Immersion and Narrative: Games as Film
Michael Lee
The Last of Us | Naughty Dog
“What is a video game? A miserable little pile of code.”
-Dracula from Castlevania: SotN (probably)
What Are Video Games Supposed to Be?
When we look at the medium of video games, there is much debate as to what exactly video games are. One of the longest-standing arguments on the topic, whether video games are art, has swirled like a tempest around the medium since their earliest days. Yet video games have always been an assemblage of pieces that on their own certainly constitute art; from character design, to narrative, to music. Video games are the art form that defines the 21st century, in that they sample and remix other artforms to create new cultural objects. They are THE artform of the digital age. Where a majority of the critique seems to lie is in how the medium affects the player. There needs to be some kind of emotional response to the work, or some kind of meaning to it, or else it is mindless play in the eyes of critics. Without this, games are not art. This is a reductivist argument that sells video games short, undermining the creativity on display and presenting the medium as unable to induce any kind of pathos or affect. This is patently untrue, but it does seem that this particular critique has resonated with game developers. The response to that critique, however, does seem to be a tad one dimensional and restricting—be like movies.
Whether video games as films is a concept that emerged organically, or in response to critique is hard to say for certain, but when we look at what are often deemed “prestige” games, developers are creating games that enrapture us with cinematic tropes. By borrowing from the world of film, developers can build a narrative and aesthetic framework that feels familiar, and more in line with a medium that is already considered “art.” That an indie game can’t be called “prestige” means that video games operate in a hierarchy, where a big budgeted, (usually) single-player action game with cinematic elements is known as “prestige” shows that the industry is trying to push this type of game as the pinnacle of the gaming experience. But should that be the goal of video games as a medium? To create films you can play? In essence flipping the medium itself from video games to game videos?
There are many approaches one could take to dispel the idea that video games aspire to be like films. Video games are still a fluid, evolving medium, and with such a wide range of genres, there are numerous games that are wholly centered around notions of play. With that said, the attention-getters in the industry, the select auteurs lauded by the media, couch their work comfortably in the cinematic. Perhaps because there is already an established language of film, it makes it easier to explain a video game in cinematic terms, which extends a game’s reach to those who might live outside the world of video games. This is why Hideo Kojima appears in the New Yorker, and Ken Levine is a recognizable name over on Bloomberg.
Video games that trade in cinematic currency can deliver something approximating a film, but in their quest to do so, lose something in the process. A game can never truly be a film, nor should it try to be, but when a game tries to assure you of its filmness, there are gamic elements that always get in the way. The result is a substantial breaking of immersion that whips the player in and out of the game, dampening the emotional moments of the narrative we are meant to connect with.
The Last of Us | Naughty Dog
The Bullet Heard ‘Round The World
When talking about games with cinematic aspirations, there are many prestige titles that vie for the crown, but none have achieved greater success and garnered more critical acclaim than The Last of Us. Produced by Naughty Dog Studios, The Last of Us (2013) is often cited as the game that threads the needle by providing blockbuster cinematic action with an emotional narrative that strikes a chord with anyone who plays it. I will concede the first point, it does deliver action—though video games have delivered big explosive set pieces akin to film for quite some time now—but it’s the second point where the game loses me. In order to explain why these cinematic games struggle, we need to address immersion.
In an early scene in The Last of Us, Joel and Tess are snaking through a series of buildings to avoid a government checkpoint and reach a base for the resistance group, the Fireflies. En route, Joel spies an item hanging in a tree in the middle of a courtyard. While this is meant to teach you a game mechanic that looking up and knocking something out of a hard-to-reach location is something you should do, diegetically it goes counter to what your current objective is, which is to sneak around to the camp of the first minor antagonist. In the silence of a courtyard surrounded by brick buildings which would surely echo something fierce, Joel shoots his gun to drop the item in the tree to the ground. His unsilenced handgun exploding with a bang mere moments before entering hostile territory where no one appears to have heard the shot go off. That no one reacts to a gun being fired right outside their compound is laughable. This is where games aiming for “realism” struggle as the gamic elements break up the immersion, despite how well-integrated TLOU’s gamic elements create flow when playing.
There are countless examples of game programming leading to the breaking of immersion in The Last of Us. These are mostly beyond the control of the game developers as they are almost impossible to avoid in a video game—and reveals where the idea of game as film comes up short—where there is no way to make an edit, or swing a camera away from a character stuck in walk cycle. A video game simply can’t do this as continuity of action is essential to interactive media. This is what game theorist Ian Bogost sees as a shortcoming with games that desire to be films. Going so far as to say, “In fact, that continuity is so important that most games (3-D games anyway) give the player direct control over the camera, allowing total manipulation of what is seen and from what vantage point.” In conceding camera control to the player, “editing” a video game to be like a film is impossible. Because player control and continuity of action are absolute, there is no way to reframe a scene cinematically, as most narrative is now presented live in-game without the need for pre-rendered cutscenes. This shows itself in scenes like this one, where dialogue wraps up between characters walking side by side, and one says “See ya around” before walking silently with our heroes—for nearly five seconds—before he reaches his hardwired leaning-against-a-wall spot. An edit would clean this up, but instead we’re left with this awkward moment between our heroes and this random NPC.
When Joel is introduced to Ellie, the other half of our main duo, the narrative should become much more imperative and pull the player into the world fully. We, as Joel, must protect Ellie and make sure she reaches safety. The narrative convinces us of this, but the game can’t help but undermine it. Early on, the game reveals the Infected, people ravaged by a fungus that turns them into hideous zombie-like creatures. Joel, Ellie, and Tess sneak through an underground train station where stealth is key to avoiding the Infected. However, while the player as Joel must remain silent, Ellie is free to make as much noise as she wants. She can knock over items in the environment, and can even run right up to the Infected without them seeing her. This unfortunate non-playable character (NPC) pathing breaks the immersion that anything can actually happen to Ellie. She will always be fine. It breaks immersion, and lessens the emotional connection as you know nothing can actually hurt Ellie. The Last of Us is trying to be as close to a real-world zombie apocalypse scenario as it can get, so when characters jag off on their own, unaffected by what is going on around them, immersion suffers. If Ellie could die and the game just continues on towards a bad ending, that would be amazing, and would also ensure that players protect Ellie with everything they’ve got.
To be fair to the game, it does pull you back in successfully through cutscenes and dialogue between the characters that reestablishes the relationship between Joel and Ellie, but the immersion whiplash suffered can affect how someone enjoys the game.
Final Fantasy VII Remake | Square Enix
The ABCs of Gaming (apparently): Always Be Collecting
This point on immersion may seem to be a bit of nitpicking, but there may be some truth to how these prestige titles dash their cinematic hopes because they cannot avoid their gameness. In another scene in The Last of Us, Joel and Ellie are being chased through a building by armed militia men. Joel tells Ellie, “We have to move.” An obvious flight of stairs provides an escape, but off the main path on a broken table lies a few collectible items that shine brightly at the player, calling them away from their mission, beckoning like tin foil to a crow. “Don’t worry…” these items seem to say to the player, “you have time to pick me up, the enemies will wait.” The anxiety of the previous moment is undone by the reassuring thought that the player can take their time and collect a few stray items along their way.
In his excellent review of the Final Fantasy 7 Remake, video game... person Tim Rogers noticed something similar to this. Despite enormous theatrical cues and carefully crafted, drama-heightening narratives, video games can’t help but send us intentionally down the wrong path in search of goodies. He calls this “The Trinket Ultimatum” and see this as something that profoundly affects narrative and immersion in prestige video games like the FF7 Remake and The Last of Us.
The Last of Us | Naughty Dog
Once taught that supplies must be found to craft weapons and items in The Last of Us, the player’s brain from that point on is conditioned to always be hunting for these glowing objects that always seem to settle in all the wrong hallways. The player’s brain implores them to not consume the narrative laid out before them in favor of gamic elements that have taken priority over the narrative imperative. While The Last of Us tries to disguise this as some kind of necessity, that you must pilfer through the wreckage of humanity in order to find items that will be essential to the player’s survival, it nonetheless is gameness infiltrating and unnaturally delaying cinematic story beats. Rogers feels this becomes second nature once introduced as a concept, and that even at the very climax of the Final Fantasy 7 Remake’s narrative, “perfunctorily, your curiosity compels you to camera check your corners for tchotchke pockets.” When playing through the Final Fantasy 7 Remake on Hard Mode (only available after finishing the game), wherein players start with previously levelled equipment and cannot use items, Rogers reported that he was “able to follow the dramatically correct path through the game at a pace that felt genuinely more exciting.” By eliminating the obsession to hunt for trinkets, the game’s narrative is allowed to proceed at the ideal pace to maintain immersion.
The gameness of video games remains hardwired in the minds of both player and developer, in how we explore video game spaces, and in how developers build those video game spaces. So long as this is the standard, prestige cinematic video games will never become the films they seem to want to be. And their narratives—and our emotional connection to them—will continue to suffer for it. Because games as film shouldn’t really be the goal at all.
So what is the answer to this conundrum? How do you create a video game that has an emotionally affecting narrative, and maintains immersion to keep the player invested in that narrative? Give the player more work to do.
—Part Two of this series, where we dive into games that do a great job pulling players into their world, is out now. Click here—
Michael Lee is the Editor of KOSATEN, and is currently pursuing research on Japanese fandom, with a particular focus on doujinshi and other fan-created media.
