Buzzword? Yes. But ludonarrative dissonance can take storytelling in games to the next level.
Written by Perrin Smith, Graphics by Tyler Lowe, Images courtesy of Naughty Dog/Sony Interactive Entertainment
There’s something special at the core of The Last of Us Part II. It’s been called “an astonishing achievement” and “a feat of empathetic storytelling.” And, in many ways, it is. The story, with its raw and emotional dialogue and great characters, succeeds in tackling intense themes about love, purpose and the meaning of revenge. The gameplay, on the other hand, presents a big problem: ludonarrative dissonance.
It’s a complicated term that’s been used to write and talk about The Last of Us Part II ad nauseam. Originally coined by Clint Hocking in 2007, “ludonarrative dissonance” refers to the sensation in gaming when the story and themes relayed in cutscenes are at odds with what’s played through a game’s systems and core mechanics.
As a tool for critique, the term pops up every so often to describe a new release, but with The Last of Us Part II, it’s different.
With its critically praised story, the game asks a question: can you put a stop to the endless cycle of violence? It’s a good question, one that’s been asked in gaming before in stories like that of Spec Ops: The Line. But in The Last of Us Part II, it becomes a question that pits the main characters, Ellie and Abby, against each other through a series of intertwining narratives to showcase their raw hatred for one another.
In terms of story, it’s excellent. Through cutscenes and dialogue exchanges, the themes are laid bare for us to understand and sympathize with. But it falls apart when the control is handed back to the player.
The player’s primary engagement with the game’s mechanics comes through being presented with dozens of bad guys to fight for the sake of progression about every 30 minutes. Meaningless, casual violence. It doesn’t track with the overall narrative about “why killing is bad.”
But it doesn’t have to be this way.
As has been stated time and again, games oft-default to violence and action set pieces to tell their stories. Why? Because it’s familiar.
“Players aren’t hungry for a thing that’s different,” said Cyril Guichard, professor of interactive design and game development here at SCAD. “As a consuming mass, we’re hungry for the same thing. That’s why we have, like, 10 Call of Duty’s.”
On the whole, this isn’t a bad thing. Gameplay that starts from a point of familiarity can be good, as long as it seeks to do something different.
“[As game designers] we start with what we know, and then we iterate on it,” said Guichard.
The Last of Us Part II doesn’t get there. It’s bold in its storytelling, but not in its gameplay. It’s divisive, in part, because players aren’t connecting through gameplay — the killing of hundreds of inconsequential characters — to the story unfolding in nuanced cutscenes. We don’t feel like Ellie and Abby. The hatred they have doesn’t course through our veins.
But it comes close to something cooler.
It’s Ellie’s birthday. She’s turning 16. This level comes about five hours into the game and opens in a post-apocalyptic Wyoming Natural History Museum full of dinosaurs and space artifacts. Joel, another character in the game, found it because dinos and space are two of Ellie’s favorite things. We’ve heard this through their conversations, experienced first-hand how their bond has grown deeper over two games and have connected with them, too.
Ellie and Joel hop into a space shuttle landing capsule on display. Ellie pops on an old astronaut’s helmet and Joel hands her a cassette tape recording of a space launch.
It’s a powerful scene. Because we, as players, understand the importance of these actions. It’s not a big action set piece. The bond between these characters has been set up and is communicable through the gameplay we experienced in the first game.
It’s great because, up to this moment, you’ve had about an hour to explore, talk and take in all the glory of the museum with Joel. As the player, we experienced it. So, when the emotional scene happens and control is taken away from us, it’s a breather that packs a punch we’ve been primed for.
This is what gaming could be. When a game’s core mechanics, even if that’s just walking and talking, culminate in a thematic storytelling beat with emotional weight.
It’s possible in gaming and no other mediums, because we, the player, get to live out the story. We get to take part in its narrative. So, when there’s a narrative beat, we’re ready for it and it packs all the weight it’s been promised. And, when it’s paid attention to, allows for gameplay to explore the narrative’s central themes a whole lot better than noniterative shooter sections.
It’s what games could be striving for more frequently and it’s something that The Last of Us Part II opens the door for us to talk about. Because, when it works, there’s something extremely powerful here.
