Following my series on narrative formats, I thought it worth thinking a little about the relationship between narrative, storytelling and games more generally.
Storytelling and narrative are central components in many forms of entertainment. In traditional dramatic media, the authored story engages the viewer emotionally through a set sequence of predetermined pieces of information, like beads on a string. If the term ‘story’ describes characters, events and plot, then ‘narrative’ describes how the story is told.
The relationship between narratives and games is well documented yet it remains contentious. At the heart of the stormy relationship is the apparent contradiction between predetermined storytelling and user control, and existing and emergent story lines.
At one end of the scale, the use of traditional narrative structures within games takes its inspiration from classic literature and Hollywood and delivers finely crafted, but largely fixed, story lines in which the player has a walled garden of opportunity. At the other end, hypertext narrative suggests stories that emerge entirely according to the user’s interactions with the game environment.
Commercial computer games rarely choose one of the extremes when approaching narrative. Instead, they seek to balance participation with presentation. This judgement is not purely artistic, there are serious pragmatic considerations with delegating control to the user or not. Given story lines provide context and player-character motivation as well as helping to control the pace of the user experience and providing respite in the activity. However, almost all single-player games structure play around a narrative containing a clear goal, some ultimate triumph and a defined finale.
‘Serious’ games have clear objectives for player achievement that are transferable to spaces outside the game world; they are rarely ends in themselves but mechanisms to improve skills in other domains. Serious games tend to provide virtual facsimiles of their target environment and its behaviour to facilitate easier transfer. Central to this portrayal is the structured, and therefore restricted, presentation of events, actions and consequences: within serious games, the role of the narrative becomes more pronounced.
However it is not just games, serious or otherwise, that benefit from the effective combination of storytelling and control. Just about any activity that involves communication benefits from the right balance between receiving and doing. Get it right and the user feels part of the experience, get it wrong and they remain separate and disengaged.
I had thought that I would be able to conclude the series on interactive narrative with a flourish talking about 2-screen TV, this being the season for reality shows and all. Alas, for reasons known best to the broadcasters, this year’s incarnations of Strictly Come Dancing, The Apprentice and others are bereft of the social media accoutrements that they enjoyed last year.
2-screen TV describes a version of simultaneous narrative that complements and supports ‘live’ events. It is a situation whereby the audience ‘participates’ in a parallel but linked environment. The BBCs’s Apprentice Predictor was typical.
The Apprentice sets Twitter alight every broadcast. The target audience are particularly network-savvy and opinionated.
Recognising that the community already existed, was engaged and vocal, the BBC gave them somewhere to gather – the Predictor website. Although ‘live’ for the duration of the series, the Predictor came into its own during the broadcast with viewers able to comment on the proceedings and in a beautiful playful way, attempt to predict who was going to be fired.
Roo Reynolds wrote about it and included this video clip of the Predictor in action:
Another BBC show, Strictly Come Dancing, created Strictly Social as a vehicle to support simultaneous activity during the broadcast. It provided a structured focus for chat, comments and audience scoring. Comically, it also offered the facility to cheer and boo, virtually.
The fact that the participation wasn’t acknowledged in the broadcast (in any more meaningful way that advertising the existence of the site), let alone influencing the judging did not detract from the audience’s pleasure – it put them in touch with thousands of like-minded individuals to create a unique shared event.
Lots of shows now host simultaneous online communities that chatter away during the broadcast (although one might argue they are not providing anything more than Twitter or Facebook except channel advertising). However, Channel 4′s Seven Days actually allowed users to communicate with the onscreen participants for real. Their ChatNav website offers a direct line to the show’s stars and promises to influence the course of events.
In real life, Twitter has provided a ‘back channel’ for conferences for some time. It enables audiences to discuss the presenter’s current topic in the background. It can be a highly disruptive activity – in both a positive and negative way. At its best, audience comments can be incorporated into the presentation, either in the form of discussion or to help the presenter tailor the talk more appropriately. At its worst, it can fatally undermine the presenter’s talk by damining it with a barrage of criticism.
What all these illustrate is the ability to engage an audience without necessarily offering them any real control but the fellowship of community instead. And that community writes its own story and defines its own narrative.
The whole Interactive Narrative series is:
P.S. If anyone can offer an explanation for the premature demise of 2-screen TV from UK broadcasting, please let me know. c
So far as we’ve considered interactive narratives, all the models have had one thing in common – a predetermined ending. Like it or not, the authors of the experience have, more or less, decided when it ends. Dynamic narratives offer users object-oriented storytelling which extends for as long as the user wants or the narrative elements allow.
These dynamic experiences may contain discrete storylines (in the form of implicitly linked events) but have multiple connections to other event nodes built into them. This allows the user to construct a narrative at will and where the relationship between characters or the plot revelation unfolds unpredictably.
This model potentially provides a high degree of personalisation because it opens the door to optional elements. Of course, you may want all users to see all the pieces regardless of the sequence but this ‘pick and mix’ approach is the essence of user-defined journey. In learning terms, this is illustrates the user’s ability to choose components between an initial diagnostic and a summative assessment.
Finally, experiences without end. In games such The Sims, without declared goals or a finite number of prepared events, there can be an implied or emerging narrative as stories evolve from a dynamic play environment. These open-ended experiences develop a continuing story through the behaviour and interactions of characters and forces within the milieu. The unfolding events are entirely determined by user actions and world rules – that is things happen according to fixed algorithms but are conditional on unpredictable use.
Although simulations and game worlds may not contain pre-authored dramatic events, they create their own storylines. Lisbeth Klastrup describes them as “tellable events…which would retrospectively make good stories” (pdf). In these unending stories, the user can play forever but it is arguable that without the imposition of goals, the experience never reaches a satisfying conclusion – something that a good author always delivers.
The whole Interactive Narrative series is:
As an alternative to the different routes between common events offered by parallel paths, non-linear narratives offer the user the chance to control the order of the stages between the beginning and the end of the experience.
Again all the content is predefined but the user can sequence the material in a manner of their choosing, rather like connecting assorted lengths of pipe. Although every viewer receives the same introduction to the narrative and, in most cases, the same ultimately successful conclusion, they choose their own route through the elements.
Each story segment has to be self-contained without any dependency on prior experiences because of the inability to know where the user is coming from but collectively the elements work like a jigsaw puzzle to present the full picture. Puzzle adventures such as Myst demonstrate this approach by offering a free roaming experience through related challenges. Only at the end, when all the pieces have been explored is the storyline fully understood and the conclusion sensible.
The random rearrangement of elements is the basis for films such as Momento and, more recently, Inception but in traditional media it is the author who determines the sequence. If they do it well, they seed each sequence with sufficient clues to simultaneously reward and tease the viewer. These gentle interdependencies help reinforce the experience. The educational thinker John Dewey identifies the educational importance of continuity by arguing that every experience takes something from previous events and modifies the perception of those that come afterwards. Most valuable experiences only “live fruitfully and creatively in subsequent experiences” he says in his book Experience and Education (p28) [summary].
The crucial aspect of this non-linear model is its ultimate need for completeness: although it doesn’t matter what order the user examines the content, for it to make sense, they have to see it all.
The whole Interactive Narrative series is:
Parallel paths overcome some of the production challenges of a strict branching narrative by reducing the total number of tracks down to just two. This limits the options even further than the constrained branching narrative model but still allowing a level of user choice.
Parallel paths offer the user two distinct paths and ‘junctions’ where the tracks combine. This allows the user to experience consequences of his chosen actions but returns him to predetermined points where the story can advance in a more managed way. By hopping from node to node like this, the user has a high sense of control even if his experience shares much with that of other users. For example, BioShock allows users to decide on one of two strategies: ‘Kill Little Sister’ or ‘Save Little Sister.’ Each option has a unique set of challenges and consequences but the paths come back together at key points in the game, allowing the user to continue with their chosen course or switch approach.
One advantage of the parallel paths approach is that it can, as illustrated by BioShock, offer the user the choice between ‘Good’ and ‘Evil’ paths. This provides the opportunity for presenting alternative perspectives whether that’s a moral choice or as mundane as a customer-seller viewpoint. In that respect it has a significant level of replayability because the user’s understanding of the environment as a whole is enhanced by the alternative approach.
The whole Interactive Narrative series is:
This instalment of my series on interactive narrative focuses on branching.
In many respects, branching narratives represent the opposite end of the spectrum to traditional linear narratives. Branching narratives are the most common attempt at truly unconstrained and interactive drama where the player’s behaviour materially influences the conclusion.
Instead of a single continuing storyline, branching narratives offer the user consequential choices. Each decision offers a unique path in an ever-diversifying array of events. Although the total outcomes will be finite, branching narratives give the user control over the course of the action. Rather like changing the points on a railway line, branching narratives allow the user to determine the direction of the train, and therefore its destination, but not the path between points. The game designer determines all the available options but the user decides the route through them.
In a truly branching narrative, every decision has a unique set of consequences. This reflects real life where every choice provokes an avalanche of outcomes where future options are a direct result of an individual’s behaviour. There are circumstances in reality when an individual’s choice is illusory and just as when this occurs in real life, the facade of control in games is quickly obvious and deeply unsatisfying. The opportunity to genuinely choose the path of discovery offers the user real control but every true option generates at least two outcomes. The combinatorics quickly become unmanageable from a production perspective. Even offering the minimum of two choices per decision at each stage the number of outcomes multiples exponentially, according to the simple equation o = 2s where S is the number of stages. For example, it is clear that three stages result in eight possible outcomes.
Obviously, with this method of interactive drama, as well as effort required to generate each possible path, there is a large amount of redundancy – the user only explores one of the total number of paths through the material (n), this means every user misses the majority ((n-1)/n*100%) of the content unless he revisits the story multiple times. Revisits can offer rewarding alternatives and genuinely new insights into the game world but this assumes that each option is equally well thought out and credible. It’s not just the practicalities of production that make true branching difficult, it is extraordinarily hard to generate multiple outcomes that offer an equivalent level of satisfaction from an cognitive-emotional point of view. It can feel as though each alternative outcome dilutes the quality of the conclusion for the user with some endings just plain disappointing.
The key differences between the branching narrative of a computer game and the chaos of real life are richness, flexibility and predetermination. In life, there are no certainties of outcome or total control over parameters – it is intrinsically unpredictable. Games, on the other hand, are, at the current time at least, entirely human constructs with little, if any artificial intelligence. Every decision and outcome is, if not totally predefined, the consequence of predetermined models and rules. The constraints of the production mean that narrative cannot be entirely free. Instead, producers regularly draw the narrative back to shared nodes. These nodes appear as the consequence of possibly unrelated decisions and provide a means of limiting the range outcomes.
If you’ve ever read a Fighting Fantasy book or Leila Johnston’s Enemy of Chaos, you’ll be familiar with arriving at the same point from multiple directions. It’s a methodology that works – it’s not entirely free but the balance of control and storytelling is enough to satisfy.
Parallel narratives next…
The whole Interactive Narrative series is:
In an increasingly multiplatform, multiformat world, the way we combine activity with storytelling fascinates me. Although usually associated with video games, I think the principle of ‘interactive narrative’ applies to all the domains where we punctuate presentation with participation.
[To clarify, I'm using the following definitions: ‘story’ describes characters, events and plot; ‘narrative’ describes how the story is told, or more pertinently how the experience is structured.]
The use of story lines within video games is an established mechanism to improve engagement and provide structure for play. In his excellent blog, Chris Bateman identifies six categories of game narrative which, almost inadvertently, describe the main ways we interact with any content. They are:
Over the course of this series, I’ll try to unpack some of those concepts and identify where real opportunities lie.
Traditional Linear narratives reflect the historical, single path and singe conclusion storyline of novels, theatre and film. Even though there may be periods of user activity, the audience is a passive receiver of information crafted by another’s hand. It is the most common and understood form of narrative where all users travel the same path and come to the same ending.
The linear narrative predominates in single-player video games, exemplified in titles such as Halo and Metal Gear Solid. Within this model, users must successfully complete a stage before receiving the next episode of drama. These stages of player activity exist within envelopes of freedom that offer the illusion of control between set pieces. The dramatic elements of these cut scenes provide both a reward for progress and a motivation for continued participation. These games emphasise the pivotal role of the player in the story by establishing a role-playing scenario – the user plays the central character. Yet the loss of player control, however temporary, during these cut scenes undermines notion that the user determines the games outcome; as a consequence they are not universally appreciated.
Just watching video sequences, even if you pace them yourself, is not fun. It’s not even really a videogame. It’s just stupid remote control tricks. (J C Herz, Joystick Nation, 1997, p147)
Herz identifies the challenge of managing expectations, at one moment the game is reliant on user participation, the next events are out of his control. Indeed if game play is “a series of interesting choices” as Andrew Rollings and Dave Morris say (Game Architecture and Design, 2000, p39) then without this interactivity, the resource ceases to be a game at all. However, even in games that offer a single plot line delivered through cut-scenes, there is opportunity for ‘interesting choices’ and each user’s experience is still slightly different because of the differing pace and depth of exploration. Some users will explore every corner and avenue of each stage, determined to discover every element of the environment. This slow and methodical procedure is in marked contrast to players who race through stages, intent on completing each one as quickly and as efficiently as possible. By choosing the critical path through the resource and charging across the game world at breakneck speed, these lightning players inevitably will miss elements and subtleties of the storyline and context although this may not necessarily affect their personal enjoyment.
This ‘striped’ approach to content is extremely common, not just in games. The approach relies on the illusion of control to maintain ongoing participation – there is relatively little space or opportunity for variation (even during the periods of user activity). It’s the commercial television model for scheduling – break the programme with advertising (when the viewers can do their own thing – so long as it only takes three minutes).
The challenge for producers is making the experience as responsive as possible and that means using the periods of activity to personalise the passive elements before moving on to the next episode.
The whole Interactive Narrative series is: