Roles of Narratives in Video Games

This was my final paper for my New Media Theory class.  The professor was very lax on sticking with MLA format (which explains why I, you know, didn't stick strictly to MLA format).  It's probably too long for a blog post, but I told myself I'd post it here, regardless of quantity (or quality).

The importance and reasoning behind narrative in video games is thoroughly contested.  Most famously, Janet Murray seems to think that the ultimate goal for video games is to become a form of perfect interactive narrative.  Ludologists like Espen Aarseth and Markku Eskelinen argue that what we mean by “narrative” cannot occur in an interactive game.  As the gaming industry develops, it seems that neither of these purist approaches hold true.  Because video games are still developing we may not be able to say for certain that either is definitively right or wrong, but that they both contain elements of worth.  Certainly Ian Bogost finds a way around these all or nothing arguments and we may do the same.  I have found that video games are on a narrative spectrum.  This is not to say that all games contain what we would call “stories,” but rather, that we at least associate a story with every game.  There are reasons that we find the need to construct, decode, and control game stories.  In turn there are reasons why developers make the decision to include the level of narrative that they do in a given video game.  It is the human mind that creates and plays games that strives for narrative framing in the untraditional format of the video game and it is for this reason that narrative should be neither the ultimate goal, nor the burden from which to become unencumbered.

           

Problematic when discussing narrative in games is that it’s just that – narrative in games.  Game mechanics rarely do anything resembling telling a story and when they do it’s something closer to conveying an emotion then recounting events.   Even arguments for how to improve narrative seem to veer away from mechanics and focus more on aesthetics.  Sande Chen, writer of PC RPG The Witcher (2007) makes a strong point about the importance of aesthetics in helping to better convey the plot of a game:

One of the strongest tools to convey meaning is thematic expression, which can be integrated not only in narrative, but also in other game elements, such as art direction, game systems, sound design, and music. Developers who yearn for mass-market appeal can use this multidisciplinary approach to create meaningful and more emotionally charged games.  (Gamasutra)

Though Chen does mention “game systems” her example is one that is still based in aesthetics and focuses on drawing player attention to what the designer intends as the player progresses rather than on controls.  This is the equivalent of claiming that players should have a better understanding of in-game items by simply redesigning the menus.  Still her point is in some ways unarguable:

To build a meaningful game, a narrative designer joins together and balances these disciplines in game development so that the story can shine in a game. When done successfully, the game expresses themes that connect to audiences. It becomes more than simply a game, but a meaningful experience.

Bioshock (2007) was hailed by critics as an achievement for the industry and was met with very strong commercial success.  The plot of the game is strong (especially so in the context of the typically weak plots of video games) but said plot also worked in conjunction with the audio/visual aspects of the game.  Strong orchestration and licensed tracks from the fifties combined with one of the most striking visual styles in recent games to present a world often called ‘engrossing’ or ‘immersive.’  This seems the best example of a perfect execution of what Chen writes about, but what about the gameplay mechanics?  Suddenly all high praise is forced back down to earth – Bioshock uses a modified version of the Unreal Engine for a first-person shooter that is focused on upgrading weapons and collecting inventory and currency from the world.  In comparison with its unprecedented visuals, sound, and writing, the gameplay falls flat.  That is not to say that it doesn’t hold its own in comparison with most other first-person shooters, but it is certainly not as groundbreaking in this regard. 

Bioshock exemplifies a problem that often occurs in the realm of games.  Even if a developer is firing on all cylinders and is able to put something out that seems new or fresh, they still often opt for tried-and-true gameplay mechanics.  Perhaps it is that developers (or maybe more likely their publishers) are wary of producing something that is totally new for fear that it will not sell.  Outspoken designer David Jaffe (Twisted Metal, God of War) thinks that delivering plot and aesthetics are antithetical to delivering something speaking “the true language of video games”:

Jaffe goes onto explain his thesis, believing many modern cinematic games don't properly play upon the raw 'real' emotions videogames can elicit: tension and release, fear and anxiety, triumph and defeat, and confusion and joy over challenges.  (Jaffe, 1Up)

And though he may put himself firmly in the ludologist camp with statements like these, perhaps he’s correct – the story doesn’t need to be there for it to be a game, so why not focus on mechanics instead? 

Much like a narrative changes as it progresses, so too has the role of the narrative in the video game.  The earliest mass-market video games were largely what we could, for now, consider non-narrative affairs. Tetris (1984), perhaps the most abstract popular video game ever, is much more about blocks than it is about characters.  But the majority of games, even very simple ones, were not so abstract.  Donkey Kong (1981) is a game about traveling up several slight inclines and jumping over obstacles.  However many gamers would say Donkey Kong is about “saving the girl from the gorilla.”  This description conveys nothing about the gameplay, but is probably much more likely to get the average person interested than the game about “blocks that fall constantly and only go away when you line them up."

Another good example of simple narrative elements encapsulating the experience is in the Legend of Zelda (1986 – Present) franchise.  These games almost always take up the same narrative description as games featuring Nintendo’s other beloved protagonist, Mario (1981 – Present).  The objective of nearly all of the early releases in these series is to traverse the in game space to save the princess.  This minimal but archetypal style of story framing has held up in video games and could also be applied to PlayStation 2 launch title Ico (2001).  If we consider the popular reimagining Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2003) the simple narrative summary does hold true, but something problematic occurs.  The other games are minimal in narrative digression.  There is little dialogue and the focus is on the actual playing of the game.  The Sands of Time often has characters interacting with each other in ways outside of the player-enemy relationship.  The game is not truly about saving the princess so much as working alongside her, understanding the relationships between characters, and exploring the psychological effects of the events of the game on its characters. 

            

This style of game – the one in which the player is presented with a world and associated story through which to progress – was very popular during the console generation of The Sands of Time.  However during that generation, some games began to implement player choice as a prominent selling point.  Games such as Deus Ex (2000), Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic (2003), and Fable (2004) allow players to choose not only how they progress through challenges and combat, but also – in the case of the latter two – whether to be good or evil.  It is this level of sway over narrative that the player has been at since these games.  Very few other games, Heavy Rain (2010) is one, allow players more choice or control than style of combat and good/evil decisions, but if the past progression of such things is any indication of the future, and I think it is, then games implementing more widespread choice should start to become commonplace in the next several years.

            

Using this brief history as context, how can we seek to better understand the progression of the role of narrative in games?  As mentioned before, I see games as placed on a narrative spectrum and it is this concept that informs the narrative based categorization of games which I propose.  We find that in the past, some games were without direct explanation of any kind outside of rule set.  For games like these, such as Pong (1972) and Tetris, I will use the term Interpretive.  The more pronounced narratives such as those in the examples of Mario, Zelda, and Ico can be called Implied – they are set forth, but not expanded on.  Overt narratives can be split into two categories.  Static-Overt is set narrative; Stoic-Overt can be swayed in some way by the player.

             

It’s interesting to note that even though narratives were no more a goal of many early video games – especially those used as simulations for military purposes – than they are of board games like checkers or go, developers saw improvements in technology as opportunities for more fleshed out stories to go along with their increasingly complex gameplay mechanics.  Overt-Static narratives go back as far as early Japanese Role Playing Games do, but the first among these games that intrigued on an international level for reasons of narrative was Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy II in the U.S. (1991).  Because of its overwhelming (and continued) success, IV led the Japanese Role Playing Game, or JRPG, to focus more on writing than gameplay.  The JRPG seems well set in the Static-Overt category of the narrative spectrum, with the majority of releases within the genre remaining firmly in the Static-Overt set.  The few that step outside of these restrictions often do so in terms of gameplay – Final Fantasy V (1992) allows players to choose battle classes for each of their characters; Suikoden (1995) is famous for allowing the player to choose from over one-hundred characters to recruit.  1995 saw the release of the groundbreaking Chrono Trigger, which allows players to kill or spare a major villain and also has at least thirteen distinct endings based on when and how the player decides to finish the game. 

            

This inclination toward a fuller story and more choice in role-playing games was used as the basis for what many now call the Western RPG.  Prior to the mid-nineties many role-playing games developed in the United States were “dungeon crawler” affairs in which player characters would ascend or descend maze-like floors of an enemy infested space.  These are clear candidates for the Implied portion of the spectrum, as many give only brief in-game explanations or rationale before dumping the players into a town to equip themselves and eventually do battle.  This was the original intent of the first game in the now incredibly prominent series, The Elder Scrolls (1994 – Present).  Focus shifted toward presenting the player with what now gets put into the catchall category of “freedom” – a large world to explore and choice of what to do in it. 

            

Recent games that have implemented elements of Western RPGs in conjunction with other genres (such as the third-person shooter in Mass Effect (2007) and the first-person shooter in Fallout 3 (2008)) have been met with critical and commercial success.  This application of Murray’s agency with more accessible and well-received genres naturally leads to success.  But are these games giving us any actual freedom?  Do our choices really matter?  Jan Simons points out that, “the trick of the trade of game design is indeed to make the player believe she is in control.”  Here we come to one of the many problems facing games today.  Player perception is sometimes far removed from the reality of the gaming experience.

            

As stated before, critics and players alike have responded positively to choice-making mechanics being present in games like Fable and Mass Effect.  However this ‘choice’ is referring to a rather superficial one.  Consider the choice a player has when constructing a narrative from a game with implied narrative.  The game Tank featured on Combat (1977) involves two players, each controlling one tank.  They traverse a map from a top down view trying to fire upon one another until one tank is destroyed.  Any number of war scenarios could be constructed to fit this gameplay model. 

            In Hamlet on the Holodeck, Janet Murray describes her interpretation of Tetris in the following way:

Every time a complete row forms, it disappears.  Instead of keeping what you build, as you would in a conventional jigsaw puzzle, in Tetris everything you bring to a shapely completion is swept away from you.  Success means just being able to keep up the flow.  This game is a perfect enactment of the overtasked lives of Americans in the 1990s – of the constant bombardment of tasks that demand our attention and that we must somehow fit into our overcrowded schedules and clear off our desks in order to make room for the next onslaught.  (144)

Murray’s interpretation however is just that – an interpretation.  And considering that Tetris was developed in the 1980s in the U.S.S.R., her interpretation certainly isn’t one that the designer intended.  When I first played Tetris I thought of it as a way to build up a symmetrical design, or a staircase, or whatever I could muster with the blocks I was given.  (This inherent desire within gamers to build with blocks probably stems from a the combination of the childhood desire to do so and the importance in gaming culture of blocks and boxes.  This is still going strong with the recent overwhelming success of Minecraft (2009).)  Later I discovered how the game actually worked and it held little significance.  At some point I saw a television show or film that involved an assembly line, conveyer belts, and/or shipping from a factory.  Suddenly Tetris had meaning again – it was a representation of boxes on conveyer belts that needed to be shipped.  Because Tetris is so abstract, there are probably an infinite number of interpretations for it.

            

Games are probably at least partially more narrative driven in the current state of the industry because of desire to convey a message.  As mentioned earlier, Bioshock is universally viewed as a triumph in terms of in-game storytelling, but has very traditional gameplay.  This is most likely because trying to convey the dangers of a strict Objectivist society, the difficulties one faces when confronting stem-cell research, and the danger of mental conditioning are much more difficult to present through gameplay than through dialogue and action.  When asked what the role of story is in game, Warren Spektor, creator of Deus Ex had this to say:

Games are all about the player experience -- about DOING things, not about watching things or hearing about things. And that means that a narrative game has to put the player experience first and the narrative second. However, left to their own devices, most players aren't very GOOD at crafting compelling experiences -- just as most readers aren't good writers, and most moviegoers aren't great directors. And that's where story comes in.  The answer for narrative games is, I think, to empower players to do well the things they do well and let developers do well the things THEY do well.  So what is it that players do well? Given the right toolset, they're great at making plans and trying to execute them. And they seem to like making choices and then responding to the consequences of those choices.  (Stories, 1Up)

With this, Spektor brings up a number of valid points.  Given an interpretive narrative, most players won’t actually interpret anything.  While recently playing Geometry Wars (2005) one friend asked another about the game.  (Oddly enough the question, “what is this game about?” is just as common as “what do you do in this game?”)  The one who had played the game said something about how the game controlled and let the other try the game himself.  Neither of the two ever took time to think about if the game was supposed to have a message or meaning.  There’s a clear disconnect between mechanics and narrative that is just starting to be bridged in the sloppiest fashion with Stoic-Overt narrative games.  For most, unfortunately, there is little being done.

           

Consider games with narratives that are not conducive to intriguing gameplay and games that try to include stories when their gameplay is not conducive to stories.  The prevalence of the ‘movie-game’ (a tie-in video game released at the same time as a major motion picture) has dwindled dramatically because of waning sales.  These lacking sales were based on mostly poor reviews for the majority of movie-games.  This is because major motion pictures might have interesting characters or plots, but usually don’t contain enough in terms of gameplay opportunities to warrant a full price video game being produced.  Likewise there are many games with praiseworthy mechanics whose developers feel obligated to include story (however inappropriate) with.  Maybe the best example would be the entire genre of fighting games.  In almost every case gameplay focuses on two fighters facing off in a set of (up to) three matches.  Of course developers then seek to add backstory to each character and reasoning for any and all of them to be fighting each other.  This nearly works, albeit in a rather deficient fashion, as it’s even able to account for why two friendly characters would fight each other.  But what about when winning a match implies the death of the other character?  First-person shooter Doom (1993) features an implied narrative – as the only surviving space marine on a base on Phobos, a moon of Mars, you must fight your way out through demon-infested floors – that completely falls apart when competitive multiplayer is introduced.  Suddenly all demons disappear and only other human characters are present.  As Spektor points out, players are very adept at completing tasks when given a rule set, but then it becomes the developer’s job (or so many of them seem to feel) to create feasible justifications for everything that takes place in a game.  If players can play games like Geometry Wars or Bit.Trip Beat (sic) (2009) without stories and be content, or play mode that acts as a continuity error – such as Doom’s competitive multiplayer mode, but need stories even when they’d probably be better off without – such as in fighting games – how much of this trend is player desire and how much is industry standard? 

            

It seems developers have become increasingly uncomfortable with leaving human players in control of human characters without context for their setting and actions.  Perhaps it is natural to want to associate games with stories, but this does not always hold true.  Likewise there are times when we are content to play without an overt story or an implied narrative.  A game does not require narrative to be a game, but gaming critics have made it a requirement to get the highest praises.  How many developers are putting in superfluous narratives in hopes that their game will be better received?  My hope is that developers figure out to put the right amount of narrative into their games.  Puzzle games and fighting games don’t need stories; they are nearly perfect examples of games (with such refined mechanics) without such things.  Meanwhile a story that is best told in an interactive fashion such as Heavy Rain has the task not of finding or abandoning a story, but on matching gameplay to the tasks at hand.

            

It is natural for developers and gamers alike to desire narratives in video games.  They are easy both to present to others and to understand and follow in comparison with creating or reading gameplay mechanics.  Video games are beginning to get the perception of having ‘made it’ by out selling the film industry in terms of revenue in recent years.  I would say that this perception is far from the truth, as developers and players still have very little to go off of in order to understand their medium and how to use/read it effectively.  My hope is for more experimentations, educated approaches, and legitimate attempts at unique experiences as the industry moves forward.  Narratives are not the end goal, nor the shackles, but simply an aspect of gaming that should be used in a responsible and planned manner if at all in the future.