RPG Studies: “Good Morning, Crono!”
— Friday, January 6th, 2012You know, one of those early rules of thumb that they give you in writing classes – those truths universally acknowledged by good writers, even those who break the selfsame rules – is that you should never, ever start a story with the protagonist waking up.
We have to remember, though, that games almost never follow good writing advice. Any good writing advice.
I’m being unfair to make a point. See, Chrono Trigger‘s opening is legendary and beloved in no small part because of context. That pan across the continent to see the balloons rising above the fair itself. The fact that, due to the world’s design, you can explore half of the time period’s map at the game open. The fact that the town is a series of separate buildings, not a small space that contains you.
These things seem unrelated, but they’re not. When you play Chrono Trigger, the game is inviting, welcoming, and that inauspicious beginning feels like the opening of a fairy tale, not a video game – a promise that is upheld when you step outside of that house and you’re presented with a charming world that feels free to explore, even if the time travel game mechanic means that so much is actually closed off to you.
What’s more, the scripting shines. We can argue over which translation is better, but the fact remains that each character feels like they’re fully differentiated from the others. Not just your party members, but minor characters like Lucca’s parents or the cook in 600 AD who hates and loves his soldier brother. They’re not three-dimensional, but they’re real enough for a fairy tale. Everything in the game operates at the same level, and everything thus supports everything else in making the world feel complete. Even that opening, which feels like a cliche to look at now, fits into the overall scheme when we revisit it in a dream sequence later.
Here’s the rub, though: Not all games are Chrono Trigger.
I’d originally planned to spend a lot of this post talking about all of the different games that have started with the character waking up. I’d probably spend extra time on Chrono Cross, because as the sequel it was clearly using it as a reference, and yet it didn’t work in the same way. But I don’t want to do that anymore, because I’ve been playing a lot of The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword lately, and I think I can make my point with only two examples.
The Zelda franchise has been taking a lot of abuse lately, and even some of the older games are being re-examined. I think that in light of our current discomfort with where the series overall has been headed, there’s a certain desire to rewrite history. But I don’t want to get into the flaws and strengths of Ocarina of Time in this essay. Let’s talk about one thing which they definitely got right: the opening sequence, where Navi flies around the young Link’s village, giving us our first charming 3D look at what the Zelda world could look like, and then arriving at our hero waking up to Navi’s call.
This sequence works for many of the same reasons that Chrono Trigger worked. The promise of the opening is upheld by the game to follow. Link’s journey, like Crono’s, becomes more dramatic and takes on greater import, but the stylistic feeling conveyed by the opening never fully goes away. The inauspicious beginning, as well, sets the pace for the opening hours but does not force them upon you. Kokiri Village allows you to learn at your own pace, and while your have a clear goal from the very opening moments that you can cut right to if you’re familiar with the game, you can also lounge about time and learn more about the game, and the game’s world, without hurry. That Ocarina of Time is a fairy tale is even more obvious than the previous game: it’s about a young fairy boy, with his literal fairy companion!
Contrast this with the most recent instalment in the series. Skyward Sword begins with the hero waking up in his bed. He is woken up, though, because he’s late. Link is in a hurry to get to a competition that he must compete in, but cannot do so for many hours because of all of the many tutorials enforced upon him and the exposition that he must hear. This makes the opening hours of the game a disastrous mishmash of pacing. The game informs you that the design will be enforcing a “hurry up and wait” form of storytelling upon you – and sadly, the game does in fact keep up this promise.
Consider: When Link meets with Zelda and her father, we are treated to a long discourse from her father on what Link did as a boy – that he met with his special red bird, an omen, and that Zelda reacted badly to his instant bond with the animal. He is relating this story to Zelda, who already knows the story, and the only witness is Link, whom the story is about. He even uses the phrase “as you know” twice, which is an unconscionable violation of storytelling.
Skyward Sword is not a fairy tale, and never tries to be. It is an epic fantasy story, with cutscenes and difficult sword fights and an endurance battle towards its end that has been coined “the war sequence.” It does not need a “lazy wake up” beginning sequence, which does not establish the mood of what will follow. And it does not begin the story at the appropriate moment to begin such a story – it should either begin earlier, at the first fated, important moment for our hero Link, or later, when the dramatic events begin. As it stands right now, gamers and reviewers keep telling each other to “wait until the game gets to the good bits.”
Why does the game then begin with Link waking up? Because it’s a beloved sequence in Ocarina of Time, and this 25th anniversary title is full of references to previous games, even when those references feel out of place and awkward.
Consider: Nintendo starts the game as early as it does because it insists upon you getting a full enforced tutorial. Let’s not argue that point for the moment, even if hand-holding is a major issue with Skyward Sword. Let’s instead take them on faith. Well, then, why not begin with Link first meeting his bird? They want us to find the bird important, to love the bird as much as Zelda fans love the horse Epona in other titles in the series.
Fallout 3, a western RPG that has its flaws, has a rightfully celebrated opening. You’re present at your own delivery as a baby, and you learn to walk in-game as your character literally learns to walk as a toddler. The tutorial feels natural and genuinely different. While later bits, like the “test-taking” portion, may be questionable, this opener found a way to make the tutorial immersive.
Link was supposedly quite young when he made his bond with the bird. So let’s see it happen? As Link goes to his bird, he can learn how to run, climb, fight off small bats, and whatever else is required by a tutorial. The best part? This would still be a reference to the same game, as that title is known most of all for its featuring Link as both a child and as an adult!
The exposition would feel less forced, because we would see it unfold, and nothing would be explained to a character who already knows what we’re being told. Then, when we fast forward to the day of his “final exam,” when the bully steals the bird, we’ll have met the creature and will care about its welfare – and the cave we venture through to rescue him will feel like a “final exam” for what we’ve been taught in the tutorial! Similarly, the flying contest and the bit with the parachute will be the final tests that we learned those skills, without feeling like we’ve been wasting time for two hours, and learning things that the character should already know how to accomplish.
This opening sequence would likely not be shorter than the opening as it stands, but it would feel more genuine and more purposeful – and would also fit the feel of the story and the game atmosphere as it will be presented as you move on to the rest of the content.
The problem in every creative industry is that we do what has already worked before, even when that thing no longer fits. For some, that means the very nature of a thing, such as turn-based combat, and for others, it means beloved referents such as the hero waking up in his small town before the adventure has truly begun. The problem is, games grow more complex, more “real,” and have larger ambitions. As they do so, these things stand out more than they ever have. Storytelling, pacing, and flow cannot be afterthoughts.
One last example: The eastern RPG that flowed most like a traditional fairy tale in recent memory, Dragon Quest VIII, could have started with you as an unassuming knight in the castle, waking up and puttering around before the curse comes down and you must set off on your quest. But the game knew that when you play a Dragon Quest game, you want to start wandering out killing slimes. So it starts you out further on, in a clearing with the damage done and the first party member already in tow, and dealt with the rest of the business in flashbacks. While the rest of the game did not necessarily have that economy, it was one of the wisest choices the game could have made, and got you right into the ostensible reason that you’re playing at all. Would that Nintendo had the courage to get moving from the get-go.
