The Shadow and the Sorrow

By Ben Fritz

Video games have mastered letting us experience evil, but not the tragedy borne from it.

Grand Theft Auto III defined the open world genre in part by giving players free reign to cause total mayhem, and every RPG worth its experience points lets players live their virtual lives on the far end of the morality scale as a Han-Solo-without-the-heart-of-gold lout. But as much as the backs of boxes insist to us that these expansive options and sophisticated morality systems matter, they never fundamentally alter the character and narrative arcs. Townsfolk may recoil in fear at the sight of Red Dead Redemption's John Marston if he kills more strangers than he helps, but his wife and son love him all the same when they're reunited. Similarly selfish behavior in titles made by RPG master Bioware gets you some different missions, teammate loyalties, and cutscenes. But out of technical necessity if nothing else, the main story points and thus the thematic underpinnings remain constant.

The beauty of a story that's written with an evil protagonist in mind is that it allows for a fitting conclusion. Playing a typical free-choice game as a badass is akin to stopping "Scarface" after the second act. What about the third act? The moment of tragedy-captured in everything from Icarus (not the Kid) to Richard III to Lolita to Goodfellas, when the glory turns to disaster, self-deception is no longer tenable, and immoral actions lead to long-delayed consequences-is missing. The only way for a character to reap what he or she has sown is if it's built into the narrative from the beginning. In other words, if there's no choice at all.