|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
Gamers' Philosophy II: "Love" is a Four-Letter Word
By: Robert Hall
Love. L’amour. The most complicated emotion in the human psyche. Nearly every organic species that is divided into genders desire love in some form or another. For this reason, the subject is popular in every form of media. Since the 1930s, radio and television soap operas have used the concept of love and romance to drive its content almost exclusively. Movies, of course, have utilized the theme in romantic comedies and dramas. And music, particularly the soul, country, and rhythm and blues genres, are almost exclusively ruled by the subject of love.
But this is the 21st Century, dammit, and we’re here to talk about videogames, right?
In the early days of gaming, the idea of love and romance was used as little besides a carrot which dangled before the hero, urging him to complete the set of tasks put before him. Mario and Link, heroes of the Super Mario and Legend of Zelda series of games, had their respective princesses to rescue from the main villain. Double Dragon featured the protagonist, Billy Lee, as he attempted to rescue his girlfriend, Maria, from his evil twin brother, Jimmy, leader of a sinister street gang. (Now that, folks, is a Days of Our Lives plot if I’ve ever heard one.) Unfortunately, as most female gamers will agree, this era wasn’t very well-known for equal-opportunity in gender roles.
Since that time, videogames have grown to become a respectable and rich source of storytelling. Larger disk space, greater production staffs, and more impressive budgets allowed more fleshed out characters, more elaborate plot points, and greater instances of interaction between characters. No genre, however, has benefited from these improvements more than role-playing games. With that in mind, it can easily be stated that role-playing games, as well, have made romantic themes a prominent element of the genre.
In my last article, I stated that the “function” of a role-playing game (an RPG) is to manipulate the emotions of the player. By far, the easiest way to achieve that goal is by immersing the player in a story that, at least in part, centers around the concept of love. With that in mind, the romantic subplot has become a staple (some might even say a cliché) of the genre. As many players can attest to, this subplot is featured through the exploits of the “supercouple”, the primary pair of lovebirds.
Usually, the “supercouple” turns out to be the main hero and heroine of the game, though this is not always the case. In particular, the Lunar series has become famous for creating several romantic pairings within the player’s party as a whole. Usually, in an RPG plot, the romantic feelings the characters feel for one another somehow becomes entwined with the main plot itself. For example, in Grandia, Justin, the main character, is pushed to fight against seemingly insurmountable odds in order to rescue the girl he loves. In Tales of Legendia, it could even be argued that the love story between Senel and Shirley is actually the main plot of the game, while everything else is merely secondary. As is common within the genre, when the love between the supercouple somehow becomes threatened by the machinations of the antagonist, the heroes fight back with everything they have and usually prove, once and for all, that “love conquers all”.
This idea, simple as it may be, was pretty fun the first five or six times it was featured. It’s become remarkably less so during the six or seven thousand since. Unfortunately, the romantic story in role-playing games has become an overly-used plot device. While it’s true that other forms of media use the device just as (if not more) often, the nature of videogames creates a significant problem.
While playing through Tales of Legendia earlier this year, I couldn’t help but notice one particular nuance the game highlighted that has always left my head scratching when I play through an RPG. Though the game is obviously centered upon the sexual tension between its supercouple (Senel and Shirley), it makes sure to throw in one added complication. It seems that every female character, especially those on your team, is somehow interested in getting in Senel’s pants.
In a soap opera, the love triangle (or, worse, love-polygon) causes the audience to wonder exactly what the hero will do to solve it. Will he remain true to his love for the heroine? Will he succumb to the lusty gazes from the insidious femme fatale? And what about little Betty Sue with the innocent schoolgirl crush? Will pursuing his one true love wind up breaking the poor darling’s heart? This is what nets ratings for these shows and help them remain on the air for twenty or so years of recyclable cast members.
Unfortunately, videogames are an interactive media. And, with that in mind, most role-playing love triangles don’t make much sense. In Final Fantasy VIII, Squall and Rinoa’s feelings are focused on extensively, but we also learn that Squall has another admirer: namely, his former instructor, Quistis. Unfortunately, this character dynamic is never developed during the course of the title, leaving one to wonder why it was even mentioned in the first place. The player had no control over whether to pursue Quistis’s feelings as opposed to Rinoa, and, in this writer’s view, that’s quite stupid within an interactive media.
Since the player is intended to put himself in the shoes of the protagonist, the more choices that are denied to him or her, the less the player actually feels like it is him or her in control of the action. It’s like trying to ride a bicycle that ultimately steers itself. Even if the ride is fun, when the bike turns left when the rider wants to go right, it’s still frustrating. To that end, no matter how charming or endearing one tries to make the main character’s love interest, it’s almost certain that one player might not feel like he or she is their “type”.
Many games tend to solve this problem by merely doing away with any love story whatsoever. This is fine, of course. Not everyone requires that particular fantasy to enjoy a story. However, the vast majority of people can find some sort of satisfaction from the teasing of their deepest romantic fantasies. Hell, I, personally, consider it to be one of my favorite things about the RG genre. For that reason, rather than see romantic subplots expunged from RPG stories, I would like to see it become much more interactive.
It is worth mentioning, however, that there are numerous titles that have attempted to give players some sort of control in this regard. In Phantasy Star IV, for example, the player actually gets to choose the romantic pairing for three generations of heroes. The choice results in the siring of a different set of protagonists for the following generation, thus allowing the player to actually breed his or her own choice of hero.
The Star Ocean series has attempted to give the player this sort of choice as well. Last seen in Star Ocean: Til the End of Time, the player is often asked a question that almost always results in particular characters growing to like the protagonist more or less. In the end, the player is treated to a finale where the hero is paired with the individual which garnered the most affection. And the examples don’t end there. In particular, two western titles, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic and Jade Empire allow the player to not only choose whether or not to pursue an object of romance, but their moral center as well. This is a pretty good idea, and one that would benefit the genre as a whole should more follow this example.
Keep in mind that I’m not asking for every role-playing game to become a dating-sim. Not at all. I’m simply asking for developers of the genre to stop shelling out romantic subplots in shallow, trite instances. And for God’s sake, women are more than MacGuffins with breasts. A girl that does nothing but pine for the hero’s attention while waiting to be rescued doesn’t make me motivated to play - but motivated to tear the disc in half.
-- Robert Hall
|
|
|
|
|
Advertisement
| |
|
|
|
|
Home
