simonlife

This article is the second in a series of two. (Part 1)

When we play video games, we tend not to think too much of the random violence and idiocy that characterizes our virtual worlds. That, or we think it’s hilarious. We think it’s kind of funny when we fail to make the same stupid jump over and over again and land ourselves in totally ridiculous-looking black holes that have no business being there or anywhere at all. And, oh shit, you accidentally blew up the president! Here comes the army. Quick, shoot them with TEH LAZER GUN.

Pew, pew!

Everyone but the most austere will admit that violence in a simulated world is harmless enough to warrant a few laughs and the killing of… well, everything in sight. It’s an unorthodox but nonetheless reliable form of stress relief, and if everything that takes place in the game stays in the game, why not take the opportunity to see what it might be like to do something a little outrageous or out of the ordinary?

If you ask me, I don’t think video games should necessarily have to be fun in that LOL-I-BLEW-UP-UR-FACE kind of way. Any medium that hinges on storytelling should be capable of evoking a balanced range of human emotions, and yet currently, most video games only do well in inciting laughter and light-hearted amusement. These two responses, though sufficing, are not even the whole of happiness. Few games actually achieve a heightened sense of exhiliration, and even fewer games draw upon genuine fear and anger to drive the experience home (getting angry at that stupid hole you keep falling into doesn’t count). After that, games that make you sad are a needle in a haystack.

A Crowning Achievement

A case in point, Final Fantasy VII is one of the most universally recognized titles in this context for being the game that brought its audience to tears. There are a number of technical elements that suffice on their own to justify the game’s success, but what ultimately distinguished this Final Fantasy from other games with a strong technical foundation was the way it managed to tell a story.

The storytelling in Final Fantasy VII (FF7) is described in countless reviews as having a cinematic quality, and on the whole, this observation is accurate; simply speaking, the sum of the game’s visuals and audio orchestrate the trials of a diverse dramatis personae. Through clever use of the same storytelling devices, no plot-driven video game should be any less capable of evoking emotion than a movie (shut up and keep reading). Where we split hairs on this issue is a qualitative matter. Specifically, due to the limitations of the Playstation game console, Final Fantasy VII’s music was encoded in a discordant MIDI-like format, in-game dialogue had to be reduced to on-screen text, and though somewhat groundbreaking for its time, the graphics engine was primitive and unable to render human characters as anything other than exaggerated block models.

I don’t think I need to speak on behalf of the game industry, but it’s been nearly a decade since that time and all the above design hurdles have long been overcome and replaced by other challenges. Even still, Final Fantasy VII performed beautifully because of the way its plot lent itself so well to a cinematic-style of storytelling. This is a style that, in theatres, can sensationalize an idea and ideologically motivate a crowd. By design and intent, some video games will never fulfill this purpose, but it isn’t clear why movies have to have such an incredible edge over games on this front.

Active Audience

In reasoning about why games are so far behind movies in inspiring emotion, the first and most obvious thing that comes to mind is the fact that video games are an interactive form of entertainment, whereas movies are not. Interactivity is a property of the medium that requires the designer to account for everything that a player might do, and naturally, this added responsibility complicates the storytelling by giving the player a hand in the action. Given the opportunity, a free-thinking player will behave autonomously, potentially ignorant of all the things the designer intended to imbue with meaning. No film producer has ever known such a burden.

Still, interactivity should not preclude subjective feelings; if anything, it is intended to enhance them. Note that movies are solely an audiovisual experience. As video games are at least this much, they should be equally capable of eliciting a meaningful response from the viewer. The methods are surely different and perhaps more complex, but the effect on the audience should not have to be qualitatively less than any impression left on us by film.

To be more specific, being inspirational is a gift that hinges on being able to dispel apathy, and like I tried to demonstrate in the introduction to this article, today’s video games make it really easy to just not care about anything purported to be important. Arguably, games of the role-playing genre are intended to encourage the player’s concern for in-game events, but players today would still rather cook up an entrail fiesta than spare a virtual civilian’s life. Not surprisingly, the term “role-playing” is employed so loosely in the game industry that it’s become a stale descriptor for all but the most absolute of puzzles games (Tetris, etc.). It’s an underspecified term that means everything it implies — the adoption of an alternate persona, fictional or not — and few games don’t make that offering. In short, role-playing does nothing to resolve apathy.

Lacking Investment

One explanation for the prevalence of apathy in gaming is that most games do not challenge the player to make any decisive decisions. Even some of the most popular award-winning titles rely on the notion that a “choice” is something trivial or practical, like deciding which of twenty weapons to use in a particular situation. Beyond the subtle amount of problem solving it asks for, a choice like this is mostly inconsequential beyond its immediate context and is hard to care about since it has no lasting impact on the rest game. In general, it is difficult for the player to take any situation seriously if the resulting outcome is not significantly affected by one contingent choice or another.

It thus follows that the more responsive the game is to preference and opinion, the more careful and considerate the player will be in making decisions. Achieving this level of play where subjectively and objectively motivated actions are both met with equal or compounding reactions requires a kind of freewill that demands ethical and moral self-assessment.

In this sense, a physically open-ended environment in which you can go anywhere and throw stuff around and push lots of buttons is not enough. Granted, being able to do whatever you want in your surroundings is damn cool and makes for a more immersive experience, but I argue that really caring about your actions is a matter of being confronted with issues that mean something to you even outside of the game world. I’ll cast a fire elemental spell on an undead monster because it’s the smart thing to do, but really, that kind of thing is so extraordinary that I won’t think twice if I make a mistake and cast something else. Thinking about it also makes me feel like a nerd.

Learning How to Care

Unfortunately, there is a disappointingly small number of games that cater to freewill. Simulating a world in which ethical choices carry some sort of persisting weight is an incredibly difficult task if the game is also to avoid appearing formulaic or scripted (though it probably is). The only game I’ve played that is known for having successfully achieved this model is Deus Ex.

My own experience in the world of Deus Ex was gripping. It confronted me with intellectual decisions that extended beyond the scope of my immediate condition, and it persuaded me to care about my choices in a genuine, self-scrutinizing sort of way. During my first play of the game at least, I was more concerned with my character’s actions being justified in accordance with my own directives than I was with actually improving my overall position in the game. If disobeying orders to eliminate a human target in observance of some moral obligation meant pissing off a supervisor and forfeiting my pay and a chance to use some totally awesome super weapon that serves you ice cream every time you shoot it, I was ready and willing to make that sacrifice.

Regrettably, science fiction has a way of disguising real-world issues behind caricature and fantasy. Deus Ex takes place in a dystopian representation of the near future where extensive liberties have been taken in the fields of military technology and scientific research, and after the player realizes that the ultimate objective of the game is to — surprise, surprise — save the world, it can be easy to dismiss this cyberpunk pseudo-reality, along with all the issues it projects to be important, as basically irrelevant. However, amidst the plasma rifles, cyborgs, and genetically-altered mutant chickens lie the undertones of religious and political philosophy, embedded in references to the Illuminati, the Knights Templar, numerous Christian texts, and a few, very real political organizations.

Of course, the chance that these allusions are ever likely to have any application in my life is pretty slim, but we don’t generally expose ourselves to entertainment media (movies, TV dramas, video games, etc.) for a realistic or practical experience anyway. Through abstractions like science fiction and fantasy, we can tackle relevant issues in a form akin to the thought experiment — a kind of reasoning in which exaggeration and hypothesis yield the benefit of high-level interpretation. Thought experiments, however, are theoretical; and movies, experiential. Video games are about the closest we’ve come so far to empirically simulating our brave new worlds.

Success in this sense is a matter of execution: easing the player into a logical suspension of disbelief and a convincing sense of self-importance. In this sense, Deus Ex shines.

Letting It Happen

In truth, game developers can only do so much to make you feel like a part of the game world. The rest is your own willingness to let that world consume you. You have to assume the character’s perspective and surrender your awareness of what video games intrinsically are and what limitations they impose. A well-designed game will make this easier to do to some degree, but learning specifically how to care about your actions in a world fabricated by your computer takes a little more relinquishment. Think of it not as an obligation, but rather as an opportunity to be that someone who has to live with the consequences of your behavior. The more you’re able to do this, the more you’ll actually be able to make the experience your own.

Final Words

Film and literature are things we created in order to entertain ourselves, and without much preconception, we invented these two mediums as mere ways of passing the time. But as our grasp on things like aesthetics and form matured, we started to recognize and assign value to the things we felt during and after our experiences. We developed styles of cinematography to capture these and other feelings we wanted to evoke. We founded an entire academic discipline for the purpose of analyzing texts and the themes present in fictional and completely supernatural worlds. We learned to find meaning in our humble means of entertainment. We started to care.

And now we find ourselves bearing the growing pains of another such genre, and I will confess it is my hope that video games ultimately evolve into something worth describing as moving and epic — words we’d only ever use for man’s finest works of art. It’ll take a Shawshank Redemption of games to pull that one off, but a precedent resides in the legacy of games like those I mentioned today. In an industry where everyone’s looking for something to fit their own tastes, the model of greatness I have outlined will likely go overlooked or misinterpreted for a lack or want of something else. But if we let it happen, we’ll find that scene, that ending, or that quotation. That climax of events or that sympathy for some character. Any of the things that we love and hold on to and look forward to in a movie will, in a way of their own, come to us in a game unexpectedly. They’ll strike us with a new kind of feeling and depth, and they’ll remind us of the things that make us care; the things that make us angry and afraid; the things that make us laugh and smile. And maybe, just maybe, the things that make us cry.