narrative – Interactive Digital Narratives

Bioshock Infinite (Chain of Causation)

Although it’s not entirely new, Bioshock’s presentation of players with moral decisions that they don’t immediately see the consequences of is a very important and interesting inclusion in the game, especially the way it was done at the time the game was made. An article by Ryan Lizardi in Game Studies discusses the nature of the decision to either harvest or save the Little Sisters and how the player is not immediately notified about the correctness of their decision. Lizardi explains how the sort of historical time capsule created by Rapture allows this decision making mechanic to make statements about the way that the progression of history is influenced by the morality of one’s decisions and the understanding of the “infinite chain of causation”. Games since Bioshock have done this effectively (having played Undertale recently it comes to mind as an example) but to my knowledge it was one of the only games with such a clever morality-based decision-making mechanic at the time of its release. The ability for players to go back and “redo” or “correct” their actions by replaying the game differently and making morally correct decisions allows players to understand the ways that their actions had consequences on both sides of the spectrum (if they chose “wrong” vs if they chose “right”), something you are never able to do in real life which can provide a valuable understanding of this “infinite chain of causation” and bring players closer to understanding the distant consequences that their immediate actions may have. The way that games like Bioshock allow players to revisit morally complex situations and see how their actions create consequences that may not be immediately visible to them is very powerful and could be used very interestingly in the future. I could see decision-making based children’s games being created along these lines to teach children moral lessons and help them understand the infinite chain of causation discussed by Lizardi.
http://gamestudies.org/1401/articles/lizardi

Narrative Architecture in Bioshock

One aspect of Bioshock that I feel the developers excelled at is environmental storytelling, as discussed by Henry Jenkins in his “Game Design As Narrative Architecture”. Although Bioshock certainly contains strong narrative elements present in the dialogue and progression of gameplay/gamic goals, there is very little initial information that the player has about what is going on in Rapture beyond the clues they have in the virtual environment. Despite this, the player is able to use the clues around them to infer what kind of situation they are in and the progression of the game creates a smooth narrative flow with the nature of Rapture and the player’s surroundings becoming uncovered as they move through the game. The ways in which water and destroyed environments are used is very effective at this, with the sense that nature is taking its course and reclaiming Rapture from humans. There is also a sense throughout the game that Rapture was a project that never should have been conducted, that it goes against nature and is fundamentally wrong. The environment is dark and overrun with criminals, science experiments gone wrong, and insane people. There are lots of instances of broken furniture and machinery littered around the environment, creating a strong sense that the player is traversing through some sort of haunted house 1950s-inspired version of Atlantis. Through the initial elevator sequence alone, the player is able to get a fairly good grasp of the nature of Rapture and what kind of environment the game will be set in. The music and sound design strongly add to this environment, with shrieks and odd scraping sounds permeating the environment from unknown but seemingly nearby locations. The water covering almost everything in Rapture adds a unique element to the lighting, with reflections being cast from small pools of water or shine added to objects from their wetness. This creates even more dramatic lighting than the broken and patchy initial lighting causes, and when supplemented with the gaudy neon signs in some of the levels the lighting becomes a very strong element of the game environment.

External Context and Zelda’s Magic Circle

As I mentioned in my last post, the music and sound design of Ocarina of Time has been an element of the game I have noticed and appreciated more and more the more I play through the game. One interesting phenomenon with the game that I have discovered, however, is that the current near-meme status that some of the sound design elements have achieved in gamer and internet culture have altered the associations I make with the sound effects, which alters the feel of the gameplay itself. For instance, I have heard Link’s spin attack yell used as a sample in songs, and have done so myself when making music. The “secret discovery” sound effect is another that I have heard so often in other Zelda games and outside of the context of a video game that I am somewhat dissociated from the game world when I hear it. It makes me wonder if the magic circle created by the rules of the game can eventually be worn away as the game becomes more of a cultural artifact than an immersive gamic experience and the player becomes increasingly distracted from the gamic experience by the constant sonic reminder that they’re playing a Zelda game and not actually exploring the landscape of Hyrule and fighting monsters to rescue the kingdom. To extend this line of thought, I also wonder if this phenomenon may mean that it is impossible to create a convincing magic circle with the continuation of a successful series. As the series gains a following and its own place in gamer/internet/general culture, it becomes impossible to disassociate elements of the game from their appearance outside of the game. Nintendo, however, seems to have wholly embraced the relevance of their games outside the context of the digital video game world, with games like the Super Smash Bros. series creating a context-collapsing post-modern mashup of the most popular Nintendo characters.

Messing With Time

The mechanic that I found the most interesting in Ocarina of Time while playing was the day/night cycle that triggers when the player enters certain non-narrative linked areas and the ways this was used to add and alter the content of the game in ways that add depth to the game in a remarkably impressive way for such an early implementation of the mechanic. Searching for some discussion on day/night mechanics in games I stumbled across this reddit thread in the large (700k+ subscriber) /r/gaming subreddit about day/night mechanics in games (https://www.reddit.com/r/Games/comments/24igkc/weekly_rgames_mechanic_discussion_daynight_cycle/). Nintendo games were some of the most frequently referenced in the thread, Zelda and Pokemon being the main two series. Because these were the earliest games referenced in the thread to my knowledge, I was interested in the history of day/night mechanics in games. This led me to this DigitalPress forum thread from 2006 on the subject (http://forum.digitpress.com/forum/showthread.php?89524-First-game-with-a-day-night-cycle). Despite some uncertainty, it seems that the game Red Alert from 1981 is the earliest game mentioned with a day/night mechanic and in-game clock that changes as the player progresses through the game (video of gameplay: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iHMzi86KuE). Many games use the in-game clock or day/night mechanic to add difficulty during the night-time, with Minecraft being the most notable modern example of this that comes to my mind. In Minecraft the player must try to gather enough resources, weapons, and/or shelter in order to survive the flood of monsters that come when the sun sets. The nighttime and darkness in the game is something the player grows to fear almost as much as the sound of a Creeper about to explode. This seems to be a fairly common experience with day/night mechanics in video games as noted by many of the posters in both threads. Ocarina of Time eschews the notion that the night has to be a bad thing in the game, offering certain night-time-only opportunities to the player like the grave-digging minigame in Kakariko Village.

Perception Is Not Reality in Broken Age

In Broken Age, an indie point-and-click videogame developed and published by Double Fine Productions, the player plays as two teenage characters, a girl named Vella and a boy named Shay. While both stories eventually intertwine, each has a different starting … Continue reading →

In Broken Age, an indie point-and-click videogame developed and published by Double Fine Productions, the player plays as two teenage characters, a girl named Vella and a boy named Shay. While both stories eventually intertwine, each has a different starting point and follows a different narrative path. Both stories, however, have a similar theme unifying them before the stories intersect: perception is not always reality.

This screenshot shows the opening of Broken Age, where the player can choose to play as either Vella (left) or Shay (right), though the player must play as both to complete the game

Vella’s story begins in her hometown of Sugar Bunting. Sugar Bunting is a town in a large area of land terrorized by creatures known as mogs. Every 14 years a mog visits these lands during an event known as the Maiden’s Feast. Each town selects various young girls for the privilege of being maidens in the feast—sacrificial lambs who satiate the mog’s hunger in exchange for the mogs not destroying their village.

Sugar Bunting’s Maiden’s Feast is shown here, with each of the 5 girls awaiting the mog’s arrival

While everyone believes the mogs’ visits are great blessings and being selected as a maiden is a great privilege, when Vella is selected, she sees it as the opposite. Vella sees the mogs as dangerous enemies who should be fought against rather than creatures to be appeased. Through the player (and Vella’s) actions, Vella eventually escapes the Maiden’s Feast and begins her quest to kill the mogs.

In this quest, Vella eventually learns that the mogs aren’t creatures but “spaceships” piloted by citizens of a planet known as Loruna, like Shay. Shay was under the assumption that he was the sole human inhabitant of his ship the Bossa Nostra. Shay believes his only companions are two computers programmed to believe they are his mother and father. Though, his parents keep him occupied with repetitive fake missions involving robotic friends, Shay eventually meets a stowaway named Merrick, who offers to let him take control of the ship and undertake “real,” threatening missions to rescue innocent creatures from dangerous forces.

Once his path crosses with Vella’s, Shay eventually learns that the helpless creatures he has been saving are the maidens from the various Maiden’s Feasts. He also realizes that his computerized parents are humans who have been so occupied keeping him and the ship safe that they could only appear to him through computer projections. Finally, Shay realizes that he has not been in space at all, but on the planet containing Vella’s town of Sugar Bunting.

As Shay and Vella continue to solve the mysteries and search for answers regarding their strange predicaments, they encounter even more situations containing falsehoods. Throughout the game it is apparent that not everything is as it seems, reinforcing the player’s take-away that perception is not always reality.

Image Sources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Broken_Age
https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.doublefine.dfa

When there’s too much narrative in a video game

Other than briefly watching friends play Final Fantasy X, this is my first time playing it from the beginning. It was originally released for the PlayStation 2 in 2001. The game has text and voice to drive the plot forward, which I found exciting at certain times and distracting during other moments. During the first […]

Other than briefly watching friends play Final Fantasy X, this is my first time playing it from the beginning. It was originally released for the PlayStation 2 in 2001. The game has text and voice to drive the plot forward, which I found exciting at certain times and distracting during other moments. During the first 30 minutes of the game, the player is not allowed to skip any film nor save, but at times, is allowed to pause the game while the “background” music continued. In films, the music is always synchronized with on-screen action. But during the cinematic interludes of Final Fantasy X, pausing the game did not pause the music, which not only confused me but gave its game music a fluid identity between the diegetic and nondiegetic world. Another aspect that had a flexible identity was deciding the character’s name; there is a scene in which the character must talk to a group of AI. They ask the character for his name, and a menu pops up to give him a name. The game imitates many features in film, from the camera angles to the montages used for transitions. They were so integrated with one another, that sometimes it was confusing to know when the player should move the character!

The game introduction included more of the player “watching” than “playing.” That difference is the same distinction that exists between engagement and immersion in video games. Immersion (or spatial presence, as it has been termed by Jamie Madigan) needs the player to believe in the world and its context. On the other hand, engagement is similar to the feeling of “flow” (a psychology term for undivided attention and involvement during an activity). While playing Final Fantasy X, the game created a feeling of immersion but I found myself bored – almost frustrated at times – with how unengaging it was. The narrative drove so much of the immersion that I began to feel bored. Frustration built as I yearned for more game play and not so much watching the cinematic storyline. The characters didn’t help, because they drilled in the plot by saying phrases like “listen to my story” and “this is your story, it all begins here.”

The session ended when the game provided me a “Traveller’s Save Sphere,” which stores the character’s HP and MP and allows the player to save game play. The sphere wants to be a diegetic machinic part of the game, although I did not feel so comfortable with the game’s decision to integrate the nondiegetic with the diegetic. I’m excited to continue, although I hope this time, I hope I can expect more “play” time.

References:

Galloway, A. “Gamic Action, Four Moments,” from Gaming, pp. 1-38.

Madigan, J. “The Psychology of Immersion in Video Games” The Psychology of Video Games. Web. 2010.

Portal Insanity

This is the excerpt for your very first post.

As I’ve played portal more and more, the level environment of the main facility in the game has begun to remind me more and more of a stylized futuristic insane asylum. The padding in the elevator walls and on some others in the facility, the flat lighting and Glados’ initially soothing voice being piped in from unseen speakers are all reminiscent of some sort of wild futuristic mental hospital complete with puzzles. The cameras placed around the facility to monitor Chell and the constant knowledge that Glados is watching you add to the sense that the player is trapped in an insane asylum. The back parts of the facility that Chell makes her way into later in the game are reminiscent of another different potential vision of a mental institution, with frantic-looking writing scrawled on the wall in various unknown substances. In fact, the entire facility that Portal is set in could be seen as a sort of asylum-gone-wrong scenario – but not for Chell, rather for Glados. By the end of the game it becomes fairly clear that Glados has gone crazy and had probably constructed many (if not all) of the levels as obstacles not to test the portal gun but as some sort of twisted test (or perhaps intended torture or killing) of Chell. Chell might not be crazy enough to be put in a mental institution but Glados is crazy enough to make an entire high-tech obstacle course just to mess with Chell for fun. It’s like a twisted version of the whole “mouse in a maze” experiment trope, with vats of acid and armed robots trying to stop Chell. In a sense, the entire facility is like a reverse madhouse, meant to protect the insane Glados from those who would try to reach the controller of the maze.

image source: https://brcondron.wordpress.com/2016/09/07/first-blog-post/

In the end, it was just for a slice of Cake

A game log about the video game, Portal Before taking this FMS class, I had never even heard of Portal before. The concept took a while to understand: imagine having the ability to transport through walls. That’s what defines Portal as a new video game genre which converts 3D spaces into puzzles. Although this was my first time playing Portal, I found myself frustrated with its “appearance […]

A game log about the video game, Portal

Before taking this FMS class, I had never even heard of Portal before. The concept took a while to understand: imagine having the ability to transport through walls. That’s what defines Portal as a new video game genre which converts 3D spaces into puzzles.

Although this was my first time playing Portal, I found myself frustrated with its “appearance of choice.” In this conext, I define this term as the illusion that provokes immersion and a sense of agency over Chell, the character. Yet, when the player may believe that they are discovering a new way to solve the puzzle, it’s the opposite because almost every move has already been strategically placed by the game designer. If each player were to draw out the game maps and the moves necessary to advance in the game, I wouldn’t expect them to look much different from the game designers’. The game lacks alea, the term coined by Roger Callois for chance (Man, Play, and Game). Although this may not be seen as a bad thing, the game does not convince me to replay it.

The story of Portal is interesting, but not as thought-provoking as I would have liked it to be. After having advanced 19 stages of puzzles and destroying the AI, Gladys, the player is awarded with cake. Solving the puzzles was a more rewarding experience than earning cake. The ending is rather sarcastic and almost confirms how Chell, did all of this for nothing nor can it be labeled as a heroine’s odyssey in Henry Jenkins’ terms (“Game Design as Narrative Architecture,” page 6). Although Portal embeds narrative elements within the mise-en-scene, it would be wrong to expect more plot development than spatial exploration from a video game like this. Because there was not much plot in the game, I found it hard to relate to my life. Maybe that’s the point; maybe Portal is meant to only survive in its own magic circle.

References:

Henry Jenkins, “Game Design as Narrative Architecture”

Roger Caillois, Man, Play, and Games, 1961.