Why Should I Care?

I'm the rare person who enjoys video games as a spectator sport. I'm not averse to playing them, but I get almost the same thrill from watching someone else do all the heavy lifting while I take in the narrative.

My friend Nick and I finished Bioshock Infinite last night. It's one of the games that made my list of places where visionary storytellers are migrating to. I can confidently say that it's one of the best games I've seen in years. The setting is vivid. The themes are strong. The characters are deep. I can't comment on the game mechanics, but Nick never complained.

MILD POTENTIAL SPOILERS (though if your enjoyment of games, books, and movies relies mostly on the plot, you're filling up on bread instead of character meat and thematic wine). Bioshock Infinite's ending feels rather inconsistent with its own thematic and character development. The dissonance results more from the ending's execution than its content. Having agonized over why this amazing game's conclusion felt flat, It's my opinion that the problem is a matter of stakes.

I've discussed how to end (and start) a story before. The reason it's not as hard as most people think (and why Bioshock Infinite's mishandled ending doesn't tarnish my perception of the game much) is that endings are among the least important story elements. Strong protagonists and antagonists, engaging conflicts, and fully fleshed-out themes are far more vital, as are beginnings. One relevant aspect of storytelling I haven't touched on yet is the conflict's stakes.

In brief, stakes answer the question, "Why should I care?" Conflicts can operate on two basic levels: personal and public. Personal stakes set the characters' degree of concern, while public stakes are more immediately urgent to the audience. A balance of both is essential to a story's emotional impact.

I turn again to the cultural touchstone of our times: the original Star Wars trilogy. All three films raise their public stakes as high as possible. If the Rebellion fails, the galaxy faces indefinite domination by a fascist empire with a planet-cracking superweapon. The first movie makes these consequences clear right away and draws the audience in. Not until The Empire Strikes Back are we given personal conflict to rival the military struggle. The ingenious part is how both conflicts conflict with each other in the character of Luke Skywalker. He's strongly invested in destroying the Empire, but it's made painfully clear that doing so means killing his father.

Star Wars is an apt example because I think Bioshock Infinite raises its personal stakes to heights that could have produced an Empire-level payoff. I could be wrong, but the game's public stakes never seem quite as compelling as its characters' inner turmoil (we're given visions of airships bombing Manhattan early on, but I'll admit that 9/11 somewhat desensitized me).

The game's immense personal conflicts do reach a natural conclusion some time before the actual ending. The main themes are resolved well before that. At that point, a storyteller can really call it a day any time he wants. What he shouldn't do is bet all the stakes on black when the wheel could land on red. Which in this case it does.

Don't get me wrong. Writers in any medium should take risks. Making truly revolutionary fiction requires it. But waiting till after the natural resolution of your main themes and conflicts is not the best time to risk losing the audience's emotional engagement. Pulling off such narrative sleight of hand takes absolute mastery of story structure and saintly patience. Personally, I know I'm not equal to the task.

Based on the spectacular experience he created with Bioshock Infinite, I think Ken Levine has reached that level. He's made his Star Wars. I'm raptly anticipating his Empire.

Have an opinion on Bioshock Infinite or any other high-stakes story? I await your comments.