A video game’s first job is to fool its players. We have talked at length about how games have their rules and procedures for players to follow. What we have not discussed is how these rules can differ completely from our reality, yet we are made to believe these rules are real and important. In my fiction writing class we learned the same thing, just in a different medium: the more a fiction deviates from reality, the more novel truths the creator must convince their audience to accept. A world unique from ours still needs to be a sensible one. If the creators fail to make us believe in their world, the game fails, but if it succeeds…well, we as players get to enjoy a whole new reality.
Few games have been as exemplary of this as Thomas Was Alone. Upon starting, the rules of this world are simple: you are a red rectangle by the name of Thomas, moving up and to the right to reach the next level. That is the core game structure; you take control of various rectangles and get them from one side of the screen to the other, dodging obstacles along the way. This world is easy enough to accept, but the creator, Mike Bithell, throws in an extra rule: these rectangles are self-aware with their own personalities.
On the surface, these rectangles differ by no more than their color, shape, and jumping ability, but through these differences the creator spins a story in which these attributes shape how the characters interact with the world and each other. In this long journey from one side of the screen to the other, they learn what makes them unique, what their life purpose is, and even how to love one another. Yes, that’s right. One of Bithell’s rules is that these rectangles can fall in love, thus we see a short, cynical square named Chris fall deeply in love with the thin, horizontal Laura who lets him jump higher than ever.
The craziest thing about this? It works! Bithell convinces us that rectangles are ready and willing to take on these human attributes through brilliant storytelling and character development. Of course, this could have all been much easier with humans, or maybe even some talking animals, anthropomorphizing familiar objects to bring the rules that much closer to reality, but no. In this world we are taught to invest in and empathize with shapes.
Now why does it matter that we believe in rectangles that eventually sacrifice themselves to offer others their freedom? Bithell had a perfectly fine game full of problem-solving and coordination, so why don’t the rules stop there? To answer my own question with another, what’s the point of moving a rectangle across a screen? This is not Tetris or Mahjong, other rectangle-based games with high scores as the goal. In fact, there is no quantitative value for actions beyond making it to the next level (and collecting the occasional floating square for an achievement). The value lies within the story. With each level, you learn a little more about the world you are jumping around in, and the partners you are jumping around with. If Bithell failed to make you believe there is value in this, you likely would not be playing.
By tricking us into believing that this two-dimensional world is one with a rich history and dynamic characters, Bithell leaves you with values to bring back into this mundane world. He teaches you what it means to be a friend. He teaches you the value in serving a higher purpose. And more relevant than ever, he teaches you that we are never truly alone. With lessons like these, who cares that you had to be tricked to learn them?
New Media: Storytelling in Literature, Films, and Games 
You must be logged in to post a comment.