"I": Videogame's Greatest Character

I have always felt that the best videogame stories/narrative experiences are the ones that the player contributes to in a meaningful way. In this case, meaningful means through the primary mechanic of the game. What the player does between the beginning and the end of a level (or even between cutscenes) isn't filler set aside from the story. What the player plays is the story, or at least a very important part of it.

I've come up with little test you can give to anyone to determine if the game controlled the story or if the player contributed to it. Ask someone to tell you what happened in any game they recently played. As they describe the events to you, be mindful of the language they use. If their retelling is composed of sentences that begin with "I" then they are relating the events of a journey they had control over. If the sentences between with names like "Snake," "Cloud," or "Charizard" then the teller is acknowledging that there are parts of the game they felt that they had no control over.

Because videogames are an interactive medium, I greatly favor the story of "I" over the story of "insert main character here." I want to know how the player interacted with the world, characters, and story. I'm interested in how the player changes the game and how the game changes the player. When the player is merely a static liaison between cut scenes, or a silent chauffeur obediently carting the characters along until their next esoteric conversation, how can we continue to hold these games up as the best examples of videogame storytelling?

When I recount play sessions with Super Mario Brothers, I use "I" to describe all of Mario's actions. I do this because in this game, Mario does very little on his own. I grabbed the powerup. I squashed the goomba. I saved the princess. When such a close connection between myself and the story/ actions in the game exists, personal feelings and thoughts are that much easier to interject. When I tell stories about playing Super Mario Brothers, I talk about how I had to size-up the Hammer Bros by walking right up in their face. I talk about staring down Bowser tense with anticipation as he stands in between me and victory. I talk about how comboing jumps off the backs of Koopas and Goombas while moving as quickly as possible through a level feels like flying. I talk about how the level tried to trick me by putting a hidden item box right where I was trying to make a tricky jump. The conversation between me and the game that makes up my play experience is really a conversation with myself.

If videogames are to continue to be mediums of self expression, then we must acknowledge the self. With Drebin#1#2 I attempted to design a space where the player can have themselves reflected back to them. There's something about the doing, the action, the mechanic that holds a truth inside the present moments. Don't just take my word for it. Here's are some quotes from Musashi's Book of Five Rings. I believe these words resonate with Drebin#1#2.

The "spirit of the thing" is what will guide a man to his own greatness.

...only when the "spirit of the thing itself" feels comfortable with the warrior as a vehicle for its own expression.

It is very hard to explain these ideas in detail because of their intuitive nature. Once you have understood the depth of the thing you are studying, the "spirit" of all things will reveal itself to you.

When you understand yourself and you understand the enemy you cannot be defeated.

Whether on or off the battlefield, there is no difference in spirit. The warrior sees all of life as the battlefield.

Think about being seen only by yourself and not through the eyes of others.

Portal: Narrative

Portal is an excellent example of a game that follows the rules, assumptions, and principles of Classical Game Design. The setting, dialogue, characters, visual style, music, and sound were all set into subsidiary roles to support the gameplay, the unique driving mechanic of the videogame medium. Because the game's elements are so tightly focused on the gameplay, the player's gaming experience becomes the narrative of Portal. It is also significant to note that when people try to describe Portal, they constantly jump back and forth praising its various elements. It's hard to talk about the portal gun without talking about how the level design accentuates gravity and momentum. It's difficult to talk about the level design without noting that the player is in a stylisticaly bland laboratory research facility. It's nearly impossible to talk about the lab facility without mentioning GLaDOS, the whimsical, mysterious, sarcastic, dangerous voice that guides the player throughout the game. Even then, I couldn't simply describe GLaDOS as a voice played over an intercom system. Anyone who's played the game understands that she is more than a passive comedian interspersing clever one-liners in between levels. The apprehension and distrust toward this voice is a key part of the narrative of Portal.

*The rest of this article contains spoilers*

So we've identified that Portals narrative is built into the experience of the player, and that this experience is guided by level progression like most other games. Before we can analyze and critique Portals narrative, we have to identify which parts of the game are analogous to common elements of literary (or even film) narratives. In Portal, the player takes control of the main character, Chell. Chell uses the portal gun to manipulate her environment to overcome challenges set by Aperture Science, a fictional facility. The purposes of these tests and Aperture Science are shrouded in mystery. The second character is GLaDOS (Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System). GLaDOS is not the narrator, but a character with limited omniscience. Though she informs and guides the player through an intercom system, her limited omniscience is expressed through the placement of cameras that monitor the players progress. Whenever a camera is tampered with by removing it from the wall, the player is informed by GLaDOS not to do so. If, the maintenance of the cameras was integral to maintaining gameplay, as the player proceeds to destroy the cameras, a light scolding is their only consequence. The credibility of the narrator also comes into question very early in the game. GLaDOS tells many lies throughout the game and, when caught in a lie, she casually back peddles her way out of it.

" As part of a previously mentioned required test protocol, we can no longer lie to you."
"The Enrichment Center regrets to inform you that this next test is impossible. Make no attempt to solve it."
"Fantastic! You remained resolute and resourceful in an atmosphere of extreme pessimism.
"Have I lied to you? I mean in this room. "

The primary plot in Portal consists of the main character completing a set of challenges. The subplot involves discovering the true nature of the Aperture Science facility. As it turns out, after you complete all the missions, GLaDOS tries to dispose of you through fire and flames. At this point in the game, the plot shifts from a "hero's quest" (in this case the quest for cake) to a quest for freedom. Everything that GLaDOS has told you up to this point can't be trusted. Before, the hidden passages in the walls revealing interesting personal notes from other test subjects who've gone before you, were just whimsical asides. Now "the cake is a lie" means more than a failed promise of dessert. The "cake," GLaDOS, and Aperture Science are all a lie. For the player, everything they've been experiencing and all the puzzles were just a clever ruse. The only way to break free from the lies is to seek the source, GLaDOS.

It is only fitting that the Portals narrative structure simultaneously describes it's design (gameplay) purpose. From Valve's website...

"The game is designed to change the way players approach, manipulate, and surmise the possibilities in a given environment;"

Using the Portal gun the players sense of perspective shifts from overcoming Chell's individual perspective to overcoming a perspective that encompasses GLaDOS and Aperture Science. Change the word perspective with "environment" and it's clear how the narrative parallels and reinforces the gameplay.

Now that the narrative has been defined, it can be critiqued more traditionally. These are the areas I would focus on and some of the questions I start with.

Psychoanalytic Theory: Can a Computer Feel? Examining GLaDOS psychological state, and the systematic destruction of here colored personality components. Does the red component (at the end of the game) function as GLaDOS's Id? How, if at all, does GLaDOS show signs of repression? Does GLaDOS's limited omniscience as exhibited through the monitoring cameras operate as her conscious mind while Chell (the player) and those who've escaped the confines of the testing facilities operate as the unconscious?

New Criticism: The Truth as I See it Now. Does the game's narrative harmonize into the universal truth of "escape and control only exist in a given perspective"?

Structuralism: Lies (perspective) and Truth (cake). Examine the cycle of perspective generates assumptions that generates lies that generates the breaking into a new perspectives. From the opening of the game (overcoming the escape from a room with no doors), to passing "impossible" tests after tests, to overcoming Aperture science, to the website valve created for providing additional information about Aperture Science, each step follows the cycle. Does the Aperture Website frame the final perspective of the player especially considering it's only accessible after obtaining a code at the end of the game?

Feminism: Where's the Free-man? Does the portrayal of females in Portal support patriarchal values? Where are the male characters? GLaDOS and Chell are female, and GLaDOS also mentions 'take your daughter to work' day. Are the only male characters buried on the markings on the walls in the hidden alternative rooms/closets? If so, what ideologies does it promote. Can GLaDOS's command for Chell to "Place The Device on the ground then lie on your stomach with your arms at your sides" be read as the super ego's attempt to pacify Chell, a woman?

http://orange.half-life2.com/portal.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portal_(video_game)
http://www.gloryofwar.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=15715

Approaching Game Narrative Critique

Critiquing stories, or narratives, in video games presents an interesting problem. Because video games are so complex covering a wide variety of genres (story and gameplay-wise), picking out the story can be complicated. Only by understanding how stories relate to other mediums and to the game itself can we develop adequate techniques and approaches for critiquing video game narratives.

According to the theories of Classical Game Design, a game's story only operates on the level that the player can interact with. In other words, the story in a game is not the short description found in the instruction manual, or the series of cinematic scenes interspersed throughout the game. Rather, the story is the actions, functions, and outcomes of the player as they play the game. In Classical Game Design, all of the games elements are designed to support the gameplay. This is significant because this school of design puts graphics, music, sound, and story in subsidiary roles. By prioritizing game play, classic game design puts what is more unique about games, their interactivity, in the forefront. In The Lester Bangs of Video Games Chuck Klosterman posts a quote from Steven Johnson regarding how established methods of critiquing games are ineffective because they fail to take advantage of what is unique to the medium.

"Games can't be analyzed using the aesthetic tools we've developed to evaluate narrative art forms like books or films. Video games generally have narratives and some kind of character development, but--almost without exception--these are the least interesting things about them. Gamers don't play because they're drawn into the story line; they play because there's something intoxicating about the mix of exploring an environment and solving problems. The stories are an afterthought."

Thinking in the Classical Game Design mode, for a Mario game, the story isn't so much about saving a princess as it's every jump, star, and power-up along the way. For a Zelda game, sure, Gannon is most likely up to no good, but the transformation from the ephemeral teen to the hero of time is the narrative. Every enemy, heart piece, and item you collect defines and harmonizes the vast, seemingly chaotic world around the player. This is the narrative of the game. When the game's elements are all designed to support its gameplay, the core functions are unified into an experience that is both unique and universal for all players. It's not goal, but how you get there.

The rules, assumptions, and principles of Classical Game Design, were pioneered by Shigeru Miyamoto. The functions of a game (gameplay) should be supported by how the game looks, feels, and sounds. His background in Industrial Engineering is the obvious source for this kind of approach to game design. Such an approach is an important part of what makes Nintendo's games Nintendo games. Needless to say, most developers don't follow many of the principles of Classical Game Design. Western game design and some genres in particular, privilege story over gameplay. It seems odd that a developer would sacrifice what is most unique about the video game medium (the interactivity) for story that, in the traditional sense, isn't interactive. However, without getting into a debate between the two schools of game design, figuring out a way to approach critiquing stories in games that prioritize story over gameplay is still important.

Years ago, game stories were communicated via large amounts of text. RPGs fall into this camp. The story sequences, and all the dialogue from both main, side, and the NPCs (non playable charactres) were all driven by text. Though story is such a large part of these games, it's strange that reviews fail to review or comment on the more intricate aspects of such stories. Most reviewers will write a shallow summary of the plot that does little more than inform the reader that the game is an epic or features some kind of hero's quest. Most RPG stories fall under these categories. What's worse, many reviewers seem to only judge a story based on how many plot twists or cliches it contains. Unfortunately, this method of review fails to critique or even think about the execution of such stories. Shouldn't these stories be critiqued like any other piece of literature, especially if the story is prioritized over the gameplay? Shouldn't we be able to critique cinematic cut scenes with the same methods as short film/movie critiques? Certainly if we did, most "excellent" game stories wouldn't hold a candle to actual books/films. The more games privilege story over gameplay, the harder they'll have to fight as they straddle the line between literature, film, and games. By properly critiquing game stories, we'll be able to recognize their quality by their own merit and hopefully stop saying stories are good "for a videogame."

This generation of gaming has already seen a leap in the quality of story telling and presentation. Heavenly Sword is one of the forerunners for this leap. The cinematic scenes in this game are so well acted, animated, and voice acted that many reviewers have commented that the gap between films and games is shrinking. These comments aren't unfounded. Heavenly Sword looks phenomenal. However, like movies, there's more to communicating a story than sharp visuals and talented actors. Direction, editing, and scripting are all critical components. It doesn't take a professional film critique to see that Heavenly Sword's "movie-like" sequences fall far short of telling a decent story. Strictly critiquing the scenes, many are jumpy, poorly cut, and poorly paced. Though the acting is great, the characters are little more than histrionic hyperboles of cliche characters. Such characters can be used to assemble great narratives, however, their portrayal in Heavenly Sword is insufficient. The first few major scenes in the game are actually good. However, as the game progresses, the scenes become more abrupt and less coherent.

If Heavenly Sword were a film, it would fail to tell a cohesive story. Though the gameplay isn't necessarily privileged over the presentation, it is still important to consider how the level interactivity supports the narrative. Many of the transitions between the cinematic scenes and the gameplay sequences are jarring. I found myself frequently wondering where my particular character was, what I was doing, and why. Ultimately, Heavenly Sword's story is just a gallimaufry of ideas and over the top characters with gameplay that does little to connect the scattered dots.

While Heavenly sword features a very linear story, the upcoming game Mass Effect boasts a deep, and robust narrative adventure that the player can interact with by carving out their path through the galaxy. If Heavenly Sword's narrative is like a roller coaster, then Mass Effect is like being turned loose on the whole theme park. Where you go, and how you get there is up to you. The player's unique journey through this world comprises the story in the same way a Zelda games does. When I considered how to approach critiquing a story like Mass Effect's I came up with a few approaches. One key feature of the game is how the player's choices change the paths they take through the game. Examining the extent these choices actually have on the gameplay and the story is one approach. Another approach is to compare the multiple branching narrative paths to try an expose a overarching/master narrative that could be considered what Mass Effect is really about. Minimizing the significance of the player's choice, the dialogue (text) and the scene composition can also be critiqued borrowing the terms and techniques from film critique.

I will be spending time with Mass Effect next week in order to write about its real story, something that other reviewers will probably fail to write on despite Mass Effects significant focus on narrative.