PO-FACED ESSAYS #1: Cinema and gaming - a bridge too far?

Sometimes I disgust myself. Mainly when I say or write anything remotely serious. Nevertheless, I occasionally feel the need to make a point without reverting to dick jokes as a pathetic safety blanket. With this in mind, whenever I feel the urge to actually think about a topic on anything but the shallowest level (note that my interpretation of deep thinking mostly involves looking stuff up on Wikipedia), I've decided to plonk it into a series called Po-Faced Essays, thus discrediting and mocking myself before I begin and eliminating the need to commit ritual seppuku (looked that up on Wikipedia) just after posting. Enjoy! Or don't, whatever. I don't even know you, man.

CINEMA & GAMING - A BRIDGE TOO FAR?

The relationship between the games industry and Hollywood has been marching resolutely onwards ever since developers have been able to immerse players in lifelike virtual realities. Movie studios have attempted to translate Ms Croft’s elegant leaps, Resident Evil’s creeping menace and Prince of Persia’s time-bending dramatics – to name but a few – into coherent blockbuster narratives. For their part, developers have for years been pilfering from cinema’s mise en scène to add meaning and structure to the rattle of gunfire.

But is it a relationship that exploits the innate strengths of two forms of entertainment which speak to users in fundamentally different ways? Although film and games share the ultimate goal of immersion, the methods employed to achieve this end share little common ground. A cinematic protagonist is predominantly created to be a relatable presence, whereas gamers are usually expected to inhabit and breathe life into a blank husk. In the words of id’s John Carmack, whose masterpiece Doom was adapted into a woeful movie in 2005, “there was never a name for the Doom marine because it’s supposed to be YOU.” This credo has served as a template for the likes of the Half-Life and Halo franchises, in which protagonists are intentionally underdeveloped in order to give players a sense of authorship.

Of course, this isn’t an option in film, where scenes follow a prescribed route and audiences demand that characters stand up to the scrutiny of an outside observer. Thus, movie characters based on in-game avatars inevitably suffer from an emptiness that is actively encouraged in most game experiences.
Similarly, the terrible track record of games released as licensed movie tie-ins can partly be explained by developers being lumbered with having to replicate (or pay homage to) cinematic set-pieces, leaving them little time to craft an experience that exploits the choice and active participation that’s exclusive to interactive entertainment.

The cut-scene is another obvious bugbear that has been criticised by many (including game nut Steven Spielberg) for being a technique artlessly shoehorned into games as an easy method of delivering exposition, which compromise immersion to indulge developers’ unattained cinematic ambitions. Metal Gear Solid 4’s hours of cut-scenes may have been gold dust to the franchise’s diehard fan base, but many objective observers noted the frustration of being unceremoniously yanked from the masterful gameplay to sit through another 20 minutes of dialogue. In an interactive medium, having to choose between not experiencing the story in its entirety and spending a large proportion of the game passively observing it unfold seems like an unacceptable dilemma.

This is far from an argument to sideline story in favour of pure gameplay; it's an argument for the games industry to make more effort to incorporate narrative into gameplay. As the game industry and the customer base that it services matures, story-based games are able to convey atmosphere and push events forward without wresting the controller from players’ hands. The disturbing history of Bioshock’s Rapture is all the more memorable because players have heard it relayed to them through crackling cassette recordings, seen it daubed ominously on the walls, and lived through the bloody aftermath. Bioware’s Mass Effect is dotted with dense reams of dialogue, but keeps players immersed by giving them an intimate control of the way the conversations – and the story – play out.

Do cinema and games have anything to teach each other? Of course. Developers who are deft enough can use great movies as yardsticks for tone and structure, but must beware that gameplay and story are properly integrated into a cogent and playable whole. Developer Naughty Dog recently displayed such lightness of touch with Uncharted 2: Among Thieves, which blended brief cut-scenes and scripted moments with the spectacular core gameplay with astonishing seamlessness. It must be noted, however that it was most effective when revealing incidental detail and backstory within the gameplay, as evidenced by conversations with Chloe or Elena during the game’s quiet exploratory moments. The key for Naughty Dog was in evoking the spirit of classic adventure movies without forgetting that creating a satisfying game features its own unique set of criteria for success.

Just as Hollywood’s habitual raiding of game licenses speaks of an industry bereft of ideas, game developers’ persistent use of distinctly cinematic convention suggests a medium lacking in confidence in its own abilities. Although the relationship between film and games may have borne some fruit, it’s hard to escape the feeling that an exciting dalliance may have become an unhealthy obsession that brings out the worst in both parties. The key to a sustainable and rewarding friendship between the two forms might just be to loosen the reins and take a look around. Maybe even see other people.