Getting Hard: Difficulty as Narrative Tension

It’s no secret that games have become much easier since the late 1990′s. In many cases, this was a necessary step that video games had to take in order to mature as a storytelling medium and to appropriately satisfy a larger audience. Difficulty was once a large contributor towards replayability and a game’s longevity, but as gaming became a vehicle for fully realized narratives it was made clear that a difficult game discouraged players from seeing a story through to its conclusion.

In many aspects, where we once sought points and progress as tangible rewards, we now seek cutscenes and storytelling as our carrot-on-a-stick. This situation creates a poor incentive to play, in my opinion, and is thoroughly shallow and unrewarding. I submit that difficulty, though much forgotten, is a much more powerful storytelling device than cutscenes or dialogue alone. In fact, it has more, if not the most, tension building potential than any other game-play aesthetic.

Though I stop myself short of saying that difficulty has become a lost artistic practice, it is plainly apparent that arcade shooters, complex fighters, intricate platformers, convoluted adventures, and incomprehensible roguelikes have fallen into obscurity. These were genres that were defined by difficulty and depth, where players knew upon signing on that they would be tried thoroughly and would need practice to succeed. Yet as 3D, narrative driven games became the norm, these genres simply could not compete with the accessible, film-like storytelling their competitors were designing.

Before I am misinterpreted, I will consent that the advent of the cutscene broadened the scope of game storytelling, but I also believe that their use is is a large crutch for which the industry leans on far too heavily. In film, there is a saying: “Show, don’t tell.” Too much exposition and dialogue can stifle a film’s mood or gum up the narrative’s power and progress. Telling the audience important narrative points, rather than showing, does not play to the medium’s strengths. In this same sense, a cutscene, or even dialogue, plays opposition towards a game’s true storytelling power: play.

Games should not tell or show, both are cheap manners in which to promote artificial tension. The power of the medium is that a player should have power and direct control over the narrative (unless specifically hindered). The most powerful video game narratives are defined by this rule, and as such, these are often the most fondly remembered. Even if the control is an illusion, in the case of the Half-Life series, the player will still remain thoroughly imbedded in the game’s world.

So I suppose you are wondering where difficulty aligns itself within the narrative’s greater qualities. There are, in fact, several major ways in which difficulty can promote a powerful game play experience. Today, however, I’d like to talk about difficulty as a unique source of narrative tension.

Tension within a game’s narrative can be applied in many manners, some more powerful than others. Drawing on the player’s emotions, games utilize a plethora of classic storytelling mechanics to raise the stakes within a game and heighten the intrigue and danger. The worst way to do this, of course, is to condition the player with cutscenes and short expositional episodes. A classic example of such a case is in the now infamous Final Fantasy XIII, where gameplay is almost entirely limited to minimalistic turn based battles and sprinting down hallways. All the storytelling, and all the major tension, derives from the game’s liberal use of cutscenes, creating an environment which breeds apathy, especially when so much emphasis is placed on simply caring about the characters at all.

That is not to say that cut away storytelling cannot function in a helpful way – just that it is often a poor way of promoting emotion and suspense. As a counter point, I submit a game that is defined by its difficulty, but also manages to create a world and experience which feel powerful and meaningful: Dark Souls. The main source of tension within Dark Souls derives not from any overt narrative device, but from its gameplay. Dark Souls is a game that presses upon its players a sense of dread and horror without expository tactics. In fact, most of the narrative is told indirectly and must be inferred through play. But the power of the experience, and the aspect that pushes the player forward, is the game’s difficulty and the player’s drive to overcome a force that is ominous and great in power.

Though it feeds into certain power fantasies, the fear of death and the loss of souls are more powerful narrative tools than simply telling or showing a player that he or she is in a dangerous environment. The negative feedback derived from the first time a dragon destroys the player character with a single breath of fire is enough to show the player that they must always be on guard and prepared.

Difficulty, in this sense, is not even so much that the game itself is nearly unbeatable; the difficulty is actually derived from the game’s straight faced honesty towards its player. There are often no easy ways through a zone, and taking chances can return great rewards or great losses. Also, failure is a very real hazard- more so than in many, many other games. Characters important to the overarching narrative can be killed or will die if not rescued or treated properly. The fear of derailing a long, potentially rewarding side quest by dispatching or failing to save an important character is real and the consequences are far reaching.

As far as promoting the narrative, this narrative device forces the burden of storytelling on the player, asking them to infer their own conclusions about the world and the events happening around them, as well as placing the blame of loss and defeat squarely onto their shoulders.

Another game that promotes this style of storytelling is Monster Hunter, where defeat and victory are squarely tied to player strategy and play. Difficulty, in this way, becomes a source of narrative tension by providing the player with direct opposition that must be overcome. In Monster Hunter’s case, monsters and environmental pressures challenge the player without cheating the player with easy victories or handouts. Though the story is mostly subjective, and indicative of one’s own journey, the “hunt” can become a story in its own right, even without cutscenes and narration.

Difficulty, to clarify, is not necessarily developed through pushing the player into a trial and error setting (like platformers of the past) or even from asking the player to do something they are incapable of (such as I Want to Be the Guy), but from delivering real consequences and creating complications through player actions rather than artificial devices.

Difficulty, in this sense, promotes the game thematically, derived from the game’s honesty rather than through illusion and complication. It turns failure into a way of telling a story, and pushes the player to be successful by properly punishing these trials. It presents difficult situations, difficult environments, and asks the player difficult questions, made increasingly complicated by the stakes at hand. Roguelikes have long promoted a tangible response to death, in that it is permanent, making every journey a particularly exciting one. Though “story” in this sense is lighter than the narration in Mass Effect, it can be, ultimately, more powerful, in that you understand and appreciate the trials that your character underwent, rather than simply following him or her along for the ride.

In a “difficult” game, a simple platforming portion becomes a potentially disastrous trial, and every enemy, even the most unintimidating, is only one backstab away from derailing your progress. Because of this, the quest for unraveling the secrets of the game’s world, and seeing it through to completion, become more engrossing and exciting. Difficulty makes the experience seem worth it, and overcoming the obstacles has actual weight. Suddenly even mundane expeditions become memorable and exciting, if only driven from the fear of the unknown and the reality that a situation could dissolve into chaos at any moment.

Difficulty, no matter how minor, can have a large impact on player enjoyment. Games like Half-Life, which are almost entirely presented through gameplay alone, still lack the real and ever-present danger of failure. I don’t mean to say that these games are without tension, only that difficulty and the fear of failure are much more powerful motivators than story alone.

This was one major factor in why Dark Souls has developed such a strong following in such a short amount of time. A largely obscure game from Japan has developed mainstream appeal because it tapped into a storytelling device that has been largely absent from the past several years of major releases. As with any narrative, the obstacles that the protagonist must overcome, and their struggle to do so, are extremely important. In the video game medium, where play is the driving force behind narrative, difficulty must sometimes step in to accommodate these obstacles and create solid, meaningful tension.

Yet the power of difficult obstacles and mechanics does not demand it be used in every situation. Some environments would not benefit from demanding gameplay. I only wish to develop the idea that difficult games should not be avoided as simple time sinks- these games often have much more underlying value than immediately obvious. The power of the obstacle, and the odds one goes through to overcome it, can be large signifiers of the longevity and impact of a particular experience. In this sense, often times, the more difficult the experience, the more powerful the rewards.