Last night’s post spruiking the qualities of bittersweet endings had me thinking on Far Cry 3, and what a great position Ubisoft are in to showcase true change (advancing the storytelling chops of games in the process) in its protagonist over the course of the game. In this context, I mean personal growth, not just the expansion of his arsenal from ‘adequate’ to ‘Bond villain-esque’.
The initial trailer does a great job of establishing a reasonably realistic, gritty tone for the game – we have a contemporary ‘ordinary’ young tourist trapped by circumstance and his own obnoxious behaviour, forced to experience and later commit horrible atrocities to stay alive. In addition to charging around a tropical island machete-ing everything that moves and expending a small war’s worth of ammunition, a more recent trailer suggests he’ll also do more than his share of psychotropic narcotic ingesting along the way – a combination which should (you would imagine) provide optimal conditions to explore the horrors of desperate violence and their devastating transformative effects on a person learning to cope with this kind of massacre-or-be-massacred scenario.
Of course, great though the first two games were, they have established a precedent of zero dimensional protagonists who regard the development of character facets with the same disdain they regard road and gun safety laws. The series has always been more about exploratory action and compelling combat than storytelling and character, but there have been plenty of recent titles proving the two aren’t mutually exclusive (Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Arkham Asylum/City, Mass Effect), so we can hope.
There’s a real opportunity here to move away from the well trodden FPS trope that a character, now matter how civilian or sensitive at the outset can machine-gun all their troubles away, instantaneously transforming into a Rambo facsimile without even the courtesy to the player of a tortured soliloquy about lost innocence. I suspect I’ll be disappointed, but it seems like there’s room behind all the action for a textured* story, and a challenging finale – if we take Ubisoft’s proposed realism at face value, doesn’t that limit our suspension of disbelief as far as the outcomes are concerned?
Now, in my mind, he’s either a superhero from the outset or he isn’t (unless it turns out there’s a lot of conveniently mutating radioactive ooze lying around the island). Why bother establishing the characters as normal people in the marketing (I’m not going to say ‘relatable’ here, but I assume thats what they were going for) if its going to be meaningless in the context of the game’s plot? It wouldn’t exactly be in keeping with the series’ established style to borrow mechanics from I Am Alive’s fascinating take on combat encounters by non-skilled combatants, but in my opinion there’s room to take inspiration to flesh out Far Cry’s trademark gung-ho action with a few subtleties.
Ultimately, a tonal mismatch between the character and the mechanics is a smaller piece of the puzzle – from what I’ve seen so far, this is a story opportunity that won’t benefit from being shoehorned into the ‘all’s well that ends well’ category. I’m very much hoping Ubisoft feel the same way.
*Cheers to Dara for the term – it perfectly sums up what these last two posts have been trying to articulate my support for.
There are most definitely spoilers in this post. If you’ve somehow time travelled here from 2007 (we don’t have lightsabers yet, so you may wish to keep right on going) and haven’t played Heavy Rain, Red Dead Redemption or Halo: Reach, consider yourself forewarned.
You know what I’d like to see more of? Not-so-happy endings. We’re inundated with games that close with the hero riding off into the sunset, enemy vanquished and glory won (or the contextually appropriate equivalent) – what we don’t have a lot of are games whose endings are ambiguous, sad, concerning or frightening. This is a shame, because these tend to be the endings that provoke thought, evoke emotion and result in interesting discussion. Granted, they’re less immediately gratifying, more challenging and require more thought to appreciate, but thats definitely a trade I’m in favour of. Having played through countless ‘hero saves the day’ stories, I’ve had enough of knowing from the outset how everything’s going to turn out, with only the resolution of some nebulous details to keep me engaged. Don’t you get greater engagement and enjoyment from games with some measure of real risk in the story, without the safety net of a guaranteed fairy tale conclusion?
This is not, of course, an issue confined to video games (if the uproar over the ending of The Sopranos is anything to go by), although as a medium it does have a couple of characteristics that serve to make devastating twist endings less palatable. There are the positive emotions associated with besting challenges, defeating evil and powerful heroes, each a strong influence on storytelling, and relatedly, the idea that challenges require the anticipation of reward to motivate a player’s desire to overcome them. Unique to the gaming format however is the player’s involvement in driving the story, and the subsequent need to foster a sense of personal achievement when the story concludes. (I would also speculate that the majority of multiplayer gaming is strongly pushing the message that only victory is valuable, and losers are to be taunted, booed and teabagged in a manner befitting their station as, well, losers.)
The combination of these things has resulted in a lot of under-explored potential in certain areas of gaming – areas that aren’t necessarily about short term gratification, or that challenge some of our comfortable expectations – and I’d really like to see more happen with them. Dark Souls showed us that a confronting level of difficulty can result in an immensely rewarding experience. Heavy Rain proved that a confronting story line focusing on deeply flawed characters and relationships can make an impressive game, even if the action is infrequent and awkward. Alongside these, what I’d really like to see is more games confronting us with complex, layered, and not necessarily positive endings. As the medium, the content and the storytelling matures, shouldn’t we have more games that explore the effects of all the mayhem games take us through, rather than solely concentrating on ever more inventive ways to make that mayhem more fun?
Not that its rainbows and maypole dancing across the board – there are a few recent examples of endings that, even if the good guys ultimately triumphed, at least went out ensuring that the protagonist (and the player) didn’t get off scott free, and provoked a thought or two in the process. There is however, enormous room to expand on and experiment in this space, and these are a few examples that suggest there’s at least a willingness to do so, and an appetite for the results.
I know a few people who hated the end of Halo: Reach. Not the poignant ‘series-comes-full-circle-while-heroic-music-swells’ part, but the epilogue where you live out Noble 6’s futile final moments against a vengeful Covenant horde. I loved it. I mean, I didn’t enjoy it – as a gaming experience, its very frustrating to fight battles you can’t win, and more so to see the permanent death of a character you’ve inhabited for a dozen hours – but it was an extremely relevant way to end an uncharacteristically dark story, and a satisfying conclusion to Reach’s grim story. Too often do we see characters make a noble sacrifice of themselves (Reach does not represent Bungie’s subtler name choices, I’ll grant you), but we’re only exposed to the stirring, heroic gesture, shown as a few seconds as the person in question bravely readies themselves for death with a macho roar or stoic, defiant silence.
What we don’t often see is that this sacrifice, presented so positively and so cleanly, must actually result in a desperate, panicked final struggle, ending with the hero overwhelmed and dying alone. Rarer still is the opportunity to actually play out this futile demise from the character’s perspective. By this stage of most games we’ve already moved on with the protagonist, our minds focused on finishing the job enabled by our companions death, shielded from the unpleasant details. This is fine – some of the time – but Reach did a great job of showing that by forcing on the player the harsh, lonely final moments of Noble 6, a much more emotionally impactful ending is created. Clever though it was to tie the final seconds of reach to the opening seconds of the original, it wouldn’t have had nearly the same impact had we not been forced to live out Noble 6’s death, but instead had a last glimpse of him standing victorious at the shipyard as the Pillar of Autumn fled the planet, his eventual fate only implied.
Though effective, the Reach example is still a sort of ‘happy ending by proxy’ – dovetailing as it does into the beginning of the Halo story, what should be a wrenchingly desolate conclusion is diluted by the knowledge that we know the story of the larger series turns out all right in the end.
There was no such assured future for John Marston – indeed, the amazing final conclusion to Red Dead Redemption can’t exist without the betrayal and death of the protagonist, culminating in one of the most surprising and emotionally deflating pseudo-endings in gaming. Further, the impact of this is largely created by the lengthy, out of character (and lets face it, anticlimactic) final missions – the exploration of the changing nature of his relationship with his wife and son, capping off the titular redemption you’ve been progressing towards for so long. Yes, this pedestrian errand running and son-raising, culminating in the death of the hero is challenging as a gamer – we expect final game missions to be bigger, crazier and more explosion-filled than anything thats gone before. And yes, it does feel unfair after your many (many) hours of adventuring, and the misdirecting tone set by the game that indeed, everything was going to turn out alright. Importantly though, it feels unfair within the world of the story – unfair on the characters, not on the player – this distinction is important in delivering the sense of emotional importance that elevates Red Dead Redemption above being merely an impeccably executed GTA: Cowboys. Even this example is still a happy ending of sorts though – Marston dies redeemed, and his death is avenged shortly afterwards – the loose ends are tied up, the questions are answered. So how would a game take this concept further?
The obvious answer is through the use of multiple endings. Heavy Rain is a good example – in addition to the ‘super amazing’ ending where everyone lives happily ever after, there is an alternative which sees the bad guy win, and several other variations in which a mixture of good and terrible things happen as well. These evoke varying levels of sadness or disappointment, and leave different threads of the story unresolved, but all are thought provoking, guilt inducing and frustrating experiences. Importantly, Heavy Rain doesn’t hold your hand overmuch and lead you towards the good ending – although it isn’t difficult to achieve, as a general rule the game doesn’t go out of its way avoid giving you one of the bittersweet or openly depressing endings, if thats what you’ve earned. That’s one of the key things that could be taken further by other such games, in my mind – each ending needs to be treated as legitimate and canonical, as far as possible. The major issue with most multiple endings right now is that there’s usually a clear ‘real’ ending which the game does its utmost to steer you towards, with the other endings seemingly added to bolster the illusion of permanent choice for the player.
Beyond augmenting the ‘real’ ending with a few sad or ambiguous ones, I think even games that employ a single ending could take a lesson from all this – the more story driven the game is, the more likely I am to be interested in and satisfied with a conclusion thats bittersweet, or outright bitter. The caveat to this is that however the story ends, it needs to be in keeping with the game world and the established tone (I’m not suggesting the next Mario game take its plot conclusion cues from Hamlet, but I’d love to play a game that does), which is why Reach and Heavy Rain are great vehicles for a grim denouement. So many stories I’ve played have these big uplifting finales because the leader of the bad guys is dead, despite the fact that the world is still in flames, the protagonist should be devastatingly traumatised, and the piled corpses of my allies block out the sun. Plot based games are almost always better when they have a point and a meaning beyond the action, and the ending should be one of the most powerful places to explore this. Sadly consequence, reality and the meaning attached to them often trail off in the final act in favour of the happy ending, as if that is required as a reward to the gamer for completion.
Where do you stand? Do you like your endings to resolve all the conflicts, answer all the questions and shower you in glory? Do you feel the ‘good’ ending is your reward for besting challenges and overcoming everything the game’s thrown at you, or is an engaging, challenging (or just different) story sufficient reward in itself, even if it ends in tears?
This post contains no spoilers of any kind.
Let me firmly state for the record, this is not a defence or discussion of said ending, Mass Effect, or Bioware in general. What this is, is an appeal to reason amidst the frothing angst, wailing and gnashing of teeth that has become the gaming community’s de facto response to any and all disappointments, perceived slights or difference of opinion.
The entitled hysteria needs to stop, because its happening with such regularity that the actions of the vocal minority threaten to tar the entire group and eradicate any credibility games as an industry, and gamers as a community may have established, even amongst ourselves. More importantly, it makes it much more difficult for gamers to have an ongoing, reasoned and constructive discussion with the people who create the games that we love.
Let me be clear – your complaints, your points of view, and your right to voice them as loudly and as regularly as you want are both valid and valuable. The point I’m trying to make is that constructive, useful feedback is very easily lost amongst the shouting and table pounding which is currently dominating this discussion. Worse yet, in your anger you’re rushing to set a precedent that may have very undesirable consequences in future – not just for you, but for all of us. For clarity, I want to separate the useful points of your message from the troubling one:
– I hated Mass Effect 3’s ending! Great, lets hear your reasons – its probable there are a lot of people who agree with them, and they should be heard.
– I’m not buying any more Bioware games! Ok. If you feel strongly enough about it, articulate a reasoned argument somewhere online, or send it to Bioware, in hopes that future efforts are more in line with what interests you as a gamer. Personally, I don’t believe a creative difference about how a story should have ended warrants such a reaction, but to each their own.
– We’re entitled to the ending that we built up in our heads, and we believe we have the right to make and enforce decisions on your creative output – we demand that you change the story you wrote, so it is exactly the same as we would have written it! Unless you do as we say, we will hold your company to (financial) ransom.
There are a number of reasons why this last approach is both obnoxious and ultimately destructive. Here are a few of them.
1. You are misunderstanding your relationship to Bioware’s intellectual property (and the nature of sales transactions).
When you purchase a product, what you are entitled to is full and unfettered access to the experience of that product. There is no guarantee that you will enjoy that experience, nor are you entitled to one.
Of course, should you be disappointed, you are entitled to react to that disappointment any way you wish. Complain loudly, tell your friends not to buy it, boycott the company or suggest your changes – all reasonable reactions. Reasonable, as long as you understand that the company is in no way obligated to make those changes. Thats one of two key issues here – that you feel that the company owes you, somehow, and that they can legitimately be forced to change their game to meet your every need. The other is the way that this feeling is expressed as screeching rage about ‘betrayal’ of fans, as if the ending was consciously, maliciously designed to shatter everyone’s dreams while Bioware twirls its collective moustache and cackles like a cartoon villain.
Funnily enough, in situations where fans might be entitled to demand changes from the developer (if it doesn’t work properly – like the buggy mess of Fallout: New Vegas, or the massive performance issues of Skyrim on PS3), we don’t see this kind of reaction. There’s some complaining and bad press, some embarrassed apologies from those responsible, and then we all get on with enjoying the games for the awesome experiences that they are.
The paranoia that characterises this latest backlash, seeing persecution of loyal consumers where in fact there is only (at worst) an ambiguous or less than stellar conclusion to an otherwise brilliant series, makes us all look like crazy, spoiled children. You know what? Sometimes great things have disappointing elements. The ending of Return of the King is one of the least interesting and most unnecessary parts of the entire series (except for the fiasco that is Tom Bombadil, and everything he touches). Are we chanting in the streets and petitioning the Tolkein estate to have the bad parts re-written? No. Are we all maintaining that the entire trilogy is ruined by an imperfect conclusion? No.
If you absolutely must find an outlet for the energy created by your enormous overreaction, the accepted thing to do in these circumstances is relentlessly howl your derision into the internet, mocking the culprits for their lack of perfection, until their once legendary creative vision becomes an industry joke (like Star Wars fans did with George Lucas). It might not get the results you want – if it did, Jar Jar Binks would have been retconned out of existence years ago – but at least it shows you understand your relationship to other people’s intellectual property.
We understand that what we as consumers want is extremely important to game developers, and that these wants should (and do) have an enormous influence on the story and mechanics of games when they are conceived, and as they are developed. This influence however does not equate to being able to arrogantly demand that the finished, released product be changed to meet your exact specifications, even assuming everyone universally agrees on what those are (and they don’t).
2. Be careful what you wish for…
What exactly do you expect to come out of this movement? Is it a reasonable discourse with a company resulting in better products and a better relationship in future? Or is it Bioware caving to your demands, and the subsequent ‘victory’ that comes with asserting creative control over something you have no rights to?
So Bioware have said they will keep working on ‘additional content’, recognising that some of their more passionate fans ‘needed closure’. Not that its likely, but what do you think will happen if this content involves changing the original ending? My guess is there may be an immediate backlash against the change by an equal number of people who, even if they didn’t like the original, are even more concerned about the idea of outspoken internet groups holding game development to ransom in this way. Alternatively, some other group will be furious that your proposed ending got used and theirs didn’t, prompting another campaign to change the game yet again. The best case scenario is months of petty squabbling over which ending is canonical. At the end of all this, how much time do you want Bioware to spend managing their PR, creating explanation videos and gently indulging your this behaviour, and how much time do you want them to spend actually making games?
Most importantly, the most powerful message a retconned ending (as opposed to some DLC that ties up loose ends, which is far more likely) would send is that its open season on everything. That the vocal minority somehow deserve ultimate control over the creative output of the industry, and that any gameplay mechanic, story element or character that doesn’t meet with their approval grants them the right to demand a change.
Once we start down this path, and send the message to developers that every significant part of their game needs to be pre-emptively approved by the internet in order avoid a boycott on release, it will be very, very difficult to come back from. Is that really the direction we want the industry to travel? Do you really think that crowd-sourcing the development of complex game trilogies is a great idea? (If you do, consider how many people out there think Farmville is amazing, then ask yourself how excited you’d be about private terminal messages saying ‘Admiral Hackett needs your help planting his corn!).
Cooperative writing projects on the internet aren’t a new concept, but I’m yet to see the output garner many prestigious awards for quality. Cast your minds back to the last time an entertainment project actively allowed internet fans to suggest direct changes during production. Is that what you want Bioware’s next project to look like? I don’t. Consider that the power you’ve incorrectly assumed is yours by right, granted by Bioware, actually extends to the entire community. If changes to future games are going to be made because people demand it, the changes that get made may not be the ones that you asked for. Relatedly…
3. You don’t speak for everyone
As of March 10, Mass Effect 3 had sold more than 1.6 million copies. The Occupy Mass Effect petition, large though it may be, has not amassed 2% of that figure. This discrepancy makes the distinction between passionate arguments and aggressive demands all the more important. You don’t speak for everyone (certainly not for me) so please stop with the pointless, childish behaviour, committed in the name of the wider gaming community.
Ultimately, if you don’t like a game, by all means complain. Stop buying products from Bioware, EA, or anyone else creating things you don’t enjoy, as is your right to do. All I ask is that you stop before you get to the entitled, hysterical demands – you are not entitled to have story changes delivered, and behaving like you are isn’t good for you, the games, or the industry in general. Situations like this are why we have the term ‘pyrrhic victory’.
Personal opinions follow. Feel free to loudly disagree with them.
A recent comment (cheers to Liam Brokas) on this post has really got me thinking about my relationship with DLC, which in turn saw it change from ‘largely indifferent’ to ‘annoyed enough to write a post about it’. What with the recent furore around Mass Effect 3‘s day one scandal, this seems as good a time as any to weigh into the whole debate will some ill-considered opinions. So here they are.
Personally, I’m yet to see much DLC that I think credibly fills the gap left behind by the expansion packs that it usurped. Leaving aside for one second the numerous examples of DLC that appears to have actively been designed as either a cheap money grab (horse armour), or an expensive, high gloss money grab (From Ashes), I’m not convinced that small, episodic chunks of additional content are how I want to spend my cash, or play my games. Don’t get me wrong, the current DLC situation is still better than the ‘micro-transactions’ alternative that funds a lot of free to play games, but lets face it, as soon as you can look at your revenue model for a game and aptly describe it with, “hey, at least its not as sleazy as Zynga’s” you need to own up to the fact that the games market is no longer based on the quid-pro-quo relationship it once was.
DLC has very effectively supplanted the expansion pack of old – there are still some examples of it, but they’ve largely gone the way of other beloved childhood treasures that died too soon. As the name suggests, they used to be all about expanding the game experience. There have been some examples of disappointing exceptions, but by and large you were getting something that had been cohesively designed to add to the game world in multiple ways, be it new characters, new maps, new monsters etc. Importantly, they were generally large and involved enough to be worth the investment, because in order to justify the $50 asking price, and – more importantly, lure people back to the game months after most people had finished it – the developers had to do something of significance. Diablo 2’s Lord of Destruction added a whole new world area with its own quests, bosses, monsters and importantly, story (such as it was). Expansions over the years to the Dawn of War franchise added new single player campaigns and new playable races. Even Red Dead Redemptions Zombie Nightmare (despite not understanding what made the first game great), and Dead Island’s Ryder White (ditto) attempted to add an experience that changed the dynamic of the original games, expanded the lore, and gave new goals to be achieved.
That last part on goals is especially important, and its why I think the cycle between release and DLC is getting shorter. Personally, once I’ve played through a game, finished it and moved on, I’m not going to be lured back by the promise of one or two more missions that don’t really relate to the story, a few new weapons/cars/npc’s to play with, or 90 odd minutes of extra ‘content’. The more people who are still embroiled in the hype of your game’s release when the DLC drops, the more people will buy it, meaning if you do it early enough it doesn’t need to be large and standalone – it doesn’t really need to be anything more than a few missions and a character swept off the main game’s cutting room floor, with the addition of a price tag.
To get fans to re-engage with your game in spite of the ever-more-crammed schedule of AAA releases each year is difficult and risky. You need something that expands the original game, rather than just extending it. However fun it might be to play, a lot of DLC falls into this ‘extension’ camp. Personally, I think you could make compelling arguments against the Mass Effect Series, Dragon Age series and Deus Ex: Human Revolution, with many more waiting in the wings for a more diligent researcher to discover.
On the subject of timing, as a general rule I’m not wild about DLC arriving while I’m still playing the game for the first time. Cleverer people than me have kicked Mass Effect 3‘s day one DLC from one end of the internet to the other already so I won’t rehash it here, except to say that DLC that I’m hearing about before I even have the game gives me the same feeling I got once or twice as a kid at Christmas. The one when you got something you’re really excited about and have been looking forward to, and then your friends started telling you about how much cooler it would be if it had all the latest accessories, upgrades etc. Suddenly this thing you loved a moment ago has been cheapened by the promise of how much better it could be, if you only spent a little more money. (Full disclosure: I did buy From Ashes, the scandal causing minute-one DLC that I’m currently complaining about. My angst about DLC and related reliving of traumatic childhood memories is likely at least partially motivated by this fact.)
Which is not to say that there isn’t any true expansion content out there. Some of Fallout 3’s DLC basically qualifies as expansion packs, especially the stellar Point Lookout. Whatever my expressed feelings about Alan Wake’s American Nightmare were, I’m glad they didn’t opt instead for the safe route and just tape a bunch of additional ‘quests’ onto the existing Alan Wake, and I wouldn’t have bought and played it if they had.
I did have a DLC ‘strategy’ for a while, where I would fastidiously ignore any DLC that came out, play and enjoy the game, and then months later when I was ready to replay with fresh eyes (or it was a slow month for releases), I’d pick up all the DLC together. I was quite convinced for a while this would provide the truly expansive, adventure continuing experience I was looking for. The theory was that if you bolted enough disjointed pieces of extra content together, they’d form an unholy-yet-awesome frankensteinien expansion, every bit as good as the proper ones of old. (Protip: they don’t). They’re pitched as single, play-hour extending pieces of content. To pick on Mass Effect again, while its DLC mission is a great one, in the context of the entire game, what does it really add? Does what it added to the story stand alone and universe stand alone, or is it forgotten in amongst the slew of similar, later quests? A friend of mine recently noted ‘I didn’t realise it was the DLC until after I’d completed it.’ In this context, is it expanding the game, or just extending it?
This all leads me back to my original point – from what I’ve seen so far, DLC isn’t an adequate replacement for proper expansion packs, even if you wait until enough of them come along to get the equivalent number of hours entertainment. At the end of the day, what you get with an expansion pack is (usually) a cohesive, multi-faceted add-on that is often capable of standing alone as a representative of the game or series it belongs to. However fun they might be in the short term, From Ashes and its ilk don’t fit that mould. Even without its wallet-eroding, face-slapping arrival on the same day as the ‘full’ game (although I’m not sure I can credibly use that term any more), its not an encouraging sign of the future direction of DLC.
I realise this post has an element of whiny #firstworldproblems about it, but honestly, I don’t think DLC is living up to its potential. For those of you who’ve been on the DLC wagon since the beginning, how do you feel about it? Do you long for a return to the good old days of $50 expansion packs that you looked forward to almost as much as the game itself, or do you think smaller, more frequent parcels of new content are a better bet?
I’m really looking forward to picking up Mass Effect 3 on the weekend (fashionably late, I know), saving earth, getting to know crew members new and old, and generally soaking up every detail of the universe.
In anticipation (and also as a procrastination technique while I’m ostensibly studying) I’ve been thinking that in amongst all the horror and shameful antics of the Jennifer Hepler backlash fiasco*, the interesting piece of news about the multiple game ‘modes’ in ME3 went largely undiscussed. Regardless of whether you intend to play either the ‘story only’ or ‘action only’ version of ME3 (I do not), its unarguably an intriguing idea from Bioware. Personally, I feel that both the gameplay and the story of the Mass Effect series are brilliant and I wouldn’t miss a minute of either, but the concept is worth investigating, and I think its something I’d be interested to see other developers experiment with.
Remember, of course, that the fact that the option is there in no way detracts from your game experience if you choose not to take it (we’ll have no fanboy vitriol about people who only want to play the story, or intellectual sneering at those who prefer action here, thank you). Thats the best part of this approach of allowing people to choose the option – there’s no ‘dumbing down’ of the core experience to make it accessible to those who don’t like complex mechanics, nor are they ditching the quality story of the universe to appeal to a wider range of action focused gamers. Bioware is offering a choice of experience, and you get to pick the one that suits you best.
Now, these are some polarising choices, I’ll grant you, but what if other developers started thinking the same way and made the overall experience of their games available in different ways? What if I could get say, the story and character building of Final Fantasy X, without thirty interminable hours of ‘random encounters’ with the same three monsters every time I walk ten feet through the world?
Alternatively, what if I could have the story experience of Heavy Rain without losing my favourite characters to these awful one-hundred-button-combination quicktime events?
Off the top of my head, I can’t really think of any games in which I’d happily sacrifice the story elements for more of the action, but thats probably because I tend to play more RPG’s than anything else these days, and is purely a personal preference – I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who’d do the reverse.
Of course, this doesn’t need to be limited to the story or action choice that Mass Effect 3 offers. My last post about Amnesia got me thinking about the possibility of value in ‘less scary’ versions of the game, easily achieved by giving the player character a small amount of power to wield. Would it still be a worthwhile experience if before you started, you could either select to play the original version, or a game mode with slightly more monsters, but also some basic, Penumbra style combat? What if you could collect scarce, flimsy weapons by exploring, and have the ability to fight back against some of the monsters? Granted, you’re making it a totally different game by doing that, but does that make it valueless?
In this case (somewhere in Sweden, Thomas Grip has felt a disturbance in the force) you’d need to really restrict the number of weapons in the game so it retained the ‘survival horror’ feel, and probably also make it risky by forcing the player to use precious lamp oil and tinderboxes to explore the darkest areas where a weapon might be found, but I think it would be an interesting experiment.
From a pure business case point of view, Frictional might opt for this version out of a desire to make the game appeal to a wider audience (and therefore rake in cash to fund more of their awesome games) without wanting to dilute what they feel is the ‘true’ experience they set out to create. Looking at it from the player’s perspective, it would allow more people to share in an amazing experience, even if they don’t like being scared out of their wits for hours at a time.
I really only raise this to debate the issue – I’m not suggesting every game could (or should) do this, or even that its a good idea in the case of Amnesia. There are however, a number of series that over time have alienated their core fanbase by shooting for wider appeal, and I think this provides a reasonable answer to the question ‘how can we convince a wider range of people to buy our series, without pissing off the current fans?’
Given that we know units sold will (almost) always win a fight against preserving the integrity of an existing IP, I think its an option worth exploring further.
Who’s with me?
*Which I won’t dignify by linking to – as a community, we should be ashamed of ourselves. Also, ‘backlash fiasco’ is yet another great name for a band.
I recently watched Thomas Grip’s presentation at the 2011 GDC (cheers to tylersnell for the link) which, alongside playing through Amnesia: The Dark Descent, has me doing a lot of thinking about horror games and the way so much of what styles itself as horror these days should be looking long and hard at Frictional’s approach.
I strongly advise watching his talk in full – its a fascinating look at the thinking behind one of the more engaging and atmospheric games in recent memory. On the off chance you don’t have forty-odd minutes spare, I’ll amateurishly paraphrase one of his key points as I go, as its relevant to what I’m trying to say here.
I think a lot of the ‘big’ horror games of the recent generations (Resident Evil 5, the F.E.A.R. series, Condemned, Dead Space) have suffered to varying degrees from abuse of power – specifically, the amount of power given to the player character. Thomas makes an interesting point about how the tools you give to the player will define the way they look at and interact with your world – if you give them a gun, they will approach every situation looking for something to shoot. Taking this further, if you give them anything that could be a weapon, they presume it should be, and that wielding it makes them powerful. He relates an anecdote on the studio’s experiences developing the Penumbra games, where in testing they discovered that if the player was given any kind of weapon their first approach when faced with a threat was to attempt to kill it, no matter how ineffective the weapon, or how dangerous the foe.
This is telling, because it illustrates that people in a game scenario will attempt to make themselves a powerful force using whatever means they have at their disposal, and then exercise that power against any perceived threats. This is how games have been training us to play them since the first generation – you play, you remove threats and become powerful so you can you face bigger threats, and become more powerful. I would suggest that achieving power, even by slow degrees, erodes fear.
This point articulates something I’ve been trying to put my finger on for a while with horror games, which is that by and large, (and whatever their other qualities might be) they aren’t very good at being genuinely scary.
Before you leap ahead to the comments section to put the boot in, let me expand a little. The games I mentioned above are variously tense, atmospheric or unsettling, and some of them have the odd scary moment. I’m not suggesting they are a pleasant walk in the park to play – I myself am not the kind of person who enjoys being repeatedly startled – its that when playing them I’m nervous about the next monster closet moment, not scared as the character in the world I’m supposed to be inhabiting.
The kind of scares you see in a lot of the above games actually take you out of the game world, rather than drawing you in. For me, this is at the heart of the issue – games are more often about using cheap tricks (like monsters jumping from vents into your face with no warning) to startle the player, in place of creating an experience that is truly scary, around and between these moments. By truly scary, what I mean is an experience which is focused on being immersive and engagingly frightening and happens to be delivered in a game, rather than a game which is focused on fun gameplay and happens to have some scares mixed in.
After watching Thomas’s speech, I’m now convinced that this is because the experience and the ‘horror’ that these games are supposed to create in the player eventually play second fiddle to implementing mechanics that are ‘fun’ to play. Key to things being fun to play, as a general rule, are the ideas of gradual mastery and escalating challenge.
Dead Space actually encapsulates these points perfectly within its first level. The opening sequence is genuinely scary, and correspondingly isn’t very fun. As the game progresses, the story gets more and more interesting, the encounters get bigger and crazier and the game is more enjoyable, but in correlation, the fear decreases. The atmosphere, the environment and the story are still there, all that changes is Isaac’s power – in the opening level, he has no idea what is happening around him, no objectives beyond surviving, and no tools or weapons to combat the threat with. The first time an alien is encountered, it results in a pants-soiling flight through a darkened corridor, where the desire to move as fast as you can is tempered only by the desire to turn around and see how fast the nightmare is gaining behind you – fighting and winning isn’t an option here, you are totally powerless.
After arming himself shortly afterwards, the encounters are slightly different – rather than turning and fleeing, you’re attacking head on, and the original fear is diluted by the familiarity of impending combat – you have a weapon, therefore you expect you have the power. The fear returns in force after four or five shots to the head or torso when you realise your weapon is having little effect, and the beast is bearing down on you with alarming speed. This is still scary – you go from feeling powerful (comparatively) to powerless so quickly that flight starts to once again seem like the preferable option.
Around this time the game introduces you to the ‘strategic dismemberment’ mechanic – the only effective way to defeat the Necromorphs is by shooting off their legs, and then removing any remaining limbs from the now slower-moving and much, much less scary remains.
From this point Dead Space is a continual game of brinkmanship – Isaac acquires more and more powerful weapons, and is matched against more and more powerful monsters. By and large, what made the first encounters frightening is now abandoned for the more familiar (and easier) method of periodically having a monster leap out of a vent without warning, or making sure one enemy always spawns behind you in a room, so that your confidence in despatching the one in front of you leads to a moment of panic when you’re hit from behind. The interesting thing about this is that somewhere along the way, the creation of genuine fear became less important than the mechanics of being able to shoot the limbs off undead space insects. We know this is the case due to the sheer number of weapons Isaac collects that have been specifically designed for exactly this function. (Honestly, if you aren’t expecting to get boarded by multi-limbed alien horrors, why can I buy gravity-defying circular-saw guns from the vending machines?).
Later encounters with ever-bigger aliens don’t have the impact of the first ones, because the dynamic is well and truly set – you (through your weapons) have the power here.
All this is a long winded way of saying that true fear gets harder to create as you make the player character more and more powerful – (in the case of the F.E.A.R. series, giving the player time-slowing abilities and a Doom-like arsenal at the outset totally precluded it) – its difficult to be scared of something when you’ve dismantled and then curb-stomped several dozen others just like it.
This is where Amnesia shines – without any kind of combat mechanics, the player’s influence on the world is restricted to playing with light and manipulating everyday objects, neither of which can be used to inflict harm on the prowling monsters that serve as your enemies. Reduced to running and hiding, where the light you wield helps your hunters as much as you creates an atmosphere of dread that needs no sudden, nerve-jangling noises or stacked mob spawns to sustain it.
To be fair to Dead Space, I think its in a middle ground here – it does do a great job of creating atmosphere and a very lonely sense of foreboding as you wander the slaughter filled halls of the Ishimura – it even uses a few opportunities to strip Isaac of his death dealing power and setup some frightening encounters, but its nowhere near Amnesia’s league.
Of course, at the opposite end of the spectrum there are a litany of things that get in the way of genuine scares in Resident Evil 5. Once again a notable example can be made of one that shows how desirable mechanics were prioritised over genre experience during development. Not content with making the player character the kind of superhero to whom the enemies of the game are a tasty breakfast treat, RE5 adds a partner character – convenient for multiplayer, (and possibly made extremely capable in response to the community trashing of Ashley, the semi comatose wet blanket from RE4) but having an ass-kicking, wise-cracking comrade along for the ride is as much an enemy of fear-building as setting the majority of your levels in brightly lit, open areas (especially when this is one of her uniforms). In this case the desire for the game to be a fun two player experience, and for players to be in awe of how badass this duo are was stronger than the desire for it to be a truly scary experience – game mechanics overrode the ‘message’.
From nothing more than the way the characters are defined, RE5 leaves the player no choice about how the way in which to approach the game – as the kind of badass hero who only pauses in their orgy of
zombie ‘majini’ slaughtering to reload, or mutter a witty quip to their equally unstoppable backup. For the most part, FEAR and its sequels suffered from the same issue – the various player characters were powerful enough to gun down groups of enemies without raising a sweat, so there isn’t a lot of inherent risk about being ‘alone in the dark’ here – the game repeatedly teaches you that the monsters should be more afraid of you than you are of them.
Given that paradigm, players are more engaged by the power of their own player character than that of their enemies. Every threat is instinctively approached as something which can, and must, be destroyed. The closest you come to fear in these circumstances is the mild panic when reloading at an inopportune moment, or the tense apprehension waiting for yet another ‘dog and window’ moment. Neither is truly representative of the horror genre, or the kind of atmosphere it should be capable of creating.
I mentioned Condemned above because although its guilty of the same issue, it takes a while to really manifest it. In addition to a superbly crafted atmosphere and environment, by largely restricting the player to melee combat with everyday items (rather than a Frost Sword of Doom, or similar), you feel as if every encounter could go either way. Each new enemy is a frantic battle for survival, rather than a fresh set of targets in the shooting gallery.
Of course, by the closing stages of the sequel, the dynamic is exactly that – armed with an M16 and an interest-withering ‘magic shout power’ (which is nowhere near as cool as it was in Skyrim, despite being exactly the same), you parade confidently through the environment, hoping desperately to see a monster leaping from its closet so you have an excuse to use your many toys. Again, this is not what horror could be. Fear was left by the wayside on the road to power, and the game suffers greatly for it.
The most important point that Grip presents is encapsulated in his final thought – “if we want to advance our medium, we must allow it to be expressive – we must not think about how games are supposed to be, but we must think about the kind of meaning we want them to carry”. This sums up what, in my eyes, is the issue with a lot of whats currently called horror – first thinking about what kind of gameplay mechanics will sell, and then coating them in a thin veneer of atmosphere, sprinkling the result with scripted ‘startle’ moments, and calling the result horror.
The gauntlet’s been thrown down by Frictional with Amnesia, and smart money is on their recently announced A Machine for Pigs having a similar intent behind it. Are there any contenders out there likely to answer this challenge? Or alternatively, have I totally missed the point?
If you’ve got any great examples of genuinely scary games that had powerful protagonists, let me know in the comments.
So an interview with Jordan Mechner, creator of the Prince of Persia series (the original Prince of Persia series kids, not the one where he’s all time-controlling, wall-running and 3D-having) on his remake of the Karateka game has me thinking. Where do we stand on gaming remakes?
I suspect for many people the Halo: Combat Evolved remake would be a more likely catalyst for this discussion. While it is, when we’re categorising our remake candidates it falls in a distinctly different camp – the original is only a little over 10 years old, and still fresh in the hearts and minds of those who cut their teeth on it back when console shooters were still territory as untested as Microsoft’s gaming chops. No, Kareteka must be a faded memory for all but the oldest of gamers. I myself – disconcertingly approaching the average age of the Australian gamer – missed out on it by a year or two, our Apple II having gone gently into that good night not long beforehand.
This raises a few more questions – what is ‘remaking’ a game that old, anyway? Recreating a game from the time when a 10 pixel high sprite of two colours was the graphical norm in today’s world surely doesn’t come any closer than creating a ‘spiritual successor’, and even that term feels fairly generous. For all intents and purposes, the ‘rebooting’ of the Prince of Persia series with Sands of Time in ’03 was a remake in this vein, and there’s not much in common between the original and the ‘reimagining’. In fact, there’s not much of a relationship at all, beyond the setting, a moustachioed villain and a hero with a penchant for parkour. Of course, the stunning success of the later series might indicate Mechner is hoping for a similar experience with Karateka, although it will likely be on a different scale, as its being pitched as a downloadable rather than a big budget AAA title.
More importantly, what will be the reaction to a remake of a game that almost no-one remembers? In a way, its the safer route – one can easily imagine the horrifying backlash 343 Industries would have suffered if the Halo remake had harmed the game, story or universe in any way, and even that was purely a re-skinning and re-engineing, more akin to George Lucas’s digitally remastered 20th Anniversary editions of the star wars movies than a complete do-over. In this instance, Mechner is free to take all the liberties and risks he likes with the original property, knowing that the only person likely to make a comparison and be disappointed is himself.
Having said all that, and admitting that I’m quite keen on both the remakes mentioned above, I’m struggling to think of another game (new or painfully old) that I’d be interested in seeing redone, regardless of whether the reasoning is that technology and the game industry is now at a point to deliver an experience closer to the original dream (as with Mechner), or as a pure cash cow (you know who you are).
Thoughts? Anything you’ve got in your nostalgia cupboard you’d be happy to risk a remake of, or are the classics too sacred? Conversely, are you worried the trend sets us on the path to where Hollywood is now, frantically remaking and rebooting every single movie in an attempt to avoid the difficult and expensive process of generating new ideas?