I’ve been playing an awful lot of games recently, which has been rather nice. And since ‘finishing’ the mahoosive Witcher 3 I’ve turned my attention to shorter games with a focus on the narrative. Stand up Firewatch, Life Is Strange and Tales From The Borderlands. That’s got me thinking about endings, whether videogames approach them differently to other media and whether that matters.
Before we get any further – there are some SPOILERS ahead for Firewatch and Life Is Strange. And Mass Effect 3.
It’s impossible to think about game endings without mentioning Mass Effect 3. So great was the outcry against the ending for Bioware’s brilliant space opera that they went back and created a more in depth version. The things is, I completed it before they fiddled with the ending; although I have started a replay of the whole trilogy, I haven’t got to the third instalment yet, let alone the end. For me though, the original ending was fine. It was a relatively simple and abrupt choice, sure, but so what? The Mass Effect trilogy are huge games, full of memorable ohmygod moments.
What sticks out most in my playthrough is the fate of Tali. She was my lover and I damned her to death through the complicated moral choices surrounding her race and the sentient robots they’d created. I named my laptop after Tali (uh huh) out of a sense of remorse, though still sure I’d made the right choice. And I’m sure for other people the genophage plot line or the mighty Garrus will be the stand-out moments. For me, the ending couldn’t ever live up to the impact of the Tali moment. Think of that as being the focus of my Commander Shepard’s plot and everything else the background detail. Sure, the universe was at stake, but that was always going to feel less personal.
Life Is Strange offers a similar ending in a way. The game follows teenager Max ‘literary reference’ Caulfield through a week in which she develops minor time manipulation powers, reunites with her former bff and gatecrashes the cool-kids’ party (may not sound like much, but it’s a grower and worthy of all the praise). It’s a game of choice and consequences and, despite being smaller in scope, is no less impactful. Ultimately though, it comes down to ‘press this button to be magnanimous, this button to be selfish.’ Some argue – vociferously, from the message boards I’ve seen – that it renders the whole game pointless; all the previous choices are inconsequential given the ending. I disagree with that. Sure, you can argue about the logic of her time powers and what she’ll remember, what was ‘right’ for the character, but I don’t think that’s the point. During the course of the game, I saw characters who seemed like sketchily drawn archetypes become fully fleshed out people. One of the main characters, a seemingly typical rebellious teen managed to grow into someone I felt I understood. Brilliantly, the writers seemed to know that the character came across as a clichéd rebel – that was her mask to face the world and when they allowed us little glimpses beneath it paid off. What really sung for me though, was that after 15+ hours of choices, I knew the characters so well that, when the final choice presented itself, I found I didn’t really have any choice at all.
Although I loved Life Is Strange as an overall experience, some of the plotty bits – particularly in the last chapter – didn’t quite grab me. I had the same experience with Firewatch. Perhaps unsurprisingly though, considering the team were in part responsible for Walking Dead Season 1, it’s the emotional punch that ties it together more than the plot. As a narrative game (rather than an action or puzzle game) it seems odd to think of the plot being second-fiddle, but that’s how it felt to me, and I reckon I’m ok with that.
Within 3 minutes of the start of the game I was in tears. In that respect, It’s the Up of videgames (no talking dogs though, more’s the pity). Through a very simple but incredibly effective text adventure at the beginning, the main character’s background is fleshed out with a few tricky and devastating choices. What consequences that has on the plot is minimal. But on how you play the game it’s quite the reverse. Your character, Henry, is a firewarden up in Wyoming, all alone in a large area of national park but for his supervisor’s voice on the radio and a few glimpsed-from-a-distance guests. A plot slowly unfolds, starting as wonderful paranoia and ending as melodrama. Throughout it all though, you’ll be chatting to your supervisor. Or dodging personal conversation topics. Or flirting outrageously. You see, Henry hasn’t gone into the forest to find exciting plotty things, he’s gone to find himself. I felt that I ended the game with Henry ready to face the world again, shaped by the experiences that led him to seek solitude, but no longer defined by them. And that is massively satisfying in and of itself.
These games have all had their endings scrutinised and criticised, but I think that’s judging one medium by the standards of others. Games aren’t films; done well, there’s an investment in the characters that simply isn’t possible in other media. Sure, a hugely satisfying ending is something to strive for, but sometimes the journey really is the most important thing.