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.
I have tracked the evolution of the Rockstar Games version of the open world genre over the years with much interest. They are unmatched in their ability to create cohesive worlds rich in atmosphere that beg to be explored and played with. With each new release Rockstar have also attempted to develop a much richer guided narrative, with mixed results. However even with their track record Rockstar has been unable to reconcile the player freedom in the open world space with the constraints of providing a fleshed out character-driven story. This criticism of their games has been presented by other in more detail elsewhere so I will put it simply: In Red Dead Redemption my violent rampage with rifle and lasso is not the most suitable bridge between the chapters of the story of John Marston.
As many will already know Red Dead Redemption is an apple that does not fall far from the tree that is Rockstar Games’ open world formula. It’s single player portion does contain refinements that go a ways to addressing the above failing but regardless there is still ample ammunition for anyone who wishes to take that position. At the same time there is the multiplayer free roam portion of Red Dead Redemption. It comes tantalizingly close to fulfilling that dreamy promise of the ideal Rockstar multiplayer mode where anything might be possible. In free roam the whim of player and posse defines the next set of actions and stories are created from the conditions set up by Rockstar at the start. It is like some mad scientist version of Conway’s Game of Life…with horses. Through the lense of this maniacal creation I can build up a narrative where I will stop a hard driven pursuit to add to my collection of local flora or pause to share the sunset with a friend before blowing their head off just as they begin to describe what we were sharing. I am finding this method of narrative creation to be extremely satisfying and it has inevitably led me to compare it with the completely separate single player experience. And that is to be expected isn’t it?
I have always enjoyed that this medium has demarcation zones created by the player between our single and multiplayer experiences. With few exceptions games today provide us with easy ways to do this. The separation of Gerard as multiplayer cowboy from hell and Gerard as John Marston is as easy as paying attention to the two options provided when the title screen loads. It has even reached a point on the development side where games like Starcraft 2 and Medal of Honor utilise separate development teams for each experience. There are few brave enough to entertain the idea that one could merge the multiplayer ladder climb with the singleplayer narrative(?) of Modern Warfare 2. It is not worth that kind of effort and the reason is clear. These are parts of the same whole, the game that sits on your shelf, but we separate these experiences because they are simply not the same. Players are accustomed to having these dissociated story’s within a single game but I don’t think we go far enough.
Why must we join the John Marston of the open world of Red Dead Redemption with that of the John Marston of cutscenes and directed missions?
Are we compelled beyond our power to the tyranny of our avatar’s appearance or who inhabits the virtual space around us?
Do our stories really require a level of consistency that will place a limit to the interactivity we so greatly treasure?
Videogames provide us with a system to play with, not to be controlled by. The process of forming my own story through my play is mine to structure and control, and at times to edit. No boasting Halo player ever speaks of his defeats so I feel I have some small license to separate my stories. Red Dead Redemption continues the tradition of providing an expansive and atmospheric world for me to explore. I will make my own separate stories with the online free mode, with my random actions in singleplayer and with my connection to a strong character in John Marston. I am empowered in demarcating my time with a videogame because I am the player. If this is to be my escapism then I will craft many varied and interesting experiences and I look forward to any game that provides me with a Game of Life-and-then-some to do so.
I support the tyranny of player over game.
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.
This post underwent a dramatic change after reading the comments section of The Brainy Gamer’s post about ODST. A selection of comments claimed that ODST should or could not be discussed because it is simply a shooter, a mindless action game. It was also the held view that any attempt to do so was just pseudo-intellectuals trying to grasp for something that wasn’t there in order to justify their ‘obvious’ games-are-art viewpoint. However I feel that games like ODST need to be discussed not because it might be considered art but because of it’s possible cultural significance. Halo has always had something to say about empowerment and agency given its firm place within the action genre and it is the popularity of the series coupled with these ideas that makes me want to discuss ODST. I am not trying to justify the game as a piece of art but I do feel that it is important to discuss because alot of people will play the game. Alot of people will be exposed to it’s contents.
ODST is not a fundamental departure from the established gameplay elements of the Halo series. You are a silent hero like Master Chief and the gameplay style of the Halo series has only had slight tweaks to weapons, jump height and the health system, all justifiable in the context of being an ODST rather than a genetically engineered supersoldier. This allows for the transfer of player skill essential to keeping a large fanbase happy with a new release. I came to the game thinking that being The Rookie might lead to a game that played alot differently and present an alternate experience of player empowerment and heroism compare to previous Halo games. I have come out of my first week with ODST realizing that this is indeed the case but not for the reasons I expected.
The game places much emphasis on the fact that you are The Rookie and yet you spend alot of time being other ODST’s or in the case of the audio logs, experiencing a story that already come to a conclusion without you. Looking at the narrative as a whole The Rookie has little impact on how things turn out. His journey is represented by loneliness and inaction much of the time. However if the player is an ODST in a broad sense, so as to include the experiences of his squadmates, then you can identify with alot more action but not that much more impact. With the exception of ONI Alpha site mission the ODST squadmates spend their time trying to survive. The flashback missions consist of action as a means to either survive, rescue other ODST’s or flee. This is all done with an incredible amount of violence and success in combat situations but ultimately it never gets close to the suggestion that “you might just win this war”. Indeed it might be incredibly empowering to charge through an area with a Scropion tank, but this is undermined by the hopeless motivation and context for these actions.
The audio logs in ODST form an ancillary storyline to the campaign, offering clues about the city itself as well as following the story of a New Mombasan (good enough?) civilian in the hours after the Covenant attack. These logs are incredibly well written and privilege the experience of a civilian in wartime, noted by some as being missing at times from action games. I am aware that for the most part this storyline will remained incomplete for many players because they are a collectible. However even listening to the first few logs the player gains an insight into the chaos that erupted with the arrival of the Covenant. I found myself listening to the audio logs as I was walking around, hearing ethereal brutes killing civilians, turning to dodge gunfire that existed only in the record of the past It gave me a profound sense of futility. The audio logs remind the player that whatever they might achieve, much has already been lost. Civilians are gone from this city and The Rookie could do nothing about it.
ODST in form and content appears to have all the elements that define the Halo series but I feel it does much to undermine the moments of empowerment experienced during gameplay. The narrative of ODST is one of loneliness and ineffectual actions, and of a character who must endure the dystopian end to New Mombasa through records rather than actual experience. This game might not be art, and Firefight might be the better game on this disc, but even there you will die many many times. You will fail and only a score, not victory, will give you a sense of achievement. I did not feel like an empowered Master Chief-like character at the end of ODST, I might have acted like one but ultimately I just felt lucky to get out of there alive.
