Takeaways, Messages, and Themes

Bioshock, Bioshock 2, The Walking Dead, The Cave, Mass Effect trilogy, Spec Ops: The Line

As mentioned in the Project Description/Introduction, I’m not aiming to usher in the widespread artistic acclaim that video games have always deserved, because they don’t. Not yet, anyway. Video games have been coming into their own as a storytelling medium for some time now, and have succeeded in telling stories in many ways. In fact, evidence of this may be the takeaways that video games leave players with at the end: the messages and overarching themes they can pick up from playing through the game, same as they might notice themes in their favorite novels and movies. Video games have been working to make players feel, and not just in a primal way that horror games do with fear; not just in a way that makes the player a witness to events; not just as a sequence of events that end in victory. By presenting players with characters they can care about, conflicts they invest in, and choices that matter, video games give players narrative takeaways that, in some eyes, are on par with the takeaways from the literary greats.

The Bioshock series (2007-2013) hits the player with a number of points, the greatest of which may be the “Would you kindly?” mechanic; when characters ask the player, “Would you kindly do x-thing?” it always becomes an objective, something that we, as gamers, do not question. We simply complete. For example, one of the first things to happen upon arrival in Rapture is the radio in your underwater transport coming on, and someone on the other end asking, “Would you kindly pick up that shortwave radio?” And we pick it up without a second thought. When players learn from the perceived antagonist just what they’ve been doing the entire game, that characters have been using the phrase to control the character and, by relation, the player, it flips the mechanic of objectives on its head. Players wonder why they do what they do when they don’t have a stake in the situation, demand more from hollow experiences, and likewise feel violated over what they, through the game, had no control over the entire time.

But narratively, it also shows the impact that one person can have, often a running theme in video game narratives. In Bioshock, it is the impact that one man and his drive can have on the lives of those around him: he can either use his drive to destroy and conquer those around him, or harness it for good and give life back to those it was stolen from, through giving the Little Sister characters a chance at a normal life. Perhaps it even holds to the concept of redemption, that someone can buck the destructive life they were meant for, or brought into, in order to make something positive out of the negative origins.

Bioshock 2 (2010), through its story centered around Subject Delta and his Little Sister, Eleanor, focuses on the impact of parent-child relationships. Even though Eleanor’s biological mother is present as the main antagonist, the bond formed between Delta and Eleanor reflects that of a father-daughter bond, and in many ways, it’s that bond that stands with most of the themes present in Bioshock 2. For example, the concept of paternal love is heavily played on, what it means, and especially how far one would go for their child/ren. Delta fights through the underwater hell of Rapture, more hellish even by Bioshock’s standards, in order to save Eleanor. The plot device of “you can’t leave without her or you’ll die” does lock players into that narrative with no exit, but it’s just as much an act of parenthood as it is a narrative device. Of course Delta will fight through hell and high water for Eleanor, not just so he can escape, but so he can escape with her.

Further, it brings into light the concept of influence, and how parents and parental figures have an impact and an influence in their children’s lives, not just because of what they say, but what they do. Throughout, as in Bioshock, Delta can adopt, then save (reverting them to human girls again) or harvest (by extracting the ADAM-rich sea slug inside them) other Little Sisters he finds throughout Rapture, and he can decide whether to kill or spare other individuals that have some impact in Delta’s life. Aside from the ramifications this has on the ending given to players, it also furthers the concept of the parent-child relationship, that parents are always influencing their children, even if they don’t realize it.

This segues directly into the idea of killing, of if it’s ever truly okay or acceptable to kill. For example, is it okay to effectively kill the Little Sisters (gaining ADAM and making the game easier, in a sense) to save Eleanor? What should we, or even, what would we, sacrifice to save those dear to us? This concept is explored, albeit in a general sense, in Missile Command; is it right to sacrifice a city to preserve a missile battery, or vice versa? The concept of killing becomes fuzzier when it comes to the trio of kill/spare characters encountered throughout the game: is it right to kill the singer who tried to stop your progress based on her beliefs? To kill the journalist who destroyed a section of the city and set in motion Delta’s horrific transformation into a Big Daddy? To kill the scientist stuck in a containment chamber, mirroring a form of assisted suicide rather than murder? It’s a heavy theme that players who take pause can find themselves struggling with, during and after gameplay.

The Walking Dead (2012) also aligns itself with the parent-child bond and its effect, but in a different setting under very different circumstances. Lee, the main character, essentially adopts the young Clementine after she saves his life early in the story; bear in mind, Clementine is about eight years old and has zero biological relation to Lee whatsoever. What players know of Lee pre-game is sparse: he was a history teacher, not a brash person, but also capable of killing when pushed to his limits. What players can observe through the five episodes is the new role Lee takes on: the role of father. In a way, players see something shift in Lee as he puts everything into Clementine’s safety and well-being, physically and emotionally. Whether it is their newborn child or, in Lee’s case, someone one has taken responsibility for, as much as it changes people in reality, it visibly shows how it can change a person through Lee.

Directly off of that, The Walking Dead looks to the idea of legacy, especially when it comes to children and Clementine. Based on actions or inactions (whether they are factored into the plot or not) of players, they can surmise what kind of person Clementine will become, from how they treat her in conversation to what they encourage or prevent her from doing, all the way up to how she will ultimately leave Lee. Just as it looks to the bond between parent and child, The Walking Dead asks players what they will leave behind in others, because of what they did, or what they didn’t do.

What I always found interesting in The Walking Dead was how it explored humanity, and what it meant to be human, whether the undead roamed or not. What did it mean to be human? Did it mean trying to save a man in the forest, even if all hope seemed lost? Was it trying to save a woman attempting suicide, not so she wouldn’t attract the undead, but to try and help? Was it sparing the still-human family who would have otherwise eaten you and your friends? Choices and dilemmas popped up all throughout The Walking Dead, forcing players to not consider right and wrong, good and bad, but their humanity. Was it worth trying to save a lost cause? Are allies worth more than children? When should we stop trying to help? In the end, what does it mean to be human? The definition is different for everyone, and The Walking Dead has presented the dilemma excellently.

The Walking Dead (the franchise now, not the game) is unique in its narratives, in that it deals in a lot of the same content across the board, from graphic novels to television show and into the video game: a lot of ideas of humanity, of legacy, and of what desperation can do to a person. The graphic novel and television series show audiences those conflicts through drama, through placing the characters in such situations and forcing the audience to watch them as they struggle to the end. The video game, and many video games, holds that dramatic tension by putting players in control of the narrative, ultimately choosing how the story will progress, who will proceed, and so on. Themes are important, especially in The Walking Dead, and the medium they are shared on makes quite a difference. So these questions, themes, everything, will surface in all kinds of media, but they are tackled differently depending on the medium they come from.

The Cave (2013) has its messages in its main narrative: go to the Cave and search for, and attain, the thing you want most. But what does one do once they’ve acquired said Thing? While the game shows what can happen in the pursuit of unbridled desire, it presents a choice, albeit an invisible one, close to the end: to return your Thing and leave the Cave empty-handed. Of course, returning your Thing is the only way to truly escape the Cave; holding onto it and trying to leave triggers a ‘negative’ ending, but in a way that makes sense. The Cave challenges players by asking what matters more: the thing you desire most, or the journey to attain it? Is it truly the thing, or is it everything we learn getting to it? Or, further, is it our attachment to things and power that tie us down in a place we can’t crawl out of (the Cave) until we let go of them? For a cartoony, mischievous adventure into the humorous darkness in humanity’s hearts,The Cave can hit the right thematic notes if one pays attention and listens for its messages.

The Mass Effect trilogy (2007-2013) puts players in the thick of its messages and ideas, often making the player live them out, be it in combat or in downtime. It explores impact, both big and small: how will your actions change the world around you? Will they go largely unnoticed or ignored, or will they affect more than one can care to count? Sometimes, it’s putting our own weight in our actions that makes them meaningful, not what others dictate.

And on the same vein, as explored in Bioshock 2, how valuable is life? What constitutes a life worth saving or sacrificing? Is past history an indicator of future action? Is intent a saving grace, even amid horrific action? How does one choose, between two good people, who to save? When is sacrifice necessary, and when is it senseless? Mass Effect explores the idea, gives gravity to those decisions, and tries to make players think more about such actions.

Further, Mass Effect deals in loss; the aforementioned choice between two good people, a fateful standoff with a whole species in the balance, a suicidal mission, and a potential final run all deal in loss. How much do we, as players and Shepards, blame ourselves for these losses? Do we let them get to us, or do we power on? Part of what defines us is how we work with and through loss, andMass Effect shines light on that.

In the vein of loss, loss wouldn’t have the same impact were it not for the theme of unity. Shepard always travels with a team, except on very, very sparse non-combat info-retrieval missions and the Arrival arc. Shepard’s connection to their team is something that players shape, and that has an impact in the story as a whole: a Shepard with a strong, united team is mightier than one with a bunch of non-related guns. Even on a grand scale, in uniting the galaxy, if we can all find something to care about and fight for, we can rally behind it and actually have a chance of making it happen. Just the same, the games seem to show that a united front, in whatever form it takes, is stronger than sheer numbers and power.

Throughout the game, it tackles different concepts of love, and it is often up to players how they will define it. Is it the romantic love between one person and another, shared with one another; or is it the love that comes with working, fighting, and being together with a group of people, a group of friends? Are both relevant? Does one carry more weight than the other, or are they just different in their execution? Of course, this all requires players to talk to their crew past bringing them on missions, but it’s content that is there for the picking.

Perhaps most impacting in terms of Mass Effect’s themes is the idea of end, narrative or otherwise. In the saga, Commander Shepard will die, and whether or not they saved the galaxy, life goes on. The galaxy either rebuilds or falls, in which case a new civilization rises up. The story doesn’t end, per se, now that the player isn’t a part of it; in fact, with a free bit of Downloadable Content, players can see what happens, albeit generally, after they have made their choice. The galaxy floats on, but players simply don’t get to experience it as Shepard.

Further, the Mass Effect experience explores Narrative End, revolving around a player-created Commander Shepard: Shepard’s history up to the mission on Eden Prime was a product of the player’s input. In a sense, players dictate all of Shepard’s life up to the game’s beginning. In the end, they make the ultimate dictation in how the galaxy will operate, or will cease to operate, from that point forward (further assuming they have readied the galaxy enough for the battle): they can either Destroy or Control the destructive force, or Synthesize their DNA with organic DNA. Once the choice is made, there’s nothing more to choose, as it were. The ending has been decided. With this final, most important decision, the story of Shepard is over, but allowing Shepard to live would contradict the entire experience, because we couldn’t live for Shepard. Mass Effect threw an important concept at players that very few have taken kindly to; video games are, in a sense, not books or movies. The world and characters may live on after the credits roll, but Shepard can’t. Shepard is the player, and the player can’t experience anything else after deciding the fate of the galaxy, what with Shepard personally sacrificing her or himself or joining the civilizations in annihilation. The galaxy will go on, but without Shepard. That story ends while the galaxy lives on. The narrative has effectively ended.

Spec Ops: The Line (2012) was an under-the-radar attack to gamers and narrative, from the gameplay to the plot to the ending, primarily because it blended in with its counterparts: the modern war shooters. Its appearance gave the air of another run-of-the-mill shooting spree, and playing through it was a direct assault to those assumptions.

Firstly, Spec Ops satirizes war shooters. Many other war shooters put players in control of the faceless ‘one true hero’ to save America/Democracy/Earth from the terrorists/Nazis/aliens. Spec Ops makes Captain Walker, the player character, a flawed, imperfect person whose mission quickly becomes gunning down American soldiers to get to the bottom of a mystery he shouldn’t be a part of. And there we have the difference in character, enemy, and plot: while the ‘one true hero’ gets to do all of the great stuff and walk out unscathed (unless they die a plot-dictated death), Walker gets to leave his war with, at best, post-traumatic stress disorder or, at worst, a bullet he fires through his own head.

Other war games will point players in the direction of bad guy trenches and tell them to go to town. Spec Ops gives players enemies that speak their native English, wear their country’s armed forces uniforms, and claims to operate under the American flag. It’s an enemy that players have never faced, because what kind of hero kills American soldiers? And further, other games will throw their hero into a world-saving situation to stop the nukes/kill the warlord/blow up the aliens. Walker’s mission goes from recon to rescue to revenge faster than you can ask if you wanted to be a hero, and nobody actually ends up saved. It takes an entire genre and flips their standards on its head to great effect. In my experience, it has had players questioning what they’re doing when they play other war shooters, how they perceive themselves, and why they enjoy them so much compared to Spec Ops.

Secondly, Spec Ops raises awareness of war to a demographic that has been exposed primarily to Medal of Honor and Call of Duty, generally glorifications of war in their own rights. Saying nothing of its gameplay, which some have cited as clunky and awkward, Spec Ops puts players in the middle of the horrors of war and what soldiers can experience day to day: hostility on both the enemy and friendly front, choices of who lives and who dies, unavoidable destruction and death, and nightmarish flashes. Spec Ops portrays war as what it truly is: horrible, grueling, and potentially shattering on anyone who takes part in it, no matter what side they’re on. It stops making players out to be heroes and instead makes them just another soldier who suffers the same as anyone else who would be put through hell-in-a-warzone. By showing players a new side to war, instead of the glory and world-saving, many have come to respect soldiers more, becoming more thankful for their sacrifices so that we may freely enjoy our games and lives stateside.

Lastly, Spec Ops attacks gamers and their habits, namely, their compulsive need to proceed and win. Video games as a medium are becoming more than just a path to win, but there will always be that inherent satisfaction that comes with winning or beating a game, finishing a book, or sitting to the credits. The need for completion is hardwired into our narratives, all across the board. Spec Ops asks us why: why would we keep playing after we dropped white phosphorus on forty-seven civilians? Why would we keep playing after condemning what remained of Dubai to a slow death? Why would we keep playing when everyone around us was questioning our motives and who we were, to what lengths we would go for a fight we didn’t fully comprehend? Along with the four ‘main’ conclusions at the game’s end, lead writer Walt Williams said there was a fourth ‘real life’ ending “for those players who decide they can’t go on and put down the controller.” (Garland, 2012) For clarification’s sake, what Williams mentions is the ending: the ending is players setting down their controller and walking away from the game, effectively forcing an ending by not finishing the narrative. But it was almost always too late before players would consider it. By the time players crossed and completed The Line, it was too late and they had been broken as gamers and witnesses.

By bucking every expectation of the modern war shooter, Spec Ops: The Line forced players into an uncomfortable corner, but it was, and still is, a highly thought-provoking corner that I believe any shooter-gamer should be forced into. It makes players think in a way that the genre and the medium rarely does: through tearing its consumers down in order to build a more aware player and person in the end.

There are so many other ideas within games, even going back years and years, and in time, I may come to explore them (and am open to suggestions, too). Video games specialize in telling stories in a unique way, in an interactive way that written word and cinema can’t emulate. Just like other media & narratives, video games have the potential, not the requirement, to share messages and themes with its players, and it can be done effectively, as illustrated in the above examples. Sometimes it’s a matter of opening up to the game and letting it hit you, or listening to the dialogue, or connecting with the characters past avatars in a fictional getaway.

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