This is Brett Mullaney, author of last year's The Greatest Art Form: Video Games and the Evolution of Artistic Expression.
First of all, I want thank everyone from the Giant Bomb community for all of your positive support of last year's project. Your feedback, support, and constructive dialogue were both invaluable and energizing to be part of, and was exactly the type of conversations I was hoping the book would generate. I was deeply humbled by your support.
On that note, I am in the early planning and development stages for Volume II of my series, and am wanting the Giant Bomb community's nominations for which games they would like to see included and analyzed in this upcoming volume.
Please feel free to leave your nominations in the comments below, and please feel free to leave your analysis on why you believe your nominations contribute to the medium's role and their contribution to the human experience and artistic expression.
For those unfamiliar with the book, the introductory chapter of Volume I, "What is Art?" can be found on an IGN thread here:
Also, I've included a preliminary list of games that I'm, at this point, considering for Volume II. Keep in mind that many titles from series are listed individually, though in Volume II, I will most likely feature multiple games from the same series in a single chapter. Obviously, due to time constraints and chapter limitations, I will only be analyzing a select list of games similar to the amount seen in Volume I, so other games may be held off for Volume III.
This list is by no means final, and is in no particular order, so I am more than happy to hear suggestions of games that are not on this list. If you do like a game, or several, on this list, and have an argument for why they should be featured, please feel free to voice your thoughts!
I look forward to your nominations, and thank you again for your support!
@giantstalker: I definitely agree with you; even writing about it right after playing through it again made me want to start all over with it.
As far as the target audience for the book, it's written towards both gamers and non-gamers. For gamers, I want the book to serve as an homage and testament to the games that we hold dear to us, that we feel are deeply moving and engaging in the ways we already know are only possible in games. For non-gamers, I hope to include enough background, summary, and explanation of each game in the book to give them a fresh perspective on the way games communicate with the audience. I think it's important that we, as gamers, counteract the negative attention games get in the media with discussions like these.
My name is Brett Mullaney, and I have been a longtime GiantBomb subscriber as well as a follower of the video game editorial and development communities for nearly two decades.
For the last several years, I have been determined to publish a book on video games as an art form, and attempt to bring a fresh perspective on the ways in which both those within the gaming community as well as those outside the community can understand the incredible potential that video games have to communicate on an artistic level that is unrivaled by other mediums.
I recently completed that endeavor, and published my first book, entitled The Greatest Art Form: Video Games and the Evolution of Artistic Expression. Having been born and evolved from my senior thesis project at the University of California, I really aimed to create a book that could analyze games and the gaming medium, not so much from a review perspective, but rather from a communications and analytical perspective, to really open up a discussion between both gamers and non-gamers about the ways video games, more than any other art form, hold the most limitless potential to ask us to reflect, not only on the art itself, but ourselves. The book contains analysis and critical dissection of some of the gaming world's most outstanding artistic achievements, including Silent Hill 2, Red Dead Redemption, BioShock and BioShock Infinite, Dishonored, Ico and Shadow of the Colossus, Flower and Journey, and The Elder Scrolls Series and Fallout 3. In later volumes, I plan on analyzing other titles as well, continuing to incorporate past, present, and future releases.
Below is the third chapter of the book, entitled "Red Dead Redemption - Above and Beyond the Spaghetti Western." I would love to get feedback from all of you in the gaming community on your thoughts on the work, either the chapter below or the entire book itself. My hope is that the book will help bridge the discussion between the gaming world and the larger art and entertainment world in ways that haven't fully been realized.
If you would like to read the work in its entirety, the book is now available in both print and ebook formats on Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, Apple iBooks, Kobo, and the Sony Reader Store. Also, feel free to visit the book's official website, www.thegreatestartform.com for more background and details about the book. I look forward to all of your feedback! Thanks for your support.
RED DEAD REDEMPTION –
Above and Beyond the Spaghetti Western:
Fusing Character Study, Open World Exploration, Historical Relativism, and the Morality Play
"Throughout history the world has been laid waste to ensure the triumph of conceptions that are now as dead as the men that died for them."
- Henry de Montherlant
In discussing the premise behind one of his most famous spaghetti western films, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, Sergio Leone recounted that he "had always thought that the 'good,' and the 'bad' and the 'violent' did not exist in any absolute, essential sense. It seemed to [him] interesting to demystify these adjectives in the setting of a Western." He ultimately felt that "an assassin [could] display a sublime altruism while a good man [could] kill with total indifference."
American culture has displayed a relentless fascination with the 19th century American frontier story, in large part because the combination of setting, period, and lifestyle in many ways represents the epitome of the American experience. The search for new ventures and horizons, the ability to undertake tremendous risk for the opportunity of new beginnings and success, the chance to redefine self-identity, the concepts of survival, self-sufficiency, and rugged individualism; these are the hallmarks of American culture that have consistently fit with the American perception of frontier life during the 19th century, the so-called "Wild West." However, it was the productions of Sergio Leone's "Spaghetti Western" films that transformed the ways in which American film explored those key facets of that setting, and such began the now commonplace tradition of exploring and deconstructing the American frontier, not through the traditional lens of good and evil binaries, but instead through the lens of moral ambiguity, relativity, and complexity as bi-products of human progress and freedom.
The hallmark of the Spaghetti Western tradition in "Wild West" filmmaking has almost always involved the complication of moral binaries, allowing characters within the story to exhibit the full array of human emotions, motivations, backgrounds, decisions, and of course, ethical boundaries. As Leone recounted in his description of his film, no character was immune to any form of expression or action, and no character was able to hold to preconceived understandings of heroes and villains. Rather, the American tradition of "Wild West" filmmaking, through the Spaghetti Western revolution, allowed the frontier to become a landscape for human morality, as well as an allegory for both the adaptation and evolution of the individual in their complicated and sometimes contradictory journey through life.
As no stranger to either literature or film, it should be unsurprising, then, that the video game medium would see fit to explore the American frontier through its own devices. However, the video game medium holds unlimited potential to morph, utilize, and blend other artistic mediums into both its communication and presentation methods while simultaneously creating new and unique communicative bonds with the audience through its interactive elements. As a result, the video game form is, in fact, best suited to more perfectly explore the ideas and concepts of the American frontier than other art forms, as the inherent marriage of "interaction" and "exploration" in video games allows the American frontier to breathe its landscapes, settings, themes, characters, and experiences more organically and with more depth than any other art form in history. Such has been proven by writer, director, and designer Dan Houser and his team from studio Rockstar San Diego, with Red Dead Redemption.
It is critical to note that Red Dead Redemption does not represent the video game medium's first foray into the American frontier. In fact, it does not even represent Rockstar San Diego's first attempt at exploring it. The studio first adventured into the setting in 2004 with the release of Red Dead Revolver, though the title was not written, designed or directed by Dan Houser, and was much less an attempt at exploring the complex human condition through the American frontier as it was a simple, straightforward and predictable action-centric story of revenge. It's concerns were not with the exploration of ideas, but simply with the task of creating an entertaining action experience within a stereotypical "Wild West" setting.
Yet much in the way that Silent Hill 2 iterated far beyond its predecessor, and represented a landmark example of interactive character study through the successful use of iteration, utilizing a combination of new, evolved technologies with innovative and explorative game and participatory concepts, Red Dead Redemption also came to fuse new technologies with emergent and explorative gameplay concepts. In doing so, it has become a remarkable testament to the video game form's ability to better, more organically and more immersively explore the complex morality and historical relativism of the 19th century American frontier.
The game follows and tells the story of John Marston, a former outlaw who is currently in the custody of Federal officials. Marston, a man whose past includes deeds both heroic and terrible, has been forced into a unique and seemingly inescapable predicament. In order to apprehend the remaining men and leaders of the gang of outlaws that Marston had been part of, the federal authorities give Marston an ultimatum: if he ever wishes to be with his wife and son again (who have also been detained at an undisclosed location), and avoid being hung for his crimes, he must become a de-facto federal agent working on the government’s behalf in order to hunt down, apprehend, or kill his former partners in crime. Failure to do so will mean certain death for Marston and an uncertain future for his family. On the other hand, succeeding in his mission will mean that Marston will come to represent a hypocrisy that he has come to despise: the pursuit of selfish interests at the sacrifice of friendship and loyalty.
Red Dead Redemption's success at evolving the artistic exploration and expression of the American frontier experience comes inherently from its exploitation of nearly every unique advantage and tool that the video game form offers to the artist in order to communicate, create, and interact with the audience, all of which allow Red Dead Redemption to be elevated to far more than just a story of the American frontier, or just a morality play, or just a complex character study. It utilizes an open-world concept, allowing Houser and his team to truly recreate the setting, locales, and landscapes of the American frontier, all interconnected, living, breathing, and in motion, free to be explored, experienced, and confronted in any order, manner, and depth that the player chooses. At the same time, it weaves into every aspect of exploration the themes, conversations, conflicts, and moral dilemmas that have been the hallmarks of modern American frontier storytelling. Even more, it introduces concepts of historical analysis and relativism, allowing the player to examine and compare the semblances of the "Wild West" with the industrialization and modernization of American life, and the ways in which that transition was simultaneously exciting and terrifying, beneficial and tragic, evolving and impairing.
The themes of historical relativism and moral ambiguity immediately become apparent during the opening scenes of the game. Immediately separating itself from the spaghetti western tradition in film, Red Dead Redemption opens with Marston unboarding a ferry boat that has just entered the town of Blackwater, a fictional town that immediately communicates to the audience that this is not a typical "Wild West" tale; the town contains paved roads, and early American cars. Indeed, Red Dead Redemption's fusion of moral ambiguity with historical relativism becomes immediately apparent because the audience understands that the game will not be a story of the "Wild West," but rather the death of the frontier at the hands of modern industry. It is already the 20th century when the game begins. Yet we are reminded that it is the very beginning of the 20th century, as we see a newspaper headline reading "Health Benefits of Smoking."
As the opening scene progresses, Marston is greeted and led by Federal Marshals to an awaiting train in a nearby train station, where he is forced to board in order to be carried onto the first destination of his conflicted journey. As he rides along to the small western town of Armadillo, Marston and the player overhear the various conversations of the other passengers, which further foreshadow that both moral ambiguity and historical relativism will be central to the game experience. In one conversation, a young girl relates to a priest that she "sometimes finds it impossible to make the distinction between a loving act and a hateful one. They often seem to be the same thing." Indeed, such an idea connects to another conversation in the train car between two elderly well-to-do women, in which one of the women remarks that she is "glad civilization is being brought to this savage land," to which the second woman replies that civilization has "helped the natives," and that even though they "lost land," they "gained access to heaven."
Marston's journey will ultimately find him traversing a diverse set of landscapes, including the rural, small-town dessert communities of the western United States, the harsh, civil war-torn cities and landscapes of Mexico, and finally, the urbanized, industrialized, motorized, and modernized early twentieth century American city of Blackwater. What's more, as Marston begins his journey upon arriving at Armadillo, and the player takes control, it will quickly become apparent that, through the countless diverse characters he will meet, across the three unique, contrasting, and thematically relevant landscapes, and through the civil and personal conflicts he will entangle himself in, Marston will find his conflicted journey consistently riddled with contrasts, dichotomies, and exchanges, both civil and violent, that never provide a clear direction or answer. Every moral choice, every action, and every interaction will be plagued with uncertain and questionable consequences. Every person within the game world prescribes to a different set of values, morals, and worldviews. More often than not, it becomes clear that the country's transition from frontier to industry may, in many ways, be less an evolution of civilization as much as it is a trade-off, of one set of principles, lifestyles, and morals, for another.
In fact, much of Red Dead Redemption’s plot is constructed around a large and diverse set of characters that directly come into contact with Marston, each having a small vignette and sub-story that makes its way into the narrative. Each of these vignettes possesses a wide array of human interaction and experiences; Marston ultimately comes across and affects the lives of individuals both righteous and mean-spirited, both intellectually developed and socially inept. For every person that Marston assists whose goals are ethical and socially constructive, he must also assist individuals whose objectives are self-serving, inhumane, and morally reprehensible. Sometimes, the characters fall somewhere in the middle; while a snake-oil salesman might not be selling effective cures for back aches, headaches, and sleep deprivation as he so claims, he also isn’t selling a product that directly brings harm onto his customers. Ultimately, Red Dead Redemption presents a diverse mosaic of vignettes and characters that provide thematic support to a complex portrait of human behavior and relationships, a notion that runs directly parallel to the narrative character study of John Marston himself as he deals with the repercussions of his morally contradictory past as well as his present day predicament fraught with moral ambiguity.
The conflicts of worldviews, values, and morals become presented early on to Marston and the player through their early interactions with Bonnie and Drew McFarlane, a young, rugged and independent female rancher and her father who own their own ranch just outside of Armadillo. The McFarlanes represent an ode to both the dreams and harsh realities of a frontier life that is dying, and their worldviews on the ways in which America is changing, reveal that those dreams and harsh realities are openly embraced over the uncertain, artificial, and impersonal world that is coming to replace them. As Bonnie relates to Marston during one of his visits to their ranch, "Change is only good when it makes things better." In the new, industrialized reality that is threatening to replace the frontier, Bonnie surmises that "businessmen are the new cowboys," and even though Bonnie recognizes that the dream of frontier life is riddled with problems, and that "it'll sap your spirit and it will make you poor," she concludes that "it's straight and it's decent." Bonnie's father, Drew, shares such sentiments, and in one of the game's most poignant exchanges, Drew explicitly conveys his understanding that frontier life is indeed a life fusing dreams with hardship, freedom with uncertainty, independence with insecurity, and success with tragedy, all trade-offs which Drew and Bonnie openly embrace over the industrialized world they view as insincere and artificial:
"We've lived here for 30 years now. Came from the east. The land had never been settled. For 10 years we fought the Indians. Tough men. Then we had outlaws, had droughts, had small pox, terrible winters, cholera. I've buried more of my children than I've raised. I've seen strong men wither and die under that unforgiving sun. That whole herds of cattle take sick and die. But I've never once doubted my life here. When I start to hear about the Federal Government sending out agents to covertly murder and control people, then I start to worry. Isn't a government menace the worst kind, in all that it symbolizes?"
To Bonnie and Drew, the coming of industry and the increasing role of the Federal Government in everyday life for people on the frontier represents a sacrifice of independence for security, but at a cost that seems far too great; in their views, when power, money, and control begin to grow, so does the proliferation of insincere work, artificiality, and a disconnect from the realities of life and death. As Drew relates to Marston in regards to the increasing presence of the Federal Government, "we are only as free as they say we are. Power is like a drink. They more you have, the more you want. And there's few men who can handle it."
To other characters in the game, such as Marshall Johnson, the head lawman in Armadillo who offers to help Marston track down his former partners in crime, his worldview on the balance between control and freedom lies slightly more towards the side of modernity than Bonnie and Drew's, though reservations still exist about the dangers of power. Upon finding out that Marston has been sent by Federal Agents to carry out the task of bringing Marston's former partners to justice, Johnson remarks that "sending an outlaw to do the work of a lawman" is "madness." He relates to Marston that his worldview contains a set of morals and principles that should not be crossed, stating that "there have to be rules, Marston. Even you must understand that. Without laws, we're nothing more than animals. Man has worked hard at civilization."
It is in John Marston's character, however, where the greatest conflict of ideas and the inability to reconcile the present and future truly lies, and it is in this conflict where Red Dead Redemption finds one of its greatest strengths at defining country and history through the experience of the individual. Marston is a direct symbol of the United States during the end of the frontier era. He is a man struggling with his past, both in terms of the environment he was born into, as well as the decisions and paths that he has followed, where even the best of intentions combined with a lack of perspective and understanding led to actions and choices ranging from noble, to morally questionable, to brutal. He has come to a crossroad in his life at the point in which the story begins, much like the United States itself at the time, where he has begun to reflect on his past as he tries to carve out an uncertain future, and attempts to reconcile his beliefs, values, and identity. Much like the birth and rise of a country, particularly the United States, Marston believes that "men are born, and then they are formed."
He relates to Reyes, the leader of a rebellion that is attempting to overthrow a tyrannical general in Northern Mexico, that during his time with his former partners in crime, the gang's leader Dutch, who was a mentor to Marston, was in many ways a savior and a guide to those in the gang. Marston recounts that "we were all bad kids; lost, angry, and forgotten. He kinda saved us." He explains that Dutch "taught [him] how to read. Taught [him] how to see all that was good in the world. He was a great man in a way." When Reyes mentions that Dutch just turned around and transformed the kids into criminals, Marston argues that "Dutch didn't see it that way" because "[they] robbed banks, stole from the rich, and gave the money to people who needed it more." Marston notes that their methods came from Dutch's view that "the system of power was rotten; that good people had been crushed for too long, and he believed that change could only succeed if it was brutal and relentless. Make America what he felt it was supposed to be." It is here where Marston reveals that his, as well as Dutch's, past decisions and motivations were not very different from the motivations and consequences of westward expansion and industrialization, in which change always comes at a price. That price, as Bonnie noted to Marston, is that the change may not always come in the ways it was intended. In Dutch's case, Marston reveals that "in the end, he went insane. Lost his faith in everything and everyone."
The notion of faith being synonymous with the individual's ability to take action, and to believe in a cause, is repeated at another point in the game, when Marston again comes across the young woman he overheard speaking to the priest on the train at the beginning of his journey, who had mentioned having difficulties distinguishing between right and wrong acts. Marston finds her sickly and suffering in the desert, yet completely unflinching in her faith, in civilization, in people, and in her belief that God will see her through her troubles. She relates to Marston, "I'm safe because I have faith. Faith can move mountains. That's the whole point. I can't do anything. But with faith, I can achieve great things. I know that. I know it. I get such clarity out here. I see things purely. The world is so beautiful." Her struggle, and her simultaneous belief that in that struggle she is able to find faith, meaning, and beauty, is the worldview very much shared by Drew McFarlane; it is the belief that at the edge of life and death, life becomes meaningful. For Dutch, on the other hand, losing faith meant losing not only his belief in people, but also resulted in an inability to accept that his own worldview may, in fact, have been flawed, a conflict that ultimately leads to his destruction. Before finally being killed at the hands of Marston towards the end of the narrative, Dutch relates to John that "We can't always fight nature, John. We can't fight change. We can't fight gravity. We can't fight nothing. My whole life, all I ever did was fight. But I can't give up, neither. I can't fight my own nature. That's the paradox, John."
Faith plays a key role in Marston's spiritual and ideological journey, for he, too, runs the risk of losing "his faith in everyone and everything." He has come to a point where he has not only lost faith in the government and the modernization of the country, but has also begun to lose faith in believing in any idea, any cause, or any belief. He has become skeptical of the world, of change in any form, and of those who fight for a cause. During his travels in Mexico, Marston becomes entangled in a civil war between rebel fighters and a tyrannical, brutal dictator named Colonel Allende, who starves and controls his citizens, captures and rapes women, and burns villages to the ground simply to assert his dominance. The rebel leader, Reyes, is seen by the people of Mexico as a man fighting to free the people from oppression, and to deliver a new age of economic prosperity. Marston, however, knows that Reyes is human, and in his travels with him, has seen that Reyes has fallen in love with his own image, and is not entirely the person he is perceived to be. While not yet a tyrant like Allende, Marston, and by extension the player, come to understand that with the right combination of power and time, Reyes could very well grow to become the man he fights to overthrow. While not inevitable, it is this possibility that fuels Marston's skepticism and jaded worldview on power and civilization, causing him to never truly stand behind any cause or idea throughout the majority of his journey. In fact, Marston and the player will come to complete tasks for both Reyes and Allende, all in service of Marston's hope that one of the two leaders, regardless of their ethical boundaries, will aid him in his search to find his former partners. However, it is during Marston's travels in Mexico where a famous gunslinger, Landon Rickets, asserts to Marston that his lack of faith and inability to take a stand behind any idea or value is, in and of itself, a stand all its own, one that ultimately leads nowhere. He relates to Marston that going above one's own interests and standing for a cause is important, because "those who sit on the fence make a choice in their own way."
Such sentiments are echoed by Luisa Fortuna, a young Mexican woman who is one of the rebel leader Reyes' many lovers (though she is sure that she is his only love), who tells Marston that "you make a choice by not making a choice." When she is told by Marston that her "nobility is almost as affecting as [her] naiveté" because of her devotion to the rebellion, her response very much mirrors Rickets' assertion, as she states to Marston, "I would rather be dead than a cynic like you, Mr. Marston. Don't worry about me. I am living in history. I am not afraid to die." Marston has come to see a futility and pointlessness to conflict, telling Luisa that "war is brutal and unnecessary and good people die and that's all it will mean" and concludes that "while there are guns and money, there won't be any freedom." Luisa, however, reminds Marston that "the difference is why... the ideals we hold. There can never be revolution without blood." Marston, however, fears that when it comes to revolution, eventually "people forget what they're shooting for, and just enjoy killing for its own sake."
Yet the truth about Marston isn't that he is a cynic, but rather, he thinks he might be one, a reflection that Reyes offers to Marston when he says "you are a romantic who wants to be a cynic." Marston argues early on in his journey that "we all live by a code. Some of us just don't realize it." The truth is that Marston is a man with a moral code that he himself does not fully understand because his developed ability to reflect on and regret much of his past has pushed him into a state of self-depreciation that never allows him to celebrate any of his own good deeds. He tells Reyes at one point in his journey, "very little is beneath a man such as me" yet despite having a very low opinion of himself, he displays a higher moral code than his former partners in crime, in that he takes kindly to those who lead quiet, hardworking lives, and those who, even in the face of hardship, don't attempt to impede or intrude on others. He tells Bonnie that "it takes more strength to stay than to run," and when she tells Marston that her and her father "don't have much anymore," he comforts her by saying, "you have enough. It's wanting that gets so many folks in trouble," and relates that "there's no better night's sleep that after an honest day's work." He accepts much of the worldview that was related by Drew McFarlane, as Marston responds to his own wife's question of "what is fair?" by replying that "some trees flourish, others die. Some cattle grow strong, others are taken by wolves. Some men are born rich enough and dumb enough to enjoy their lives. Ain't nothing fair." Yet Marston also relates to his son later in the game that "every man has a right to change, a chance at forgiveness." He prescribes to a sense of humanism, noting to Reyes, "I don't care who a man is, what he does or where he's from. If he treats me right, I'll do the same." He values friendship, relating that "We die alone, but we live among men. We all need friends," and desires to be at peace with his place in life, telling Reyes, "It must be pleasant to be a man so at one with his destiny." While he once respected what Dutch had once been, Marston also has come to despise what Dutch has become, as he compares Dutch to one of the Federal Agents that is holding his family, telling the Federal Agent that "[Dutch] kind of reminds me of you. Violent piece of shit who went and confused himself with God." He even attempts to remind Reyes to not make the same mistake as Colonel Allende of letting power get the better of him, warning him, "if you win power, remember why you wanted it." Marston's moral code can be best described as that of humble individualism. He believes that ideals and causes, under many circumstances, can drive individuals to want power, where few are able to handle it without impending on the lives, freedom, and independence of others. He celebrates the individual, particularly those who live quietly, free, and without arrogance, and those who respect other people's right to live and die on their own terms. Most of all, Marston believes that an individual can change, for better or for worse, and just like Sergio Leone, Marston very much understands that every person is capable of both the most heroic act as well as the most terrible one. Yet it is because of this reality that Marston believes in the idea of redemption.
It is Red Dead Redemption's deep, immersive, and varied narrative and character development that places Marston's tale and journey among the most deeply reflective, analytical, and comparative "Wild West" narratives in the history of storytelling. However, it is the manner in which this narrative is presented, digested, and fused with the unique aspects of the video game form that allows the full experience of Red Dead Redemption to elevate far beyond a frontier narrative, morality play, or even a complex character study. By infusing such a complicated narrative into the video game form, Dan Houser and his team create far more than a compelling tale; they ultimately produce a true, open, and free-spirited expedition into frontier life, allowing the story itself to come through organically, naturally, and patiently, slowly expanding and evolving through Marston and the player's journey, which in its entirety lasts in excess of fifty hours, allowing its impact to far exceed its film predecessors. Many of the dialogue exchanges, including several of the ones mentioned above, do not happen during set, uncontrolled scenes where the player is simply in the observer role. Rather, many of the dialogue exchanges in Red Dead Redemption are presented organically and naturally, oftentimes as the player is in control of Marston on his horse as he freely rides to each destination with whatever individual is accompanying him on his task. As the player directs Marston towards the destination, the Socratic dialogues between Marston and the companion take place, allowing the player to actively digest and reflect on the meaning of the conversation while simultaneously digesting the diverse, authentic beauty of the landscapes of the American frontier.
In truth, what allows Red Dead Redemption to ascend to not only one of the most compelling and complicated frontier narratives in storytelling history, but also into a truly defining and groundbreaking frontier experience, is quite simply because the open-world game design utilized by Dan Houser and his team allows the player to freely participate in the frontier itself, in all its varied forms, landscapes, human interactions, conversations, and conflicts. The process of actually playing the game of Red Dead Redemption, as opposed to simply observing it, allows the player to truly contemplate, first-hand, every facet and aspect of frontier life. Every town, every character, every landscape in the game exists as a living, breathing, and organic setting, free to be interacted with and explored in any order or at any time the player sees fit. Day turns to night, and night back into day. Citizens come and go from their homes, saloons, and shops, or riding in from other towns. They carry on private conversations among each other, or group together when outlaws attack their towns. Life within the game exists and proceeds with or without Marston and the player. The video game form allows Houser and his team to bring to life every possible detail, big and small, from the frontier setting and the breathtaking landscapes, to the towns and the epitaphs on gravestones, all free to be explored and discovered by the player in any order and at any time.
Furthermore, these details and participations reinforce the historical relativism and moral themes presented by the narrative, creating a wholly consistent and believable game world that allows the player time to digest and reflect on their journey, the characters, and the consequences that play out around them. During Marston's time spent with the McFarlanes, the player is given the opportunity to experience ranch life, helping Bonnie with the trials and tribulations of hunting and herding animals, breaking horses, and fending off bandits and predators from the livestock. The player has opportunities to sit down and play poker with the local farmhands, hearing them speak about their daily lives and opinions of the events happening within the game. In Armadillo and other small towns throughout the game, relationships can be actively created with local law enforcement, helping to track down criminals on wanted posters, bringing them to justice dead or alive. The player can help citizens in distress, whether it be a horse theft, kidnapping, or property dispute. We are even given the opportunity towards the end of the central narrative to allow Marston to spend time with his son, Jack, teaching him how to track animals, hunt, and survive in the wilderness, all while Marston and his son carry on conversations about life, regrets, and the nature of the world. Thus, their father-son bond becomes less about narration than it does an organic and evolving relationship.
In more complicated and interesting cases, Marston will come across situations and tasks that lend themselves directly to the central narrative's themes of coping with the past, the disconnect between frontier and industrial life, and living on the unpredictable edge between life and death. In one side story, Marston and the player come across a seemingly normal elderly man who wishes to bring flowers to his wife, that happen to grow in another part of the territory. After going to collect the flowers, the player and Marston return to the man's house to deliver the flowers, only to find the man's wife dead and decaying in her rocking chair. The man, unable to cope with the reality that she has passed away, has driven himself into a state of denial and continues to live as if she, too, is alive. In another vignette, Marston and the player come across a man named Jimmy Saint, a journalist from the big city who has travelled to the frontier to document what he calls the "spirit of the west." However, his romanticized view of the frontier and cowboy life is quickly shattered when Marston must rescue him after he is kidnapped by a group of bandits. Upon his rescue, Saint remarks that the West is nothing but "a bunch of men killing each other." In a more somber story, Marston and the player come across an older woman sobbing in a wedding dress, who has been waiting for her fiancée to come back from the saloon, who went to have them play her favorite song and has yet to return. Upon investigating the saloon and speaking to the patrons, Marston and the player eventually find the gravestone of her fiancé, dated from twenty years ago, that reads "Peter Turner, Betrothed to Miss Alma Horlick. Killed by a blow to the head on the 15th of January 1894. He will never dance with another." Such stories lend weight and reflection to Red Dead Redemption's believable setting, utilizing the video game medium's unique tools of environmental storytelling, in which story and theme is told not merely through dialogue, but through the player's direct interaction with the game world and all of its careful details.
Much like the narrative suggests about the nature of good and evil, however, citizens themselves will often display questionable or deceptive motivations. Marston will often come across scavengers looting dead bodies, or certain women claiming to be in distress who will often lure Marston to an ambush of bandits or robbers attempting to kill him for his money. Stranded men will often ask for a ride into town, only to attempt to knock Marston off his horse in order to steal it. Just like the narrative, the game creates a setting that is full of varying personalities, world views, and moral compasses, resulting in an authentic gameplay experience of humanism and moral ambiguity. Similarly, every decision and action that the player makes on Marston's behalf organically affects the world around him. Good deeds will eventually breed a positive reputation in towns for Marston, where he will be warmly received, while questionable deeds will slowly breed fear of Marston within the local populations. Completion of his missions will often have bigger, rippling effects that can be seen in local newspapers, sometimes as larger political consequences, particularly as he deals with local law enforcement or with the Mexican civil war.
By the end of the entire Red Dead Redemption journey, the player has come to have bonded so directly, methodically, and organically with the game world, its characters, its narrative, and its themes, that the weight of Marston's untimely death at the hands of the Federal Agents, and his son's subsequent decision to take revenge on the lead agent who used Marston only to betray and murder him in the end, becomes so impactful and moving that our direct participation in Red Dead Redemption, much in the way that real life experiences impact and stay with us throughout life, demands the player to reflect on the journey long after it has ended. The depth of the game's resolution, the feeling of the patient passage of time, the choices made and the ramifications felt, the player's connection to, and direct interaction with, the setting and characters, and the sense of loss, are all achieved and realized in a way that no other artistic medium could even dream.
It is obvious that video games as a medium have existed for several decades, having gone through several transformations since the days of the first arcades. Only recently, however, has an ongoing debate come to the forefront of the industry as to whether video games have evolved to the status of becoming art. While there are certainly arguments both for and against classifying video games as works of art, the topic will likely remain in contention for quite some time, as it becomes difficult to provide an objective definition of what defines “art.” Even today, with older and more evolved mediums like film and literature, there are still debates as to which movies and books can be considered art, and which are simply “entertainment.”
Instead, to at least understand how video games can be viewed as art, it may be more useful to compare their concepts and usefulness to another artistic medium in order to show a correlation between the two. After all, to those unfamiliar with video games, the idea of classifying them as art may sound somewhat absurd or far-fetched. However, when examining some of the more dynamic and adult-themed games currently in circulation, a number of strong similarities can be seen with one of the oldest and most developed forms of art: literature. From their use of varying perspectives and literary devices to their mature narratives and themes, video games and literature have more in common than may meet the casual eye, opening the possibility that video games might actually be a form of interactive art, offering as valuable of insight into the complexities of the human condition as well-developed literature.
Allusions to something? Anyone?
Without a doubt, there are obvious and distinguishing differences between video games and literature as mediums of storytelling. While novels rely only on written words and language to convey everything from plot and character development to imagery and themes, video games rely on many different tools, both visual and auditory, to convey their stories. With novels, the reader must use only their imagination and literacy skills to interpret and understand the concrete story being presented, and grasping onto deeper or complex meanings within a novel is dependent on a reader’s ability to understand the literary structures and diction applied by the author. With video games, however, the “reader” becomes the “player,” and as a result rely on a person’s ability to functionally interact and engage with the world and story depicted by the game developer directly, giving the player manipulative control on the environment, the protagonist, and in some cases even the overall outcome of the plot. In the case of video games, interpretation of meaning becomes more complex, as the protagonist’s experience with the story within the game world also becomes the player’s experience, allowing the player to partake in a more intimate and personal experience with the events of the story.
Add on other obvious aesthetic and functional differences to that list, and it becomes obvious that literature and video games are very different mediums; however, the similarities between the mediums, while far less obvious, are plentiful and varying, and offer meaningful insight into the usefulness that video games have as a medium to enhance our understanding of the human experience, as well as the potential that the medium may still have yet to fully realize.
Something Shrugged?
The first and probably most interesting similarity between video games and literature is their similar use of perspectives, or point-of-view. In literature, the three most common perspectives that are utilized are first person, third person limited, and third person omniscient. First person perspective is fairly self explanatory, where the author utilizes “I” as the perspective from which the story is being told, either through themselves or a character in the story. The third person limited perspective is when the author utilizes indirect pronouns such as “he,” “she,” or “them,” and the author’s narrator (ie the person telling the story to the reader) never references himself or herself, but only the characters in the story. Also, this type of perspective means that the narrator has only limited knowledge of the characters, and is unable to read into the minds of the characters, nor does he or she always know what characters are doing at every part in the plot. Finally, the third person omniscient perspective is similar to third person limited, with the exception that the narrator has a “god-like” quality in that they are “all-knowing” about the thoughts and actions of every character at any given time.
It is interesting to note that these three perspectives also happen to me the most commonly used in video games as well, and in many cases are utilized for much the same purpose. Just like in literature, the first person perspective brings the individual directly inside the character of video games, allowing the player to see the game world and story literally through the protagonist’s eyes, and creates a more personal relationship between the player and the protagonist, as well as the game world. The third person limited viewpoint is also used in video games, and typically describes a fixed-camera position behind the protagonist, allowing you to see the world from behind the protagonist while still allowing the player to view the protagonist as a separate entity. Even the third-person omniscient point-of-view is utilized frequently in video games, usually in the “strategy” genre, where the player is given an overhead, bird’s eye view of the game world, and allows them to manipulate many characters simultaneously, as well as constantly monitor multiple characters at the same time in different areas.
Mary Shelley would have been proud...
Another significant similarity between literature and video games is both mediums’ uses of literary devices to enhance reader and player understanding of the plot. In literature, a wide array of literary devices have been used over the centuries to both convey and magnify literary meanings, as well as to provide layers of meaning that go beneath the surface of the plot itself. One major device utilized are “allusions,” where an author will explicitly or subversively make reference to a major, recognizable work of art, literature, or historic event outside their own work, usually to relate the events currently unfolding in their own plot to an outside source.
Many video games in the contemporary era have also made use of literary devices to enhance meaning, especially allusions. For example, the video game Bioshock relies heavily on the use of allusions, so much so that the entire game is a direct reference to, and in many ways a strong critique of, Ayn Rand’s popular novel Atlas Shrugged, a novel that strongly supports the idea of unregulated capitalism and scientific advancement unimpeded by morality. To make reference to this novel, the entire game is set in a fictional city that attempts to recreate the utopia that Rand creates in her novel, with the exception that the game makes the city a dystopia of lawlessness and anarchy. The names of the characters in the game also allude to the novel, with characters like Atlas (to reference the title) and Andrew Ryan (a reworking of the author’s name “Ayn Rand”). Allusions can also be found in games like Metal Gear Solid, which makes reference to T.S. Elliot’s poem “The Hollow Men” by allowing the main villain of the game to borrow two lines from his poem, which read “and this is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper.”
Is he really doing the right thing?
A final similarity between literature and video games that is worth noting is that both have shown their abilities to connect with deeper and more complex aspects of the human condition through a wide array of mature, sensitive topics and themes. In literature, some of the most revered works that have been produced throughout the centuries have been those that examine sociological, political, ethical, and existential topics significant to the human experience. However, much like literature, which has evolved greatly since the early days of fairy tales of dragons and princesses, the video games industry has come a long way since the days of storylines revolving around an Italian plumber rescuing a princess in Super Mario Bros. In recent years, video games have wrestled with topics as complex and intricate as economic theory (Bioshock), the meaning of war in a postmodern era of private military companies (Metal Gear Solid), the conflict between selfish and selfless love (Shadow of the Colossus), the process of coping with personal demons in the search for redemption (Silent Hill), and even the moral complexities and intricacies inherent to playing God (Black and White).
There is no doubt that video games as a whole are still a relatively immature medium, having only existed in mainstream culture for just over three decades, while film has matured for over a century, and literature for several centuries. However, the potential that video games have already displayed to become a new, mainstream form of art is evident in the stark similarities they already display to literature, one of the most established forms of art. In fact, because video games are the first artistic medium to offer the concept of direct, real interactivity with a creative world, it might be realistic to assume that, in time, video games could become the superior of all art forms. After all, no experience is more real or significant than those experienced firsthand.
"I actually find this to be a fascinating blog. I've also been thinking about something fairly similar recently. I've never worked as a game designer, so I can't pretend like I know everything about this stuff, but I think some of the questions you raised are great for starting discussion on this stuff. It's kind of unfortunate that some people might see this as just a way to bash Demon's Souls as opposed to what it actually is. "
I appreciate that you read the blog this way, because that's exactly how I was hoping it would be received. I admire the fact that when you said "it's kind of unfortunate that some people might see this as just a way to bash Demon's Souls as opposed to what it actually is," that precisely what you predicted ended up happening. It's like you know the future!
To counter what most of the other posters are saying about this blog, the intention of the article isn't to make any comments about how good or bad Demon's Souls is as a game, nor to say the way it makes the game difficult is bad. I simply am trying to ask myself, and others, to ask which method of making a game is easier or harder to accomplish. If we as a gaming community want to judge our games based both on level of enjoyment, as well as merit, then analyzing how a game is made should definitely be considered. I would like to think that the level of attention and detail put into a game's design should be considered when we talk about a game's quality and what it adds to the industry.
I agree that there are more than these two categories for what makes a game hard. I simply use these two categories because I am only comparing two games.
Based on the title of this article, it may be assumed by those reading that I would take the stance that Demon’s Souls is not a game worth playing. The reality is quite the contrary. More than anything else, Demon’s Souls is a game that ultimately challenges players to examine the notion of game difficulty, and asks us to consider several questions regarding the relationship between game design and game difficulty: What aspects of a game make it difficult? What is the difference between challenging and difficult? Is there a difference?
The answers to these questions, particularly if you agree that there is a difference, all eventually lead us to the ultimate consideration that Demon’s Souls invites gamers to consider:
How difficult is it to make a difficult game?
The answer that Demon’s Souls relates to that question is one that could not be understood without the existence of, and comparison to, another game of a different genre: Ninja Gaiden. With both games in mind, the answer becomes quite simple.
It is not difficult to make a difficult game, but it is challenging to make a challenging game.
In the case of the two games above, Demon’s Souls would be difficult; Ninja Gaiden would be challenging.
I realize that based on the overwhelmingly positive reviews for Demon’s Souls, my statement may get under the skin of the game’s fan base. However, it is important to note that nowhere have I stated that Demon’s Souls is a bad game. I have simply stated that it is much easier to make a game like Demon’s Souls than a game like NinjaGaiden.
Everyone agrees that this game is hard...
Think about it. Reconsider the questions I posed above. How hard is it to make a game difficult, and what tools do game designers have at their disposal to make this happen?
What is actually being asked with these questions is how easy is it for game designers to kill you in a game?
Very easy. At every step through every part of a game, the designer plays God. Their power is limitless, and what becomes possible and impossible in the game world is entirely in the designer’s control. The player, on the other hand, is the guinea pig. While some aspect of player choice may be perceived by the player, the reality is that those choices have already been predetermined by the designer.
Therefore, any possibility of player death within a game is entirely under the designer’s control, and making a game difficult simply means the designer makes it easier and more frequently possible to die. This accomplishment is rather easy, and the choices the designer has to make this happen is varied: Increase the damage dealt by the enemy. Decrease the player’s damage dealt to enemies. Make more enemies. Make more traps. Decrease the amount of checkpoints between saves. Take away checkpoints. Take away saves. Decrease the amount of healing items. Decrease health.
This list could go on even longer, but the general principle will always revolve around one central concept: the manipulation of numbers. In each of the examples given, the designer is able to increase or decrease a game’s difficulty simply by manipulating a set of numbers.
In the case of Demon’s Souls, and with many games of the early consoles, this tool is the backbone of the game’s concept and design, and in most cases, the system is praised for its risk/reward factor. While the sense of accomplishment may exist from completing such a game, the reality is that not much thought or skill is needed to create a game with this type of difficulty. In theory, any designer could create the most difficult game ever made simply by setting the numbers against the player unreasonably high, and dropping the numbers associated with the player unreasonably low. As a result, the player would deal little damage, but take a lot; the player would have very little health to fight with, but have to deal with fighting enemies who could absorb a lot of damage.
I’m certain that this game would be very hard to beat. I’m also certain that this game would get praised for how punishing it was.
With Demon’s Souls, this results in only one real tool that the player must utilize to complete the game: memory. The player must memorize where the enemies are, and slowly and progressively take them out one by one. This is rudimentary game design.
However, the days of rudimentary difficulty in game design have long passed, and superior forms of player manipulation have surfaced that favor challenge and complexity over punishing difficulty.
Examine the aspects that make Ninja Gaiden challenging and you notice that none of the design principles have anything to do with memory of enemy locations, excessive punishment of the player with a lack of checkpoints, or overwhelming damage of enemies. Yet nobody disagrees that Ninja Gaiden is one of the most challenging games ever made.
The reason why Ninja Gaiden achieves that dichotomy is that the game designer gives the player more tools than simple memory: skill and variety. In order to be successful, the player has many methods for taking out the enemies, and survival has nothing to do with memory, and everything to do with reflex, reaction time, and dynamic strategies of using the wide array of moves and combos available to the player.
Simply put, the game favors complexity as the catalyst for challenge, not number manipulation. As a result, Ninja Gaiden is only as challenging as the player’s lack of skills and reflexes. No battle will ever play out the same, even when the same battle is fought several times after death, because the game does not allow memory to become a factor.
...but this one is actually challenging.
Moreover, when the player dies, the game does not elongate itself by placing the player at the beginning of the level, instead using checkpoints to encourage the player to experiment with new techniques without worrying about unreasonable risk.
It is no secret that gameplay is unrealistic to the way the real world works. No matter how difficult a game is, it never truly reflects the impossible realities of the scenarios that we as gamers play out in our games. It will never be realistic to assume that any one, ordinary soldier could slaughter hundreds of equally skilled soldiers. Games will always favor the player (the protagonist), much in the same way that movies do. Otherwise they wouldn’t be very fun.
But as long as we strive to make the notion of game completion an actual accomplishment, the decision on whether or not a game should be difficult or challenging must be addressed.
Should game difficulty be designed with challenging complexity in mind, and not simple difficulty? Should game design favor player skill and dynamic gameplay over player memory and numbers manipulation?
We can thank Demon’s Souls for making that a question to ask.
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