist of a Grand Theft Auto-like game who has a deep-seeded belief in non-violence would render the crime-ridden story of murder and action illogical and impossible to believe, let alone be an immersive experience.
Interactivity and round-ness are opposite ends of a sliding scale. The more a player is able to interact with and have control over a character, the less round that character is capable of being. Conversely, the player will have more issues interacting with and directing a more rounded, more characterised character.
At the more round/less interactive end of the spectrum are strongly grounded characters like Cloud Strife and Nathan Drake. Characters who are round enough to be convincing in their own right, yet are only interactive in very basic ways (though completely different ways if we were to compare Cloud and Drake) that don't allow much room for the player to add their own attributes to the character. Both Cloud Strife and Nathan Drake are the same characters for nearly every player that plays through their stories.
At the other end of the spectrum, where characters are less round/more interactive, are characters like Gordon Freeman or the Vault Dweller. Characters whose nigh every move can be controlled from picking up a bottle, pulling a trigger, to climbing onto a rooftop, yet are not able to be convincing characters independent of the player's input. Instead, their personalities and moralities are expressed in the player's decision in how an obstruction is confronted, how an objective is obtained.
Somewhere in the middle, in my opinion, would be Commander Shepard and Nico Belic: characters with a relatively strong sense of self but not one that is unmovable by the decisions the player makes throughout the story.
This is why the vast majority of gaming protagonists are tropes, ranging from generic male space marines to generic male mercenaries: to allow the player to paint their own experiences and choices onto an avatar. That, and because many video games are horrible cliche, but that is a different discussion.
Heavy Rain's plot is relatively unique to video games, but is nothing that hasn't been seen before in film or literature. However, its somewhat archetypal (perhaps even stereotypical at times) crime/thriller plotline has me no less immersed than the leaking halls of Rapture or the oppressed streets of City 17. Is it simply that the interactivity of being able to bump the right analog stick to the left to avoid a head-on collision on a freeway makes the scene that much more gripping than watching it passively in a movie?
Well, simply: yes. As Ethan speeds down that freeway, he could die if my reflexes are off by a millisecond. Just as his Shaun's life is in Ethan's hands as he plays the Origami Killer's games, Ethan's life is in my hands as I play Heavy Rain. If I screw up, he is dead.
And that is an experience unique for me in Heavy Rain. I don't die; Ethan does. In Fallout 3, Half-life2, even Grand Theft Auto 4, it's not Qwae, Gordon Freeman, or Nico Belic that dies (at least, not exclusively) but I who dies. Typically, the symbiotic agency between player and protagonist within the gameworld (a symbiosis that strengthens at the less round/more interactive end of the scale) means that the failings of one of us kills us both. But in Heavy Rain, my failings may kill someone else. How far am I willing to go to save someone I love, indeed.
Heavy Rain's characters are about as far across on the less interactive/more round end of thesliding scale as it is possible to go and still be considered interactive. You cannot jump onto the bed; you cannot break and do a u-turn as you drive down the street; you cannot pistol-whip your partner in the police for being a complete douche (which he really, really is). Ethan can sit on the bed, or he can not; Ethan drives down the street whether you adjust the review mirror to look at Shaun on the backseat or not; Norman can futilely shout at the cop to stop beating a suspect, or he can not. Quantic Dream seems to be aware of this in the way Heavy Rain never seems to be referred to as a 'game' and instead as an 'interactive drama'.
By allowing the player less agency over the characters, the characters of Heavy Rain are able to be far better rounded, meaning they are able to be far more convincing characters in their own right before the player makes any form of input.
The environment, though, is another matter entirely. While the characters are less interactive and better rounded than in a typical game, the environment is arguably far flatter and interactive. As many reviews have observed, Ethan's house looks as lifeless and stale as the pages of an Ikea catalogue. The grocery store looks like every grocery store in every city in every country I have visited. The shopping mall looks like... well... okay, shopping malls are pretty lifeless already.
Note that this generic-ness of environment isn't a bad thing. The same scale of round-ness/interactive-ness that applies to characters also applies to environment. While all of Heavy Rain's environments are generic tropes, they are still believable and convincing by being so interactive. Ethan's house feels real; the grocery store feels real; the shopping mall feels as close to real as any shopping mall could hope to feel because the player is able to interact with them so coherently.
Dozens of objects in your house, in the grocer, in the police headquarters can be interacted with and manipulated to potentially affect the direction the narrative takes. It is the player's physical interactions with the environment that are more likely to affect the narrative outcome of Heavy Rai-n-either intentionally by opting to hide the origami shoebox under the motel bed, or accidentally by missing a QTE on the freeway--than the character-motivated conversation interactions like in, say, any BioWare or Bethesda title.
If Gordon Freeman, the Vault Dweller, and The Master Chief are blank canvases on which the player is meant to paint their own choices, the characters of Heavy Rain are portraits as detailed as the close ups of its loading screens--the player just adds chance scars (both physical and mental) haphazardly as they stumble through the story. However, if City 17, The Capital Wasteland, and the Halo Rings are portraits of complex, well rounded worlds within which the game occurs, then the settings of Heavy Rain are blank, minimalist walls and the player can paint on them with whatever damn item they find in the room.
There. Unmix those metaphors!
Narrative in linear mediums are more convincing, more believable, if the protagonist is more round. By 'more round' I mean more detailed, more fleshed out. The more we know about the protagonist, the more 'real' they feel, the more likely we are to suspend our disbelief of whatever fantastical plot they find themselves in.
On the other hand, by consequence of being interactive, video game protagonists are generally flatter. That is, they enter the story with very few personal characteristics pre-authored into them. This makes sense as the more attributes pre-ordained unto a character, the less attributes the player is able to endow through interacting with the game. A protagonist of a Grand Theft Auto-like game who has a deep-seeded belief in non-violence would render the crime-ridden story of murder and action illogical and impossible to believe, let alone be an immersive experience.
Interactivity and round-ness are opposite ends of a sliding scale. The more a player is able to interact with and have control over a character, the less round that character is capable of being. Conversely, the player will have more issues interacting with and directing a more rounded, more characterised character.
At the more round/less interactive end of the spectrum are strongly grounded characters like Cloud Strife and Nathan Drake. Characters who are round enough to be convincing in their own right, yet are only interactive in very basic ways (though completely different ways if we were to compare Cloud and Drake) that don't allow much room for the player to add their own attributes to the character. Both Cloud Strife and Nathan Drake are the same characters for nearly every player that plays through their stories.
At the other end of the spectrum, where characters are less round/more interactive, are characters like Gordon Freeman or the Vault Dweller. Characters whose nigh every move can be controlled from picking up a bottle, pulling a trigger, to climbing onto a rooftop, yet are not able to be convincing characters independent of the player's input. Instead, their personalities and moralities are expressed in the player's decision in how an obstruction is confronted, how an objective is obtained.
Somewhere in the middle, in my opinion, would be Commander Shepard and Nico Belic: characters with a relatively strong sense of self but not one that is unmovable by the decisions the player makes throughout the story.
This is why the vast majority of gaming protagonists are tropes, ranging from generic male space marines to generic male mercenaries: to allow the player to paint their own experiences and choices onto an avatar. That, and because many video games are horrible cliche, but that is a different discussion.
Heavy Rain's plot is relatively unique to video games, but is nothing that hasn't been seen before in film or literature. However, its somewhat archetypal (perhaps even stereotypical at times) crime/thriller plotline has me no less immersed than the leaking halls of Rapture or the oppressed streets of City 17. Is it simply that the interactivity of being able to bump the right analog stick to the left to avoid a head-on collision on a freeway makes the scene that much more gripping than watching it passively in a movie?
Well, simply: yes. As Ethan speeds down that freeway, he could die if my reflexes are off by a millisecond. Just as his Shaun's life is in Ethan's hands as he plays the Origami Killer's games, Ethan's life is in my hands as I play Heavy Rain. If I screw up, he is dead.
And that is an experience unique for me in Heavy Rain. I don't die; Ethan does. In Fallout 3, Half-life2, even Grand Theft Auto 4, it's not Qwae, Gordon Freeman, or Nico Belic that dies (at least, not exclusively) but I who dies. Typically, the symbiotic agency between player and protagonist within the gameworld (a symbiosis that strengthens at the less round/more interactive end of the scale) means that the failings of one of us kills us both. But in Heavy Rain, my failings may kill someone else. How far am I willing to go to save someone I love, indeed.
Heavy Rain's characters are about as far across on the less interactive/more round end of thesliding scale as it is possible to go and still be considered interactive. You cannot jump onto the bed; you cannot break and do a u-turn as you drive down the street; you cannot pistol-whip your partner in the police for being a complete douche (which he really, really is). Ethan can sit on the bed, or he can not; Ethan drives down the street whether you adjust the review mirror to look at Shaun on the backseat or not; Norman can futilely shout at the cop to stop beating a suspect, or he can not. Quantic Dream seems to be aware of this in the way Heavy Rain never seems to be referred to as a 'game' and instead as an 'interactive drama'.
By allowing the player less agency over the characters, the characters of Heavy Rain are able to be far better rounded, meaning they are able to be far more convincing characters in their own right before the player makes any form of input.
The environment, though, is another matter entirely. While the characters are less interactive and better rounded than in a typical game, the environment is arguably far flatter and interactive. As many reviews have observed, Ethan's house looks as lifeless and stale as the pages of an Ikea catalogue. The grocery store looks like every grocery store in every city in every country I have visited. The shopping mall looks like... well... okay, shopping malls are pretty lifeless already.
Note that this generic-ness of environment isn't a bad thing. The same scale of round-ness/interactive-ness that applies to characters also applies to environment. While all of Heavy Rain's environments are generic tropes, they are still believable and convincing by being so interactive. Ethan's house feels real; the grocery store feels real; the shopping mall feels as close to real as any shopping mall could hope to feel because the player is able to interact with them so coherently.
Dozens of objects in your house, in the grocer, in the police headquarters can be interacted with and manipulated to potentially affect the direction the narrative takes. It is the player's physical interactions with the environment that are more likely to affect the narrative outcome of Heavy Rai-n-either intentionally by opting to hide the origami shoebox under the motel bed, or accidentally by missing a QTE on the freeway--than the character-motivated conversation interactions like in, say, any BioWare or Bethesda title.
If Gordon Freeman, the Vault Dweller, and The Master Chief are blank canvases on which the player is meant to paint their own choices, the characters of Heavy Rain are portraits as detailed as the close ups of its loading screens--the player just adds chance scars (both physical and mental) haphazardly as they stumble through the story. However, if City 17, The Capital Wasteland, and the Halo Rings are portraits of complex, well rounded worlds within which the game occurs, then the settings of Heavy Rain are blank, minimalist walls and the player can paint on them with whatever damn item they find in the room.
There. Unmix those metaphors!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Ludology, narrative, stalemate.
So it has once again been a very long time since I posted here. Since October, I have been doing quite a lot of academic reading for games. In particular, Hamlet on the Holodeck by Janet H. Murray (a good place to start), and various articles in First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Thanks to the dudes who took the time to comment on my last post and give me a place to start reading. There are still a lot of names there I am yet to read, but a lot more of them are beginning to look familiar the more I read.
This semester (commencing next week) I am returning to uni. I am not starting Honours until next year (I will be doing Communication & Cultural Studies), but this semester I am doing a Media Studies research topic as I kind of precursor. I am planning on either looking at Grand Theft Auto IV or Fallout 3 in relation to Jenkins's article, "Game Design as Narrative Architecture". Specifically, his concept of examining games less as stories and more as "spaces ripe with narrative possibility".
I have also forced myself to read some articles in First Person that do not relate specifically to my interest in narrative, as well as those that fight more for ludology (out of those that still frame the issue as a debate between the two). These viewpoints that I do not normally consider have been challenging but very interesting and insightful.
So for this post, I just want to empty my head with a few ideas and things that are running around in there. They are ideas that are related, but in this post they will be presented in separate blobs.I will work on pulling them together as time passes and I get more confident with the texts I am reading. Also, I accept there is the very likely probability that I am going to a) give acknowledgement of concepts and ideas to the wrong people; ie. to the person who wrote the article I first read it in when there may very well be a previous piece that covered it first; feel free to correct me. And b) to have epiphanies and ideas that are either proven wrong already or are better worded by academics I am yet to read; again, please correct me or point me in the right direction.
So here are just a few things running around my head. Firstly:
1. Don't ask what narrative can do for games, but what games can do for narrative.
Okay, that is horribly cliche, but it is the best way I can think to describe simply what I mean. Games don't need narrative. Fact. They are able to "have narratives" (in a very vague sense that I will get to later) but they do not need narratives. Tetris does not need a narrative; Chime does not need a narrative; Geometry Wars does not need a narrative; yet all of these are still able to be amazing games.
In the introduction to "Towards Computer Game Studies", Eskelinen invokes the metaphor of colonisation:
"So if there already is or soon will be a legitimate field for computer game studies, this field is also very open to intrusions and colonisations from the already organised scholarly tribes."
This got me thinking and I kind of got carried away with the metaphor in my head. Narratologists, Cultural Studies Peoples (what do you call people who study Cultural Studies, btw?), English Literature Peoples, etc. are all looking at games and how they can be "improved", so to speak, with narrative. I guess this is similar to a bunch of Europeans riding a boat to [insert Oriental country here] and "improving" the indigenous population by civilising them. In a way, the staunch ludologists are the indigenous tribes refusing to give up their own culture and constantly pestering the advancing colonists instead of just submitting.
Until Eskelinen's article, which I only read a few hours ago, I was one of those colonists, keen to "improve" games with better narrative, whatever that means. But now I realise that I don't want to improve games with narrative, but I want to see in what ways games can make narratives more emotive, more expressive, than any previous medium could beforehand. I want to learn hunting skills and natural medicine from the locals as opposed to converting them all to Christianity, so to speak.
Now back to that thing where I said games "have narrative", which was really just me using a gap filler.
2. Games are not, and can not be narratives. They can be narrative-spaces, or (if I dare coin a term) prenarratives.
Games are not narratives. "Most naive comparisons between narratives and games usually result from too narrow, broad, or feeble definitions of the former," says Eskelinen, and I realised I agree with him. Sure, games are able to have narrative elements, but they do not have ALL the elements. You can not just conveniently forget or add certain properties of what defines 'narrative' just to make it fit. Games are narrative-ish, I suppose.
Sticking with Eskelinen for now. This has got to be one of my favourite ludology-leaning quotes so far:
"[I]f I throw a ball at you, I don't expect you to drop it and wait until it starts telling stories."
Very true! BUT! If you throw a ball at me, and I throw it back, then perhaps later I could tell you the story of how you threw a ball at me and I threw it back. Eskelinen also says this:
"A sequence of events enacted constitutes a drama, a sequence of events taking place [constitutes] a performance, a sequence of events recounted [constitutes] a narrative, and perhaps a sequence of events produced by manipulating equipment and following formal rules constitutes a game." [bold added]
A sequence of events recounted is a narrative. This is very true. I'm sure there are hundreds of academics and theorists who have said this before me, but narratives happened in the past (before they could have been considered 'narratives' and were just events) and are recounted in the present (thus turning the events into narratives). This is why most stories are in the past tense. But games are more immediate due to the unique attribute of being interactive. Games are happenings, not recountings. BUT what about after the game is finished, what then? When that game experience, the events that constituted that playthrough, are connected in the form of a narrative with both plot and story. This is the case whether you are simply talking to your friend about something that happened to your character in Fallout 3, or writing a blog for your Sims, or creating a user video out of Grand Theft Auto IV, or recording your perma-death experiment on Far Cry 2. Games are not narratives, but the events of games can be retold as narratives. My life is not a narrative, but it can be written as a narrative once it is over.
So this leads me to Jenkins's "Game Design as Narrative Architecture" and the idea of "examining games less as stories [and more] as spaces ripe with narrative possibility." Or, more simply, narrative-spaces. To use the biography analogy again, our lives are full of choices and events capable of forming our lives into a compelling narrative if formed in the right way. As are the events and choices we make in any "story-based" video game (another term that will need clearing up).
Open world games like Bethesda titles are probably the best example, but not the only examples. I am going to use Fallout 3 as an example. The Capital Wasteland is littered with compelling narrative elements which, independently, are not narratives in their own right. A comm log here, the corpses of a raided caravan there, a town infested with Death Claws beyond that hill. But as my character threads her way across the Capital Wasteland, discovering her own character and morality by the choices she is forced to make(no different, I believe, to a character "finding herself" in any journey story), these separate elements are stitched together through my interaction with the narrative-space (the game world), and these events can then later be retold as a narrative.
So whether or not games are narratives is irrelevant. Games can be retold as narratives. The choices Qwae, my first Fallout 3 character, had to make in the final chapters of The Pitt have shaped who she is ever since. I can recall this story as clearly as I can recall any story on the bookshelf beside me, it affected me so greatly--more so because I had a role (an interaction) in the decision made.
So games are not narrative. Games are prenarrative, perhaps. They are the building blocks, the events, that must exist before the narrative does, no less so than the events in a novel or a film or a life exist (even if only in the author's or director's head) before the narrative does. The fact that each person who plays through Fallout 3 will have a slightly different narrative to recall afterwards is what makes games so valuable to narrative (as opposed to narrative being valuable to games).
--
So this is quite long, but I think those are the two key things I needed to get out of my head before I forgot. Any opinions are welcomed. Am I crazy? Am I stating the obvious? Has all this already been stated far better by someone else? Has all this already been proven wrong by someone else? Let me know.
This semester (commencing next week) I am returning to uni. I am not starting Honours until next year (I will be doing Communication & Cultural Studies), but this semester I am doing a Media Studies research topic as I kind of precursor. I am planning on either looking at Grand Theft Auto IV or Fallout 3 in relation to Jenkins's article, "Game Design as Narrative Architecture". Specifically, his concept of examining games less as stories and more as "spaces ripe with narrative possibility".
I have also forced myself to read some articles in First Person that do not relate specifically to my interest in narrative, as well as those that fight more for ludology (out of those that still frame the issue as a debate between the two). These viewpoints that I do not normally consider have been challenging but very interesting and insightful.
So for this post, I just want to empty my head with a few ideas and things that are running around in there. They are ideas that are related, but in this post they will be presented in separate blobs.I will work on pulling them together as time passes and I get more confident with the texts I am reading. Also, I accept there is the very likely probability that I am going to a) give acknowledgement of concepts and ideas to the wrong people; ie. to the person who wrote the article I first read it in when there may very well be a previous piece that covered it first; feel free to correct me. And b) to have epiphanies and ideas that are either proven wrong already or are better worded by academics I am yet to read; again, please correct me or point me in the right direction.
So here are just a few things running around my head. Firstly:
1. Don't ask what narrative can do for games, but what games can do for narrative.
Okay, that is horribly cliche, but it is the best way I can think to describe simply what I mean. Games don't need narrative. Fact. They are able to "have narratives" (in a very vague sense that I will get to later) but they do not need narratives. Tetris does not need a narrative; Chime does not need a narrative; Geometry Wars does not need a narrative; yet all of these are still able to be amazing games.
In the introduction to "Towards Computer Game Studies", Eskelinen invokes the metaphor of colonisation:
"So if there already is or soon will be a legitimate field for computer game studies, this field is also very open to intrusions and colonisations from the already organised scholarly tribes."
This got me thinking and I kind of got carried away with the metaphor in my head. Narratologists, Cultural Studies Peoples (what do you call people who study Cultural Studies, btw?), English Literature Peoples, etc. are all looking at games and how they can be "improved", so to speak, with narrative. I guess this is similar to a bunch of Europeans riding a boat to [insert Oriental country here] and "improving" the indigenous population by civilising them. In a way, the staunch ludologists are the indigenous tribes refusing to give up their own culture and constantly pestering the advancing colonists instead of just submitting.
Until Eskelinen's article, which I only read a few hours ago, I was one of those colonists, keen to "improve" games with better narrative, whatever that means. But now I realise that I don't want to improve games with narrative, but I want to see in what ways games can make narratives more emotive, more expressive, than any previous medium could beforehand. I want to learn hunting skills and natural medicine from the locals as opposed to converting them all to Christianity, so to speak.
Now back to that thing where I said games "have narrative", which was really just me using a gap filler.
2. Games are not, and can not be narratives. They can be narrative-spaces, or (if I dare coin a term) prenarratives.
Games are not narratives. "Most naive comparisons between narratives and games usually result from too narrow, broad, or feeble definitions of the former," says Eskelinen, and I realised I agree with him. Sure, games are able to have narrative elements, but they do not have ALL the elements. You can not just conveniently forget or add certain properties of what defines 'narrative' just to make it fit. Games are narrative-ish, I suppose.
Sticking with Eskelinen for now. This has got to be one of my favourite ludology-leaning quotes so far:
"[I]f I throw a ball at you, I don't expect you to drop it and wait until it starts telling stories."
Very true! BUT! If you throw a ball at me, and I throw it back, then perhaps later I could tell you the story of how you threw a ball at me and I threw it back. Eskelinen also says this:
"A sequence of events enacted constitutes a drama, a sequence of events taking place [constitutes] a performance, a sequence of events recounted [constitutes] a narrative, and perhaps a sequence of events produced by manipulating equipment and following formal rules constitutes a game." [bold added]
A sequence of events recounted is a narrative. This is very true. I'm sure there are hundreds of academics and theorists who have said this before me, but narratives happened in the past (before they could have been considered 'narratives' and were just events) and are recounted in the present (thus turning the events into narratives). This is why most stories are in the past tense. But games are more immediate due to the unique attribute of being interactive. Games are happenings, not recountings. BUT what about after the game is finished, what then? When that game experience, the events that constituted that playthrough, are connected in the form of a narrative with both plot and story. This is the case whether you are simply talking to your friend about something that happened to your character in Fallout 3, or writing a blog for your Sims, or creating a user video out of Grand Theft Auto IV, or recording your perma-death experiment on Far Cry 2. Games are not narratives, but the events of games can be retold as narratives. My life is not a narrative, but it can be written as a narrative once it is over.
So this leads me to Jenkins's "Game Design as Narrative Architecture" and the idea of "examining games less as stories [and more] as spaces ripe with narrative possibility." Or, more simply, narrative-spaces. To use the biography analogy again, our lives are full of choices and events capable of forming our lives into a compelling narrative if formed in the right way. As are the events and choices we make in any "story-based" video game (another term that will need clearing up).
Open world games like Bethesda titles are probably the best example, but not the only examples. I am going to use Fallout 3 as an example. The Capital Wasteland is littered with compelling narrative elements which, independently, are not narratives in their own right. A comm log here, the corpses of a raided caravan there, a town infested with Death Claws beyond that hill. But as my character threads her way across the Capital Wasteland, discovering her own character and morality by the choices she is forced to make(no different, I believe, to a character "finding herself" in any journey story), these separate elements are stitched together through my interaction with the narrative-space (the game world), and these events can then later be retold as a narrative.
So whether or not games are narratives is irrelevant. Games can be retold as narratives. The choices Qwae, my first Fallout 3 character, had to make in the final chapters of The Pitt have shaped who she is ever since. I can recall this story as clearly as I can recall any story on the bookshelf beside me, it affected me so greatly--more so because I had a role (an interaction) in the decision made.
So games are not narrative. Games are prenarrative, perhaps. They are the building blocks, the events, that must exist before the narrative does, no less so than the events in a novel or a film or a life exist (even if only in the author's or director's head) before the narrative does. The fact that each person who plays through Fallout 3 will have a slightly different narrative to recall afterwards is what makes games so valuable to narrative (as opposed to narrative being valuable to games).
--
So this is quite long, but I think those are the two key things I needed to get out of my head before I forgot. Any opinions are welcomed. Am I crazy? Am I stating the obvious? Has all this already been stated far better by someone else? Has all this already been proven wrong by someone else? Let me know.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Back to Uni
(People on the internet never seem to realise that 'uni' means university. Consider this me telling you that indeed uni does mean university.)
It looks like I will hopefully be returning to university next year to do a Communication and Culturual Studies Honours (ie. "Other", in the English School) to look at narrative in gaming and the such. Particuarly I want to look at the role of the author in games and all that stuff that I rant about (and other people rant about far better). So that should be fun, if my application survives the 6-months of beaurocratic hell to try to enrol.
Technically, though, I am not elligible to enrol as my Writing Major did not have the subjects to prepare me for an English School Honours. So over the summer (southern hemisphere), I will probably be writing a 5000 word research essay to hopefully pave the way into Honours. I applied yesterday for the research essay, and this is what I wrote that my research topic would be:
"The interactive nature of video games allows the presentation of unique narratives that would be impossible in conventional, non-interactive mediums such as film or literature. I wish to identify the devices that video games use to form these interactive marratives and how they affect the audience's (ie. the player's) experience."
So in five thousand words (ha!) that is what I will roughly be looking at. Hopefully looking at gaming narratives' uniqueness will create a kinda vague framework for the authorship stuff I wish to look at next year.
So the question I have to ask you guys is this: Are you aware of any scholarly pieces or academics that already name and identify devices that games use? It would make my essay easier (and make me seem far less arrogant) if I could critique someone elses definitions rather than take it upon myself to make some up myself (and not do them justice in a measly 5000 words).
So now I have to seriously start getting a bibliography together and finding scholarly readings that I can cite and the whatnot. My main issue is that I believe the most interesting discouse about gaming theory is happening in blogs and (the occasional) gaming magazine. So I will need to make a case for citing these types of sources in my essay/thesis. That said, I really haven't looked too hard for scholarly game writing or peer-reviewed journals so I shouldn't jump to conclusions. If anyone can suggest any, that would be tops.
It looks like I will hopefully be returning to university next year to do a Communication and Culturual Studies Honours (ie. "Other", in the English School) to look at narrative in gaming and the such. Particuarly I want to look at the role of the author in games and all that stuff that I rant about (and other people rant about far better). So that should be fun, if my application survives the 6-months of beaurocratic hell to try to enrol.
Technically, though, I am not elligible to enrol as my Writing Major did not have the subjects to prepare me for an English School Honours. So over the summer (southern hemisphere), I will probably be writing a 5000 word research essay to hopefully pave the way into Honours. I applied yesterday for the research essay, and this is what I wrote that my research topic would be:
"The interactive nature of video games allows the presentation of unique narratives that would be impossible in conventional, non-interactive mediums such as film or literature. I wish to identify the devices that video games use to form these interactive marratives and how they affect the audience's (ie. the player's) experience."
So in five thousand words (ha!) that is what I will roughly be looking at. Hopefully looking at gaming narratives' uniqueness will create a kinda vague framework for the authorship stuff I wish to look at next year.
So the question I have to ask you guys is this: Are you aware of any scholarly pieces or academics that already name and identify devices that games use? It would make my essay easier (and make me seem far less arrogant) if I could critique someone elses definitions rather than take it upon myself to make some up myself (and not do them justice in a measly 5000 words).
So now I have to seriously start getting a bibliography together and finding scholarly readings that I can cite and the whatnot. My main issue is that I believe the most interesting discouse about gaming theory is happening in blogs and (the occasional) gaming magazine. So I will need to make a case for citing these types of sources in my essay/thesis. That said, I really haven't looked too hard for scholarly game writing or peer-reviewed journals so I shouldn't jump to conclusions. If anyone can suggest any, that would be tops.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Who is the narrator?
So between ODST, Scribblenauts, and a family holiday, it has been a while since I last posted. Oops! I attempted to write a massive piece about why Halo is amazing without soundig like a fanboy...but I inevitably sounded like a fanboy so I gave up on that.
Anyway, I have been playing a LOT of ODST lately. The reviews I read were mixed (Edge gave it a 9, Good Game gave it a 5 and a 7, I think) and I think the safe conclusion is if you like Halo you will like ODST, and if you don't like Halo, you won't like ODST.
I am going to resist the urge to go on a rant about how unfortunate it is that so many people disregard Halo as a simple humanist/Americanist alien-shooter (and how unfortunate it is that so many people love it as a simple humanist/Americanist alien-shooter) when the series does so many things right, ad instead talk about some of the really interesting narrative things ODST does (at least, i thought they were interesting). I warn you, though, I am probably oging to pose more questions than I am going to answer. I'm lazy like that.
As you probably already know, ODST's story unfolds as you explore the ruins of New Mobasa and trigger flashbacks where you play a level as anothe rmember of your squad, gaining new perspectives and clues. One of Good Game's criticisms of the game was (and I paraphase) that the Rookie seems to be some mystical, omniscient medium who seems to be able to see the past simply by touching a vaguely related object. I refute this. Never does the game suggest that the Rookie himself viewed/interacted with the same flashbacks the player did. The player did, but not the character the player plays.
But how then does the Rookie know where to go next? Well, the Rookies objectives are never explained in the flashbacks. Rather, they just seem to magically appear as navpoints on his visor. This navpoints, I believe, are set by the AI, Virgil. The Rookie is not merely exploring random areas till he finds the clues needed, he is being points ever-so-subtley by the AI with locked doors, "Keep Right" signs and warning sirens. In a sense, the Rookie is merely the Ai's puppet. It is as subtle in the gameplay as it is blatant in the audio files. I love it. I love how the AI's presence is spread so thin and ghostly but so omnisciently through the story.
Anyway, Good Game's use of the word "omniscient" got me thinking. Perhaps ODST truly does have an omniscient narrator--a narrator that is capable of seeing/hearing anything from any perspective.But who is this narator if not the rookie? I put forth the (not too-well considered) notion that perhaps the AI, Virgil, is the narrator of ODST. The hints are there: the security camera cutscenes, the scanning-esque loading screens, etc. Each member of the ODST unit sees only a fraction of the entire story, but Virgil and the player see it all.
So if Virgil is the games narrator, then does that means that the characters that the player controls (the ODST squad members) are not narrators? Does this is turn mean the player is not a narrator in ODST?
I don't think that is possible. The player is still narrating. The player is still determining what order the scenes play out and the exact, physical actions of the ODST members, so as each ODST member, the player is controlling a Limitied Narrator, while Virgil is somewhat of an omniscient meta-narrator looking over the whole thing, arguably determining how the player views cutscenes.
In fact, I think I may have answered my own question: the player is the narrator(s) from start to finish, but from multiple points-of-view... maybe. I don't know! I am thinking this as I write and now I have a lot to think about.
As a side-note: the Arts student inside me wants to point out that there is no reason the Rookie could not be a female, and I place all the blame squarely on sexist English pronouns for my refering to s/he as 'he' in this post.
Anyway, I have been playing a LOT of ODST lately. The reviews I read were mixed (Edge gave it a 9, Good Game gave it a 5 and a 7, I think) and I think the safe conclusion is if you like Halo you will like ODST, and if you don't like Halo, you won't like ODST.
I am going to resist the urge to go on a rant about how unfortunate it is that so many people disregard Halo as a simple humanist/Americanist alien-shooter (and how unfortunate it is that so many people love it as a simple humanist/Americanist alien-shooter) when the series does so many things right, ad instead talk about some of the really interesting narrative things ODST does (at least, i thought they were interesting). I warn you, though, I am probably oging to pose more questions than I am going to answer. I'm lazy like that.
As you probably already know, ODST's story unfolds as you explore the ruins of New Mobasa and trigger flashbacks where you play a level as anothe rmember of your squad, gaining new perspectives and clues. One of Good Game's criticisms of the game was (and I paraphase) that the Rookie seems to be some mystical, omniscient medium who seems to be able to see the past simply by touching a vaguely related object. I refute this. Never does the game suggest that the Rookie himself viewed/interacted with the same flashbacks the player did. The player did, but not the character the player plays.
But how then does the Rookie know where to go next? Well, the Rookies objectives are never explained in the flashbacks. Rather, they just seem to magically appear as navpoints on his visor. This navpoints, I believe, are set by the AI, Virgil. The Rookie is not merely exploring random areas till he finds the clues needed, he is being points ever-so-subtley by the AI with locked doors, "Keep Right" signs and warning sirens. In a sense, the Rookie is merely the Ai's puppet. It is as subtle in the gameplay as it is blatant in the audio files. I love it. I love how the AI's presence is spread so thin and ghostly but so omnisciently through the story.
Anyway, Good Game's use of the word "omniscient" got me thinking. Perhaps ODST truly does have an omniscient narrator--a narrator that is capable of seeing/hearing anything from any perspective.But who is this narator if not the rookie? I put forth the (not too-well considered) notion that perhaps the AI, Virgil, is the narrator of ODST. The hints are there: the security camera cutscenes, the scanning-esque loading screens, etc. Each member of the ODST unit sees only a fraction of the entire story, but Virgil and the player see it all.
So if Virgil is the games narrator, then does that means that the characters that the player controls (the ODST squad members) are not narrators? Does this is turn mean the player is not a narrator in ODST?
I don't think that is possible. The player is still narrating. The player is still determining what order the scenes play out and the exact, physical actions of the ODST members, so as each ODST member, the player is controlling a Limitied Narrator, while Virgil is somewhat of an omniscient meta-narrator looking over the whole thing, arguably determining how the player views cutscenes.
In fact, I think I may have answered my own question: the player is the narrator(s) from start to finish, but from multiple points-of-view... maybe. I don't know! I am thinking this as I write and now I have a lot to think about.
As a side-note: the Arts student inside me wants to point out that there is no reason the Rookie could not be a female, and I place all the blame squarely on sexist English pronouns for my refering to s/he as 'he' in this post.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Fontaine's Ghost
The following is a letter I wrote in response to an article in Edge Magazine (E206) titled "The Death of The Author" in which Clint Hocking of Far Cry 2, Chet Faliszek of Left 4 Dead, and Ragnar Tornquist of Dreamfall: The Longest Journey talk (quite bleakly) about the irrelevance of authored narratives in the future of gaming. I agreed with a lot of what Tomquist said, but really disliked what Hocking and Faliszek said--which is ironic as I love their games and have never heard of Tornquist's. Anyway, this is my response--one that could be far more elaborate and detailed, but it is a start.
I find it disappointing and somewhat unsettling that the minds behind some of recent history’s most interesting interactive narratives (namely Clint Hocking of Far Cry 2 and Chet Faliszek of Left 4 Dead) have some of the grimmest, most apocalyptic predictions on the importance of authored narrative in the future of gaming (“Death of the Author”, E206).
The issue of authorship in narratives, and just who possesses it, has been debated in literature circles for decades. Certainly, the unique element of player interaction that makes gaming narratives so interesting complicates the author’s role, but I think it is rash to claim that the author is made redundant simply because two players will play through the same game in a different way. Player expression has not killed the author, but has merely given the author a new, slightly more subtle responsibility: that of story-presenter instead of storyteller. The author no longer writes a script for the player to read in a linear order, but instead writes a world and presents it to the player.
Left 4 Dead is an interesting example as it straddles the fence between authored narrative and player expression. Certainly, each play through the campaign will leave the player with a different experience and a slightly different narrative—one time it may be the narrative of the college student who saves the day; the next day it is the Vietnam veteran who uses his training to get the survivors to safety with a valiant self-sacrifice. However, regardless of what stories the players tell in the social experience, the games author still looms overhead, ensuring that whatever narrative is told by the four interacting players, that narrative will still be about four survivors of a zombie outbreak making their way to a hospital rooftop.
An author is required to present the narrative of Left 4 Dead, to present the narrative of four survivors desperate to escape the city. Within that presented narrative, it is the player’s responsibility to shape how the story is told. This is the opportunity that gaming alone offers us, and what makes our medium of choice so exciting.
Bioshock attempted to teach the gaming community this lesson in 2007. No matter how the player chooses to play the game, no matter what choices they make, the game’s author is still looming above them, whispering in their portable radio, saying, “Would you kindly play this narrative that I have presented, and no other.”
To state as the article’s interviewer does (and as Hocking and Faliszek agree) that players constructing their own narratives makes the author’s role redundant, is only addressing half the problem. In gaming, the author has a new role: to present the tools that the player requires to construct that narrative.
Player expression has killed the author about as successfully as Andrew Ryan killed Frank Fontaine, but all of Rapture is still jumping at his shadow.
I find it disappointing and somewhat unsettling that the minds behind some of recent history’s most interesting interactive narratives (namely Clint Hocking of Far Cry 2 and Chet Faliszek of Left 4 Dead) have some of the grimmest, most apocalyptic predictions on the importance of authored narrative in the future of gaming (“Death of the Author”, E206).
The issue of authorship in narratives, and just who possesses it, has been debated in literature circles for decades. Certainly, the unique element of player interaction that makes gaming narratives so interesting complicates the author’s role, but I think it is rash to claim that the author is made redundant simply because two players will play through the same game in a different way. Player expression has not killed the author, but has merely given the author a new, slightly more subtle responsibility: that of story-presenter instead of storyteller. The author no longer writes a script for the player to read in a linear order, but instead writes a world and presents it to the player.
Left 4 Dead is an interesting example as it straddles the fence between authored narrative and player expression. Certainly, each play through the campaign will leave the player with a different experience and a slightly different narrative—one time it may be the narrative of the college student who saves the day; the next day it is the Vietnam veteran who uses his training to get the survivors to safety with a valiant self-sacrifice. However, regardless of what stories the players tell in the social experience, the games author still looms overhead, ensuring that whatever narrative is told by the four interacting players, that narrative will still be about four survivors of a zombie outbreak making their way to a hospital rooftop.
An author is required to present the narrative of Left 4 Dead, to present the narrative of four survivors desperate to escape the city. Within that presented narrative, it is the player’s responsibility to shape how the story is told. This is the opportunity that gaming alone offers us, and what makes our medium of choice so exciting.
Bioshock attempted to teach the gaming community this lesson in 2007. No matter how the player chooses to play the game, no matter what choices they make, the game’s author is still looming above them, whispering in their portable radio, saying, “Would you kindly play this narrative that I have presented, and no other.”
To state as the article’s interviewer does (and as Hocking and Faliszek agree) that players constructing their own narratives makes the author’s role redundant, is only addressing half the problem. In gaming, the author has a new role: to present the tools that the player requires to construct that narrative.
Player expression has killed the author about as successfully as Andrew Ryan killed Frank Fontaine, but all of Rapture is still jumping at his shadow.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Deep Breathes
The article in the latest issue of Edge (E206), "Death of the Author"is brimming with stupid comments that I want to respond to. I am going to try to finish this article, take some deep breathes, and then see if I can't formulate an intelligent reply.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Breaking the Mould
So I gave in and got the full version of Shadow Complex and do not regret it at all. This game is great! Just, the commitment to the old-school style of side-scroller is unprecedented despite the incredible graphics and slick animation. The story isn't half bad either. I guess I ahve to agree with the majority of people who are saying you shouldn't let the guy's political and personal beliefs prevent you from enjoying his creative IP. That, and I guess ignoring his opinion is no beter than him hating gay people... or something.
Anyway, the game is great, and one little cutscrene was awesome. This may be a little spoiler, but not really an important thing, so you decide if you want to skip this following paragraph.
I love it when game/movies/stories/whatever set up what looks to be a stereotypical, well-rehearsed scene that could be in any other game/movie/story/whatever but then just totally jar it off in another direction. In Shadow Complex, you spend the first hour-ish of the game trying to track down Claire who is going to be tortured and potentially killed by (cue dramatic music) MR. SWEET! You havent seen (dramatic music) Mr. Sweet yet, but he is only mentioned with a sense of anticipated violence by the grunts. Like, you know he is someone to fear and is a sick enough person to be able to make anyone talk. So you finally get to see (dramatic music) Mr. Sweet preparing his scalpels and instruments of torture while Claire is chained toa dentist chair beside him, talking about the gruesome things he is going to do to her, when your hero bursts in with a gun pointed squarely at Mr. Sweet's head. Mr. Sweet chuckles and I expect a MGS-esque blurb at gunpoint followed by an epic boss battle. But no... Your dude just shoots him in the head, kills him, and frees Clair, and that is that.
This was as funny as it was anticlimatical. What made it so great was the entire game up to this point had been setting up Mr. Sweet the same way Metal Gear Solid might set up Praying Mantis (but not to the same level, but you get the idea). It was just really well pulled off.
In other news, I have started playing through Bioshock for the second time. Well, third time, I suppose, but I never finished it the first time over a year ago, so I guess it is the second time. I am going for several achievments (yes, I do like going for achievments, i am one of them). I am playing it through on hard, and I want to rescue EVERY little sister. Last time I rescued/harvested about 50-50. It's gonna be a challenge, but it's gonna be cool.
BioShock is one of those few utterly incredible games up there with Half-Life and very few others that actually KNOWS how to present a story in a game without relying on other mediums. SUre it has one or two cutscenes, but the vast majority of the story is the player's own responsibility to uncover. On this playthrough, i am already much more aware of how the world fits together. SO much of the time is spent walking through halls inthe back walls of buildings and the such that if you dont stop and look around, it can just feel like random corridors. But it really does all fit together so perfectly. It truly feels like the designers created the world and then placed the story in it, instead of the lazy alternative of creating the story and the world to conveniently fit around it.
I LOVE the twist in Bioshock as one of my favourite twists of all time. (Don't worry, I am going to be vague and not say what the twist is because you NEED to experience it for yourself). I had to stop playing after it for about an hour just to think about what had happened. HOWEVER! This leads me to my gripe about Bioshock: it is hypocritical. It has the twist, it makes its very important criticism of gaming in general, and then it falls victims ot its own observation. The game should end when you get to Ryan's office. You should deal with Ryan, press the button to prevent hte explosion, have Atlas give his little spiel, then fade out to credits. That would have been excellent!
But no! It would have been too short, I hear people say. Well really, half the levels after Ryan's office are generic enough tasks that thety could be placed before Ryan's office. Regardless, I would rather a short game than a hypocritical one. I may go into this further in a later post where I name the twist so I am less vague. That said, the game is excellent and I am glad to be playing it again.
Anyway, the game is great, and one little cutscrene was awesome. This may be a little spoiler, but not really an important thing, so you decide if you want to skip this following paragraph.
I love it when game/movies/stories/whatever set up what looks to be a stereotypical, well-rehearsed scene that could be in any other game/movie/story/whatever but then just totally jar it off in another direction. In Shadow Complex, you spend the first hour-ish of the game trying to track down Claire who is going to be tortured and potentially killed by (cue dramatic music) MR. SWEET! You havent seen (dramatic music) Mr. Sweet yet, but he is only mentioned with a sense of anticipated violence by the grunts. Like, you know he is someone to fear and is a sick enough person to be able to make anyone talk. So you finally get to see (dramatic music) Mr. Sweet preparing his scalpels and instruments of torture while Claire is chained toa dentist chair beside him, talking about the gruesome things he is going to do to her, when your hero bursts in with a gun pointed squarely at Mr. Sweet's head. Mr. Sweet chuckles and I expect a MGS-esque blurb at gunpoint followed by an epic boss battle. But no... Your dude just shoots him in the head, kills him, and frees Clair, and that is that.
This was as funny as it was anticlimatical. What made it so great was the entire game up to this point had been setting up Mr. Sweet the same way Metal Gear Solid might set up Praying Mantis (but not to the same level, but you get the idea). It was just really well pulled off.
In other news, I have started playing through Bioshock for the second time. Well, third time, I suppose, but I never finished it the first time over a year ago, so I guess it is the second time. I am going for several achievments (yes, I do like going for achievments, i am one of them). I am playing it through on hard, and I want to rescue EVERY little sister. Last time I rescued/harvested about 50-50. It's gonna be a challenge, but it's gonna be cool.
BioShock is one of those few utterly incredible games up there with Half-Life and very few others that actually KNOWS how to present a story in a game without relying on other mediums. SUre it has one or two cutscenes, but the vast majority of the story is the player's own responsibility to uncover. On this playthrough, i am already much more aware of how the world fits together. SO much of the time is spent walking through halls inthe back walls of buildings and the such that if you dont stop and look around, it can just feel like random corridors. But it really does all fit together so perfectly. It truly feels like the designers created the world and then placed the story in it, instead of the lazy alternative of creating the story and the world to conveniently fit around it.
I LOVE the twist in Bioshock as one of my favourite twists of all time. (Don't worry, I am going to be vague and not say what the twist is because you NEED to experience it for yourself). I had to stop playing after it for about an hour just to think about what had happened. HOWEVER! This leads me to my gripe about Bioshock: it is hypocritical. It has the twist, it makes its very important criticism of gaming in general, and then it falls victims ot its own observation. The game should end when you get to Ryan's office. You should deal with Ryan, press the button to prevent hte explosion, have Atlas give his little spiel, then fade out to credits. That would have been excellent!
But no! It would have been too short, I hear people say. Well really, half the levels after Ryan's office are generic enough tasks that thety could be placed before Ryan's office. Regardless, I would rather a short game than a hypocritical one. I may go into this further in a later post where I name the twist so I am less vague. That said, the game is excellent and I am glad to be playing it again.
So last night TeamOGL (my housemate's team) took on Team Crazy Bill for the top spot in the Cybergamer Left4Dead ladder and just missed on the win. It was incredibly close with some great plays on boths sides. The videostreaming worked on gamestah this time, too,, so my other housemate and I prett ymuch watched the entire game from beginning to end with the added realism of our housemate yelling and swearing from across the hallway. If you have got 90mins to kill, I strongly recommend watching it. Some excellent plays all round.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Shady Complex
I downloaded the trial version of Shadow Complex and really enjoyed it. It reminded me of the five seconds I have played of Super Metroid (yes, I am ashamed) and of Knytt Stories in it's exploratory ways.
Ironically, I never would have heard of this game if not for the failed boycott of it by gay-rights activists. When I first heard of this boycott, I was more than happy to join it as I had heard nothing about the game and was more than happy to stick it to the homophobic man.
But now I have read more about it and I have played it and I enjoy it. Conundrum much? Yes!
But! My ingenius girlfriend may have saved my conscience on this one. I can buy the game, play it, and just try to get some screen-captures of guards/characters in suggestive, homosexual poses, and post those online. if I think about it, this probably won't actually work, so I am trying not to think about it to hard.
Expect a rant on what is wrong with Bioshock in the near future.
Ironically, I never would have heard of this game if not for the failed boycott of it by gay-rights activists. When I first heard of this boycott, I was more than happy to join it as I had heard nothing about the game and was more than happy to stick it to the homophobic man.
But now I have read more about it and I have played it and I enjoy it. Conundrum much? Yes!
But! My ingenius girlfriend may have saved my conscience on this one. I can buy the game, play it, and just try to get some screen-captures of guards/characters in suggestive, homosexual poses, and post those online. if I think about it, this probably won't actually work, so I am trying not to think about it to hard.
Expect a rant on what is wrong with Bioshock in the near future.
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