Contents

The beginning
The conclusion

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Conclusion

Examples of the clash between these two forces abound in both passive narrative forms and in real-world gaming. Movies about sporting events are often unfulfilling because of the preparatory effects which narratives must use to generate emotional involvement. Because of these preparations - particularly various forms of foreshadowing - the dramatic outcome of any story is often logically known, or at least suspected, before it is revealed. At first seemingly counterproductive even in stories of a non-sports nature, this "tipping of the hand" actually allows the storyteller to work with or against the audience's beliefs or suspicions, prompting the audience to doubt, moving them to hope, all through an ageless methodology based on creating tension. But in sports-oriented stories all of this preparation for effect works directly against the unprepared effect necessary for suspense in games.

As the story aspects of a sports story generate tension through foreshadowing, this necessarily renders the last at bat, the final shot, the big race as more predictable than they would be if occurring in real life. Who doubts the hero in a baseball movie will hit the desperately needed two-run homer in the last at bat?

Contrast this with the emotions felt when the game is live and it's your favorite player at the plate, and you have no predictive clues as to what will happen. Sure, your favorite player's hitting .400 lately, and the pitcher's last start was shaky, but that's nothing compared to the foreshadowing you'll be prompted and goaded with in a well-crafted story. If instead of a live event you're now watching a movie where the batter's abandoned and now reclaimed son is waiting breathlessly in the stands, under the wing of his mother, who still loves this man who left her for his dreams, who would you bet is going to get a hit?

Notice, too, what happens when moments in real life games become too story-like, as did crippled Kirk Gibson's famous home run, which won a playoff game for the Dodgers in the bottom of the ninth inning. These moments, veering uncomfortably close to manufactured drama, are almost always described as (and literally were in this case - repeatedly) "a moment a screenwriter would come up with": meaning, a real event has happened by chance in exactly the same way it would be executed dramatically. This intrusion of perceived effect (narrative preparation) can make an audience perceptibly uncomfortable, even though they know that what happened was not prepared in advance.

Drama must be wary of leaning too close to game play as well. There is the case of a theatrical play in which the staging of a picnic scene called for two actors to be opposite each other, down stage (closest to the audience), tossing a ball back and forth. The director hoped to use a layering of actions on stage to increase the depth of dramatic meaning in the scene, but the audience's attention was instead solely focused on the actors playing catch, riveted by the thought that at any time the actors might loose an errant throw and literally drop the ball. Playing catch is not a game by the present definition, yet the simple reality (interactivity?) of the process completely destroyed suspension of disbelief in the drama. If, instead, one actor was pitching and the other trying to get a hit, the "drama" of such a blatant contest would surely demolish any interest in the stage play.

The above are instances in which game play and story seem to damage each other. To see why this happens - why it must happen - we need to look closely at how the emotional power of games and stories are destroyed for an audience.

We've said that in both game and story the ending holds the payoff. For an audience interested in hearing a story, there's more than just a simple social gaffe committed when one member reveals the ending, because the possibility of fully experiencing the story is destroyed. Revealing the ending damages a story's power because all of the preparedness in the beginning and middle is revealed for what it is - manipulation. Because that manipulation is intended to support uncertainty of outcome, and now does not, the audience's ability to enter into a state of suspended disbelief is crushed. In fact, although the compromising of uncertainty of outcome in a story is perhaps the greatest damage that can be done, anything which intrudes upon suspension of disbelief precludes audience involvement in a story.

But how can the ending of a game be revealed, when the events of a game aren't prepared beforehand, or suspension of disbelief be shattered when there is no suspension of disbelief? Yes, a friend might let out the final score of a game you'd taped for later viewing, but that's the same kind of destruction of uncertainty of outcome that cripples storytelling. The real distinction between stories and games as it relates to preclusion of audience involvement centers not on uncertainty of outcome itself, but on the relative state of mind of the audience.

Where stories require suspension of disbelief before emotional involvement can take hold, games conversely require active belief that each participant is trying as hard as they can to achieve victory. If a player were to intentionally try to lose, then this belief on the audience's part would be misplaced, which is why scandals involving fixing or throwing sporting events are so damaging. When an audience does not believe that the outcome of future games is unprepared, the integrity of the sport as a whole comes into question, with the consequence that the audience cannot care about or become emotionally involved in the contest.

So not only are story and game achieving their emotional power through uncertainty of outcome in exactly opposite fashions, but the power derived from one method destroys the power of the other. The audience must on the one hand disbelieve in the preparedness of stories, and on the other believe in the unpreparedness of games. If we believe in the preparedness of a story, that is if we openly, consciously admit that it's all rigged, then it holds no emotional weight. Similarly, if we disbelieve in the unpreparedness of a game (believe it is prepared), it's meaning is void. For stories and games to be joined, the audience would have to be able to enter both states of mind simultaneously.

If what's desired is emotional effect on par with the best that stories and games can present to an audience, then story and game must not be made interdependent and thus allowed to cancel each other out. For those products where game play is primarily important, story must at the very least be segregated. This approach is demonstrated in mainstream games like Archimedean Dynasty, and others of this kind, where the game play arises from missions or levels of a tactical nature, while the story plays out in a separate strategic narrative. For products where storytelling is the focus, game play (as defined above) must remain segregated, and interactivity must be carefully tailored to fit. This approach is demonstrated in games such as Riddle of Master Lu, and another games in the adventure genre, which successfully blend narratives with interactive puzzles.

Mark Barrett has worked in a number of different roles in the game industry as a game designer, story writer and project management consultant. He has worked on such titles as Fighter Squadron: Screamin' Demons over Europe, Dark Side of the Moon and Settlers 3. You can learn all about his past experiences and read his other articles over at his web site, Prairie Arts.