A couple of months ago, I wrote an article in the Destructoid community blogs about isolation in video games. While it’s hardly one of the things I’m most proud of writing (it seems everything I write for their Monthly Musing topics comes out like a five-paragraph essay, somehow), it’s something I want to explore more in games.
Isolation is a powerful feeling, and single-player video games are in a prime position to really deliver that feeling more than most other types of media. Movies aren’t often made with the lone viewer in mind and books typically aren’t effective at delivering a second-person perspective. A one-player game can affirm that you, the player, are alone.
But how do games hitch onto that ugly fear in the back of our heads? I mentioned some games in the previous article that have planted that seed of uncomfortableness in my head; Illusion of Gaia did a pretty good job of making me feel alone (a game that’s STILL a steal if you find a usd copy), with its constant reinforcement that you are different and alone and hanging out in dark voids and such. Even when you’re with another character in that game, you still feel alone; while I’m not entirely sure the developers intended that level of nuance in the design (let alone the localization team in their script rewrite), I think they accidentally stumbled upon something pretty important there.
Likewise, many of the Metroid games don’t give you the benefit of someone to help you. While I haven’t played anything from Prime on, I remember the 2D side-scrollers cultivating that isolation by never putting you in contact with other people. For some reason, I have this terrible fear that Nintendo ruined it in the later games by putting in a radio commlink to home base, or something. If I’m wrong, feel free to correct me, but it seems like everything these days has a way for other people to communicate with the player.
It’s one of the things that ruined Dead Space for me, based on the (admittedly small) amount of time I spent with it. Now, maybe saying “ruined” is a bit harsh, because it certainly isn’t gamebreakingly bad, but it was enough to make me feel it didn’t reach its potential: despite being the one guy in an alien-filled hulk who can fix something, the game doesn’t allow you to descend into that terror fully because it keeps you on a tight leash with its in-game communicator. Again, perhaps this changes later in the game, but from what I played, they turned what had the potential to be the most terrifying, isolating game into a mere cheap thrill.
Surely, though, there are other ways to isolate us in games. It can’t all be about being stuck on an alien planet. But how else do you communicate that aloneness to a user, let alone in a way that will be fresh and moving and profound and without a billion-dollar budget?
I have to admit that this question isn’t entirely without reason. As of this writing, my game dev collective has started work on its first game, which will touch upon isolation in several ways that (I hope) will be new and interesting. I’m unsure how much I should talk about it, simply because I hope you’ll all experience it with fresh eyes when we put it out into the wild, but tell me: what games have made you feel alone? Why were those games, specifically, able to move you?
Wednesday, 3. December 2008
Your observation about Dead Space (which I think doubly applies to BioShock) is something I hadn’t considered while playing it. There was some adventure game I played on the mac a long time ago that had a similar theme, but terrified me when I was younger since the only sounds you hear was the empty space ship, your own footsteps, and the eventual terrifying cry of a monster or something. The only human contact you had was finding DNA samples of deceased crew members. Pretty creepy.
Anyway, I think that the Myst games do this terrifically well, or at least the first one. Despite the fact that there was very little negative consequence in the game, I had no idea what to expect as a kid and had to play with my Dad in the room otherwise I’d get scared. I think isolation is a great theme to explore through the gaming medium, although I think it’s becoming less common of a theme as these developers try to make their games a more ‘cinematic’ experience.
Wednesday, 3. December 2008
The first two Metroid Prime games kept Samus in complete isolation, but the third introduced a generic space admiral and a flotilla of vaguely familiar spaceships. You don’t stay in constant contact with them, though, and after a few hours Samus is all on her lonesome again.
There’s also emotional isolation, of course. Far Cry 2 has its vaunted buddy system, but interaction is so sparse and stilted (which makes sense, considering they’re tough-guy mercenary types with no previous ties) that it only heightens the sense of distance and dislocation.
Thursday, 4. December 2008
This is the primary reason why ICO and Shadow of the Colossus are both so successful, I think. In both games, the devs put you in these massive worlds that were nearly empty. That’s why it was so easy to get attached to Yorda and Agro.
And to second Garrett, the scale of the Far Cry 2 map was also key to its success. The firefights were intense, but once they were over you had this overwhelming sense of silence and isolation — one of the ways the game was able to make a point about violence being silly and self-defeating, while still basing most of its gameplay on AWESOME VIOLENCE.
Tuesday, 9. December 2008
@tiff totally true about BioShock bieng another fantastic example. I REALLY want to know what that mac game is, let me know if you remember!
@Garrett, I have heard such things about Far Cry2– do you think that the isolation is purposeful, or the opposite of the intended effect? Either way, it sounds amazing.
@Mitch, great call on ICO/SotC. I can’t believe I forgot to mention them.
Thursday, 11. December 2008
Well, the feeling of being completely alone in a devastated and almost entirely hostile foreign country was definitely intentional, but I’m not sure about the awkwardness of the interactions. The only thing you have in common with your “buddies” is that you’re all perfectly capable of killing any number of dudes, and you never hang out with them outside of doing that very thing. So even when I was with my “friends” I still felt totally out of sorts. It provoked the same kind of existential crisis I feel when I go to a show alone, but with more guns.