29.6.07
Valley girls
My current diet of gaming podcasts is sporadic, but I semi-regularly catch the AngryGamer podcast and the GamersHell Podcast (from the "Eat My Bomb" squad). I recommend both, but I'd like to comment specifically on one of GH's recent topics.
(Well, "recent" may be a stretch. The cast dates from mid-March, when I first drafted the outline of this response.)
The episode in question features Ruckus ruminating on his dislike of Oblivion's in-game characters, which turns out to be a good excuse for discussing Masahiro Mori's concept of the Uncanny Valley. It's worth pointing out the controversy over this theory's validity and the general lack of supporting research; it's also worth speculating whether it even applies to videogames, with which our engagement is always metaphorical as well as physical. Never mind such philosophical meanderings, however: I was struck by Ruckus' focus on the possibility that Oblivion characters are unsettling because they're a little too human (versus the stylized characters in, say, Psychonauts or World of Warcraft). He entirely neglected the possibility that they're simply bad.
In Oblivion, Bethesda implemented a disappointingly sparse range of facial expressiveness. This may have been by design; perhaps they decided to code only "iconic" expressions, a small number of highly discrete expressions immediately recognizable by the player. Whether intentional or not, however, the end result is unsettling, as Ruckus notes. Bethesda's characters seem strikingly crude when compared to the high-water mark set by Valve, despite Oblivion post-dating Half-Life 2 by 1.5 years. There are no meaningful transitions between distinct facial states, and the dearth of distinct expressions creates a lack of ambiguity - there's nothing for the player to interpret in Cyrodiil's inhabitants, no hint of deeper meaning or emotional content discoverable beneath the broadly-iconic expressions on their faces. There is, in short, no chance of verisimilitude or credibility, even granting Coleridge's "willing suspension of disbelief". This might seem a remarkably subjective claim to make, but I challenge you to compare an extended conversation in Oblivion with one in Half-Life 2 and then disagree.
Bethesda also chose, bafflingly, to decouple facial expressions from characters' actual in-game attitude - or, more precisely, to track character attitude on two discrete and frequently conflicting axes. First is the character's minute-to-minute disposition, apparently dictated by initial reaction and by your handling of the "Speechcraft" minigame; second is what we might term the character's narrative attitude, the attitude they're compelled to adopt by the game's unfolding story. For example, you can lower the disposition of the Blades' leader so that he'll consistently frown or scowl at you (based on your abuse of Speechcraft), while he simultaneously extends patient guidance and support for your mission to save the world (based on his narrative role). A more ridiculous case, repeatable with any number of characters, can be arranged with the head of the guard in Kvatch: raise his disposition through Speechcraft and then attack him, and he'll defend himself with deadly intent even as he maintains an insipid cheek-to-cheek grin. Such bizarre disjunctures of character affect are not merely laughable; they're alienating.
A third unsettling aspect of Oblivion's characters can be attributed to Bethesda's use of FaceGen technology throughout the game. Because character faces are randomized to some degree, some of the FaceGen-erated faces throughout the game are "uncanny" - literally unheimlich, with subtly unnatural facial geometries. Such faces are the exception in Cyrodiil, but they're uncomfortable to encounter and contribute to the overall failure of character affect in the game.
None of these deficiencies is strictly attributable to the "Uncanny Valley", and it's notable that Half-Life 2 presents far fewer problems despite being more realistic (yet still far from "reality"). Despite controversy about whether Mori's theory is accurate in robotics, however, it may still be relevant to current priorities in game design. The "Uncanny Valley" offers a vocabulary for the phenomenon that, as games approach realism more closely, their flaws also become more glaring and alienating, and the level of polish required for an effective suspension of disbelief (or immersion within a consistent gameworld) is jacked through the ceiling. One of Oblivion's chief faults may be that it simply lacks that polish. ¶ 13:39
My current diet of gaming podcasts is sporadic, but I semi-regularly catch the AngryGamer podcast and the GamersHell Podcast (from the "Eat My Bomb" squad). I recommend both, but I'd like to comment specifically on one of GH's recent topics.
(Well, "recent" may be a stretch. The cast dates from mid-March, when I first drafted the outline of this response.)
The episode in question features Ruckus ruminating on his dislike of Oblivion's in-game characters, which turns out to be a good excuse for discussing Masahiro Mori's concept of the Uncanny Valley. It's worth pointing out the controversy over this theory's validity and the general lack of supporting research; it's also worth speculating whether it even applies to videogames, with which our engagement is always metaphorical as well as physical. Never mind such philosophical meanderings, however: I was struck by Ruckus' focus on the possibility that Oblivion characters are unsettling because they're a little too human (versus the stylized characters in, say, Psychonauts or World of Warcraft). He entirely neglected the possibility that they're simply bad.
In Oblivion, Bethesda implemented a disappointingly sparse range of facial expressiveness. This may have been by design; perhaps they decided to code only "iconic" expressions, a small number of highly discrete expressions immediately recognizable by the player. Whether intentional or not, however, the end result is unsettling, as Ruckus notes. Bethesda's characters seem strikingly crude when compared to the high-water mark set by Valve, despite Oblivion post-dating Half-Life 2 by 1.5 years. There are no meaningful transitions between distinct facial states, and the dearth of distinct expressions creates a lack of ambiguity - there's nothing for the player to interpret in Cyrodiil's inhabitants, no hint of deeper meaning or emotional content discoverable beneath the broadly-iconic expressions on their faces. There is, in short, no chance of verisimilitude or credibility, even granting Coleridge's "willing suspension of disbelief". This might seem a remarkably subjective claim to make, but I challenge you to compare an extended conversation in Oblivion with one in Half-Life 2 and then disagree.
Bethesda also chose, bafflingly, to decouple facial expressions from characters' actual in-game attitude - or, more precisely, to track character attitude on two discrete and frequently conflicting axes. First is the character's minute-to-minute disposition, apparently dictated by initial reaction and by your handling of the "Speechcraft" minigame; second is what we might term the character's narrative attitude, the attitude they're compelled to adopt by the game's unfolding story. For example, you can lower the disposition of the Blades' leader so that he'll consistently frown or scowl at you (based on your abuse of Speechcraft), while he simultaneously extends patient guidance and support for your mission to save the world (based on his narrative role). A more ridiculous case, repeatable with any number of characters, can be arranged with the head of the guard in Kvatch: raise his disposition through Speechcraft and then attack him, and he'll defend himself with deadly intent even as he maintains an insipid cheek-to-cheek grin. Such bizarre disjunctures of character affect are not merely laughable; they're alienating.
A third unsettling aspect of Oblivion's characters can be attributed to Bethesda's use of FaceGen technology throughout the game. Because character faces are randomized to some degree, some of the FaceGen-erated faces throughout the game are "uncanny" - literally unheimlich, with subtly unnatural facial geometries. Such faces are the exception in Cyrodiil, but they're uncomfortable to encounter and contribute to the overall failure of character affect in the game.
None of these deficiencies is strictly attributable to the "Uncanny Valley", and it's notable that Half-Life 2 presents far fewer problems despite being more realistic (yet still far from "reality"). Despite controversy about whether Mori's theory is accurate in robotics, however, it may still be relevant to current priorities in game design. The "Uncanny Valley" offers a vocabulary for the phenomenon that, as games approach realism more closely, their flaws also become more glaring and alienating, and the level of polish required for an effective suspension of disbelief (or immersion within a consistent gameworld) is jacked through the ceiling. One of Oblivion's chief faults may be that it simply lacks that polish. ¶ 13:39
