Post Script

Modern videogame characters talk too much. But is there a good reason for that?

The Ratchet & Clank games have always been unusually chatty blockbusters, largely by dint of keeping their two heroes together for the duration. Both have someone they know well to bounce off, whereas their triple-A peers tend to favour lone heroes – and when they’re afforded temporary company it’s often for the sake of exposition. The easygoing camaraderie between the pair has always been a big part of the series’ appeal, so when Rift Apart’s plot contrives to separate the titular friends for the bulk of the game, it reduces opportunities for a bit of good-natured badinage. Yet if the script might be a few gags short of Insomniac at its breezy best, the cinematics aren’t the problem here; rather, it’s what Rift Apart has to say for itself outside the cutscenes that highlights an increasingly pervasive issue with games of this ilk.

“Oh dear. Why does every dimension have a dangerous battle arena?” Clank sighs, as we visit Zurkies, the cantina bar from where we access a series of gladiatorial challenges. “Hmm, I’m blocked. I think that saw will help me clear a path,” he mutters during a puzzle section, in which another character also helpfully informs him that “it would be beneficial to explore the area” to find the objects he needs to solve it. During a battle, we’re told “perhaps we can use that rift tether to get up to that platform” and “perhaps it would be worth using the high ground here”. Perhaps, Clank, you could keep your trap shut for five minutes.

He’s not the only one, either. “Broken rail incoming!” Rivet warns herself as she approaches a gap in the track, one of several dozen examples of the game insisting on telling us precisely what to do and when. We begin to feel like actors being talked through every movement of a scene by a pushy director, desperate for us to follow their instructions to the letter rather than letting us improvise. True, in a game with such generous checkpoints, dying is a triviality – and so, where possible, why not help the player avoid it entirely? All failure does is arrest that constant sense of forward motion, after all. Yet with puzzle hints given out before you’ve even started looking properly, alerts being offered for incoming threats, and the way forward being pointed out so frequently, there are few real epiphanies, and the thrill of discovery is diminished.

Even so, Rift Apart is not even close to being the worst offender in this regard. This is a poison that has been gradually seeping into blockbuster games in recent years. Days Gone protagonist Deacon St John provides a constant running commentary to his post-apocalyptic activities, apparently unaware that chuntering away to himself – or yelling insults at a radio broadcaster while out on his bike – might not be the smartest move in a world full of zombie-like enemies that respond to sound. More worrying still is the recent footage of Horizon Forbidden West, in which Aloy’s relentless exterior monologue at least appears to have saved her creators from having to record several minutes’ worth of voiceover to explain her actions. (Granted, the same was seemingly true of Zero Dawn’s early reveal, so we’ll give Guerrilla the benefit of the doubt for now.)

It’s worth pausing to consider why this phenomenon might be on the rise. Think of it instead as the remedy to a problem, one that is only likely to become more prevalent during the current console generation. Modern games are getting visually busier. Even in its quieter moments, Rift Apart packs so much detail into each area that it’s hard to know where you’re meant to look. Close by, in the middle distance and on the horizon, you’ll find plenty to draw the eye. The same is true (perhaps even more so) of Forbidden West. Videogames are more attractive than ever, but they’re also increasingly overwhelming.

Little wonder, then, that developers are seeking ways to cut through the visual noise of today’s absurdly detailed digital worlds – and having characters share their thought processes directly with the player is one way of doing it. And being guided by voices, whether that of a helpful ally or a protagonist describing aloud what’s going on, is admittedly a less disruptive solution than we’ve seen before. In previous generations, when wishing to highlight objectives, enemies or other points of interest, games would instead seize control, yanking the camera away to warn or inform before returning to the player. The modern alternative may not be ideal, but it also allows designers to get away with minimal HUDs and making waypoints optional. If nothing else, that means less screen clutter. And having goals set diegetically means players are less likely to have to bring up a menu to remind themselves of their current task.

But perhaps there’s more to it than that, particularly from Sony’s point of view. Now it’s charging £70 a pop for new firstparty games, it will be even keener to ensure players feel like they’re getting their money’s worth. Stats showing completion rates of even the biggest critical and commercial successes suggest most players aren’t finishing games; indeed, The Last Of Us Part II’s 60 per cent figure for the Trophy awarded for reaching the story’s end is unusually high. The danger of this approach, of course, is that it risks making games entirely frictionless. So maybe the simple answer is to allow us to turn off those barks, just as we can switch off map markers and waypoints when we’re keen to find our own way. We’re not asking for completely silent heroes in every game, but it would be good if characters knew when to shut up and let us drive.

We begin to feel like actors being talked through every movement of a scene by a pushy director