Final Fantasy XIII is a game that I am really unsure about. The pervasive warcry of “a step backward” from the gaming press and fans has set up a discussion that I feel requires one to take sides on the truth of that statement. Michael Abbott’s Deep Fantasy post at The Brainy Gamer avoids this framing to focus on the depth of the narrative elements of the game and the creation of some positive female lead characters. In doing so he cites Simon Ferrari’s analysis from Chungking Espresso to argue that the paring back of the game systems is what allowed the narrative to shine through: ”ease the complexity of the game’s formal systems and increase the complexity of the game’s storytelling”.
The Final Fantasy series is nothing if it is not a journey. The places you go on that journey are the story arcs and moments of character development whilst the landmarks are FMV cutscenes and orchestral scores but the vehicle is always the gameplay; the motive force bringing you to the next stop on your travels.
The vehicle of FFXIII was supplied to me in a very careful and deliberate way. As a result I felt confident in my understanding of the game systems and my ability to guide this vehicle along the journey, which I suspect was the designers intention. By fostering this high level of player comprehension the complexity of the storytelling is allowed to shine through, unimpeded by player frustration. Where I differ from Michael is that I cannot agree on the gravity and importance of certain scenarios and characters within the narrative. This is not because he was incorrect in the identification of places and landmarks along his journey but because we were driving different vehicles. The level of player understanding fostered by FFXIII meant that my party was configured to be the set of abilities and paradigms I needed to traverse the current series of combat puzzles. The journey of FFXIII for me did not elevate Lightning l suspect it did for Michael. This is because she did not occupy a central position in the gameplay the filter through which, as a player, I combine the narrative elements.
Personally my narrative experience of videogames is that of gameplay as a lens to interpret the elements more traditionally associated with storytelling. Whilst reflecting on what stood out in the narrative of Final Fantasy XIII I thought of the strength of Fang and to a lesser extent the personal stories of Hope and Lightning whilst Sazh and Snow barely register in my recollection beyond their early actions. I am unsure of the exact breakdown but I feel that the game is balanced in how the amount of development it provides for each member of the ensemble cast. The only difference I could find is that Fang was almost always the leader of my party with Lightning and Hope in tow. My personal vehicle on this particular Final Fantasy journey is what enabled a subjective narrative experience.
What is exciting is that even with such a wealth of content FFXIII was able to provide a cohesive narrative journey through places and landmarks across the different vehicles created by player choice. I am unsure about Final Fantasy XIII because I have found that the slow and methodical introduction of gameplay elements and characters, the first port of call when crying “a step backward”, is precisely what was needed to enable personalization of the narrative. To give me what I needed to play the game and enough of each character to feel a connection no matter who formed the parts of my vehicle. This was unexpected.
For better or worse the material possessions that surround me contribute to how I construct my identity. They tell the story of the type of person I am, the type I person I have been and hint at the paths I may one day walk down. Books wedged up against videogame cases meet clothing strewn across my futon bed and the university degrees hanging next to an old 3 hour parking sign are all contained in my bedroom but are themselves containers of a different sort. They hold the undefinable elements of my personality, they are vessels of memories. Looking at Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas in my hands I conjure up not only the story it tells, but the time I spent reading this book, two lazy afternoons at work, and how that has influenced my thoughts on counter culture, a certain moment in history and the writing of fiction. This one item holds with it an experience from my life but also the means in which I define my future experiences, how I construct and internalize my personal narrative.
If someone every told me that they play Torchlight for the authored narrative I would probably end the conversation. However I will immediately follow up that statement by saying that narrative is what has kept me going back to the game over and over again. This narrative I speak of does not involve chasing down Alric or the fate of the town of Torchlight, it is about the adventurer alchemist known as Ytill. If Runic Games diverted resources away from building a compelling narrative for their dungeon crawler it most definitely went towards the loot system and as a result it creates a means by which I as the player can create a story for Ytill much in the way I create my own story, through the items that he obtains, uses and keeps.
The story of Ytill for ten levels was linked to the weapon pictured above, an unassuming sword that outclassed any other I would find for hours to come. My growth as a character was linked to this item as my slightly melee focused Alchemist became a hand to hand combat machine because of this sword. This item, real in the gameworld, held not only the gaming moments of victory over hordes of “evilplacespawn” but also the ways that Ytill grew and changed and how I internalised the rules and systems of Torchlight. In the same way that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas is not just a simple book, this sword was not just an awesome weapon. Many a time I would find new weapons, half hoping to find something better but secretly wishing for the opposite. So much of my narrative thus far was contained in this sword and thus when I found the Dismantling Sparkling Staff of the Bear with it’s higher damage per second, it was a moment of sadness. It was time to move on.
Much in the way my room tells a story of who I am, the items that Ytill uses and wears define my narrative in Torchlight. They are touchstones, memory markers and a means by which we as players can construct narratives through games like Torchlight, Borderlands and obviously Diablo. It is an active process different from other cultural forms. But this is not the end of the story of the sword, it now sits in the ingenious communal storage chest in the town of Torchlight, accessible to any character I chose to create. It waits for the time when Shaggy the level 2 Destroyer is ready, the time when I can once again be reminded of what my narrative in Torchlight, and what the future might hold.
I cannot understate how important the Monteriggioni Villa is to my enjoyment of Assassin’s Creed 2. It provides a virtual home within the game. A place that anchors down all I have done and all I will do during my with Desmond as Ezio. My first encounter with the Villa and it’s surrounding wall town left me quite depressed about Ezio’s situation. Much had been lost at this point and I couldn’t help but notice the dilapidated building that was my base of operations. But Monteriggioni has developed alongside my own growth within the world that Ubisoft created.
All the items I gain in the game are linked back to this villa, on display to remind me of their existence whenever I return. My ever growing art collection is punctuated by largely empty rooms, set aside for weapons and armor. This reminds me of how I have chosen to progress in the game. The game has three collectibles items, feathers, codex pages and seals of your ancestor Assassin’s. It is not enough to simply retrieve them, they must be returned to the villa in order to contribute to that magical counter. I am reminded of the narrative justification for collecting feathers by the perpetually catatonic form of Ezio’s mother as I deposit them in her room. I am reminded of the importance of finding all the Codex pages, a feeling reinforced when I place them amongst those already gained and as the Assassin’s seals unlock the gate to the ultimate final reward I feel motivated to explore just one more tomb.
The Villa at Monteriggioni at it’s most simple is a virtual trophy room, one which continually reinforces a holistic recollection of my gaming experience. When I equip my Condottiero War Hammer and Iron chestguard I cannot help but remember the common sword and leather armor that served me well during my early days in Florence. My anticipation of gameplay to come is increased by the memory of gameplay now past. Beyond a trophy room it is a benign region of Ezio’s world that provides for moments of practice and experimentation. With each new building upgraded, I gain access to the treasure chests that taunt me through their presence on my map. I practice many a jumping puzzle before needing those skills for the real challenges that I face in the greater world. I refine my combat reflexes without consequence or fear. The need to return to the Villa to collect income means that whilst you might not need the safety net that it offers you are most definitely aware of it.
The open world genre can simultaneously intimidate and excite by the wealth of options for play that they offer. The inclusion of an area like the Monteriggioni Villa takes away much of the anxiety of being let loose in such a world that does not force you to participate in the authored narrative. It provides a virtual home, a safe place to exist in the world as well as an anchor for your memories of the game. This is a vital element that is missing in many open world games that often provide rich emergent experience but provide no means to hold onto them, leaving them to fade away with the next cool brush fire, assassination or car crash. When my time with Ezio is finished the Monteriggioni Villa and town are restored and alive with colour and movement. My trophy room has expanded out and every step through this place is a reminder of the things I have done and the fun I have had along the way.
Around me are the sounds of battle: gunfire and explosions, near and far away. The objective, a mortar team up on the hill is harassing our armor and needs to be neutralized. How we will get up there has been on my mind for the last 5 minutes. We creep carefully closer so as to avoid the line of sight of the enemy. A lapse in concentration results in the machine gun emplacement opening up on our position. I order a fast move to the cover of a scattered pile of rocks. I take a bullet in the leg in the time it takes me to ensure my men make it to safety. Bullets zip past my head as I hit the deck and crawl to where my men are waiting. An explosion ruptures my existence, a grenade, possibly, all I see is dirt through blurred vision. I keep on moving. I make it to cover, taking a moment to assess the situation. Every glance out of cover is met with more fire from the enemy. I order my men to flank left where other scattered rocks will cover their approach. I inch out of cover to lay down a suppressing fire, allowing my men to move forward. The enemy fires again, less accurately this time. Things are looking up, I steal a moment to check on my men. They are moving to the obje….
The screen goes black, a stray bullet had struck me in the head. I am dead
The moment to moment action in the new Operation Flashpoint game, Dragon Rising is what makes this game an amazing experience. There is an ever present possibility of death, independent of choices made and you never feel the hand of the developer in these events. They have set up the base conditions and your presence is what causes the scenario to play out. Dragon Rising provides the intial (and expected) escapism and empowerment on a videogame letting you play soldier. Your actions are shown to be integral to each victory, you are the active force in this world. But you also inherit the realistic chance that as a soldier, your death is only one bullet away. Operation Flashpoint avoids many other gaming traditions aimed at reminding you of your empowered existence. There is no swell of orchestral music when you order a charge and no canned character dialogue for when a team member dies. The game succeeds because it does not try to elicit emotion or reaction from me in any way except through gameplay and given the large open nature of every mission, and unscripted AI, this comes at unexpected times. I do not need a large explosion or vista to reward me for being successful, overcoming the challenge of the game is it’s own reward. When a mission is complete there is no cutscene to form my character’s story, there is only the things I have just done, the moments that have just passed. The screen simply fades to black until I next take up the role of the soldier and define my experience by actions. The game does not try to force feed the empowerment fantasy to the player, anytime you act in a way that results in feelings of agency they feel earned and are much more effective.
