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Some Thoughts on Computer Game Design
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I've been thinking about what it is about my favorite games that
I like...I've thought about Game Design on and off over the years,
and have begun to pull some things together for myself.
Here's a start of a breakdown...feel free to add upon it and respond to
individual ideas...I'd like to quote different reactions to these ideas in a
non-profit hypermedia project I'm working on at school, and thought the life
of these groups would have much to add.
Dave Seah
(dis6218@ultb.isc.rit.edu, pccdaves@aol.com)
--- cut here ---
The Player
Why do we play games? We like challenges, and we derive
pleasure when we overcome them. Games provide a safe context
in which we can express our fantasies and dreams. We achieve
a sense of stature and accomplishment by engaging in
stimulating gameplay. Computer games are no different in the
way they provide challenge and stimulation. As game
designers, though, we are responsible for designing every
part of every interaction within the self-contained computer
world. The player has to be able to find and overcome the
challenges we design into a game without feeling unfairly
constrained or manipulated.
For games in which the player plays an active role in a
simulated social environment, emphasize the hero qualities
of the character. By controlling the character throughout
the game, the player establishes an alter ego. That
joystick-controlled blip on the screen is the player, for
all intents and purposes. The game environment becomes the
world, and the player is the protagonist, with the potential
to become a hero. Heros are always above average in their
abilities, for it enables them to go forth and kick-ass in a
definitive manner.
The protagonist must undertake some form of the hero's
journey. This can take the form of a developmental cycle, as
it is in role playing games (RPGs.) A new character in the
Ultima series, for example, starts out as a naked
stripling, equipped with the wimpiest of weapons and armor.
The character grows in experience by exploring the world,
slaying monsters and engaging in quests. Eventually, the
protagonist achieves a level of ability that is truly epic.
The player experiences a vicarious sense of accomplishment
through the actions and ultimate success of his/her
character.
In games that emphasize manual dexterity, the hero's journey
is externalized. In an arcade game, the player usually
controls some kind of ship. The ship itself may already be
imbued with awesome weaponry and abilities; by surviving and
wreaking destruction on the computer world, the player is
shown to be a hero (or at least skilled) to his or her
peers.
A good example is the original version of Wing Commander. In
this game, a chalkboard kept track of how many enemy kills
were attributed to the player's character. It lists the
game's non-player characters (NPCs) ranks as well, and the
player could see how well he is doing as the story
progresses. As the player grows more experienced, he moves
up in the ratings. The chalkboard also makes it possible for
players to compare their skills with their friends. "I
fragged 105 furballs before I finished the game" was a
common boast on the computer networks. In Wing Commander II,
the chalkboard was moved to a less prominent area, and the
emphasis was placed on the wooden story line, drawing the
player into a simulated social environment.
Game Environment
As the player establishes and sets goals in the context of
the game, the game must respond in kind by providing some
kind of feedback. Without feedback, the player will feel
lost and impotent, trapped inside an artificial world
instead of participating in it. The interactive gaming
experience must support the actions of the player, not
thwart them.
To maintain the illusion of a functioning, living world, the
game designer has to ensure that there is some minimum
interaction between the player's character and the simulated
environment. As an example, the Super Nintendo version of
Zelda provides lots of audio-visual feedback. As the
player's character walks through tall grass, a rustling
sound is heard, and the character's body below the waist is
swallowed up. When walking in a shady forest, shadows fall
across both the ground and the character. NPCs on the screen
react to the presence of the player in a variety of ways or
not at all. The player is drawn into the game because the
game environment interacts with his/her character. The high
level of interaction between player character and game
environment is enjoyable in itself.
The player should also receive some kind of feedback on
his/her progress. In arcade games, this is accomplished with
some kind of indicator (score, level, etc). The player
ideally feels that he or she is in control at least most of
the time. All hell may be breaking loose, but the player
should know how much that is affecting his/her character.
The rule of thumb is that for every action, there should be
some kind of feedback or reaction.
The game universe should have well-established conventions
of how things work -- its own "law of physics." If the
laws change, there must be a rational explanation. Arbitrary
changes, especially those that impact the player's
character, can have a negative impact on the gaming
experience.
Premise and Player's Expectations
The player must know what to expect from the game world,
journey or no journey. Usually, some rudimentary explanation
is given to explain the game world. Ignoring purely abstract
games like Go or Checkers, the game designer must establish
both premise (story) and setting. The premise helps
establish an initial motivation for why the game is the way
it is, and the setting helps establish the tone. This can
take rather trivial forms, but if the scope of the story
matches the scope of the game, then I have no argument
against it. By "scope of the game", I mean the range of
possible associations and interactions. A complex political
thriller as the story and setting for a straight shoot-em-up
arcade game doesn't carry much credibility. Likewise, a game
that is based on a popular movie is asking for trouble.
People will carry their memories of the movie over to their
expectations of the game, and are setting themselves up for
disapointment.
For the designer's expectations of the game, it is important
to set the challenge clearly. You know what kind of
experience you want to deliver, so make that clear right up
front when establishing the story and setting. The premise
(or premises) of the game will vary wildly. If a game is
intended to be a visually confusing, surreal exploration of
the inner mind, then let it be said up front. If the game is
intended to be an accurate, uncompromising World War II
simulation of the Battle of the Bulge, then different
expectations are set. The designer must set these guidelines
explicitly, and adhere to them. The game experience should
fully support the premise and the player's expectations.
Consider two space gaming genres: the side-scrolling
"shoot-em-up" (or shooter) and the space combat simulator.
In a classic shooter like Defender, the premise is pretty
simple: Destroy all the waves of attacking aliens and
protect your people. The gameplay is simple to understand,
though the game itself requires superb eye-hand coordination
of a level that is seldom seen today. For the gamer, the
premise is secondary to the nerve-racking adrenaline rush of
playing which is the main reason for playing. As a more
recent example, the space combat simulator X-Wing is based
on the Star Wars universe. Since it is based on the popular
movie, players expect a lot from the game. The premise is
that you are a rookie joining the Rebel Alliance. Although
you can jump right into the missions and just start blasting
TIE fighters, you are encouraged to go through the training
process. Animated sequences and accurate portrayal of the
Star Wars universe build the framework in which you play the
game, and an included novella sets the tone for your tour of
duty: You are a new recruit, and the Alliance is being
ruthlessly hunted down by the Imperial fleet. You are not
just flying any old spacecraft...you are flying an X-wing,
escorting a crucial shipment of grain through dangerous
Imperial patrols! There is a sense of an expanded game
universe that exists outside the confines of the game,
carefully reinforced with information from the mission
briefing screens, but the story isn't stated overtly. You
are not Luke Skywalker, but you know that he's out there
somewhere fighting the same cause.
Balancing of Goals
From the initial motivation, the player can form (or be
informed of) several long-term goals. The default goal is to
win the game. Other long term goals may be to "find the
Golden Sword" or "Return Peace to the Land." Players will
formulate a number of short-term goals along the way. "To
find the Golden Sword, I have to talk to everyone," or "To
return peace to the land, I need to collect the Peace
Crystals." Shorter term goals might be, "To get to the
next level, I have to blow up all these ships," or "I have
to find the Power Booster if I want to survive!" Some
short-term goals are standing goals. These goals are always
on the player's mind, as they continually contribute to the
well-being of the character. For example, "I better not get
hit by enemy blaster fire, or I'll lose a ship." The game
designer manages the difficulty of these goals, and the
player juggles them.
For flexibility, I like to allow flexible goal completion.
In other words, I like to allow some leeway in the order
that goals are brought to completion. There is no single
order that guarantees success. Putting together a structure
that allows this is not trivial, and it depends on the kind
of game. To take an old example, consider the classic Apple
II game, "Castle Wolfenstein." The object (long term goal)
of the game is to escape from a Nazi castle during WWII,
initially armed with nothing but a pistol. Finding the "War
Plans" was a secondary long-term objective. Since the game
begins with the player trapped in a guarded room, clad in
bright purple prisoner duds, the short term goal is to get
out of the room without getting captured or shot. As the
player moves from room to room, the standing goals are
finding uniforms, keeping stocked with ammunition, and
keeping the SS from getting on your tail.
Balance short term with long term goals. You want short term
goals, punctuated by moments of sheer terror. This is part
of the "hero building" process. The short term goals
should be immediate and compelling. This can be something as
simple as "blow up more bad guys." Long term goals should
be what drives the short term goals, giving them purpose and
meaning. Not all games need purpose and meaning. DOOM is a
good example: the gameplay is so compelling that you have no
time to think about any long-term goals other than,
"survive." It is the most absorbing game of its kind on
any platform, in my opinion.
Another aspect of goal-setting that I like is the idea of
open play. In the case of Castle Wolfenstein, the goal of
the game is to escape with the war plans. However, the
player can take as long as he/she wants. In fact, the player
can choose to use the game as an open play environment,
effectively creating a new game. A common game was "Nazi
hunting", in which players would just run around shooting
everyone. Other players would try to get out of the castle
as quickly as possible, ignoring all other aspects of the
game. Castle Wolfenstein did not punish the player, because
its structure was open enough to contain these kind of
alternate games.
Gameplay
Part of the pleasure in a game comes from interacting with
it. I enjoy controlling characters on the screen, making
them solve problems or overcome challenges. I also derive
satisfaction at overcoming those challenges with skill and
dexterity. I set a limited goal ("solve the puzzle") and
then I reach it ("puzzle solved.")
The player should be able to do any action that seems
reasonable, given the premise of the game and the goals
formed based on those premises. If there is a situation in
which the natural response would be to run like hell, then
the character should be able to do just that. There should
be a counter or defense for every move. If you are shot at,
you should be able to move out of the way. If attacked, you
should be able to counter-attack, or at the very least be
allowed to escape. In the event that the player has just
made some horrible tactical mistake, this should be made
very clear so the player knows that it was "his fault."
There should also be the knowledge that, "there is another
way."
The player will also want some way to gain an advantage,
however temporary, by changing the rules slightly. For
example, in the arcade game Assault, your highly-
manueverable tank can enter "jump zones" that propel it
above enemy vehicles on the ground, giving the player a
unique advantage. Players want the biggest guns and the best
armor. Give them a way of earning that advantage, and then
give them a reason for really needing it.
When placing constraints on the player's action, there must
be a rationale. The premise may help establish why these
constraints exist. If the player's magic hammer has been
able to smash all walls, then it has to work all the time
unless a "Special Wall" is encountered. The hammer must
react with the wall in some way, perhaps signaled by a
different noise or animation sequence. If something has
worked in the past, it should work the same way in the
future, unless some kind of new variable has entered into
the picture. Make that variable clear, but you don't have to
give away all its secrets.
Don't forget to emphasize the heroic, epic quality of the
player's struggle. Explosions must be large and gratifying.
Climactic duels with the villian must satisfy! The player
wants to look good, so provide those opportunities that
reward dexterity, cleverness, and experience.
Japanese arcade games often reward pattern memorization.
Instead of providing a way out, many of the Japanese arcade
games rely heavily on memorization to advance. The reward is
for experience, not necessarily cleverness. By varying a set
of patterns, you can make the game more dynamic and still
reward memorization. For example, in Prince of Persia,
fighting the first few swordsmen is fairly easy if you
recognize a pattern in their fighting style. Later swordsmen
have slightly different appearances, and have different
patterns. I remember encountering the fat swordsman for the
first time and getting slaughtered when I fell in my old
patterns. The best patterns, in my opinion, are the ones
that don't rely on a fixed sequence of actions or moves. The
player instead recognizes of a particular tactic or set of
circumstances that allows him/her to act prudently, while
retaining flexibility in the goal-setting process. An
excellent example is X-Wing. A particular Imperial tactic
that is used over and over is the launching of TIE bombers
after a wave of TIE fighters. The TIE fighters are a mere
annoyance compared to the bombers, but the Fighters must be
dispatched lest they attack lightly-protected Rebel vessels.
Depending on distance and mission, the X-Wing pilot has to
react based on the experience that has been drilled into him
or her.
Graphics and Sound
The demand for high quality graphics and sound in today's
oftware has advanced hundreds of times in capability
since the early days of personal computing. We are no longer
required to use our imagination to equate a blocky, low-
resolution screen image with a rich fantasy world. Today, we
fully expect to see recognizable animated images, and we
increasingly demand music and sound. Games have become less
abstract and more complex, made possible by faster computers
and near-photorealistic graphics.
The visual and audible aspects of a game should mesh
smoothly with all previous aspects of the game. They should
not be the primary focus of the game. Great graphics and
sound should enhance an already great gaming experience, not
usurp it. A mediocre game with great graphics and sound
becomes a "technology showcase" with limited play value. A
brilliantly-conceived game with poor audiovisual design
limits its mass appeal.
Having "good" graphics does not necessarily require
millions of colors and high resolutions. The graphics must
reflect the premise and setting of the game. They must be
clear, well-rendered, and stylistically consistent. Great
graphics will transcend the limitations of resolution and
color. The games from LucasArts are among my favorites.
Although they are seen on a 320x200, 256 color IBM-PC
display, the characterization and visual design stands on
its own. The chunky pixels and blocky graphics fade from
consideration because the game successfully pulls you into
its world.
Engagement of the Senses
To engage the senses is to invite the player into the game
world. The vicarious experience of the player must be
consistent in presentation and context. This is a balance
between all the elements discussed above: Player and
Environment, Story/Setting and Player Expectation, Goal-
Setting and Gameplay, Graphics and Sound.
The game designer can also exploit second- and third-order
experience. These are the subtler details that are not
immediately obvious, but nevertheless contribute to the
depth of the gaming experience (the term "second-order" is
a mathematically expression. In engineering, it distinguises
between a simple model and a more accurate but complex one.)
An excellent example of this is Street Fighter II. On the
surface, this game is just another chop-sockey kung-fu
fighting game. This is a simple categorization. When it was
first introduced, it distinguished itself from other games
by offering silky-smooth, state-of-the-art animation. This
naturally attracted players. What distinguished SF2 from
other "hit-the-button punch-punch-punch" games was its
outstanding second-order design. It wasn't enough to just