Thought/Process: Building Character

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Protagonists in videogames seem to fall into one of three slots. Fully-Formed Personas have a complete history surrounding them and we're usually only playing through a slice of it, like Dante from the Devil May Cry games or Altaïr from Assassin's Creed. Characters like JC Denton from the first Deus Ex or the nameless Hero from Fable fit the mold for Partially-Formed Personas, coming equipped with a more spare framing story and key events for catalyzing the ensuing action. When your avatar is even more bare bones than the above two types, like Gordon Freeman or Chell, the mute heroine of the first Portal game, we can call it a Hollow Persona. Ciphers like these are just waiting to be slipped on, like virtual scuba gear that lets us breathe while immersed in another environment.

In games where the main character's clearly defined, like the Prince of Persia series or Beyond Good & Evil, the player winds up becoming an invisible supporting character. Titles with an "empty vessel" -- like the Prince from Katamari Damacy, Gordon Freeman, etc. -- seem to create especially strong ties to the supporting characters that already exist, partially because they have to shepherd the player through narrative and gameplay. As a result, the supporting characters often feel more fleshed-out than a game's lead. Take the example of the Arbiter in the Halo series. He's an obedient true believer in the Covenant's theology when we first meet him in Halo 2. As the game progresses, we see him struggle through a crisis of faith after learning the Covenant's true plans for the fate of the universe. By the time of Halo 3, he's taken control of his own destiny and that of his brethren by rebelling against his former masters and helping Master Chief and Earth's defenders. We get to see and play through the 180-degree turn of the character's development arc. By comparison, Master Chief is only ever pointed in one direction in terms of motivation.

It can even come from the player, in the form of the real-world urge to respond to gameplay challenges. In the case of Portal, the battle of wits was really between the person holding the controller and GLaDOS, the manipulative artificial intelligence trying to kill you. That the character you were controlling in Portal had a name was irrelevant, as was whatever backstory brought her to the Aperture Science testing facilities. Backstory would have only cluttered the dynamic of player-vs.-GLaDOS. You, and not the woman in the orange jumpsuit, were the hero.

This transparent-character design strategy isn't anything new for Valve, either: The focal point of the Half-Life mythos, crowbar-wielding scientist Gordon Freeman, never talks. Whenever the in-development sequel to Portal comes out, I'd say it's a safe bet that you won't be playing as Chell. Leaving aside the issues of how Portal fits into Valve's Half-Life 2 continuity, it's a fair assumption, because players weren't given reason to care about what happens her once the game ended. The goal is for the avatar to become subsumed into the player. So, when Portal 2 comes out, the motivation for whatever Hollow Persona you assume will be to think your way through the puzzles that GLaDOS (or Aperture forbid, some other enemy) sets up for you. Contrast that motivation to the one you'll be operating under in the next Prince of Persia, where the character will have a clearly defined past and a hazier future destiny that you'll be helping him achieve. While pulling off all kinds of acrobatic feats feels good, the motivation primarily comes from the story in the game.