There is a trend that’s been going on for years in modern videogaming, and it’s the whole moral choices structure of games. Seems like every game now has to have a duality system integrated where you can act either like a saint or a total douche. It’s all part of an effort to customize, individualize the gaming experience to every player. We live in a society where nowadays every little thing tries to convince you they’ve been made for you; through its name, YouTube wishes to remind you that its yours, and Apple, with its iPad and iPod and iEverything, even by-passes the need to tell you by simply implying through their names the devices are already yours. But let me plead for the contrary.
The reason why videogames go the whole customized-moral-choices system is to ensure the best immersion possible. Immersion being the legendary mother lode of gaming, the goal towards which each game designer runs frenetically, convinced their idea is what’s going to immerse us completely. Recent efforts towards 3D gaming and motion sensor technology are steps taken towards immersion. Weirdly enough, I already experience immersion in my videogames to a satisfying degree, so I’m left to wonder to whom are these technological promises destined.
Because immersion is a difficult concept to define (I would even dare say it is a personal matter, each player gets immersed in her own way), I can only attempt to humbly present my very own definition, which is sure to change over time. To me, immersion is the meeting point where every aspect of a game seems natural and logical, where the game is done convincing me of its reality and can just go on to being what it is. Some very simple games have immersed me. Uninvited (Kemco, NES) is a point and click game that’s as far removed from motion controlled technology as can be, but its claustrophobic ambiance gets me every time I play, because the tone, graphics, and system stay in equal relation to each other throughout the whole game.
Games that try to provoke immersion through a moral choices system are taking for granted that the player absolutely has to be as close to his own personality as possible to get immersed. As if I needed to be zapped in a game, Tron-like, to be able to fully appreciate it. What if I wish to experience someone else’s life? Isn’t it what other mediums are already offering, to a degree? Books have extended internal dialogue possibilities to expose and justify its characters; movies have a whole visual language to immerse ourselves, capable of defying what the human eye can normally see. What do videogames have to immerse the player then?
Actions. The possibility to interact, to change the environment. I can feel a bond as a player with my avatar if I can act his way. If I come to a point where my actions are the same as my avatar’s, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I am immersed.
Moreover, if I try to accomplish an action that is not necessarily required by the game but the game rewards me for it, then I’ve become the avatar, and the immersion is all the more convincing. Let’s call that the mundane. In-game actions that serve to illustrate that the character can’t help to be himself even outside of the main quest confines. And these mundane gestures simply add to the characterization, and a good characterization goes a long way in justifying the dramatic weight of the events of a main quest.
*Spoiler alert, Zack!* Examples of the mundane are found in many games. The very best example that comes to mind is the Romantic achievement in The Darkness (Starbreeze, Xbox 360) (once again, if you’ve never played it, you can find it almost anywhere now for around 10$, and it is an excellent single player experience; I mean, Mike Patton cast as the voice of the Darkness demon? Come on!). You get that achievement by simply staying a little while with your girlfriend to watch a movie. Simple. Achievement junkies will just scoff at how easy it is to obtain it, but imagine my surprise when I obtained it without even knowing of its existence! The game basically rewards you for being a normal boyfriend and spending a little ‘we’ time with the significant other. Of course, rewarding this emotional investment pays back in full further down the road in the main story quest.
A lesser emotional example, but a good one nonetheless, would be found in Lego Harry Potter: Years 1-4 (Travellers Tales, Xbox 360). At one point during the game, in one of the Hogwarts courtyard can be found one of the ‘students in peril’ (you don’t need to save any of them, but it is required for 100% completion). This particular student, unlike the others, is not caught up in a surreal predicament, like others found in spider webs or kidnapped by house elves or whatnot; no, he is simply being bullied by a group of other students. You have to zap your magic to the bullies to ‘save’ the student ‘in peril’. Which is awesome, because, to some extend, it’s one of the things Harry Potter and his friends do, helping students with their many problems, school bullying being one of them. The game doesn’t dwell at all on the subject and this moment is innocently integrated in the flow of every other objectives it offers, but the small pride I found myself experiencing just by saving a student from his bullies made me feel for a fleeting second that I was Harry Potter, doing his thing.
Moments like these in gaming are rare opportunities to bond the player with a personality that is not his, the personality of his avatar. Game designers and writers have to stop seeing an all fleshed-out avatar as a wall between the player and immersion. Instead they should try to find original ways to nurture that possible bond, and I suggest that the mundane is one of them.
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