BioShock, part two: Tension, the Hero, and the Writer’s Contract with His Consumer

With fear of simplifying too much, I say that a story’s fuel resides in the pull of opposing forces, whatever size they be.

(Click here for part one, which introduces tension.)

In BioShock we see the polarities of physical corruption versus purity: one derived from Ryan’s ideals, the other from a baseline human existence. As protagonists, we presumably exist toward the lattermost end, and I suppose that quickly changes once we begin modifying ourselves and, thus, begin removing the boundary that separated us from Rapturians. That said, plasmids not only make an engaging play mechanic in terms of environment and enemy besting, but they’re also thematically appropriate, and that’s nice, particularly as a narrative tool. That which we fight against is that which we must use. And similar to the Sister-Daddy device that I mentioned in the previous post, plasmids also feel very relevant to Rapture’s universe because of this intuited tension that’s communicated to the player.

Who else does this? Take most monomyth heroes for example. To cast the ring into the fire, Frodo must succumb to its effects, battle Gollum, and have his finger bitten off in the process. Drama is enhanced by the proximity of hero to danger. And this is not any danger, mind you — it’s overwhelming odds. But more importantly, it’s danger that challenges our very definition of this hero. With Frodo it’s remaining independent of the greed and selfishness that a ring-bearer exudes. With Jack, our BioShock hero, it’s remaining purposed and independent, above the homogeny of Rapture’s inhabitants and the moral morass created by man’s independence from regulations.

In BioShock we clearly see ourselves — the heros, mind you — as able-bodied conduits for the correction of Ryan’s failure. Sure we have the opportunity to harvest or rescue Little Sisters, but the moral values sought by our protagonist are really set out before us, with little chance to derail it. Atlas wants us to rescue his family. (And why shouldn’t we? That’s a good thing in such dire times.) This goal of rescue validates our purpose to play the game. Yes, of course we play the game for its action and its mechanics, but our path is qualified (justified, even) by the goal of realigning a moral misalignment. By not allowing us too much control over Jack’s motives, we instead are given a longer leash with which to engage the immediacy of FPS gameplay. Basically, with less responsibility to the narrative outcome, we can instead focus on the very play that allows the narrative to unfold. And even though I’m more fan of open-ended adventures a la Fallout 3, this structure works here in BioShock because it does dictate the pace of our story, which allows narrative control to its developers, not the wanderlust player.*

With Rapture falling around us, our displacement is far more obvious. Not only are we foreigners to an underwater land, we don’t even look like them, too. Any humanized character are thus far presented solely by radio and static picture. In a way we sense the possibility of a reunion with humanity, yet we’re never really given an in-game experience. The closest I’ve found is when Ryan destroys the submarine. We see movement and want to help, yet we aren’t given the opportunity for a face-to-face encounter or cutscene, which the game uses sparingly. Similar to Rapture as an environment, this thematic tone can be quite suffocating, and it also allows the linearity to pull us forward, much like bubbles to the water’s surface.

What I’m saying is that the developer must establish these contracts with the player up-front so that he may successfully pull stunts further down the storyline. In Rapture I’m growing used to high drama, which is okay since games are an immediate medium and often coax stories into culling everything out minus the greatest moments of tension. With that, I expect drastic shifts in the storyline, and I’ve seen that so far with the death of Atlas’s family and the prophetic recordings found in the opening stages of the game. So far I think the voice acting and, particularly, the writing for these tapes are relevant, colorful, and pruned to purpose. They all add to the epicenter of BioShock’s underlying tension (which I’ll argue is the renewal of human values despite one’s brush with corruption), and they do so from many different angles while translating each ancillary character’s personal wants in the process. And that adds great texture to this long, linear dragon.