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Interface
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Resident Evil 2: much of its rising tension comes from
the constant scramble for ammunition and other items.
uch of human psychology is
about control. David Hume
described religion as a magical
schema humans imposed on the
world to control natural forces
far more powerful than themselves. Politics
revolves around controlling who’s allowed in and
out of countries, what information belongs to
whom, and whether one group of people have
the right to tell another group of people what to
do. The information age has long been interested
in whether technology allows us to control
things or things to control us, and one of the
most common causes of the growing epidemic
of anxiety disorders is whether people feel like
they’re in charge of their life or not.
Much of the joy of gaming is control. Planting
the perfect field of crops in Stardew Valley, or
mastery of controls themselves in combo-timing
games like Street Fighter and Tekken. Capturing
and containing all 807 wild floofs in Pokémon;
the git gud mentality of Dark Souls; overriding
increasingly complex robots in Horizon Zero
Dawn. I suspect control is such a large part of the
fun because so many humans feel like they lack
agency in real life, but that’s by the by.
It’s very interesting when games remove
control. I don’t like it, of course, because I’m a
completionist millennial perfectionist running an
indie start-up who feels quite powerless enough
most of the time, thank you very much.
But I respect the artistic choice, and it gives
me something to chew on. BioShock famously
removed control in its ‘thank you kindly’ reveal,
sparking a debate about whether it was genius
or folly that the player watched a cutscene rather
than actively participated in that moment.
Edith Finch, a game contemplating the
inevitability of death through a series of
whimsical walking-sim narratives, deliberately
incorporated different control schemes for each
chapter of the game, specifically to stop the
player ‘mastering’ the controls and feeling like
they were in charge. The Stanley Parable revolves
around a satirical pastiche of control, and a
Open the gameplay
doors, please, HAL
M
“Control is a
large part of the
fun because so
many humans
feel like they
lack agency in
real life”
bloody pantheon of horror games from Silent Hill
to the Resident Evil 2 remake know that what’s
really upsetting isn’t how much blood you see
but whether you have the health, items, speed,
and visibility to control your situation. Well, that
and never having enough batteries for your
freakishly defective electronics.
With the exception of cutscenes, QTEs, or
other scripted events where it’s important the
player acts in a certain way, removing control is
almost always a deliberate artistic point. Maybe
it’s to heighten the tension; maybe it’s a comment
on society; maybe it’s to make you feel powerless
and weak. It’s a sudden reminder that though
we’ve lost ourselves to the power-narrative the
game’s laid out for us, we’re not really an alien
assassin rampaging through Greece or a god
of war crushing draugr skulls with an axe. We’re
meat-sacks in a holodeck, whose worlds are vivid
and alive and utterly destroyed when someone
blows a fuse. Of course, you should give into
games and live the fantasy you want to – but
bear in mind that at any moment, HAL could
refuse to open the door.
LOTTIE BEVAN
Lottie’s a producer and
co-founder of award-
winning narrative
microstudio Weather
Factory, best known for
Cultist Simulator. She’s
one of the youngest
female founders in
the industry, a current
BAFTA Breakthrough
Brit, and founder of
Coven Club, a women
in games support
network. She produces,
markets, bizzes and
arts, and previously
worked on Fallen
London, Sunless
Sea, Zubmariner,
and Sunless Skies
as producer at
Failbetter Games.