Readings
Narrative, Games, and Theory, Jan Simons
This is somewhat of a new evaluation of the narratology/ludology issue (circa 2007) that essentially promotes what I’ve been saying from the beginning: They should work together. Simons utilizes Game Theory (in the economic, political, war games sense) to justify the existence of narrative as something beyond a descriptive element that can always be superseded by simulation, since Game Theory is most interested with the choice and reasons behind particular actions, rather than the alleged rules that contain and modify them. It seems that Simons is essentially claiming ludologists entered the field already on the defensive, and this particular attitude has prevented them from realizing that while rules constrain players in certain ways, players are not observers to their game; the act of playing and the act of watching are distinctly separate experiences, as Mayra also suggested.
“The trick of the trade of game design is indeed to make the player believe they are in control,” Simon offers, echoing some of Chris Crawford’s sentiments that complete agency is technically inefficient at the moment. The controller may offer the illusion of control, and in most cases does offer the player power over the game, but in truth, it is the player’s belief, modified by the game experience, world, and understandable rules that grips the player into becoming immersed into what is offered. A game need not manifest complete agency to keep a player entertained, and in practice, no game does. Any argument that suggests narrative is too limiting seems to be forgetting that rules do the same by their nature, and even so, emergent behavior (such as the subtle rules undefined by poker ‘a poker face’) continues.
Further is the point that ludologists draw on the existing tools of the humanities (narrative theory and so on) to create their own, doing little to sever the umbilical, and yet denouncing it (as applicable to Games) while still attached. Simon declares that this in addition to strict categorizing and distinctions are an obsolete and sterile game nobody can win. ‘Games’ by the nature change by nature of their participants and perspective, and so the definition (as many scholars have realized) is generally fluid and malleable, and constantly redefined for a variety of purposes. Additionally, attempting to appropriate and monopolize objects of study away from the narrative fields is no less “imperialistic” in manner, and is again a game itself that has less scholastic payoff than suffering a compromise and agreement that there is no one “right way” of analyzing games, just as there is generally no one “right way” to play them, given the variety of perspectives and philosophies players bring to their entertainment media.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Characters and EQ
Nick Yee, Befriending Ogres and Wood-Elves: Relationship Formation and The Social Architecture of Norrath, Game Studies
This is a slight departure from the normal discussion on narrative, with a continued focus on character and social development. Yee focuses on a discussion of how the design choices of EverQuest fostered an environment that essentially forced players to get to know each other in some manner, and fostered altruism and other acts of kindness given the fairly harsh consequences of death (etc.) that the designers implemented. World of Warcraft did not necessarily share this philosophy, as soloability (the ability for a single character to progress without too much need for assistance) was increased to the detriment of necessarily inter-class dependency that demanded social interaction for any character-players to make meaningful progress.
I singled out this particular article because it also deals with character progression of a kind. Rather than insisting that characters necessitate a story, Yee’s article describes how the EverQuest philosophy and design features demanded interaction. Interestingly, however, much of Yee’s evidence is anecdotal, as described in a story-manner by players with regards to their experience. It thus seems that Janet Murray’s point that games can equal story is merited in this regard, and so is the idea that character development necessitates some kind of event structure and happenings that can be described (and perhaps experienced, especially for the role-players) in a story-like way. However, do games in this way necessitate drama? Or is it true that players create this drama for themselves?
Regardless, I don’t find that narrative, itself is an essential factor in MMORPG creation, though I think The Old Republic might be putting a spin on that…
This is a slight departure from the normal discussion on narrative, with a continued focus on character and social development. Yee focuses on a discussion of how the design choices of EverQuest fostered an environment that essentially forced players to get to know each other in some manner, and fostered altruism and other acts of kindness given the fairly harsh consequences of death (etc.) that the designers implemented. World of Warcraft did not necessarily share this philosophy, as soloability (the ability for a single character to progress without too much need for assistance) was increased to the detriment of necessarily inter-class dependency that demanded social interaction for any character-players to make meaningful progress.
I singled out this particular article because it also deals with character progression of a kind. Rather than insisting that characters necessitate a story, Yee’s article describes how the EverQuest philosophy and design features demanded interaction. Interestingly, however, much of Yee’s evidence is anecdotal, as described in a story-manner by players with regards to their experience. It thus seems that Janet Murray’s point that games can equal story is merited in this regard, and so is the idea that character development necessitates some kind of event structure and happenings that can be described (and perhaps experienced, especially for the role-players) in a story-like way. However, do games in this way necessitate drama? Or is it true that players create this drama for themselves?
Regardless, I don’t find that narrative, itself is an essential factor in MMORPG creation, though I think The Old Republic might be putting a spin on that…
JRPGs, Redux
To further my criticism of the JRPG absence in game studies, I partially crafted the following explanation which argues that narrative (linear or no) is an important element of game design, even if may not not always be the dominant element. Thus, it seems a distinct disservice to the industry to ignore the creative elements JRPG have to offer.
For this purposes of this examination, I will be evaluating the imported-from-Japan Persona 4 (P4) by Atlus studio with a focus on the game’s narrative dimensions. Using the typology of characters as provided by "Understanding Video Games" (Nielson, et al.) as a gateway, and following with a general evaluation of narrative “do’s and don’ts” as offered by Jordan Mechner, this brief paper will explore the success of P4’s narrative and tentatively determine whether it enhances or disrupts the gameplay experience. Specifically, the following question will be addressed: Is narrative necessary to the gameplay experience of P4?
The nature of P4 is an experience that partially aligns with Espen Aarseth’s evaluation in the “First Person” anthology that “games focus on self-mastery and exploration of the external world, not exploration of interpersonal relationships (except for multiplayer games”. He continues that “or when they do, like the recent bestselling games The Sims or Black and White, it is from a godlike, Asmodean perspective” (Aarseth, 2004, p. 50). In strict opposition to Aarseth’s claim, the major aim of P4 is indeed to explore interpersonal relationships from the protagonist’s perspective, but more on this below. What aligns more with Aarseth’s claim is that P4 is “not about the Other” as Aarseth explains of all games, but is instead “about the Self”, which does not seem as mutually exclusive with regards to narrative as Aarseth seems to imply (Aarseth, 2004, p. 50).
Interpersonal relations in P4 are both necessarily developed by the story through story-centric “Cast Characters” as described by Nielsen, et al. (often offering dramatic tension as Murray would be quick to point out), and optionally developed through a variety of other “Cast Characters” that are not immediately pertinent to the story, but incredible helpful to the protagonist’s journey (Nielsen et al., 2008, 178). All of these are called “social links” by the game, and each is governed by a particular Major Arcana tarot card, each of which acts as a kind of Jungian archetype to establish the essence of that link. Ludically, the level of these social links directly influence combat by adding power to the protagonist’s (“Player Character”) various associated Personae – his psyche – that manifest as mythical/monstrous creatures he can call upon in combat (Nielsen et al., 2008, p. 179). In the game, these Personae are qualified as the “façade to overcome life’s hardships”, and so, like a mask, can be taken on and off (though one must be ‘equipped’ at all times). Only the protagonist’s persona is variable; all of the other story-centric characters maintain a singular persona, for reasons explained in the game, and not immediately pertinent here. What is pertinent is the nature of the game’s thematic tension: Accept the Self, or be destroyed be the Self. The protagonist is both a player’s guide and their agent in this exploration.
So how does this exploration relate to narrative? The narrative of the game follows a linear day-by-day calendar progression that is rather deceptive. Though certain days have hard-coded events that can be missed (optional events that may last several days, but only on certain days) or story events that will happen regardless of player choice, most days are vastly left up to a player’s purview, the bulk of which must be spent in improving the mentioned social links. Character progression is a ludic necessity, as a player must “level up” social links if that player wishes to ever make any meaningful headway in the game. Essentially, a player is forced to partially co-create the narrative by determining which social links to pursue, which love interest to tackle, and having a variety of situations where multiple dialogue options are offered that can guide the course of these social links for better or for worse.
This does not seem to reduce dramatic tension, as P4 fairly well follows the chapter model of interactive fiction. There are of course arguments against this model, such as the “solving” of the story rather than active “creation” of a story, but P4 navigates around some of these concerns by a) claiming outright that there is indeed a mystery to solve (the resolution being the climax of the story) and b) focusing its story on its characters, and even transferring this theme into the design decision of incorporating character progression into gameplay (Nielsen et al., 2008, p. 182). The point is granted that a finite number of options exist through dialogue selection and so on in the elaboration of the cast characters; this is a problem which is bound to concern the sensibilities of simulation-oriented ludologists – but Chris Crawford addressed this issue as far back as 2003:
"Some object that [finite choices are] too great a constraint to place upon the player; players should be free to express their creativity, to input choices not anticipated by the storybuilder. While this certainly represents a noble goal, it is out of the question; free-form input from the player requires an infinitely large set of dramatic options. Moreover, the laws of drama do not permit arbitrary behavior; they constrain the actions of characters in stories to a tiny set of choices… that incorporates such laws naturally… without appearing intrusive or overbearing" (Crawford, 2008, p. 263-4).
This ultimately begs the related questions: Then why bother with drama? Is it true that Aristotelian ideals are not only ancient and antiquated, but inappropriate for the gaming models? While I leave a firm response to the latter question to writers such as Janet Murray, a return question might be: Why would anyone assert that cast characters offer dramatic tension, and why bother having this tension implicit in characters at all? I might respond: Because game designers interested in narrative intend for certain characters to be identified with, or at the very least, demand some kind of investment which performs a secondary duty of involving players in the story of these characters. However, Nielsen, et al. make an interesting point that “the stronger the personality of the character, the easier it is for a player to feel alienated from it” (Nielson et al., 2008, p. 181). P4 avoids the issue by making the character a “silent protagonist,” where his output is essentially the player’s input; he is a variable shell for the player’s own persona.
However, I do not feel this is a point worth ignoring, because even if the P4 protagonist was not a shell of sorts, the importance of character to story would remain essential, as it is a major hook of the game. Rule #4 in Jordan Mechner’s “The Sands of Time: Crafting a Video Game Story” clarifies that in the experience of the Prince of Persia franchise “The gameplay and the character of the Prince were inseparable. Together, they constituted our “hook.” A weak hook – one that players don’t get excited about – can doom an otherwise excellent, well-reviewed, heavily marketed game to the bargain bin.” Further, “If the purpose of story is to reveal the gameplay in its best light, then the purpose of the cast of characters is to reveal the hero in his best light” (Mechner, 2007, p. 113-4). I would argue that if the gameplay is dependent on its character hook, a story expands that hook, and thus expands gameplay, creating a cyclical notion of interdependency where none are dominant over the other. I am not remiss to state that characters can be made appealing in other ways beside story (such as Lara Croft’s sex appeal), but with concerns to that, other questions arise: Is it the gameplay experience of Tomb Raider that the vast majority of players really aim for, or is it the experience of viewing Lara Croft’s “salacious anatomy” (Moulthrop, 2004, p. 47)? Still, Lara Croft offers a counterpoint to the idea that all characters necessitate story, and thus it is not my aim to claim that they do.
However, for games that do involve some kind of story, characters are necessary to the elaboration of that story. Thus, in a character-oriented in game like P4, eliminating the story as an essential aspect of the game (to influence and embellish the large cast of characters) seems an absolute disservice. Further, if even one game can manage to incorporate the story as a game-defining endeavour (to the point where story equals character progression, and character progression becomes ludic necessity), a precedent is set that necessarily announces how there might be other games that do the same. This seems in direct confrontation with the ludological (Aarseth, Eskelinen, et al.) standpoint that all games can only be evaluated with the tools of ludology, when it seems fairly clear that both ludological and narratological concerns are interrelated and pertinent to many games. Thus, this paper concludes with the assertion that narrative is very much necessary to the gameplay experience of Persona 4, as it is to many other (if not most) role-playing games.
Aarseth, E (1997). Cybertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Aarseth, E (2004). “Genre Trouble: Narrativism and the Art of Simulation.” First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Mechner, J (2007). “The Sands of Time: Crafting a Video Game Story.” Second Person: Role-Playing and Story in Games and Playable Media. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Moulthrop, S (2004). “From Stuart Moulthrop’s Online Response [To Aarseth].” First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Murray, J (2004). “From Game-Story to Cyberdrama.” First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Nielsen, S. E., Smith, J. H., & Tosca, S. P. (2008). Understanding Video Games. New York: Routledge.
Crawford, Chris. (2003). “Interactive Storytelling.” The Video Game Theory Reader. Perron, P., Wolf M. J. P., eds. New York: Routledge.
For this purposes of this examination, I will be evaluating the imported-from-Japan Persona 4 (P4) by Atlus studio with a focus on the game’s narrative dimensions. Using the typology of characters as provided by "Understanding Video Games" (Nielson, et al.) as a gateway, and following with a general evaluation of narrative “do’s and don’ts” as offered by Jordan Mechner, this brief paper will explore the success of P4’s narrative and tentatively determine whether it enhances or disrupts the gameplay experience. Specifically, the following question will be addressed: Is narrative necessary to the gameplay experience of P4?
The nature of P4 is an experience that partially aligns with Espen Aarseth’s evaluation in the “First Person” anthology that “games focus on self-mastery and exploration of the external world, not exploration of interpersonal relationships (except for multiplayer games”. He continues that “or when they do, like the recent bestselling games The Sims or Black and White, it is from a godlike, Asmodean perspective” (Aarseth, 2004, p. 50). In strict opposition to Aarseth’s claim, the major aim of P4 is indeed to explore interpersonal relationships from the protagonist’s perspective, but more on this below. What aligns more with Aarseth’s claim is that P4 is “not about the Other” as Aarseth explains of all games, but is instead “about the Self”, which does not seem as mutually exclusive with regards to narrative as Aarseth seems to imply (Aarseth, 2004, p. 50).
Interpersonal relations in P4 are both necessarily developed by the story through story-centric “Cast Characters” as described by Nielsen, et al. (often offering dramatic tension as Murray would be quick to point out), and optionally developed through a variety of other “Cast Characters” that are not immediately pertinent to the story, but incredible helpful to the protagonist’s journey (Nielsen et al., 2008, 178). All of these are called “social links” by the game, and each is governed by a particular Major Arcana tarot card, each of which acts as a kind of Jungian archetype to establish the essence of that link. Ludically, the level of these social links directly influence combat by adding power to the protagonist’s (“Player Character”) various associated Personae – his psyche – that manifest as mythical/monstrous creatures he can call upon in combat (Nielsen et al., 2008, p. 179). In the game, these Personae are qualified as the “façade to overcome life’s hardships”, and so, like a mask, can be taken on and off (though one must be ‘equipped’ at all times). Only the protagonist’s persona is variable; all of the other story-centric characters maintain a singular persona, for reasons explained in the game, and not immediately pertinent here. What is pertinent is the nature of the game’s thematic tension: Accept the Self, or be destroyed be the Self. The protagonist is both a player’s guide and their agent in this exploration.
So how does this exploration relate to narrative? The narrative of the game follows a linear day-by-day calendar progression that is rather deceptive. Though certain days have hard-coded events that can be missed (optional events that may last several days, but only on certain days) or story events that will happen regardless of player choice, most days are vastly left up to a player’s purview, the bulk of which must be spent in improving the mentioned social links. Character progression is a ludic necessity, as a player must “level up” social links if that player wishes to ever make any meaningful headway in the game. Essentially, a player is forced to partially co-create the narrative by determining which social links to pursue, which love interest to tackle, and having a variety of situations where multiple dialogue options are offered that can guide the course of these social links for better or for worse.
This does not seem to reduce dramatic tension, as P4 fairly well follows the chapter model of interactive fiction. There are of course arguments against this model, such as the “solving” of the story rather than active “creation” of a story, but P4 navigates around some of these concerns by a) claiming outright that there is indeed a mystery to solve (the resolution being the climax of the story) and b) focusing its story on its characters, and even transferring this theme into the design decision of incorporating character progression into gameplay (Nielsen et al., 2008, p. 182). The point is granted that a finite number of options exist through dialogue selection and so on in the elaboration of the cast characters; this is a problem which is bound to concern the sensibilities of simulation-oriented ludologists – but Chris Crawford addressed this issue as far back as 2003:
"Some object that [finite choices are] too great a constraint to place upon the player; players should be free to express their creativity, to input choices not anticipated by the storybuilder. While this certainly represents a noble goal, it is out of the question; free-form input from the player requires an infinitely large set of dramatic options. Moreover, the laws of drama do not permit arbitrary behavior; they constrain the actions of characters in stories to a tiny set of choices… that incorporates such laws naturally… without appearing intrusive or overbearing" (Crawford, 2008, p. 263-4).
This ultimately begs the related questions: Then why bother with drama? Is it true that Aristotelian ideals are not only ancient and antiquated, but inappropriate for the gaming models? While I leave a firm response to the latter question to writers such as Janet Murray, a return question might be: Why would anyone assert that cast characters offer dramatic tension, and why bother having this tension implicit in characters at all? I might respond: Because game designers interested in narrative intend for certain characters to be identified with, or at the very least, demand some kind of investment which performs a secondary duty of involving players in the story of these characters. However, Nielsen, et al. make an interesting point that “the stronger the personality of the character, the easier it is for a player to feel alienated from it” (Nielson et al., 2008, p. 181). P4 avoids the issue by making the character a “silent protagonist,” where his output is essentially the player’s input; he is a variable shell for the player’s own persona.
However, I do not feel this is a point worth ignoring, because even if the P4 protagonist was not a shell of sorts, the importance of character to story would remain essential, as it is a major hook of the game. Rule #4 in Jordan Mechner’s “The Sands of Time: Crafting a Video Game Story” clarifies that in the experience of the Prince of Persia franchise “The gameplay and the character of the Prince were inseparable. Together, they constituted our “hook.” A weak hook – one that players don’t get excited about – can doom an otherwise excellent, well-reviewed, heavily marketed game to the bargain bin.” Further, “If the purpose of story is to reveal the gameplay in its best light, then the purpose of the cast of characters is to reveal the hero in his best light” (Mechner, 2007, p. 113-4). I would argue that if the gameplay is dependent on its character hook, a story expands that hook, and thus expands gameplay, creating a cyclical notion of interdependency where none are dominant over the other. I am not remiss to state that characters can be made appealing in other ways beside story (such as Lara Croft’s sex appeal), but with concerns to that, other questions arise: Is it the gameplay experience of Tomb Raider that the vast majority of players really aim for, or is it the experience of viewing Lara Croft’s “salacious anatomy” (Moulthrop, 2004, p. 47)? Still, Lara Croft offers a counterpoint to the idea that all characters necessitate story, and thus it is not my aim to claim that they do.
However, for games that do involve some kind of story, characters are necessary to the elaboration of that story. Thus, in a character-oriented in game like P4, eliminating the story as an essential aspect of the game (to influence and embellish the large cast of characters) seems an absolute disservice. Further, if even one game can manage to incorporate the story as a game-defining endeavour (to the point where story equals character progression, and character progression becomes ludic necessity), a precedent is set that necessarily announces how there might be other games that do the same. This seems in direct confrontation with the ludological (Aarseth, Eskelinen, et al.) standpoint that all games can only be evaluated with the tools of ludology, when it seems fairly clear that both ludological and narratological concerns are interrelated and pertinent to many games. Thus, this paper concludes with the assertion that narrative is very much necessary to the gameplay experience of Persona 4, as it is to many other (if not most) role-playing games.
Aarseth, E (1997). Cybertext: Perspectives on Ergodic Literature. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Aarseth, E (2004). “Genre Trouble: Narrativism and the Art of Simulation.” First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Mechner, J (2007). “The Sands of Time: Crafting a Video Game Story.” Second Person: Role-Playing and Story in Games and Playable Media. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Moulthrop, S (2004). “From Stuart Moulthrop’s Online Response [To Aarseth].” First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Murray, J (2004). “From Game-Story to Cyberdrama.” First Person: New Media as Story, Performance, and Game. Wardrip-Fruin, N., Harrigan, P., eds. London: The MIT Press.
Nielsen, S. E., Smith, J. H., & Tosca, S. P. (2008). Understanding Video Games. New York: Routledge.
Crawford, Chris. (2003). “Interactive Storytelling.” The Video Game Theory Reader. Perron, P., Wolf M. J. P., eds. New York: Routledge.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Briefly: JRPGs and linear narrative.
Epic Spacialities: The Production of Space in Final Fantasy Games, William H. Huber (Third Person)
The Sands of Time: Crafting a Video Game Story, Jordan Mechner (Second Person)
A brief, but poignant article this week to get back into things after break. My concern manifests from this quotation by Huber: “Japanese role-playing games have generally been treated simply as linear stories driven by various role-playing mechanics.” This is related to a rather vocal concern I have that JRPGs and other Japanese games are rarely discussed, or at least have been noticeable absent from game studies scholarship over the past ten years.
My overwhelming response to the above quotation becomes: So, what? Is the point of concern that JRPGs don’t sell? Because that’s hardly the case when Final Fantasy VII is arguably known as “the game that sold the playstation,” and if not that, still sold millions of copies on its own, not to mention the enormous gross profit the entire franchise has accrued worldwide. Apparently something is being done correctly.
Huber’s article is not arguing against JRPGs, however, but rather offering a different method of analysis through ideas of “space” to challenge the traditional disregard often offered towards “linear narrative” in games. Without getting too much into the meat of Huber’s article (which draws heavily on David Harvey’s geographic discussion on space), Huber describes how the Final Fantasy games offer a variety of spatial methods for navigating gameplay that serve to push story, emotion, and act as a way for players to become invested in the experience. Like revisiting the geographical space of a traumatic memory, so can games in this way compel a player to emotionally involve themselves in the game-realm.
An alternate method of dispelling the ambivalence towards “linear narratives” is to discuss cast characters as important storytelling media. While “Story is Not King” is the second rule in Mechner’s point-by-point suggestive list of how to manage storytelling in video games, the bulk of Mechner’s article claims that the storytelling experience is an important one in games, though it must be seamlessly woven with the actual play experience, or it risks eliminating tension, agency, and fun. See the following article for more discussion of this.
So feel the question is begged: If JRPGs can manage a well-woven story-play architecture, why do they continuously seem pushed aside because of this? There have been many criticisms that Final Fantasy X suffered from an overabundance of cutscenes, yet this game, too has sold millions of copies. This does make me wonder how much of this is the franchise, and how much is actual merit towards the game, itself. Did the Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time sell gross as much as FFX? It certainly received immense critical acclaim. However, in this field, it seems that critical acclaim does not always equate to gross sales. Regardless, it seems fairly evident that there are a variety of ways to weave story into games, and there doesn’t seem to be a particularly correct way of doing so, thus, why ignore such a large portion of the gaming industry?
The Sands of Time: Crafting a Video Game Story, Jordan Mechner (Second Person)
A brief, but poignant article this week to get back into things after break. My concern manifests from this quotation by Huber: “Japanese role-playing games have generally been treated simply as linear stories driven by various role-playing mechanics.” This is related to a rather vocal concern I have that JRPGs and other Japanese games are rarely discussed, or at least have been noticeable absent from game studies scholarship over the past ten years.
My overwhelming response to the above quotation becomes: So, what? Is the point of concern that JRPGs don’t sell? Because that’s hardly the case when Final Fantasy VII is arguably known as “the game that sold the playstation,” and if not that, still sold millions of copies on its own, not to mention the enormous gross profit the entire franchise has accrued worldwide. Apparently something is being done correctly.
Huber’s article is not arguing against JRPGs, however, but rather offering a different method of analysis through ideas of “space” to challenge the traditional disregard often offered towards “linear narrative” in games. Without getting too much into the meat of Huber’s article (which draws heavily on David Harvey’s geographic discussion on space), Huber describes how the Final Fantasy games offer a variety of spatial methods for navigating gameplay that serve to push story, emotion, and act as a way for players to become invested in the experience. Like revisiting the geographical space of a traumatic memory, so can games in this way compel a player to emotionally involve themselves in the game-realm.
An alternate method of dispelling the ambivalence towards “linear narratives” is to discuss cast characters as important storytelling media. While “Story is Not King” is the second rule in Mechner’s point-by-point suggestive list of how to manage storytelling in video games, the bulk of Mechner’s article claims that the storytelling experience is an important one in games, though it must be seamlessly woven with the actual play experience, or it risks eliminating tension, agency, and fun. See the following article for more discussion of this.
So feel the question is begged: If JRPGs can manage a well-woven story-play architecture, why do they continuously seem pushed aside because of this? There have been many criticisms that Final Fantasy X suffered from an overabundance of cutscenes, yet this game, too has sold millions of copies. This does make me wonder how much of this is the franchise, and how much is actual merit towards the game, itself. Did the Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time sell gross as much as FFX? It certainly received immense critical acclaim. However, in this field, it seems that critical acclaim does not always equate to gross sales. Regardless, it seems fairly evident that there are a variety of ways to weave story into games, and there doesn’t seem to be a particularly correct way of doing so, thus, why ignore such a large portion of the gaming industry?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
