Of An Uncertain Tone

I haven't decided if this is going to be about games yet.

It's relatively simple to tie anything back around to the state of the industry, storytelling, or environmental exposition in Bioshock. I just don't know if I'm going to swing it this time. If that's your bag, read on, because maybe I'll parlay my thoughts into a tangible talking point ar-ee interactivity. But, if the idea of having to wade through something more nebulous and potentially personal to get to said point gives you the the heebies and perhaps the jeebies, then wait for you obligatory "Tales of Monkey Island is wrapping next week" post where I'll talk about what it was like to be a part of that game.

I was at a birthday gathering on Saturday with some extended family - a great aunt and uncle, their children, my god sons, and the family's network of friends, most of whom it had been a couple of years since I'd seen. I approached the event with the same attitude and expectations as I always have: knowing, narcissistically, that I'd be asked about my job, told how great I was doing and reminded that I'm still a doe-eyed scamp with all the time in the world to yadayadayada...

This is not what happened.

Instead, I was questioned about my girlfriend, or lack thereof. "Where's that girl? I like that girl."

Girl gone. No girl here. Girl left. Girl is in fact ex-girl.

"Oh, but weren't you two--"

Yes, we were.

"Are you--"

I'm fine.

"I'm so surprised--"

That makes two of us, pal.

Now, allow me to quickly pull the brakes on the "Misuse of a Blog About Video Games and Enthusiasms Express" that is barreling into a head-on collision with the "Heart Break Limited." (For the record, this didn't happen recently at all, my heart is fine, and I will not speak of it again). Mostly because of social graces, the ladyfriend line of questioning quickly came to a halt (Except for one older gentleman who a. Tried to convince me to go on a hero's odyssey to reclaim my former mate and b. Asked me to promise that I wouldn't die alone. In response to this, I say a: I'm short on PTO and b: I'm on it) and the conversation quickly turned to "So, when do you think you'll want to get married?"

I feel like this is like asking a kid who just flunked out of community college when is he going to go for that PhD.

Aside from the ridiculousness of the question (which, in their defense, was generally followed with "Not that you should be in any rush..." -- note the ellipsis, denoting a sarcastically casual trail off.) The thing that truly bothers me about all of this is the tonal shift in the line of questioning. I want to be the up and comer, dammit. Remember the aforementioned doe-eyed scamp? That's ME. I'm not a seasoned professional who's looking to put down some roots at the office and at home.

But then I look at my job and the modicum of success I've scrounged up in the past couple years and I start to think "Wait...maybe I AM a grown up?" I've worked on some things. I've taken on a bit of responsibility. I bought a car, on credit. I add these things up and can't help but see the overwhelming evidence that I have, in fact, matured.

Shortly thereafter I write a manatee sex joke for a video game and everything that was in such stark focus racks back out to a cloudy soup of ageless obscurity.

Because, when I'm doing this, my scroungy youth is the fuel in the rocket ship. All of it. The snark. Any sort of "biting" tone. The awkwardness. How the fuck am I supposed to be awkward if I'm getting married? I'm under the impression that if you're eternally bonding yourself to your soul-mate, you should have your awkwardness on lock.


I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been struggling with tone lately. I left school and began to write in recreational and professional capacities with a firm sense of my voice. I knew what I was about. Every penny I (and my reluctant Dad) gave to my college was put towards cracking that nut, and it was money well spent. But here I am on a much different precipice and that voice feels as elusive as ever.

Which is sort of how I feel about the game industry. Aha! I did it. I brought that shit RIGHT back. Like Bruce Willis in any sort of sequel he decides to participate in we are too old for this shit. It's an industry that exploded on the raw energy of its potential, and succeeded in establishing itself in every sense. But now some seventy-two year old in a private room of a North Bay restaurant is telling us to find someone, marry them, and put no less than two seeds in their belly before we die alone. Five minutes ago we were shooting aliens in the face and giving each other fist bumps. The contrast in tonal shift is paralyzing.

The same way I'm now trying to, in a very new time of my life, figure out what the next stint of time is going to be "about," as is the game industry. We're pulled in multiple directions. There's the strong indie games movement. There are the AAA blockbusters. We're generally down with finding enemies, creatures, aliens or zombies and killing them. We're also flirting with the sultry girl in the corner who calls herself "emergent." We're figuring out what stories we want to tell but mainly just doing what we've always done and hoping that the bag of tricks somehow gets a little deeper.

I'm not sure where the tone of what I write is going to go. My life is completely different from when I started here at Telltale. I still feel like a cockeyed optimist. But I think I've got more to say? Maybe experience and clarity have actually given me less to say. It's hard to say. But I feel--and the same goes for the game industry here--that this realization that things are in fact different now, by virtue of it simply being the future is a good thing. We will either rise to the challenge, not missing a step or we'll spin our wheels, quickly becoming that thirty-something guy at the party who is still trading on stories of a faraway youth that have left his ego sadder and bloodier than a prison yard beat down.

I feel like I've still got a few precious moments of daylight left where I can still trade on the stock of my youthful name. Sure, the "So, what's next?" questions will keep coming, from colleagues, friends and family. People will expect babies. Better games. All of it. But like how you had that high school teacher who you knew you could squeeze eight good minutes of tardiness out of without repercussion, I think I can waylay any sort of serious commitment at least for a few moments longer. Now I just need to get back to it.

What Could've Been

This is really just a post about what this post could've been and probably would've been had I broken my own rule and also not been lazy.

I've been playing Modern Warfare 2. I'm about five minutes from the end of the campaign and have been feverishly churning through the multiplayer with a semi-consistent crew of folks. These are gamers who, like me, have that weird competitive gene that makes me say "one more" when I'm playing an MP shooter or something like Geometry Wars. I'm not proud of this gene. It is a shameful albatross, a flag post for my hubris, my ego and my desire to be the best. I talk a lot about story-driven narrative experiences, but I love those games with a different part of my brain.

The rule I was going to break is where I promised I would never poo poo another game in the industry. I had one hell of a self-righteous rant queued up concerning this scene, its failure at storytelling and what a catastrophic missed opportunity it was for the game and for storytelling in the industry, in general. But then Kieron Gillen at Rock Paper Shotgun had to go all Zeus thunder-stealer on it and drop his opinion in a much more lucid and succinct fashion than I ever could.

So if you're wondering what I think about that level, imagine I'm the guy at a company brainstorm who, when it's his turn to add to the laundry list of ideas on the whiteboard shamefully utters "uh, yeah, what he said."

I was really impressed by Kieron's thoughts. As I usually am with people who agree with me, I guess. Had he championed the scene in such a well-thought-out fashion, I suppose I'd call him a shameless dolt and spend the next two thousand words tearing him down like a grade-a douche. Outside of the merits of the scene, I only find myself angry on one front: you have an audience of (seriously) fifteen million goddamn people. Craft this shit. Bring me through a story with delicate, delicious bread crumbs and then, just as we approach the climax, give me a choice.

Whatthefuck? Didn't I just berate choice one post ago? Yes. I berated "be good/be evil" Fable/KOTOR style choice. But if I decide to shoot innocents, recognize this. If I decide to not pull the trigger, take note. If I shoot over their heads, fucking SAY something about it. This scene could've been a crafted to be something impressive. Now I'm getting into Kieron Gillen territory so I'll spare you the rehash. But goddamn, we were so close. The budget was there. The carte blanche, evident. The time. And, the most coveted of all things: the eyes. A built in audience of millions who were going to digest this story hook line and sinker.

GAHHH...

I apologize for adding (about a week late, mind you) to the discourse about MW2:NR, giving youa shoddily worded, haphazard, hamfisted bit of writing. Hmm. That reminds me of something.

The Choices! They Do Nothing!

While strolling through the Academy of Sciences in San Francisco, Chris Remo, of the late Idling Thumbs recently pointed out that the reference made in the title of this post is actually a widespread Simpson's misquote like "play it again Sam," or "Luke, I am your father;" two culturally pervasive quotations that were, in fact, never said. Mr. Remo was right.

Regardless, I think the line plays better as two sentences and I'm sure if Dan Castellaneta and company had to do over, they would agree.


But this actually a post about video games. And not some cop-out "ooh, I'm playing Torchlight" (I'm not really but I zipped through the demo: it's Diablo, but genetically engineered by bad men to ween out any act or down time that could come between you and it's ability to transform players into addicts) or "hey, my game is coming out, please buy it" (It is out and you should buy it) but an ACTUAL "here are my thoughts about a certain aspect of game design that sticks in my craw" blog post. The existence of this entry is a evidence of an uptick of free time and/or fervent procrastination.

We talk a lot about choice. In the office, as an industry, hell, as a society. From San Francisco to Austin to Cologne, designers stand at lecterns hailing the profundity of "player choice" in an interactive world. "How do you play?" "Will you be benevolent or wicked?" "The choice is yours!"

Bullshit.

Well, I shouldn't say that. Not bullshit. Still poop, but not particularly bullshit. We get so hung up on this idea of choice that somewhere along the way we forget that choices have to matter. And for choices to truly matter -- not just within the robot drawing the game on the screen, but, you know, in our minds a choice needs to be compelling, natural, and unlimited. I'll work backwards from that list to make some sort of argument.

By unlimited I mean without limit. Any sort of "choice" needs to be presented in such a fashion that your attention is not drawn to other options that you cannot choose. Often times, all presenting options does is elucidate the ones that AREN'T there. Interactive fiction (think choose your own adventure if you're not from Squaresville and haven't played Masq) is a perfect example of this.

As you exit the shower, you are stopped dead in your cold, wet tracks. There, in the door, piercing the heavy steam of the bathroom with his primal stare, is a chimpanzee in a yellow rain slicker.

If you kick the smelly chimp in the face, turn to page 37.

If you shriek like Janet Leigh, dropping your towel and exposing yourself to the beast, turn to page 71.

See? Those are some pretty limiting choices. What if you just want to give the little bastard a high five and go make an omelet? Granted, this example is ridiculous (and by ridiculous I mean going into my design notebook under Game Idea: Chimp Creep) but it begs the question, "how do we provide a suite of abilities from which the player can make choices in an interactive space?" Do you just press the "expose yourself to a primate" button? Is there a list of options on screen? Perhaps there's a drop down menu? Anyway you slice this cucumber, you're left in the land of the limiting -- simply because we give you any choice. You're left feeling pushed and pulled in one direction or another, and I argue, feeling less like a real person in an alive world and more like a distant reader picking a curious fate in order to see what happens. More on this a minute.

Natural choices are a little easier for us to get to, as designers. I think using my above chimpanzee story in an attempt to talk about natural choices is probably a bad idea, but we can all think of the sorts of things that one would do, naturally, in a situation. But for, me, that's not compelling either. Sure, I might open the window. I might flush the toilet. I might kick that chimp. What I do is what defines me: it is what makes me a unique person, it is what creates character, it is what creates story. And if we give you choices, you create the story.

Aside: (Which, in a boardroom, seems like a sentence that would drop the proverbial panties: "Our player creates their own story! [Seven men in Brooks Brothers blazers look right, look left, agree, and simultaneously produce erections.] That's dandy if you're playing The Sims - a game where you are building little inferential narratives in your head as you play. If you've sat down with my game, I imagine it's because you want to be part of a story I'm telling. And selling something on that merit, in a boardroom, is a fuckofalot harder.)

And on top of being natural, a choice, to matter, has to be compelling. When presented with the chimp in the bathroom (who I'm starting to imagine as a probable flasher) "brushing your hair" shouldn't be an option. That's not compelling. It's curious, but it's not a compelling action. Who decides what's compelling? The author. As a person sitting down to play a game or watch a movie, you trust that the author has made and presented some compelling choices. If he or she hasn't, we generally walk away from these games or movies thinking that they are not good.

I argue that the ideas of natural and compelling are in direct opposition. I think it's hard enough, in any medium, to tell one good story. When we start giving players choice over what they're going to do in a world -- and those choices start to define the story (ie: choices that take future choices off the table) we are writing many many many stories. And some would argue that ALL of those stories can be compelling. "But did you kill the corrupt cop? What happens if you didn't? Go back and play it again and find out!" I, in general, disagree. Diverging paths doesn't make something more interesting. It just makes it, well, more.

If you're going to force me to make choices in a game, what I find interesting in games is when I can be given a binary choice that DOESN'T effect the world (ie: state) of the game, but some how colors my interpretation of future events. I don't want limitless options. If I'm given options, I want to be between a rock and a hard place: given a binary choice with limited information and ambiguous moral consequence, think for a minute about what to do, do it, and move on. I don't want this choice to open up a branching path. But I want it to tint the lens through which I see the rest of the world and experience the rest of the game. Bioshock's Harvest vs Save child-murder-toss-up is a great example of this.

I don't want to make a choice in a game world to see what happens. I want to experience a game world the way I experience the real world: I do things that put me in a favorable position, are fun, interesting or ultimately fulfilling. I don't kick chimps in the face to see what happens. I do it because I'm afraid of them and I tend to jump to violence far too quickly. A world where I'm pulling levers (making choices) to just see what happens is chaotic. It's a toy, a device, a big question mark machine. Games like that can be fun. But I don't like to make (ie: I'm not good at making) those types of games.

Any game can present a system where the choices I make have consequences. But it's rare that a game can ask me to make those choices and give a shit. GTA IV has those moments, but again, I don't feel like I'm taking a branching path. I still go do the same missions, but the effect of my "choice" lingers with ME, the player, which is far more important than my XBOX's hard drive (although I do concede that one character is available on my celly and another is not - again, not a huge earth-shattering choice but an elegant reminder of whose brain caught a bullet).

And for a choice to linger with me, the story and the world has to be well constructed. And I think the more "choices" we give a player, choices that are generally not tied tightly to a central theme, the harder it is to craft that narrative. I've done a lot of talk about binary choices: life/death being the heaviest, primitive example. Because, from a story telling perspective, to me, binary choices are the ones that I'm able to manage elegantly. Did you or didn't you. Yes or no. Alive or dead. From there I can really make the theme of a story do its work. Bioshock asks you: are you a cold man of logic or are you a sympathetic man of fate. And then it asks you again. And again. And again. All the while throwing more and more danger your way. Are you still a sympathetic man of faith? It isn't that I chose to save or harvest a little girl. It's that I continue to. Everything that happens outside of that choice is tinted by it. In my opinion, if we're going to have choice in games AND have taught cinematic narratives, this is the way choices should be presented.

And then there are the Uncharted 2's of the world: lauded romps of unbelievable adventure. There are no choices other than continue to move forward or pause the game and catch your breath. I see nothing wrong with that. In fact, it seems like a perfect proving ground for the industry to hone our storytelling skills, mature, experiment with new and different themes, and revolutionize our industry from a perspective that everyone (gamers and nongamers) understands: that of audience member. I don't need to be presented the foreign idea of branching narratives: I need a goddam good story. I need a character I care about. I need a character I can put myself in the shoes of. There are exceptions to this, but shut up, I'm not talking about those. I'm talking about how in every Coen Brothers movie, no matter how flawed or fucked up their protagonist is, I truly care about them (this is one of the most impressive story-telling feats of our time). Let's start there. Let's build systems that allow us to stop worrying about them so much and focus on the things that we, as humans respond to.

Lets, as writers, designers and authors make our own choices. Because, at the end of the day, that is what our audience will respond to the most.