Falling out of love with open-worlds

Remember playing Grand Theft Auto III for the first time? It seemed special. Not only because of what it was in itself, but also for what it promised: living, breathing, functioning worlds where you can do anything you want, whenever you want. In other words, it promised a future where games would be vast virtual playgrounds replete with possibility.

When I look at open-world games today, I no longer see that prospect of possibility. Increasingly, I fear that I will find a bloated mess of ‘content’, within which openness signals the prospect of a daunting chore, rather than liberation.

Humour me as I clumsily articulate why this is the case by bringing you along on an imaginary journey through a fictional open-world game I have created in my brainbox, one which I believe replicates the experience of playing your average open-world videogame.

I have just finished a mandatory mission, the sole purpose of which is to explain a game system whereby I am able collect a variety of magic twigs and then tie these twigs together with different coloured bits of string which I can buy from shops (once I have unlocked these shops by completing a fishing mini-game). Depending on the combination of twigs I tie together and which colour string I use, these bundles will have a variety of uninteresting and barely noticeable effects.  Safe in the knowledge that any discernible benefit from this mechanic is far outweighed by its tedium and that, consequently, I will ignore this entirely superfluous system for the rest of the game, I look forward to moving on and undertaking a proper story mission.

Unfortunately, said story mission is on the other side of the map. Off I set, already dreading the prospect that I will spend more time travelling between missions then I will doing them. After a couple of minutes, I realise I’ve been going the wrong way — I’ve been bamboozled by a mini-map cluttered with side quest’s, collectibles and other such mish-mash. Instead of heading towards my intended objective, I have been heading towards a mini-game in which I can win cash by wagering that I can finish combing a pig before my opponent (given that this pig apparently has hair, my game must be set in the Balkans, home to the curly-hair hog, or Mangalitza pig). I reorient myself and head off again.

As I try to stay true to my path, I begin to feel overwhelmed by the glut of messages which pop up on my screen: “new items are available to purchase in the weapon store”; “a new generic race mission is available”; “the chemical toilet in your caravan is almost full”; “you have upgrade points to spend on your bowler hat”. A part of me is thinking, “Look, just FUCK OFF, alright?! Leave me alone! I don’t want to do all this shit, it’s too much”, but I soldier on.

I enter a courtyard. My final destination beckons on the other side. A message flashes up telling me that I have discovered a new courtyard. “There’s probably an achievement for walking into all the courtyards”, I think. I also don’t care. I cross the courtyard.

Oh for… It’s one of those bloody random emergent event things. It’s telling me I have to catch this dog and then throw it in the sea. Should I ignore it? I’m right by the story mission. But if I ignore it, my popularity meter will dip from ‘tolerated’ into ‘actively scorned’. This means that NPC’s will do that thing where one person kneels down on all fours behind me and another pushes me over them and this will be incredibly annoying. Fine. I’ll chase the dog.

Catching the dog was annoying. I am now further away from the story mission than when I started. I turn it off and go to bed.

Part of my growing cynicism towards open-world games no doubt lies with the fact that I don’t have as much time to play games as I used to; when time is short, a sprawling open-world packed with tasks can be a daunting prospect. But it’s more than that.

As I hope my imaginings indicate, it’s the tedious and repetitive side missions; it’s the game mechanics which feel tacked on and useless; it’s the constant busywork; it’s the superfluous and pointless mini-games. At heart, it’s a combination of the idea that bigger is always better — that adding in ‘stuff’ can only be an improvement — and what John Teti perceptively dubs the “gamification” of games —the idea “that a task becomes entertaining simply by virtue of making it a goal”.

This is why Assassins Creed Revelations felt like a chore (I’ve yet to play the latest installment so I can’t comment on that), this is why Borderlands 2 felt like a grind, this is why otherwise great games like Red Dead Redemption and GTA IV were punctuated by moments of tedium. This is why, when Rocksteady came to make a sequel to the excellent Arkham Asylum, they thought the best way to improve it would be to make it bigger, to add in more stuff, to ignore the fact that part of the reason first game worked so well was that the idea that Batman was trapped was reflected by the relatively confined space within which the game took place.

In the past I dreamed of the openness that GTA III promised. I now find myself longing for focus.

Saying all this, I’m currently enjoying Far Cry 3, so the lesson here is that I’m a massive hypocrite. But also, it means that there’s nothing inherently wrong with open-world games. Far Cry 3 for the most part manages to avoid the curse of open-world tedium by linking its disparate systems into a coherent whole — hunting and crafting are not only vital to progress, but also tie into narrative themes which push the idea that the jungle is a source for Jason’s power and growth (ridiculous as that pseudo-mystical concept might be).

Open-world games can be good, but I’m tired of every other game trying to be one. If a game is going to be open-world, then a little focus wouldn’t hurt. Game developers — please, please, please don’t just shovel system upon system into your open-world game for the sake of it. Consider why it’s there, consider if you need it.

I’m going to go play Far Cry 3 now.