Presumptions of a Protagonist

A discussion over at Brainy Gamer got me thinking: just what is it that we look for in a protagonist? Does it depend on the genre? The story? Lets assume, for the sake of argument, that the protagonist in a game functions as our own avatar -- we project at least some part of ourselves onto that character. In doing so, do we also try to instill a set of beliefs to uphold while we play? I'm aware that some people really don't care, and they just play games to have fun. But others do insist on keeping a kind of moral decorum throughout their playtime, and that ties into the central question of identity that I'm trying to explore.


Let's first look at what is necessary for there to be any point in being self-aware while playing a game. First, the game world has to allow you some degree of choice or consequence that forces you to act according to your own standards. Second, the story has to be believable enough that those choices and consequences have meaning to the player. I'll admit it's not the best of examples, but Bioshock is a game where your choices directly affect the outcome of the story. If you choose to harvest the little sisters, at the end of the game Rapture has turned you into a monster. If, on the other hand, you choose to free them, you become a savior to those children and the story adjusts to accommodate your choice. Other than the simple fact of the two different endings existing, what are the motivations for choosing one over the other? In my case, I couldn't find it in myself to add to the already rapidly decaying citizenry of Rapture. The little sisters may have had to adapt to their surroundings in order to survive, but if I could free them from their fate, there was really no question in my mind. The game also presented its main character as a blank slate, with no dialogue or input from his own thoughts, and in doing so, made it easier for me to make decisions based on what I would do if I were in his shoes.


Another, perhaps better example of a game that let me add my own consciousness to the experience was Fable II. A lot of the quests involved me deciding whether I should help the people of Albion, or make their lives miserable by siding with the various criminals scattered throughout the world. I could protect farmers by eliminating the raiding parties trying to make off with their valuables, or I could join in on the looting and get the farmers killed in the process. Each like decision had a direct influence on my character's physical appearance, and my reputation changed accordingly. And as the game drew to a close, it presented a moral dilemma: save the world, save your friends, or save yourself. I chose my friends, and as a result, the world changed to reflect my choice. It was a tougher decision to make than the one Bioshock asked of me, and its consequences were farther-reaching both in concept and execution. When it was all said and done, my judgments made the game what it was. You could argue the significance of my choice at the end of the game, since I don't think it had much of an impact on the physical world I inhabited -- outside of the central characters' roles in that world, everything basically stayed the same. But the narrative didn't, and for better or worse, it was of my own doing.


Both Bioshock and Fable II meet the criteria for being self-aware while playing a game. I'd like to focus now on a game that meets some of, but not all those criteria: Grand Theft Auto IV. The environment that Rockstar crafted is a fully-realized, living, breathing world. People walk the streets while talking on their cell phones, drivers get into car accidents, the weather changes, and you get a strong sense that you are in an actual city where things happen whether you're there or not. Such a world is an ideal place to have the player experience the full potential of the medium. What could happen in the context of the story if, say, you were driving along the streets of Liberty City and you struck and killed a pedestrian? How could the designers factor in such situations to make a more relative experience? It's fascinating to think about, but unfortunately Rockstar didn't entertain the same thoughts. Or if they did, they weren't able to make a polished game out of them. But still, the world they created remains, along with the potential for the brand of immersive storytelling that lets the player become one with his avatar. The designers not being able to tailor their story to the unique characteristics of their world doesn't negate its existence. And as grand as it is, it's only half of what makes a game fully immersive.


The narrative centers on a man who is looking to escape a world of crime, yet always finds himself dragged(without much resistance, I would add) back in. Initially I was drawn to the character -- I sympathized with his plight, and I tried to see and feel what he saw and felt. But as the game went on, I felt more and more disconnected from what was happening. In a scene central to the motivations of my character, I could choose to shoot someone or let them live. I chose the latter, and was told by another person in the game that I did the right thing. Did my character just grow as a person? At this point, I knew better. The main problem is the way the story and game world mix together. After the scene I just described, if I so chose, I could go about murdering hookers, blowing up police cars and helicopters, setting fire to pedestrians, and committing all sorts of other over-the-top violent acts. Which, taken by itself, I have absolutely no problem with. It's actually fun to me. But the disconnect occurs when I've had enough murder and mayhem for the time being, so I get in a car, drive far away and wait a few minutes, then everything resets in the game. It's like nothing ever happened, and I can continue following the narrative -- which is about my reluctance to commit crimes -- while pretending I didn't just burn thirty people alive. I think GTA IV is such an aggregious offender because of how obvious the disconnect between player and avatar really is. Right when a part of the story sucks you in, you then have to play the game, and all emotional investment is immediately lost.


So it's with that in mind that I ask: are sandbox games not tailored to the self-awareness in games I want to experience? My answer would be no -- at least for the time being. I assume at some point a game will come along that takes both pieces of the puzzle and arranges them in the correct way. But for now -- I don't know, maybe it's a technological shortcoming -- a more focused experience seems to be a better fit for total immersion. I'm hoping Heavy Rain turns out to be one of those experiences, but there's still a lot about the game I don't know. However, judging from the developers at Quantic Dream, it stands a good chance of succeeding where others have failed. At the very least, it will be an aesthetically pleasing adventure game with superficial choices and a very linear plot progression. I'm sure the story will be great, but if it's to do what I think it can, the game will need to give me choices on a far greater scale than most others use.


Aside from player input, another aspect that influences the level of immersion achieved is the physical appearance of the on-screen avatar. Liking or disliking the presentation goes a long way for measuring how much a game connects with the person playing it, and good character design is paramount to getting the best possible connection. Conversely, poor character design can immediately turn off the player, no matter how well other aspects of the game are implemented. Creating the perfect design can be difficult, and depending on the genre, the definition of "perfect" changes. For instance, Mirror's Edge is a game about free-running. To effectively convey that the character belongs in the game world, their design needs to match their surroundings. As such, DICE chose to use a female character design that was more slender and athletic, and she looks like a person accustomed to sprinting and hurdling obstacles. Faith does speak during cutscenes, but her design, combined with the first-person viewpoint allows the player to be more in-tune with her character. Playing the game feels like an extension of your own body instead of just pressing buttons for a desired effect. Add to that a control scheme that compliments the feeling of self, and you end up with a great, immersive experience.


My next point is rather obvious, but the overall quality of a game also determines how well the player is able to combine identities with that of the game character. Jerky animations, rough or unpolished textures, and poor voice acting are all factors that detract from the desired effect. Budget and time constraints weigh heavily on the quality of a game, but a team with enough talented people and creative freedom should be able to excel in any given framework. Braid is an example of a very small team creating an amazing experience with a small budget. While it might not have even made a million dollars, it only cost about $180,000 to make, or at least that's what Jonathan Blow put up from his own pocket to fund the project. Even if that cost was tripled, based on the amount of people who downloaded Braid in its first week of release alone, it still would have made a profit. On the artistic and technical side, Braid used a nostalgic viewpoint as the gateway to a different kind of experience. It may seem like just a platformer with a creative gameplay mechanic, but there are some subtle(and some not so subtle) bits of storytelling strewn about the game world. Everything looks like it's part of a watercolor painting, and just looking at all the art is half the enjoyment of playing. While I don't feel Braid achieves total immersion, it does represent what can be created with limitations in place if the talent is there.


A game could have the greatest story of the last decade, but if the character models look and move like mannequins, the illusion of them being alive is gone. However, I think this only applies for the current generation of games(Xbox Live Arcade exluded), meaning if a game is from before the current hardware cycle, it should be viewed as such. The games that truly make the generational leap intact won't need explaining or excuses for how they look or play. They're looked upon with the same respect they received initially because something about their design still hits a chord with players.


In closing, I'd like to share my personal feelings on why total immersion is so important. I'm a heavy film buff, and along with games they are my primary source of entertainment and critical thinking. With film, I don't expect to relate to a character in the same way I do with games. The people and places depicted in film have a definite story arch that cannot be altered. I begin watching, experience what the filmmakers want me to, and the experience ends. I'm certainly capable of relating what the characters go through to my own life, but with games, the potential for me to do so is far greater. By dictating what happens in a game with my own ideals and beliefs, I feel a greater sense of ownership and have a deeper emotional investment in what's going on. But that only happens when a game allows it to. Most of what I play doesn't aspire to such heights, and that's fine by me. But when they do, it solidifies my assertion that as a medium, video games are totally unique in regard to any other form of entertainment. I'll continue to play and enjoy games that are solidly built yet flawed, but when those special gems come around with higher aspirations that elevate them above the pack, it makes me proud to call myself a gamer.