Why do many video games include mechanics that vie the player an illusion of autonomy? We’ve seen this over and over in the games we’ve played this quarter, especially in the narrative games we’ve played this week. In Butterfly Soup, there are many instances in which the player is presented with a false choice where all of the choice options lead to the same conclusion. Interactive games like Gone Home allow the player to pick up and examine mundane items that are not relevant to the game’s story. These mechanics convey a feeling of autonomy to the player, when in fact they are not in control of the story’s direction.
To me, the largest example of false autonomy we’ve seen is the solitaire application in Telling Lies. When I first saw this, I became convinced that there was some sort of clue or secret part of the game hidden in the solitaire app, and I played several games on it. However, the app contributes nothing to the game’s story. It even pauses the game clock so that the player doesn’t lose time playing solitaire. Thus, whether the player uses the solitaire app is completely irrelevant to the progression of the rest of the game. Ever since I first realized this, I’ve wondered: why include the option at all if it has no impact on the story?
I don’t think there’s a clean answer to this question. Different players enjoy these false choice mechanics for different reasons. Some might like exploring every dialogue tree possible in Butterfly Soup, while others like throwing random objects around in Gone Home. Maybe some people just like playing solitaire, and use Telling Lies to do it. But despite all that, I think we can examine these choices as a unified phenomenon. They all give the player very limited autonomy to alter the game environment in some way, without affecting the linear narrative of the game. This leads us to interrogate this idea of autonomy: what does it actually mean to have control when playing a video game?
Ultimately, many games are linear in nature. The player either makes it to the end of the game in a predetermined fashion or quits playing. This means that by a broader definition, most actions or choices in games are not autonomous, as they don’t truly shape the plot of the game in any significant way. However, I don’t think most players of action or strategy games would argue that their decisions have no effect on the game. Although the game itself runs on a linear track, how the player interacts with it can shape their own experience of the game. When we look at false-choice interactions through the lens of player experience, I think they make a lot more sense. Butterfly Soup and Gone Home use these mechanics to add detail to their worlds and to give the player a stronger connection with the character they are playing as – instead of just watching a given character make a decision, the player must actually interact with the game to move the story forward. The solitaire app in Telling Lies works similarly – counterintuitive though it might seem, pausing the main game experience to play solitaire for a few minutes can make the player feel more like the character they are inhabiting is a real person, rather than just an avatar of the game’s story.
Thinking about choices and interactions in games through the lens of the experience those choices build, rather than just the mechanical effects they have on the story, justifies many of the mechanics that confused me. In fact, I would go so far as to say that many narrative games would feel empty if they railroaded the player through all but a few key decisions. Adding false-choice interactions allows the player to identify more strongly with the character and learn more about the story of the game. In this regard, I suppose the solitaire game in Telling Lies, pointless though it is, makes complete sense.
Image credit: http://www.playstationcountry.com/telling-lies-ps4-review/
This is really interesting! I loved reading about how you thought there was a clue in the Solitaire game, that was really charming yet insightful.
I’ve thought about this issue of false choices as well, particularly because so many games employ them- and I find myself really frustrated after I find out a choice I made meant nothing. Sometimes it’s subtle, and you only find out after talking to another player, or seeing it on the wiki, and sometimes you can tell immediately because the game railroads you (such as in Butterfly Soup, when I wanted to go to Noelle’s house mostly because I disliked Min- and try as I might, I couldn’t romance another character, nor stop myself from falling into a romance with her). I often think of these as the result of time, budget, or effort constraints, but it’s interesting to see them framed in this roleplaying state, as a kind of emergent narrative the player participates in. I have thought about some “meaningless” choices in much the same vein, particularly dialogue options, the sort that come out to “yes” “most wholeheartedly agreed” and “yep”. Even just choosing the style of speech your character adopts can be meaningful to a player, even if they cannot actively participate in the conversation.
Ultimately, this attempts to answer a question I’ve wondered myself- why include dialogue options if they have no effect on the story? It’s interesting to explore how the player’s emergent roleplaying experience (independent of game mechanics, i.e doing things that have no impact on the gameplay or story but simply for their own experience) can impact a game and game design. Definitely a lot to think about both while playing and designing games!
I think your question “why include dialogue options if they have no effect on the story?” is an interesting question and is always something I think about when I consider narrative, whether in games, books, or just film. But in games, I think it is exceptionally fascinating because I think the morality and personality of the player is what makes the game and its narrative. I often think about games that have binary moral systems. These games frustrate me, simply because I want to explore all the routes and options but physically can’t make myself (or, rather, my character) out to be the bad guy and go down that downward slope. Although totally different, since this system does impact the game in some matter or form, it is the concept of the player coming in with their own morals and judgements that applies to all games, regardless of whether this binary is there or not. So, even if choosing between “…”, “yes”, or “YEAAA” may seem like a rather negligible choice, it allows the player to implement themselves and their own personal character into the game, making the experience, which was made for the masses, entirely their own.
I’ve done a lot of thinking on this topic. When I played Pokemon, I kept running into dialogue “choices” that not only didn’t create a change in narrative, but did not affect dialogue at all. I guess it’s a consequence of meaning in media being derived from user experience/intended user experience. The illusion of choice generally suffices to create enough of a feeling of choice to adequately provide meaning.
I’m reminded a bit of a story I heard from the Mass Effect developers. For those who don’t know, Mass Effect is a game that lives and dies by its meaningful choices, radically shifting the narrative depending on who you save or what missions you complete. I remember the developer commenting something like 80% of people picked the good option in most scenarios, and it really made me think: could the developers have gotten away with not fleshing out the “evil” option, simply because it wouldn’t be a part of most people’s experience?
This post was really interesting – the positives of these false choices, rather than simply the negatives, I feel aren’t really touched on that much. Games like Heavy Rain were criticized a lot for this, but at the same time, I feel like that title would be much, much worse if all of its false choices were replaced with railroading instead. A comment above mentioned Pokemon in the context of this point, and I must agree – a lot of JRPGs in general (though they often contain a few actually important choices) are filled to the brim with meaningless ones. Nevertheless, the JRPG remains one of my favorite game genres, and I adore each and every one of the dialogue choices I made which only influences a slight variation on a dialogue box.
Further, I feel like there is some crossover between your belief that Solitaire in Telling Lies holds secrets, and game urban legends in general (speaking of Pokemon, does anyone remember people trying to interact with that mysterious truck in Pokemon Red to get Mew?). As gamers, our brains are wired to see connections, even when they aren’t really there. Even tiny details about games that seem slightly mysterious, to us, could hold vast, untapped secrets.
I loved reading your analysis of how false-choice mechanics enhance player immersion by giving more time to engage as the avatar and understand their motivations better. This makes me wonder if there are similar “mechanics” in other narrative mediums that enable this type of immersion by introducing elements that are “not relevant” to the linear plot.
What comes to mind are “filler episodes” on TV. The effect of these episodes on immersion varies in my opinion. At their worst, filler episodes break immersion by deviating from the main plot and adding no compelling reasons to warrant my attention. At their best, filler episodes can add new information and flesh out characters in meaningful ways.
Ultimately, I believe that this is less effective than false-choice mechanics in games at inspiring immersion. However, that may be because shows are already segmented, which naturally impedes immersion by forcing the audience to stop before they decide to do so themselves. False choice mechanics on the other hand do not halt progression, thereby preserving immersion. Playing Solitare in Telling Lies, for example, does not take time off the clock. Nor are players forced to play it.
I absolutely love that you brought this up, and that you played the Solitaire game. It made me think of two things: one, the illusion of control as safety for playing a game. For games like last week, that had branching narratives, the illusion on control is important because you want the audience to believe everything they do means something–while it would be impossible to make a game with infinite branching for each and every decision. Take Telltale’s Game of Thrones game. In the beginning, you make a decision and you believe that decision kills a protagonist. You’re horrified, and after that, you take everything more seriously, afraid of making the same mistakes–and not knowing that the even was scripted.
Then, there’s how you mentioned throwing things in Gone Home. It reminded me of the first and only time I played a VR game. It was Chair in a Room: Greenwater. I spent almost the entire time in the opening room, throwing chairs and bottles around with glee. I think, while not important to a larger narrative, there is merit to extra bits. It makes the world feel larger and more complete.