How player interaction, environmental and audio design act to elicit loneliness.

Gaming is a medium which yearns for player interaction, baying for us at every moment to further progress the action and by proxy the story. Without it, the tale and the events unfolding within, simply cannot be. The juxtaposing approach to audience immersion is film. Whether your eyes actively spectate the unreality, the beauty of its exchanges and action unfolding before you, it will continue either way. Though both can pry out one of the most ubiquitous emotions in modern day life, loneliness. The act of exiting a cinema to hear the chatter of those around you may act as a reminder that you came alone, an experience which can also occur with a game. It is a hobby often depicted as the most isolating experience in sceptical media representation, though I find this portrayal to be false. With the option of multiplayer games and online play proving to be more accessible than ever, just why would we feel isolated? Is it developer intentions within the works or can we bring on this feeling ourselves? And what do the varied facets of this loneliness resemble?

The vast expanse of space. It is a cold and lifeless domain, pertaining to everything that is antithetical as to what we deem to be alive Now picture that within your mind, hold within that bleak image. Now, I want you to picture a little Italian plumber in a red cap soaring through that cosmic scene. I’m sure that isolation is somewhat dampened now. Good. I am speaking of course, about Mario Galaxy and its sprawling skyboxes of the cosmic backdrop to which we explore. The game masterfully weaves the wedding of its score, visuals and implied scale, all which allude toward a space vaster than that of which we are able to roam. 

We find ourselves in control of Mario as he is introduced into an upcoming level via the gift of flight, soaring gracefully from the blissful comet observatory (the main hub area) and landing upon a vista which composes before us an image of the path or obstacles we are yet to face. It is these initial introductory segments which are composed of the aforementioned skyboxes, the interactable level elements themselves and its varying characters, all of which amount to perceiving a still from a film. If the visuals provide us with sufficient context of a scene, then they have succeeded in their aim, akin to the composition of said vista upon which we land. I found myself surveying the scene that unrolls before me, proving only too alluring not to absorb. I was faced with a duality of options here, having the alternative choice of basking in the incandescence of space and its infinite possibilities or continuing onward, as the developers intended. I admit that this idea stems from an individualised point of view and shall inevitably vary from player to player, for as a child I was merely too eager to begin my romp through the level. Yet as an adult I find myself pausing before the inevitable action commences. Due to my prior knowledge of space, its infinite, fathomless nature, I found that the meaning of this beginning had been altered with age. For now I felt alone, rather than excited. I dwelled, if but momentarily, upon what lay beyond this plateau before me. Space and its infinite nature, whilst I, further made to feel minute by the scale utilised in the game, was a speck amidst the nebulous cosmic tapestry.

This feeling was further heightened in specific galaxies. I recall my time spent in space junk galaxy and the potent yet solemn implementation of a piano-led song. Or my arrival at Bonefin galaxy, where I remained momentarily upon the metallic fungus-shaped vessel of the toads. Before me loomed a sphere of water swirling, its surface encased by charred rock which jutted cruelly out into the shades of jade and lazuli of the cosmos beyond. It was only as I left the ship and flew into its waters where the action began. The majesty that lay ahead intrigued me, yet it was what lay beyond that paralysed me. Oftentimes it is not what we see, what we can explore which provides us with a sense of adventuring, but the fantasising of what remains yet to be traversed. Or, what cannot be traversed, that which is forbidden.

The nature of playing games must so often require cooperation on the player’s behalf, as they act in abidance to the developer’s intended experience. Though admittedly as an evolving medium this is being iterated upon and these grievances addressed. In particular, titles in the open-world and sandbox genres allow for and encourage variation in the player’s approach to the curated scenarios; there are still streamlined and playtested interactions, already accounted for on behalf of the development team. Though one example of how the player can subvert this intentionality when they opt to play a multiplayer map, alone.

Here dwells the liminal area of design, for the intended purpose has been subverted. Growing up as an only child I recall a time when I encountered this phenomenon. Having awoken early one morning and  emphatically booting up my xbox  in the hopes my friends would be online, only they weren’t. Mysteriously at half five on a Sunday morning they were asleep. I deliberated over whether to continue on or (in hindsight the more sensible option) go back to sleep. Though evidently and rather predictably I decided to start up a game of Halo Reach, alone. As my decrepit xbox whirred, the cries of the ailing fan intensifying, I loaded into a map. I was roaming the barren and vacuous landscape of the map ‘the spire’.

As I continued toward the spire’s base, noting as I approached, those paths that stretched around me, once fraught with danger and the malintention of other players plotting their attacks whether they were hidden from my  line of sight or leaping down upon me. Instead what greeted me was the absence of these foreseen hazards and instead there was solely the solemn chimes of birdsong, the audible ebb and flow of the ocean’s current at the foot of the cliff face and the occasional pulse that blossomed from the spire’s pinnacle. An audioscape once concealed by the clamour of gunfire and xbox live open mic chatter (all highbrow chatter, of course) and the barks of the allied NPC commentator applauding or denouncing the team’s successes and failures. This moment was rather unforeseen for ten year old me,  who was so used to the frenetic pace of multiplayer interaction. What I was met with now was what felt like an aftermath. A moment of reflection as the wind blew its solitary notes and the birds cawed out above me, unseen. I had stumbled upon the unintentional experience, it felt, at least to my imaginative young mind, like I had broken the game’s intended experience, uncovering a new way to explore without the intrusion of others. Though, I felt alone. For the first time in a game about a galactic war and inheriting the mantle of the stoic noble six, I instead felt isolated and reflective. I had arrived late to the birthday party, every soul had departed and only the echoes of the joy that rang out hours prior now remained. The unintentional emotional response stemmed from this feeling of existing outside of a purpose, of being late to the fun. A theme forefronted in Bungie’s other spinoff title, Halo ODST.

ODST and its plot often feels akin to the aforementioned arrival at the metaphorical birthday party. Drawing attention to our insignificance as a pawn within the war. Our fragility as a human is forefronted as we must toil in battle against what would prove easy prey for the series figurehead the Master Chief. We act in this game as a cleanup crew for the devastation that war brings with it. We are a nameless ghost navigating between the alleys of the abandoned carcass of a city. We uncover plot details regarding a mass exodus, of covenant cruelty, humanity and their inevitable losses and those who came before us. Akin to Noble Six we are not only aware of our denoted insignificance but it is thrust upon us. We are not the one who is going down in the blaze of glory, we are merely the cleaner arriving to the scene sweeping up the rubble and extinguishing the fires. The feeling is only bolstered further by Marty O’Donnell’s score. Though moments of bombast still remain in flecks amidst a morose musical landscape, our time spent with the game’s main protagonist the aptly named anonymity ‘the rookie’ is scored by sparse piano compositions. It is this reflective ambiance as opposed to the thunderous rapture of the trilogy’s soundtracks which indicates a tonal shift between titles. Donnell’s music speaks and the environment tells. We are the soul wandering past the vibrancy of the jazz club, only too feeble to enter. So we vanish into the shadows, to imagine our own abstraction of company, of adventure.

The insignificance of a player when set against a digital environment can act in two primary ways; to either inspire or diminish their hopes within the gameworld. The first example that remains prominent within my mind is Dark Souls, when regarding futility of player action within a gameworld, though there were very sparse examples upon recollection where I felt truly alone. Though the grandiosity of the recondited Ash Lake instilled within me an intense feeling of being an alien spirit unknowingly wandering into the domain of an ancient and mystical world, heightened by Motoi Sakuraba’s gregorian crescendo which thundered out, wholly enveloping me in the potent feeling. It was this juxtaposing beauty, contrasting the dismal scenery of the previous area Blighttown which accentuated this feeling. After trudging through the seemingly infinite mire of the descent toward Quelaag, I finally had a moment to reflect. I had descended deep into the belly of the world, far deeper than any prior delve into its uncharted bowels. Now I found myself met with the sight of an undisturbed lake, and with this brief reflection I felt utterly devastated. Exhausted by the traversal that acted as precursor to this area. I felt truly lost, truly alone and puzzled most of all by this environmental and tonal juxtaposition. It conjured up a feeling of being truly forlorn, further reinforced by this area (spoilers ahead) being the resting place of the warming presence of our frequent aid, Siegward.  Its beauty left me hopeless, crushed by its grandeur.

As an antithetical example of this feeling I draw your attention to the idea of inspirational simulated loneliness as seen in Minecraft. Whether you initially experienced the title through the audioscapes of C418, Kumi Tanioka or Lena Raine’s purposefully isolating tones, the one element of musicality that remains unshifting throughout their varied approaches to the game’s score. There are always sparse audioscapes working in tandem with the game’s low-poly visuals that invite the use of player imagination. For me this feeling is intensified with the scale of the infinite worlds, for our minds conjure the most potent image when left to fill in the spaces with our own abstractions, which usually (in my case, at least) prove to be far more fantastical than those shown to us. The game resonated with me as a child due to it seemingly begging for my imagination to compensate where, graphically, albeit intentionally, it lacks. 

This exemplifies the feeling of alienation for me. Finding myself in a lone landscape surrounded by an uncanny estimation of reality which mimics our own, limited only by capabilities of our imagination. In the realm of its infinite expanse, its infinite possibilities too, it is the moment’s of respite between the player’s next construction, adventure or mining endeavour which embeds within us the feeling of isolation. For the infinite that unrolls before us and the world and its approximations seem so unconquerable in its vastness, yet it is in isolation that I found inspiration. In direct opposition to ODST and its sense of hopeless strife, Minecraft functions on the opposing side of logic. Without purpose you must make your own, such is the nature of sandbox games. Yet when the present goal is achieved and those moment’s of peace, scored by its meditative soundtrack begins to play, it is a sense of loneliness tinged with success. There have been only a minute number of times where I have revisited this game and departed from it feeling less comforted by its world, it has rooted itself firmly in the confines of my subconscious and even listening to the soundtrack itself I can recall so vividly those moments of success and those moments of isolation, of being in a world I am yet to conquer, one in which I am utterly alone.

Personal definitions of loneliness vary for us all. For some, it may be the abstinence of company, others it may be the strained reminiscence of more blissful times long since passed, or recollections of memories coloured with shades of joy. For others it may be an expressed dissatisfaction with their existence in the present moment, as you find yourself residing upon the periphery of human interaction. Or perhaps it is walking past a venue as you hear muffled laughter from within, the chatter of two friends passing you by as you walk beside them, alone. The feeling of being an observer to the joy of others. Loneliness is moulded and informed by our individual understanding of the connections made throughout our lives and the possibility of those that dwell beyond our life, proving to be unobtainable. Thus comes the paralysing feeling of loneliness, the knowledge that something is missing and the ensuing sight of the evidence which cements this belief. Games have been a sanctuary for me in times of loneliness as I escaped into the realm of the impossible for a few hours at a time. Though they have acted as reminders of my loneliness, as I tried in vain to escape from it. Whether they act on the former or the latter, they nonetheless detail an artistic depth to conjure so many facets and forms of loneliness through their variety and approach to player experience and immersion. Be it through juxtaposition in their environment and score or their use of scale to instil within us a feeling of inspiration or hopelessness. On other occasions it is merely our abstractions or choices which conjure this feeling, be it a conscious choice or not. We can interpret these experiences in such vastly differing ways to one another, such is the joy of guiding onward the fantastical characters through these landscapes, so far removed from our own. They are both an escape and reminder of our existence, as our thoughts and emotions manifest wherever we look for meaning.