With the advent of origin titles released in the past few years, the paradigm of narrative entertainment has shifted from, “what can he do?” to “why can he do it?”  We are no longer as concerned with the superhero’s future as we now are with his past.

Some video game titles have struggled with this shift of late.  For example, Final Fantasy XIII pandered to a new demographic while mincing it’s story line up between past and present.  Outcome?  Admirable sales, but mixed reviews at best.

As I play through Rockstar’s new release: Red Dead Redemption, I can’t help but become aggravated when John Marston reveals his past to complete strangers while on horseback.  I complete a few Wanted missions, help dispatch some pistoleros, and escort a train to safety, and now I’m friends enough with a stranger to delve into stories about my wife and kid.

I don’t want backstory.  Leave it at the first meeting during the narrative inclusion of the story process.  Or, at the least, make that a wholly optional aspect of the game.

John Marston is a quite invigorating character actually.  He is willing to lend a hand, but the moment he feels taken advantage of his posture changes, he squints his eyes, and becomes a force to be reckoned with.  Just let me draw my own conclusions as to what he did in his past, who he killed, what sins he committed.

Parceling out backstory bit by bit, in games of tremendous longevity, quickly becomes either the hook or the sinker.  Most fall into the latter, and the earlier does not guarantee a quality game.  Narrative backstory is a high-risk, moderate-reward formula that has quickly become the industry standard.

Imagine a game that starts like this.  Initial cut scene / tutorial that allows the player to select the weapon with which to kill Bill Williamson (antagonist to Marston’s protagonist).  You have 8 choices involving the always fun sawed-off shotgun, german pistol, knife, or bare hands, among others.  Then next option is how to dispose of his corpse.  Once again, a plethora of options.  You may turn him in for reward, bury him out of respect, or Achilles-style tie his ass up to your horse and saddle as you ride away as a message to the townsfolk.

You beat the game, drink a beer, and watch the ending.

A decent-sized cut scene ensues.  You realize Bill Williamson really was a bad motherfucker, and you did the world a favor.  It’s just that Bill’s son, whom you recognize from game play, is walking up to your family house with a cocked hat and even more cocked shotgun.  The end.

No narrative parceling, imaginations can run wild, and you still have room for a sequel.  Maybe you even get to play as Bill Williamson’s son next time.

For the mature gamer, our imaginations are so fucked up already, you’re handicapping our limit by selling us on story.  Even a pretty damn good one.