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详述游戏与故事的结果所存在的差别

发布时间:2012-05-15 15:06:40 Tags:,,,,

作者:Mark Barrett

让我们在本文对如下术语做出假设的定义:

游戏——参与者之间直接冲突的竞争。

故事——在某人身上发生的虚构内容。

互动性-—–能够决定结果的选择。

在互动娱乐产业中人们常常将“故事”和“游戏”错误地认为(尽管说话者有时候也知道这是错的)是相同的内容,是互动设计中的相同元素,并且对于互动娱乐用户来说是相同的体验。但是这种误解却是可被理解的,因为不管被标以何种描述都不会影响公众,甚至是资深互动娱乐用户的体验。

story-vs-game(from dinofarmgames.com)

story-vs-game(from dinofarmgames.com)

而对于设计师来说他们却必须明确每个理念的定义,因为如果不能理解什么是故事和游戏以及娱乐方法和技巧,他们便不可能将情感融入游戏中并最终失去获得成功的机遇。真正理解故事和游戏以及它们两者的关系是创造游戏的先决条件(不同于分类或市场营销),如此你的互动娱乐才能真正体现出持续的情感升华。

我在本文开头明确了故事和游戏的定义——我将它们定义为设计中所使用的一些技术性元素。而这么做不仅能够帮助我们更好地创造游戏,同时也能够让我们从理论上更好地讨论那些混合产品(既包括故事元素也包含了游戏元素),并且无需强调它们是作为两种不同的类别。虽然混合了故事和游戏的产品可能会存在一些问题,但是这却不是我们的出发点。我们在此的目标是不区分或限制设计,但是却需要明确创造一个互动过程,从而遵循这一过程获得最佳效果。

从表面上看我们没有理由会混淆这两个术语。当然了,也有一些使用了这两个术语的常用语就明显越界了,如体育中的“灰姑娘的故事”或者对某人说“你就继续玩你的游戏吧”以指责别人以欺骗的目的编造故事——但是不管怎样我们如果明确了两个术语的定义便能够理解话里的意思。我们也能够在互动设计师的工作过程中察觉到他们对这两个术语的理解;即在一些访谈中设计师总是高谈阔论他们正在实施的任何新“游戏”理念,但是事实上在他们的产品中却甚少或根本不存在互动性,更别说游戏性了。如果我们清楚这是口语化使用所造成的结果,我们就有必要改正它。但是如何做才能真正确保设计师不会混淆这两个定义,或者他们自己是否拥有何种好方法能够用于定义这两种娱乐方式?

很明显,这两种术语拥有一些会引起混淆的相同点。最基本的相同点便是游戏和故事的情感力量都是来自于不确定性结果。就像当我们准备看一则故事或玩一款游戏时我们所具有的情感便都是围绕着最终会发生什么而展开——我们希望在这里能够体验到不确定结果所带来的惊喜并感受到不确定性的魅力。我们当然享受于整个过程的发展,包括体育和游戏中参与者的出色表现,电影和文学中美妙的情感体验,但是我们同样也对整个过程中所出现的“跳板”,前兆以及结果感兴趣。猜测着到底谁会赢得游戏?在最终的决战中主角会面临何种结果?

但是当涉及到不确定结果时故事和游戏也存在着一种主要的差别。简单地来说也就是,故事结果的情感力量是源自听众目睹了讲故事者通过预设且有序的技巧和方法所阐述的故事;这完全不同于游戏的情感力量,因为后者的情感力量是来自于不确定性结果,即玩家经历的是一场随机的比赛。

在一些被动的叙述形式以及现实世界的游戏中,关于这两者间的矛盾的例子比比皆是。一些关于体育赛事的电影总是很难让观众感到满意,因为电影中的故事必须使用一些预备效果才能表现出情感;但是基于这些预备效果(特别是各种形式的铺垫),观众便会很容易从逻辑上猜到故事的最终结果。甚至在具有非体育属性的故事中也体现不出什么效果,这只能让讲故事者遵循或违背观众的信仰或怀疑,促使他们期望所有的的这一切都是来自于一个基于紧张感的永恒方法论。但是如果在基于体育项目的故事中,所有的这些预备效果与游戏所需要的悬念感截然相反。

当体育故事中的故事元素能够通过铺垫制造出紧张感时,它同样也能够渲染最后一球的射击,并让我们更容易地预见最后的结果(比起现实生活中的情况来说)。谁会怀疑棒球电影中的主角将在两次本垒打后拼尽全力集中最后一球?

如果你体验的是实况游戏,而你最喜欢的选手当着你的面进行竞赛,并且你根本不知道接下来会发生些什么时,你的情感便会发生不同的转变。当然了,你最喜欢的选手可能在不久前刚击中了400点,投手在最后一轮开始不稳定,但是不管怎么样这都比不上一则精心雕琢的故事中所设定的伏笔。如果你不是在观看实况赛事而是电影,即描写击球手曾经抛弃但又找回的儿子正屏息地盯着比赛场子,而旁边站着他的母亲(仍然爱着这个为了梦想离开她的男人),那你是否又能够猜出击球手最终获得了分数没有?

我们同时还需要注意的是当现实中的游戏变得像故事中的场景又会是怎样一种情况,就像Kirk Gibson在面对关键时刻打出惊人的全垒打并因此获得胜利。这种戏剧化的时刻经常被说成是“编剧所创造的场景”:也就意味着现实中偶然发生的事件就如我们在戏剧中所看到的那般。显然,这种认知效果(也就是故事铺垫)的介入会让观众感到不舒服,尽管他们知道事情的结果并不是预先设计好的。

而与此相对的是,戏剧中必须尽量避免出现游戏性。举个例子来说吧,在一出设有野餐场景的戏剧中,两名演员面对面地站在舞台前区(靠近观众)来回地掷球。导演希望在舞台上使用分层行动的方法以提高场景中戏剧性的深度,但是这时候观众的关注焦点却只在于玩接球的演员们,心理嘀咕着哪个演员会接不到球或丢得不好。以目前的定义来说,玩接球并不是一种游戏,但是这一过程的现实性(互动性?)却完全破坏了戏剧所带给观众的持续怀疑感。如果戏剧强调一名演员投出球后另外一名演员尝试着去接住球,那么这种明目张胆的比赛便会完全破坏了观众对于戏剧的兴趣。

以上是关于游戏性和故事如何破坏彼此间的运行。为了搞清楚为何会出现这样的情况——为何一定会出现这样的情况,我们必须更深入地研究玩家对于游戏和故事的情感体验是如何遭到破坏的。

我们曾经说过,不管是游戏还是故事,它们都具有决定性的结果。对于那些喜欢听故事的观众来说,当故事揭示了最终结果时他们不只会觉得自己在故事中所体验到的社交感遭到了破坏,同时他们也会不满自己完整的故事的体验遭到了破坏。揭示结果之所以会破坏故事的力量是因为在故事的开始和中间阶段已经出现了关于该结果的铺垫。而这种操作性起初的目的虽然是支持着不确定性结果,但是事实上却因此摧毁了观众在故事中的持续怀疑感。尽管在故事中对于不确定性结果的让步已经对观众的故事体验造成了巨大的伤害,但是这种干扰故事持续怀疑感的表现更是严重阻碍了观众对于故事的领悟。

如果未预先铺设游戏事件或者没有任何持续怀疑感时,我们又该怎么做才能有效地揭示游戏结局呢?玩家的好友可能会对其泄漏最终结果,而这同样也会破坏故事中的不确定性结果。如果从妨碍观众参与的角度来看,故事与游戏间的真正差别并不在于不确定性结果本身,而是在于观众的思想状态。

就像故事要求在融入情感的同时先体现持续怀疑感,而游戏则要求每个玩家必须抱有积极的信念并努力争取最后的胜利。如果玩家故意输掉比赛,那么观众对于游戏的信任便会彻底坍塌,这也是为何体育领域中丑闻会摧毁一个运动员一生的重要原因。当观众不信任游戏结果是未预先设置好时,他们便会怀疑整个体育运动的公正性,从而将不再关心游戏结果或者不会将自己的情感融入游戏比赛中。

所以不只是故事和游戏会通过不确定性结果获得情感力量,同时源自一种方法的力量也会破坏源自其它方法的力量。一方面,观众并不相信预先设置好的故事,另一方面,观众信任的是未预先设置的游戏。如果我们公开承认故事中的一切都是预先设置好的,那么我们便不可能感受到任何情感力量。同样地,如果我们不信任一款未预先设置结果的游戏(游戏邦注:即认为它是预先设置好的),那么我们也不可能感受到真正的游戏性。不管是体验故事还是游戏,观众都必须能够同时呈现出这两种思想状态。

如果故事和游戏想要为观众呈现出最佳情感体验,那么它们就必须相互独立,或者能够脱离其中而存在。也就是对那些重视游戏性的游戏来说,最好适度地隔开故事。一些主流游戏,如《阿基米德王朝》便证实了这一点,即在这些游戏中游戏性都是源于一些具有战术性的任务或关卡,而故事则基于一个相对独立的策略性叙述。对于那些重视故事的游戏来说,它们也必须适度地隔离游戏性,并合理整合互动性以适应游戏。《Riddle of Master Lu》以及另外一款冒险类型游戏也证实了这一点,它们成功地将故事于互动谜题整合在一起。

游戏邦注:原文发表于2000年1月3日,所涉事件和数据均以当时为准。(本文为游戏邦/gamerboom.com编译,拒绝任何不保留版权的转载,如需转载请联系:游戏邦

Irreconcilable Differences: Game vs. Story

By Mark Barrett

Published Jan 03 2000

The following definitions are assumed in this work:

Game – a competition with direct conflict between participants.

Story – a fictional account of something that happened to someone.

Interactivity – choice which determines outcome.

In the interactive entertainment industry there is often a vague or common use of the terms ‘story’ and ‘game’ which erroneously implies – even though the utterer may know it to be untrue – that story and game are one and the same aspect of interactive design, and one and the same experience for the interactive user. This inaccuracy is understandably not important to the general public, or even to veteran users of interactive products, because it doesn’t affect their enjoyment of a product labeled with either descriptor.

But clear definitions of each concept should be critically important to designers, because without an understanding of what a story and a game are as both methods and techniques of entertainment, the possibility of achieving emotional involvement is greatly diminished and ultimately left to chance. Understanding story and game, and the relationship between the two, is a prerequisite to the construction of, as opposed to the categorization or marketing of, interactive entertainment which achieves sustained emotional involvement.

In the definitions for story and game offered at the beginning of this essay, I’ve defined them as elements of technique to be used in design. This not only aids in construction, but allows for theoretical discussion of those hybrid products which might have some aspects of story and some of game, without insisting that they be forced into either category. As will be seen, there are problems with mixing story and game, but that shouldn’t be our point of departure. The immediate goal is not to classify or limit designs at all, but simply to identify what process brings to the interactive drawing board, so that it can be used to best effect.

On the surface it doesn’t look like there’s any real reason to confuse the two terms. Certainly there are common-language uses of both terms that intrude on each others turf – a “Cinderella story” in sports, say, or “running a game” on someone, as used when accusing someone of making up a story for the purpose of deceit – but our definitions seem to steer us clear of these grammatical rocks. Still, this kind of fraternization between terms can be seen to reach all the way into the interactive designer’s workshop, as is evidenced by any number of interviews in which designers talk openly about new ‘game’ ideas in the works, when in fact there is little or no actual interactivity in the product, let alone game play. If we were sure that this was only a result of colloquial usage it might be all right to dismiss it. But how sure can we be that the designers themselves are not confusing the two, or that they have any real idea what defines each as a method of entertainment?

There are, of course, similarities in the methods of each which may lead to confusion. The most basic of these similarities is the fact that both games and stories derive their emotional power from uncertainty of outcome. When preparing to engage in a story or witness a game, almost all of our involvement centers around what will happen at the end – which we expect, or at least hope, will contain both the greatest moment of uncertainty of outcome, and the resolution of that uncertainty. Of course we’re interested in the sights along the way – great plays in sports and games, wonderful emotional moments in film and literature – but we’re interested in those sights as stepping stones to, and portents of, the ending. Who will win the game? What will happen to the hero in the final act?

But there is also a critical difference between story and game as it relates to uncertainty of outcome. Simply put, the emotional power of a story’s outcome is generated by a storyteller through pre-determined and organized techniques and methods, which the audience witnesses. This contrasts sharply with the emotional power of a game’s uncertainty of outcome, which is derived from witnessing a contest which is not pre-determined.

Examples of the clash between these two forces abound in both passive narrative forms and in real-world gaming. Movies about sporting events are often unfulfilling because of the preparatory effects which narratives must use to generate emotional involvement. Because of these preparations – particularly various forms of foreshadowing – the dramatic outcome of any story is often logically known, or at least suspected, before it is revealed. At first seemingly counterproductive even in stories of a non-sports nature, this “tipping of the hand” actually allows the storyteller to work with or against the audience’s beliefs or suspicions, prompting the audience to doubt, moving them to hope, all through an ageless methodology based on creating tension. But in sports-oriented stories all of this preparation for effect works directly against the unprepared effect necessary for suspense in games.

As the story aspects of a sports story generate tension through foreshadowing, this necessarily renders the last at bat, the final shot, the big race as more predictable than they would be if occurring in real life. Who doubts the hero in a baseball movie will hit the desperately needed two-run homer in the last at bat?

Contrast this with the emotions felt when the game is live and it’s your favorite player at the plate, and you have no predictive clues as to what will happen. Sure, your favorite player’s hitting .400 lately, and the pitcher’s last start was shaky, but that’s nothing compared to the foreshadowing you’ll be prompted and goaded with in a well-crafted story. If instead of a live event you’re now watching a movie where the batter’s abandoned and now reclaimed son is waiting breathlessly in the stands, under the wing of his mother, who still loves this man who left her for his dreams, who would you bet is going to get a hit?

Notice, too, what happens when moments in real life games become too story-like, as did crippled Kirk Gibson’s famous home run, which won a playoff game for the Dodgers in the bottom of the ninth inning. These moments, veering uncomfortably close to manufactured drama, are almost always described as (and literally were in this case – repeatedly) “a moment a screenwriter would come up with”: meaning, a real event has happened by chance in exactly the same way it would be executed dramatically. This intrusion of perceived effect (narrative preparation) can make an audience perceptibly uncomfortable, even though they know that what happened was not prepared in advance.

Drama must be wary of leaning too close to game play as well. There is the case of a theatrical play in which the staging of a picnic scene called for two actors to be opposite each other, down stage (closest to the audience), tossing a ball back and forth. The director hoped to use a layering of actions on stage to increase the depth of dramatic meaning in the scene, but the audience’s attention was instead solely focused on the actors playing catch, riveted by the thought that at any time the actors might loose an errant throw and literally drop the ball. Playing catch is not a game by the present definition, yet the simple reality (interactivity?) of the process completely destroyed suspension of disbelief in the drama. If, instead, one actor was pitching and the other trying to get a hit, the “drama” of such a blatant contest would surely demolish any interest in the stage play.

The above are instances in which game play and story seem to damage each other. To see why this happens – why it must happen – we need to look closely at how the emotional power of games and stories are destroyed for an audience.

We’ve said that in both game and story the ending holds the payoff. For an audience interested in hearing a story, there’s more than just a simple social gaffe committed when one member reveals the ending, because the possibility of fully experiencing the story is destroyed. Revealing the ending damages a story’s power because all of the preparedness in the beginning and middle is revealed for what it is – manipulation. Because that manipulation is intended to support uncertainty of outcome, and now does not, the audience’s ability to enter into a state of suspended disbelief is crushed. In fact, although the compromising of uncertainty of outcome in a story is perhaps the greatest damage that can be done, anything which intrudes upon suspension of disbelief precludes audience involvement in a story.

But how can the ending of a game be revealed, when the events of a game aren’t prepared beforehand, or suspension of disbelief be shattered when there is no suspension of disbelief? Yes, a friend might let out the final score of a game you’d taped for later viewing, but that’s the same kind of destruction of uncertainty of outcome that cripples storytelling. The real distinction between stories and games as it relates to preclusion of audience involvement centers not on uncertainty of outcome itself, but on the relative state of mind of the audience.

Where stories require suspension of disbelief before emotional involvement can take hold, games conversely require active belief that each participant is trying as hard as they can to achieve victory. If a player were to intentionally try to lose, then this belief on the audience’s part would be misplaced, which is why scandals involving fixing or throwing sporting events are so damaging. When an audience does not believe that the outcome of future games is unprepared, the integrity of the sport as a whole comes into question, with the consequence that the audience cannot care about or become emotionally involved in the contest.

So not only are story and game achieving their emotional power through uncertainty of outcome in exactly opposite fashions, but the power derived from one method destroys the power of the other. The audience must on the one hand disbelieve in the preparedness of stories, and on the other believe in the unpreparedness of games. If we believe in the preparedness of a story, that is if we openly, consciously admit that it’s all rigged, then it holds no emotional weight. Similarly, if we disbelieve in the unpreparedness of a game (believe it is prepared), it’s meaning is void. For stories and games to be joined, the audience would have to be able to enter both states of mind simultaneously.

If what’s desired is emotional effect on par with the best that stories and games can present to an audience, then story and game must not be made interdependent and thus allowed to cancel each other out. For those products where game play is primarily important, story must at the very least be segregated. This approach is demonstrated in mainstream games like Archimedean Dynasty, and others of this kind, where the game play arises from missions or levels of a tactical nature, while the story plays out in a separate strategic narrative. For products where storytelling is the focus, game play (as defined above) must remain segregated, and interactivity must be carefully tailored to fit. This approach is demonstrated in games such as Riddle of Master Lu, and another games in the adventure genre, which successfully blend narratives with interactive puzzles.(source:gamedev.net)


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