Gaming Narrative

Last week we talked about gaming narrative. This is actually a topic that I find very interesting because there seems to be a divide in the industry between people who like narrative in games and people who think that extensive narrative has no place in games. I personally think that games are probably the best way to tell narrative because the consumer actually moves the story along with their actions. Whereas a book or a movie puts the reader or watcher in a completely passive role, a game can tell a story by making the player a part of it. If done well, this can usually make the player more invested in what's happening than if they were just reading about the events.

While many games separate gameplay from cinematics, Bioshock is a good example of a game that does not. Half-Life 2 also did this really well. It puts the player in the middle of the cut scenes and designs them in such a way that compels the player to look where they are supposed to look. I really like this kind of solution because it adds an extra layer of immersion. In another game that would go to a cut scene, I would be reminded that I'm actually playing a game, but here, the events are happening all around me in real-time and I am a participant.

Some games, however, have very minimal narrative--just enough to give a reason for the mechanics and the end goal. Rayman Origins is a good example of this. The game starts with Rayman and Globox sleeping. They snore too loudly and apparently cause all of hell to break loose with their snoring. So now they have to make the world right again. This is an oversimplified, ridiculous story that only serves to explain why the player is doing all of these tasks. Still, it works exceptionally well and really makes the game that much more enjoyable.

I personally enjoy a large backstory and an extensive narrative to pull me into a game. This would explain why many of the games I played as a child were D&D games on the computer. The gameplay is pretty simple, but the stories were the reason I played. I always just wanted to know: What will happen next? What will the next region look like? Who will my party meet? That's what kept me playing even through the most tedious games.

Encoding/Decoding and Technology and Society

Well, this definitely was some dense reading. Unfortunately, I fear that much of the material discussed here flew way over my head. Here is what I managed to take away from Encoding/Decoding by Stewart Hall and Technology and Society by Raymond Williams. When deciding on a message to send, it is important to be aware of a few very important things or else the message you are trying to send can and probably will be misunderstood. The essay by Stewart Hall was mostly about this concept of creating the right message so that what you want to get across is the same thing that others see when they view your message. It is all about working with connotations of words and with the things people are generally familiar with simply from consuming media and observing the world around them. Personally, I find that my communication is often misconstrued and in my experience, the line between having a simple conversation with someone and offending someone is a fine line indeed.

The essay by Raymond Williams was more about television and how it affects us today. This is what I was able to understand from it, at least. I personally don't care much for television. Before I came to Ringling, I watched it a lot, but now the internet has replaced my television and I suspect the same can be said for many people with internet access. In fact, I think that this whole television debate will soon become obsolete and the internet will replace it. Most people use the internet like television already and it would be pretty crazy to talk about television and the internet without mentioning torrents and how easy it is to find television shows for free. I doubt that this will be going away any time soon. I think the internet will be in our living room instead of cable television and I think this change is already happening. 

Akira Kurosawa and his films

I watched three movies by Akira Kurosawa to analyze how prevalent his influence is through three separate films. The three movies were Throne of Blood, Seven Samurai and Ran. What's interesting about these movies is that two of them are based on Shakespeare plays, so another creative mind is already contributing to these works indirectly. However, it is known that Kurosawa writes his own films by himself, which makes sense because all three movies definitely seemed to be made by the same person. The cinematography was fairly similar across the board. All three films made generous use of dramatic pauses during which little to no action is taking place and the camera holds on one figure. Cuts are generally made only when necessary and a single shot is occasionally stretched to the maximum length it can be without getting uncomfortable. Also (and this may just be a trait found in Japanese films) the actors sometimes overact their roles. The moments are really dramatized and characters will often express their anger or frustration very frankly with body language or facial expressions. There is little subtlety to be had in these films.

Kurosawa's establishing shots are also very similar across these three movies. He shows the land in its natural peaceful state before he introduces the conflict that leaves the land foggy and covered in bodies. In fact, his pivotal battles are often punctuated by some sort of weather effect or an ominous fog to set the tone for the scene. Everything about his shots is extremely well measured and very deliberate.

Likewise, the lighting in Kurosawa's environments, especially his interior spaces, is hardly ever realistic. There is always light where there needs to be light and there is always shadow where something or someone must be covered. He uses light and contrast to bring attention to important characters or actions and when that light would not naturally be present, he puts it there anyway, because in the end, he is making a film that must read the way he wants it to. Sometimes he tries to explain that light with something like a gap in the wall. Other times, there is no reason for it at all. It simply needs to be there for the shot.

One last thing that I think is worth mentioning is the way he is able to communicate ideas and thoughts without a word of dialogue. The quality of these films is not very good, so the actors often had to compensate by very clearly showing their emotions on their faces. But at times, a character will say nothing at all while speaking entirely with their body language. They can express fear, dismay and even madness in this manner. It is really quite impressive what Kurosawa can do with visuals alone. 

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Notes

This is meant to be a movie that turns preconceptions upside down—just like McMurphy realizes that this isn’t what he signed up for, the viewers should go through a similar transformation. I want them to really hate McMurphy when he shows up and then I want them to become as attached to him as the patients are. At every corner of the hospital, I want there to be reminders that the staff control every single aspect of the patients’ lives and every attempt to give the patients the illusion of choice is as transparent to McMurphy as it is to the audience.

                McMurphy is as rebellious as they come and I think it is imperative that this shows clearly—even as he is trying to be cooperative in the beginning. His sly remarks must read as subtle jabs and his banters should be right on the edge of genuine. He knows he’s in a mental hospital, but he still has belief in his fellow man. He should be the only healthy person to speak to the patients as one sane man speaks to another. While the nurses may occasionally soften their voices or speak slowly and clearly, Mcmurphy assumes that they are as present in their minds as he is. Ratched is the only exception to this rule. Still, this is the mistake he and Ratched make—because they are mental patients, they are mentally unstable. They make radical decisions without considering their effects on an unhealthy mind. McMurphy gets them to break the rules and start rebelling while Ratched berates them and humiliates them, further degrading their mental states. This all comes to a head when Billy kills himself when he hears the threats Ratched makes. Just when the viewer starts to believe that these patients are getting better—just as Billy speaks without a stutter for the first time, Ratched says something that would barely faze a sane man, but Billy, as we come to understand, is not a sane man. None of them are and everyone is brought back to square one.

                Likewise, the patients are all there for a reason, and as such, most of the conversations between them and the outside world should be at least somewhat awkward and a little uncomfortable. They are not used to having such a smooth speaker and alpha male as McMurphy in their ranks and by the end it should be an honor for them to be in his company. This man is what little of the outside world that they get to see regularly and soon he becomes a symbol of the man they must be like to function on the outside—especially for Billy, who refuses to leave because he is no prepared.

                This also becomes a new experience for McMurphy, who was an alpha male on the outside, but never had much of a following. Here, McMurphy has a chance to be in an environment where he really is mentally superior to everyone he encounters and, as such, is able to get people to do things through his charisma. This McMurphy is the complete opposite of the McMurphy after the lobotomy. Throughout most of the film, he is trying to escape and in the end he does with the help of the Chief. The most important idea about this movie is that nothing is ever as simple as it seems and even in a controlled environment like a hospital, terrible, unexpected things can happen when something new is introduced.

Medium Is the Message

well, I thought this was an interesting book. So if I were to add another page, it would probably be a little bit more optimistic. And it would look something like this:

Thoughts on Lolita

Lolita is an interesting book because it deals with something that crosses far beyond the threshold of taboo, and yet it does it so skillfully and eloquently that the reader often forgets exactly what the book is about, which is a somewhat psychotic pedophile who is also a pathological liar. The only problem is, he’s really good at what he does—so good that the reader, if not primed to mistrust this man, may not realize that the contents of his “journal” are not coming from a trustworthy source. Of course, I’m talking about Humbert, in this case, not the author.

The narrator goes to such lengths to try to prove his innocence, but then he says things like, “I did not plan to marry poor Charlotte in order to eliminate her in some vulgar, gruesome and dangerous manner such as killing her by placing five bichloride-of-mercury tablets in her preprandial sherry or anything like that…” It completely throws the reader off and he’s slowly comes to realize that this narrator is either toying with us as he does with the psychiatrists, or he really does have a mental problem that can make him quite dangerous. It’s an amusing little dance he does between revealing what I imagine is his true self, and a masked version of his character that he uses to stay as presentable as possible for an audience that may be responsible for his fate.

What I really found quite unique to this book was that as I read it, I registered that the narrator was a little insane and had serious problems, but it was only when I started listening to the audiobook that I realized just how deep Humbert’s issues are. There was something about the way the voice actor talked that made it sound like he sincerely believed and agreed with the things he was saying—especially the parts where he laboriously pronounces Dolores’s pet name, “Lo-lee-ta.” I actually liked the story more when I was listening to it than when I was reading it. As I was reading, it just seemed like I was a passive observer—not even an observer, more like a secondhand listener being told a story from someone who heard it from someone else. When I listened to the audiobook, It felt like I was right there in the room with Humbert as he told me about his fetish for little girls and of his adopted daughter whom he has sex with repeatedly. It’s so much more visceral and it makes the detailed a thousand times more difficult to ignore.

            I like that Humbert really tries to justify his actions. He does not deny them. Instead, he reasons that he does not do any harm with his lust for nymphets. Also, according to Humbert, why does it even matter when the romans would molest twelve-year-old boys and holy figures would be wed to wives who had not even hit puberty yet? To him, there was nothing wrong with what he did, and that’s what made the book so interesting—it was from a perspective so utterly unlike my own, I have to suspend my disbelief to unprecedented levels just to get through it.

Conan the Warrior

Conan the Warrior

One thing I kept noticing was that Robert E. Howard went into very lengthy descriptions about the characters and the landscape he was introducing. Also, it seemed that he took every opportunity to make the characters as sexy as possible. When Conan laughs, he flexes his bicep for appeal. When he looks at Valeria, he pays particular attention to her large breasts and hips. You can just imagine how the scene would unfold in a movie—very little gets left to the imagination. The two main characters are beautiful beyond compare because they are the perfect man and woman (so it would seem) with no real flaws, except quickness to violence and occasional rash decision-making, both of which are still pretty attractive attributes. It seems that this short book was made the same way a sitcom would be made today—by which I mean it serves no real purpose but to entertain. No big ideas get thrown around, no morals are questions, and everything is pretty black and white. It’s just a book about two nearly superhuman characters messing around in a dangerous town and fighting off monsters and men alike with almost reckless abandon.

All in all, it certainly knows how to be entertaining. I completely understand the necessity for such literature. I also noticed that just about everything I’d consider cliché in today’s writing is a constant presence in Conan the Warrior: Women who move with the quickness of a cat and men who have bulging muscles just about everywhere. It’s one giant mixing pot of the things that gave birth to today’s genre literature.

Another thing I noticed was that Howard gives incredible details to little things like belts and clothes. He pays very close attention to how the clothes fall on the person wearing them—especially if the form underneath is still discernable through the clothes. This appears to be exactly the thing that many people would want to read about because such beautiful people simply don’t exist in real life and being able to get such an accurate description of what one looks like is just as good as seeing a celebrity or a 3d model of an incredibly attractive hero rendered on screen—and thousands of people pay to see that every day. Perhaps I'm over-simplifying it, but this is just how it seems to me. 

Gatsby Scene

          EXT OUTSIDE NICK'S HOUSE

          NICK exits the taxi that has dropped him off at his house.
          NICK's house is illuminated by a yellow light coming from
          GATSBY's house, in which every window is lit. Nick looks
          alarmed when he glances at his home, but calms as his gaze
          travels to the source of the light. As he looks onward, the
          taxi drives away and GATSBY, who was outside of his lit up
          home, approaches him.

                              NICK
                    Your place looks like the World's
                    Fair

                              GATSBY
                    Does it?

          GATSBY glances at his house without much interest

                              GATSBY
                    I have been glancing into some of
                    the rooms. Let's go to Coney
                    Island, old sport. In my car.

                              NICK
                    It's too late

                              GATSBY
                    Well, Suppose we take a plunge in
                    the swiming pool? I haven't made
                    use of it all summer.

                              NICK
                    I've got to go to bed.

                              GATSBY
                    All right.

          A silence ensues during which GATSBY looks somewhat
          impatient and NICK appears puzzled for a moment.

                              NICK
                    I talked with Miss Baker. I'm going
                    to call up Daisy tomorrow and
                    invite her over here to tea.

                              GATSBY
                    Oh, that's all right, I don't want
                    to put you to any trouble.

                              NICK
                    What day would suit you?

          GATSBY is quick to respond, overly eager.

                              GATSBY
                    what day would suit you? I don't
                    want to put you to any trouble, you
                    see.

                              NICK
                    How about the day after tomorrow?

          GATSBY stands back and considers the offer. His gaze drifts
          down to the lawn.

                              GATSBY
                    I want to get the grass cut

          NICK glances where GATSBY is looking and surveys the
          division between his lawn and GATSBY's well kept lawn.
          GATSBY appears tense.

                              GATSBY
                    There's another little thing

                              NICK
                    Would you rather put it off for a
                    few days?

                              GATSBY
                    Oh, it isn't about that. At least--

          GATSBY tries to put words together as he thinks of how to
          phrase his question.

                              GATSBY
                    How... do you... why I thought--why
                    look here, old sport, you don't
                    make much money, do you?

                              NICK
                    Not very much

                              GATSBY
                    I thought you didn't, if you'll
                    pardon my--You see, I carry on a
                    little business on the side, a sort
                    of side line, you understand. And I
                    thought that if you don't make very
                    much--You're selling bonds, aren't
                    you old sport?

                              NICK
                    Trying to.

                              GATSBY
                    Well this would interest you. It
                    wouldn't take up much of your time
                    and you might pick up a nice bit of
                    money. It happens to be a rather
                    confidential sort of thing.

          Realizing what GATSBY is trying to do, NICK cuts him off
          quickly.

                              NICK
                    I've got my hands full. I'm much
                    obliged, but I couldn't take on any
                    more work.

                              GATSBY
                    You wouldn't have to do any
                    business with Wolfsheim.

                              NICK
                    That's not why I'm refusing.

          GATSBY tries to start another sentence, but NICK's stern and
          tired countenance convinces him to leave. GATSBY takes a few
          steps back, crosses the line in the lawn that separates the
          unkept lawn from the neatly trimmed grass, and returns to
          his luminous home.
                   

Short Story From Photoset 4

To an outsider, the home of Philip Flanders looked just like any other ordinary apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He lived in the cheapest part of an expensive district. This meant that there was a chain link fence outside his building and the rest of the house remained firmly in the 17^th century, with peeling paint and rotting wood supports. What this shoddy exterior hid so well from the rest of the world was a shape shifter named Molly who lived in Phillip’s living room.

            Even on the inside, it would be hard to come to this conclusion, but the signs were all there—fur covering the couch, dark feathers littering the floor, several different claw marks on wooden armrests, bags of dog food and cat food in the kitchen. It seemed that Philip owned just about every animal possible, but there were no animals to be found. There was only Molly, lounging in the living room. The thing about shape shifters is that they can change into anything, not just animals—trees, rocks, whatever comes to mind. Animals are the most interesting things to be, so that is what they often are. But it takes them a very long time to complete the transformation. Molly was once stuck with a long furry tail for two days after being a house cat while Philip’s family was in town. She had to prepare days in advance, often locking herself in the cupboard for a few nights while her smooth skin grew hairy and her teeth sharpened into fangs.  She did not want to be seen looking like that; not after what happened when she first met Philip. Needless to say, the transition period was not a pretty sight. This moment, when the face still resembles a human’s and the bones are twisting into unnatural shapes, is when the shape shifter is at her weakest. This is the danger all shape shifters faced.

           

            On the day she arrived, Philip was celebrating unpacking the last box from his move out of Kansas. He was celebrating by himself because no one knew him, and he knew no one; except for his landlord, who only gave him the apartment because he had two months rent worth of cash in his hand. It was a stormy day outside and he was lucky to have shelter. Just as Philip looked out the window to admire how safe he was, a big black bird slammed head first into the glass, making a small crack in his window.

            “What the…” said Philip as he rushed outside into the rain. He saw a raven on its back, a tiny trickle of blood from its beak. Phil liked to think of himself as a tough guy, you had to in the Boston area, but deep down, he always had a soft spot for animals—and it had been a lonely couple of months. He decided then that the best thing he could do for this bird was to nurse it back to health. When he picked it up, he noticed a paper wrapped around its leg. Phil took it off and unfolded it. The paper turned out to be a series of photos, all of them dating at least sixty years back. They were in black and white and several of them were of the same girl with long frizzy black hair, smiling. On the back corner it said in neat cursive, “For Molly”. Phil laughed and put the roll in his pocket. “I didn’t think people still used birds to send messages.”

Philip would never forget the next few days. The bird quickly outgrew and broke the shoebox he had placed it in and all of the food he gave it was gone—including some food that he did not give it. Phil was surprised and more than a little concerned about this unexpected development. He thought briefly about killing this horrifying creature with a kitchen knife, but out of sheer terror (or maybe compassion) could not bring himself to do it. Meanwhile, it continued to grow and grow until it covered the entire table. Phil did not dare move it. What if it was contagious, he thought. Flustered, he studied the photos some more as the bird creature lay curled up on the table behind him. Perhaps they held a clue to this puzzle. He saw a girl on a bed with a dog whose hair that looked very similar to another girl’s long hair from a different photo. There was also a picture of a soldier who wore a beak-shaped facemask like there was something under it he did not want others to see. Perhaps the strangest photo of all was a picture of three people dressed as chickens in front of a painted background. For what reason, he could not guess.

On the third day, it began to resemble a monkey with feathers. He thought for sure, he should call some sort of pest control and get them to remove this thing from his home. “What have I done,” he would say as he walked around the mass of black feathers lying around the table. The creature would only look at him and sigh, like it was trying to say something but could not. That night, he picked up the phone and looked up the local pest control companies. Eyes closed, he pointed to a name on the page.

            “ASAP Pest Elimination, this is Fred, what can I do for you?” said a deep voice.

            “Hi Fred. I, uh… can… -can you please tell me what size pests you’re able to… eliminate?”

            “For the most part, any,” he replied, “It don’t matter as long as they’re smaller than a cat. Any bigger might cost you a little more. Whaddya got, raccoons, snakes?”

            “Well, here’s the thing—and I’m going to sound a little crazy, but I don’t actually know what it is.”

            “Well gimme something here, son. Can you describe it? Did you get a good look?”

            “It’s right here is front of me, actually,” said Phil as he glanced at the mass of feathers. Just then, it twisted and opened its eyes, meeting his gaze. Phil continued, “this is the part where I’m going to sound crazy.”

            Fred laughed, “Try me,” he said, “in my line of work, you see things.” Philip sighed and looked back at the beast. Its eyes were still on him. Its mouth moved.

            “Wait,” said the creature, “Please wait,” it pleaded.

Phil jumped and dropped the phone on the linoleum floor. It broke into three pieces: two halves and a battery. There was not even a dial tone from the speaker. He backed into a corner, paralyzed. Its eyes were locked on his.

“Please,” she repeated.

“What are you?” said Phil. She narrowed her blue eyes as if she was remembering something and looked away. Then its gaze fell back to Phil and the creature took a deep breath.

“They call me Molly.”

Philip paused and retrieved the strip of photos from his pocket. He found the one of the smiling girl with long curly black hair. Their eyes were the same. Turning the paper around, he read again the words, "For Molly".

To an outsider, the home of Philip Flanders looked just like any other ordinary apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts. But when your roommate is a shape shifter you nursed back to health in a shoebox—life is anything but ordinary.

The Wizards of the Oz's

After reading the 1900 story The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and then watching 1939 movie counterpart, The Wizard of Oz, I can say with some level of certainty that the movie took a great deal of artistic liberty with its version of this story. Still, I recognize that whatever changes it made were only to make the story more interesting to watch. Despite that (or perhaps because of it) I still prefer the original story to the film. I understand that the film was meant to be very playful and childish, but it was just too much for me--perhaps because I was born in a world where films did not have a cast of characters who would regularly break into song, and a man in a lion costume is a man in a lion costume, not a lion. I seem to have lost the ability to suspend my disbelief when the tricks the film is playing on me are so blatantly fraudulent. Even so, there was some level of charm the film managed to preserve. There was something uncanny, but also enchanting about watching so many happy characters dancing and singing in one scene.

One concept that the film did keep true to, however, is the idea that, "there's no place like home," a phrase, oddly enough, that is never actually said in the 1900 text, but heavily implied by the context and by Dorothy's  actions. I think this is a widely held view that most people would agree with. Even though Oz is so beautiful and fantastic, it is not Dorothy's home. And no matter how much enjoyment or friendship she finds there, she knows that she belongs elsewhere. Likewise, I consider my home to be Ringling because I have spent so much time here. It has evolved into my home over several years. There was a time when Memphis, TN was my home, but now it is where I go to be with my family. When I am in Memphis, I'm happy, of course, to be with my parents and I don't take that time for granted, but I am also eager to go back to Florida, as Dorothy is eager to get back to Kansas.