Writing, characterization, plot, narrative… flow?


The Idea

Not long ago, I men­tioned that I thought Mirror’s Edge and Prince of Persia 2008 might have more in com­mon with bal­let than with Asteroids, and, indeed, the more time I’ve spent with this idea, the more I like it.

In case you’ve never seen either of these played, here are game­play trail­ers for both games: Mirror’s Edge, and Prince of Persia.

I found myself in the awk­ward posi­tion of real­ly, real­ly enjoy­ing Prince of Persia even though most of the video game com­mu­ni­ty seemed to regard it with a sort of ambiva­lent apa­thy– most peo­ple liked the visu­al style, but found the char­ac­ters large­ly for­get­table and the plat­form­ing too easy. Much was made of the fact that it is impos­si­ble to die in the game, as any time the Prince would fall to his death or be mur­dered by an enemy, he is res­cued by his part­ner, Elika. Critics derid­ed this game­play mechan­ic as mak­ing the game “too easy,” and less­en­ing the impact of the com­bat and plat­form­ing sec­tions.

Yahtzee Croshaw dis­agreed with this point in his Zero Punctuation review of the game (for those unfa­mil­iar with Zero Punctuation, it’s a lot of fun, but quite vul­gar, so don’t play that link around chil­dren or those eas­i­ly offend­ed). He defends the mechan­ic, stat­ing that while in other games, instant recov­ery from death would defang any pos­si­ble threat, freerun­ning games are all about flow, which this mechan­ic helps main­tain.

I hap­pen to agree with Yahtzee on this point, but the rea­son I bring this up is found in the state­ment that freerun­ning games are all about flow. This state­ment got me to think­ing about the fact that dif­fer­ent games are, fun­da­men­tal­ly, about dif­fer­ent things. Left 4 Dead is about coop­er­a­tion, Torment is about writ­ing, Assassin’s Creed is about immer­sion, and Prince of Persia and Mirror’s Edge are, indeed, about flow.

Games as Dance

In think­ing about what makes these games enjoy­able, I came to an odd real­iza­tion. Most games are com­pared to movies as their most sim­i­lar ana­logue. Some games even use this as a mar­ket­ing tool: “This game is so darn pret­ty and immer­sive that it’s almost like a movie. It’s cin­e­mat­ic.” This is fine, and in most cases, it makes sense. Games are sub­stan­tial­ly dif­fer­ent from movies, but most prob­a­bly have more in com­mon with movies than, say, books, (though there are excep­tions) or plays.

But I real­ized that in the case of games like Prince of Persia or Mirror’s Edge, it might almost make more sense to com­pare the games to bal­let than to a film. After all, if Prince of Persia and Mirror’s Edge are any good, they are not enjoy­able because of their writ­ing or plot (harm­less but unin­spir­ing in the first and laugh­able in the sec­ond), but because of the beau­ty and grace found in the way the play­er can con­trol the move­ments of the play­er char­ac­ters.

Both of these trail­ers con­tain what makes these games art, com­plete­ly removed from what­ev­er plot or char­ac­ters the games con­tain. In these games, the plot and char­ac­ters serve only as a way to explain why the play­er is expe­ri­enc­ing these beau­ti­ful plat­form­ing sequences. (This is not nec­es­sar­i­ly the case– there’s no rea­son a dance-like game could­n’t have good writ­ing, but nei­ther of these games seemed to find it impor­tant). Furthermore, sim­ply hav­ing this “dance-like” com­po­nent is enough to make a game art– most art does not require a plot.

What I think of when I think of play­ing Prince of Persia or Mirror’s Edge is of exe­cut­ing a series of deft and beau­ti­ful acro­bat­ic maneu­vers which not only look beau­ti­ful on the screen, but have a cer­tain rhythm to them, and which require a cer­tain kind of skill from me as the play­er. This is par­tic­u­lar­ly the case in Mirror’s Edge, which is a much hard­er game. It requires some skill to move about the City with enough grace to make the game look beau­ti­ful– oth­er­wise you sim­ply end up falling to the ground and/or get­ting shot a great deal. In fact, it could be argued that with­out some degree of skill, Mirror’s Edge is not very beau­ti­ful– the “flow” of the game is often inter­rupt­ed if the play­er con­tin­u­al­ly makes mis­takes. One might say that to the aver­age play­er, Mirror’s Edge is not par­tic­u­lar­ly beau­ti­ful– that it requires the play­er to have a cer­tain buy-in of skill in order to unlock the game’s artis­tic poten­tial.

This is the pri­ma­ry rea­son why these games remind me of dance– a movie can show a beautifully-executed park­our sequence or a well-choreographed musi­cal num­ber, but while the actors may be par­tic­i­pat­ing in a dance, the audi­ence is mere­ly watch­ing. In the case of these games, how­ev­er, only with the input of the play­er does the game take on its dance-like qual­i­ties. Thus, while movies might con­tain ele­ments of dance, Prince of Persia is some­thing like dance in its entire­ty.

The Location of Art

In this case, I won­der if the play­er isn’t actu­al­ly pro­duc­ing the art in con­cert with the game’s engine in a way he or she usu­al­ly does not. I gen­er­al­ly think that, in a video game, the play­er is expe­ri­enc­ing the art, and not actu­al­ly cre­at­ing it. But in the case of these games, I’m not so sure. Neither Prince of Persia or Mirror’s Edge are par­tic­u­lar­ly dif­fi­cult games to com­plete, but to play them beau­ti­ful­ly requires skill and some aes­thet­ic sense.

This is rem­i­nis­cent of a school of lit­er­ary the­o­ry called Reader-response crit­i­cism, which, in what is prob­a­bly a crim­i­nal trun­ca­tion, gen­er­al­ly thinks that a work does not gain “real exis­tence” until it is read. One might, then, from a reader-response per­spec­tive, argue that art is cre­at­ed not when an artist puts pen to paper or paint­brush to can­vas, but when an observ­er inter­acts with the com­plet­ed paper or can­vas.

I don’t gen­er­al­ly go much for reader-response crit­i­cism, for a vari­ety of rea­sons which are more or less irrel­e­vant to the point at hand, but in the field of video games crit­i­cism, I feel it may have a prop­er place. I think that in most video games, the play­er is expe­ri­enc­ing art (albeit in an unusu­al­ly active man­ner) rather than cre­at­ing it. I would gen­er­al­ly hold that Myst and Portal are explored as artis­tic expe­ri­ences, rather than cre­at­ed through the play­er’s inter­ac­tion with the game.

But in the case of these dance-like games, while I would cer­tain­ly sug­gest that the games also con­tain art in them­selves, it seems that the play­er has a hand in pro­duc­ing some­thing like art while he or she plays the game. The games in and of them­selves are very well-crafted, but it takes a skilled play­er to real­ly show off the beau­ty and artis­tic qual­i­ty of one of these games. In this case, when a skilled play­er meets a well-constructed dance-like game, the result is some­thing like art in and of itself, and I would sug­gest that this is a qual­i­ty at least most­ly unique to this kind of game.

In Conclusion

Neither of these games are remote­ly per­fect. Both would have been improved by bet­ter writ­ing (or, in Mirror’s Edge’s case, a com­plete removal of its writ­ing) and are rather clum­sy at inte­grat­ing com­bat into the rest of the game. But these games seem to occu­py an unusu­al place in the gam­ing canon– they active­ly involve the play­er in the pro­duc­tion of beau­ty more than other games.

I spend a great deal of my time dis­cussing writ­ing in games, and as it my area of quasi-expertise, I’ll prob­a­bly keep that focus in my own essays here. But it’s worth remem­ber­ing that not all games gain their artis­tic merit through plot and char­ac­ter­i­za­tion– some are artis­ti­cal­ly valu­able because of their graph­i­cal finesse and excel­lent move­ment engines– the sort of thing that allows a play­er to feel as though he or she is active­ly engaged in aes­thet­ic activ­i­ty sim­ply by play­ing the game.

This is a rel­a­tive­ly new idea for me, and, as such, I have not had time to fer­ret out all the pos­si­ble ram­i­fi­ca­tions of such thought. As a result, I’m def­i­nite­ly inter­est­ed in hear­ing dis­cus­sion on this point– are there other kinds of games which require a skilled play­er to pro­duce art, rather than sim­ply being art in and of them­selves? Perhaps a role­play­ing game, if played by a seri­ous role­play­er, might qual­i­fy. I’m not sure, and I would love to hear your thoughts. I would love to use this post as a jumping-off point for a dis­cus­sion– I am quite cer­tain there is more to this idea than I have laid out here!


Bill Coberly

About Bill Coberly

Bill Coberly is the founder and groundskeeper of The Ontological Geek, now that it has shifted over to archive mode. If something on the site isn't working, please shoot a DM to @ontologicalgeek on Twitter!