What Makes a Good Video Game Story?

There are many ways to approach this question. You could look at it from an academic standpoint and, much like any other literary narrative, aim to identify complex plot structures or recurring motifs that reveal aspects of the characters. Perhaps you might examine it through its context: How do the ideas of the story align with or critique the political and social landscape of today?

But unfortunately, the aforementioned approach isn’t entirely accurate. Video games are, after all, an interactive form of media—one where we, the players, have a role in the story. While many argue that a good book or movie can place you in the shoes of a character, they don’t deliver the same sense of control that a game does.

So, what does make a video game story good? When pondering this question, a quote by an author I cannot recall comes to mind: "A story has to work on an emotional level, above everything else." While I don’t think this is universally applicable to movies and books (why, for instance, someone might enjoy the emotional impact of stories like Heart of Darkness is something I will never fully understand), I think it is entirely true for video games. When playing video games, we go in with our own wants and expectations. It is an escape from our normal lives, where we choose what we want to feel. When reminiscing about my favorite video games, the connection between genre and narrative became very clear.

When playing a shooter, my desire is to feel powerful. I want to feel like an unstoppable force, someone to be reckoned with. The first narrative that comes to mind is that of the Halo franchise (with the exception of 343 Industries' releases, although Halo 4’s narrative deserves credit for its heartbreaking ending). Academically speaking, these stories are a mess, with each game barely developing the characters and major plot holes opening left and right. But there is something to be said about the sheer epicness of the journey. The game centers around the concept of making the player feel like, for lack of a better word, a "badass." While moments like a soldier flying through space with a bomb to destroy a massive ship before delivering a one-liner (one of the coolest one-liners in history) are outright silly, they work because of the game’s "cool" factor. Of course, the game needs to have a good foundation for these moments and can’t rely solely on being cool. Luckily, Halo creates the perfect mix, with its major plot moments used sparingly and impactfully—such as the first time the player takes control of the Arbiter. But above all else, Halo will always be the game for the "cool older brother." It’s the kind of game that your pimply teenage self would sink into with a bottle of Mountain Dew, slaughtering hordes of aliens and filling you with fearlessness and confidence—only for that confidence to be reflected in the few awkward interactions you have with the opposite sex the following day. What about the genre we most associate with strong narratives, the ever-elusive RPG? Stories about pointy-eared characters on a quest to save the world from certain evil. Yet again, I do favor stories with an "epic" feeling; however, when playing, I crave more complex characters and complicated relationships. The title that had the most emotional impact for me was an entry in the Final Fantasy series. And, as many of you might be expecting, no, it is not Final Fantasy VII (while the game has a solid narrative, I think a lot of its popularity can be attributed to its technological impact). My personal pick is Final Fantasy X. And while the game had some interesting themes of religion and anti-Semitism, the most engaging part was Tidus' character. (On a side note, I do not understand some of the hate the voice acting in this game receives; I would take this game's voice acting any day over the anime dub approach taken in most modern RPGs.) Essentially, Final Fantasy X is about Tidus being the new guy in town. It is about him feeling alienated and out of place—a fantasy retelling of being the new kid at school, with all the tropes about forming friendships and liking the popular girl included. At the time, I too was moving schools, so its narrative felt relatable and familiar, much more so than one about the trauma of war or the aggravating long-haired creep tormenting me in my dreams. Then there are indie games—games that boast how their narrative makes up for their low budget. And while I, too, would like to say that Tales of Grimace’s story is its driving factor (I’ll leave that for you to decide), I feel as though the majority of these narratives fall into the same pattern: an "exploration of anxiety and depression" (the exact pattern Tales of Grimace satirizes, I might add).

A group of children playing in the schoolyard? Depressed. Talking animals saving the world from evil? Depressed. A delivery truck simulator? The isolating and depressing life of a driver.

While some of these narratives can be profound, most of the time, they end up feeling unoriginal. This trend is even more prominent in the "RPG Maker genre" (a term I despise due to its negative connotations), as it seems every RPG Maker developer who has played Omori is going through some existential crisis. (Omori also started the trend of using horrible hand-drawn assets, which most of the time look tacky rather than artistic.)

So, what’s the answer? Well, like many things, there isn’t an objective truth. But I think a checklist can be made:

1. Does my game work emotionally?

2. Does the narrative fit the genre?

3. Is there an interesting reason why my indie game character is depressed and wants to kill themselves?