Rantings: On the Difficulty of Cross Media Artistic Transitions

Welcome back, my still nonexistent readers! Today starts the second series of topics for this blog. Here, I discuss, explain, and rant about some theory or experience I have had with art, especially in the electronic entertainment category. Some of these may simply be how I saw the industry move or how I would prefer it to move, and some of them may be the methods I used for my own designs. For now, though, we'll start with an easy one, this being my second post and all. So, without further ado, we'll start the topic at hand, also known as...

Why do all video game movies suck?

Because, let's face it, they pretty much all have. Some of them are better than others, but not a single one, in twenty plus years, has even remotely been a critical success, and barely any have been successful commercially or within their own fandom, either. As I see it, there are three reasons for this, and I'll start with the easy one, the one we all wish was the only reason.

1. They just don't care.

That is, the people involved have little to no interest in making a good movie, and since the laws of probability make it nigh impossible for a good movie to be arranged randomly, these movies will thus not be good. Oh, sure, a team of infinite monkeys would eventually create the video game to movie equivalent of Hamlet, but hopes are not high. They would make it faster than Uwe Boll, at least.

But we can't lay all the blame on hack directors exploiting German tax loopholes, even if all the video game movies he made combined add up to approximately one fifth of a good movie, based on reviews. After all, it's not like the Mario Brothers, Double Dragons, Resident Evil, Tomb Raiders, and Mortal Kombats of the movie world won very many awards. Yes, someone with both a record of competency and interest in geek-themed sources, like Peter Jackson, would be cause for some optimism. But even when decently respected writers and creators try to make a serious, good movie out of a well-respected video game, we get results like Silent Hill, which only managed to be one half of a good movie. This suggests problems with the transition beyond simple passion. Which brings us to point 2.

2. Movies are not the logical medium for video game transitions.

No, this isn't part of the "Video games are not art" argument (that discussion will come in a later week,) or even a comparison to literature and other sources of more successful movie adaptations. It's more a matter of design and storytelling methods between the two. Video games are not, despite popular opinion to the contrary, using the language of movies for their own stories. They're using television instead.

In most movies and literature, the story arc is about one major arc. The protagonists and setting are introduced, the plot is explained, one of the three classic conflict styles disrupts the status quo, and while there may be myriad lesser conflicts from beginning to end, the movie's conflict is resolved in the climax, and tension lowers through the denouement. Television, however, relies on a series of climaxes throughout the series, with at least one major antagonist or complication introduced per episode. Many of the best shows have overarching stories as well; Buffy had its season Big Bads, Lost has the fundamentals mysteries of the island and the crash, and the Fugitive had the hunt for the one-armed man. To gamers, these episodes are levels, and those conflicts are the hazards of the setting, the enemies unique to it, or most often a boss.

When making a video game movie, one has to find a way to use many familiar elements of the games while destroying this level structure completely. This is tricky prospect, certainly, but it's not impossible. Movies like (again) The Fugitive, Serenity (I hope you people enjoy a lot of Joss Whedon references, because you'll be seeing a lot of them,) Maverick, The Adams Family, and The Simpsons were able to successfully transfer their concept from the small screen, often by compressing the entire story arc of the series into a single two-hour story, taking it from a series without a connecting story arc (which admittedly games rarely have the luxury of, we gamers love final bosses,) or simply making the movie into a single episode of the show, often a sequel after the original conflict resolution. And video game movies have tried these things before. Silent Hill was basically the first game compressed, while Tomb Raider ignored the plot of the games entirely and posited itself as a new adventure. Neither did all that well. More importantly, due to the available time of the target age of gamers and the increasing cost of making a video game, they are often abandoning the level/boss system in favor of shorter games which can be comparable to movies in terms of length and story structure. God of War (but not the sequel) would be a good example of this. How can they theoretically succeed when so many other video game movies failed, despite not having this condition? That brings us to the third issue, and the one that is both more complicated and sure to make this posting late.

3. Video game movies have to learn to be less "video game" and more "movie."

This is a more nebulous point, I'm afraid. The first problem is that too many video game movies try to maintain the structure of a video game. Games usually rely on a sequence of alternating action and story, with the latter being the infamous and controversial cut scenes. There's nothing wrong with cut scenes, and most video games with any storyline have them. Yes, even Half Life 2; they still count. But the exposition/action/exposition/action pattern doesn't work as well in movies; it comes across as stilted and disjointed.

Action movies do follow a similar pattern, though. The problem isn't in the expositional parts of the movies, provided the story is coherent and dialogue well written and acted (which it almost never is; see point 1.) The problem is the action. In a video game, the designer has no idea how the player will react. The story can make the main character an easily scared pacifist if the player just spent ten hours messily hacking apart countless orcs. And everyone treats Gordon Freeman as a respected scientist and hero, even if during their speeches he repeatedly shoots them in the head and messes around with their personal possessions with a gravity gun. Most video game heroes have an archetype they are supposed to act like, but the designer can’t be sure that the player will act that way in the action of the game, so character development takes place in the cut scenes.

But in a movie, the action sequences are as crucial to the development of a character as the plot sequences. Action sequences can't just be about showing the CGI equivalent of a popular enemy or environment. It's here that betrayals are performed, heroes fall in unlikely ways, and the character of the heroes is revealed. Let's assume an enemy fortress that the protagonist must infiltrate. Rambo, Han Solo, and James Bond would each go about that infiltration in a different way, and a video game movie protagonist would have to do the same. And this doesn't mean simulating the violence of the game, either; the heroes could just as easily trick the enemies, fast-talk their way in, sneak past, disguise themselves, or use some other method.

And even if the method they would use is "stab them with a sword," that doesn't make the characterization any less crucial. Let's use three examples of sword-using video game protagonists who could plausibly be movie heroes. Kratos of God of War is not a subtle fighter, and his fighting method reflects his single-minded, sociopathic brutality. He doesn't quip or taunt his enemies and rarely even speaks; he simply sees something that must be destroyed to accomplish goal, and he does so as quickly as possible. It doesn't matter if this thing is a hideous monster, a giant god, or an innocent being with no quarrel with him. The Prince of Persia (at least in the first game of the new series,) is another story. Instead of engaging an opponent directly, he uses acrobatics to evade enemies, putting them at a disadvantage. His personality is distracted, rarely focusing on either the glory or the horror of battle. He worries more about his personal issues and his concerns about the situation he is in, and unlike Kratos, he rarely shuts up. Link, however, embodies the stoic warrior. Combat is not an obsession or an honor, just a duty. He is a more traditional fighter, eschewing elaborate acrobatics or brutal finishing attacks in favor of a simple sword and shield. However, he also is a studious warrior who analyzes the weaknesses of his enemies, especially the ones his basic combat maneuvers can't defeat. In these cases, he whips something out of his Hyrulian utlity belt, disarming his enemy when it's at its strongest.

In a later post, I plan on focusing on a single game and offering suggestions on how to make that game the perfect (or at least the adequate) video game movie we have waited so long for. My first plan is God of War, since I already referenced it so many damn times, but other games will be considered. But this entry is late and long enough as it is. See you in two days! Okay, fine, one day; I'll get better at this whole "timing" thing.