Ricardo Morales - June 19th, 2009

Game Design, Gamer Culture

Departing from Cliches — It’s All in the Gameplay


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The badass super soldier. An evil villain who’s evil for no apparent reason. Flirtatious, big-breasted women.

Said simply, clichés abound in video games. If you’ve ever played video games, you’re probably familiar with their trite characters and predictable plots, even in the biggest titles. At best, these hackneyed elements are brainless fun. But they also get annoying really fast, and what’s more, they keep games from fulfilling their potential.

We’ll always have our B-quality productions. Even so, some games have already transcended the clichés, and we should be demanding the same qualities from all of our titles.

The Reason Game Stories Suck

"If I'm analyzing this correctly, they believe Halo is some kind of weapon -- one with vast, unimaginable power." Haven't heard that one before.

Cortana: If I'm analyzing this correctly, they believe Halo is some kind of weapon -- one with vast, unimaginable power.

Genre fiction — stories categorized underneath names like “sci-fi” and “horror” — inspires most video game plots, and the general result is a lot of cheesy scripts. Even the most successful blockbuster games usually stick to bro-heavy wartime stories or Tolkien-esque fantasy settings.

Developers use these formulas for several reasons: they’re easy to follow, they appease fan bases and, similar to the way bad movies can reign at the box office, they rake in the cash. Developers stick to what works. The basic attitude is, “If games don’t need great plots to succeed, then why bother with them?”

As if cookie cutter stories weren’t bad enough, developers squish these plots into small timeframes. Oftentimes, a brief cut scene between moments of action is all a developer has to flesh out a story.

These short scenes can only do so much, and as a result, they breed cardboard characters; our brave heroes spend most of their time explaining bad plot points instead of revealing interesting insights about their feelings or decisions. They expel stiff, contrived dialogue, and we skip the cut scenes quickly in order to minimize the brain damage.

So here’s the equation: (clichéd storyline + cardboard characters) x limited timeframe = bad, just plain bad.

So Why Bother Changing It?

Games are supposed to be fun, you might say. We don’t need to worry about telling good stories. The gameplay is all that matters.

Mario contemplates Yorick's skull in his debut peformance of Hamlet.

Mario contemplates Yorick's skull in his debut performance of Hamlet.

But that’s utterly wrong. Of course every piece of the game matters, from the music to the graphics to, yes, even the story. Plots vary in importance from one game to the next (Mario doesn’t need monologues), but our most sophisticated games have prominent stories. That said, why not make them good ones?

Not only that, but games are revolutionizing the world — as did novels and movies — and we shouldn’t shortchange the medium of our generation by saying, “Oh, it’s okay, it’s good enough.”

There’s still so much more games can do. Wouldn’t you want your son to grow up to be his very best? Why should video games stop pushing new ground once they achieve high marks in the “fun” category? Why can’t they do something more?

And when you dismiss a video game’s plot as unimportant, you also assume that gameplay and story are inherently separate. But they don’t have to be, not by a long shot. Games can (and are) turning the storytelling establishment on its head. Allowing players to control the main character of a story altogether changes the rules of the standard narrative.

But I’m not saying more games should have multiple endings, not anything like that. Games don’t need open-endedness to be great. All they need is meaningful gameplay.

A Case Study: Developing Character Through Gameplay

(Here there be some Shadow of the Colossus spoilers, so beware.)

In Shadow of the Colossus, the main character slays unassuming, peaceful creatures in order to save his lost love. Throughout the title, the gameplay manages to reveal a lot about the character, all without the help of cut scenes; defeating each Colossus is a monumental undertaking, and we experience the main character’s courage and devotion every time we scale the massive beasts.

By the end of the game, the horror of the main character’s deeds have become increasingly visible by the deterioration of his body. He’s actually possessed by the spirit of the Colossi he strives so hard to kill.

Yeah, that dude's pretty big.

Yeah, that dude's pretty big.

Getting into a character’s thoughts is a primary way of combating clichés, and ultimately, it’s the characters within narratives that make stories unique. Shadow of the Colossus, instead of separating storyline and character from gameplay, unites them. Though the game is a traditional fantasy story about undying love, it then becomes more than a simple retelling of a tired plot.

Here’s a hypothetical scenario: Let’s suppose the game, rather than having sixteen Colossi to fight, had sixteen traditional levels of platforming, each followed by a standard boss battle. With this formulaic approach, even leaving the story as it is, the game wouldn’t have been as poignant, and its conclusion would’ve been bland.

We never would’ve felt the danger and romance of fighting the seemingly insurmountable giants. The main character’s passion wouldn’t have existed. This would’ve just been another stock game.

Literary Games?

Video games will never be movies, and when it comes down to it, cut scenes are just imitations of the cinema. So further developing cut scenes isn’t the answer to fighting clichés. Games aren’t books either, and they won’t ever be able to explore character or story in the same way novels can.

What would literary games look like?

What would literary games look like?

Instead, games have to rely on gameplay to explore character and plot, which is the element that makes games so unique in the first place.

If developers began building games around what sorts of meaningful gameplay they could explore, then we’d finally depart from genre-based storylines. We’d start focusing on strong characters instead of mediocre plot devices.

If storylines became more character-based, cut scenes would have a lot more material to work with too. Games would begin rising from the mire, and they’d blossom into a form of meaningful cultural discourse.

Of course, the best work isn’t always a bestseller. The video game field is already similar to the book and film industries; just because developers depart from clichés and creates character-centric games, that doesn’t mean they’ll be successful.

But it doesn’t mean we can’t try.

If the term “literary games” ever comes into use, Shadow of the Colossus would be on the definitive list. Right alongside it would be other games that push the boundaries of what “gameplay” means. That is, while games will always be a source of entertainment, at the same time, the best games will be ones that teach us something or leave us with more than just a good time.

Literary games would be those that embrace the word “gameplay” in a new way.

And dammit, they’d be rid of those clichés too.

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