The Perfect(ly bad) Character
I recently wrote about a character in a book who came across as too perfect. This spawned some tangential discussion, but when I say that as a bad thing, I'm generally not saying "I don't like him because he's an upstanding citizen who always makes the morally right choices." No, what I'm saying is closer to "I don't like him because he always seems to make the narratively right choices, thus coming across more as an obvious plot device than a person." That's my perfect or flawless in a bad way.
Sometimes, it's simply because there's not enough explanation of the character's reason and motivations. That happens a lot in roleplaying situations, where so much goes on in a player's mind that may not be conveyed to others. It also happens a lot in movies, where time constraints limit what can be told.
When I thought of a prime example for this sort of character, Riddick came to mind. I could probably argue the point from Perfect Dark, but Chronicles of Riddick was what came to mind and it happened to be on TV last night. So let's look at some specific events therein...
In the beginning, Riddick is chased by bounty hunters. He neatly takes them out, has a calm conversation with their leader that ends in the guy reaching toward a weapon rack Riddick points out is empty, hijacks their ship, and heads off into space. Well, okay, it's an action movie and we're establishing the lead as a badass. Suspension of disbelief holds just because "hey, cool!"
He reaches Helion Prime. Prior to the invasion, Riddick lays low a bunch of guards after they give him the time to snuff the candles providing the only light in the room. Eh. During the invasion, Riddick is with his holy man "friend" who gets separated from his family. The guy's eager to get to his wife and daughter, but Riddick insist he wait, even when things look like they might be clear. Then some sort of air strike/bomb thing goes off in the clear area. Hmm. Is Riddick supposed to be familiar with necromonger tactics and weapons? Uhh... maybe. I guess.
Riddick continues to kick ass across the planet until he's captured by the bounty hunters to be hauled off to Crematoria. He tells the audience via internal monologue that he planned the whole thing. "Why fly when you can ride?" Errr...
On Crematoria, he stares down beasts, kills prisoners, and watches the guard group flee at the news of incoming necromongers. Surveying the chaos of the guard post, he lays out what happened there between the guards and bounty hunters for the benefits of the other prisoners with him. When asked how he knows, he offers "It was my plan."
Riddick seems to know exactly where to go to race the remaining guards to the hangar with the one ship off the planet. When getting there, he and the prisoners with him see the necromonger ship drop off a squad of bad guys. As the others prepare to fight for their lives in the "three minutes" or so they have before being incinerated, he tells them to wait. "Just wait." On cue, the hangar opens, leading to a firefight between necromongers and guards before Riddick and Co. join in the fight. ... Really? Is precognition supposed to be among his traits, because I never heard that anywhere. And in the final fight, he even manages to be right where the Lord Marshal shifts to, giving him the killing blow.
Basically, every step of the way, Riddick appears to be utterly and totally in control. While that does build him up as an awesome warrior, it removes any real sense of danger, and thus any sense of accomplishment from everything he does. It also makes him hard to relate to, as very few of us seem to be that much in control of our lives. Even in the two or three moments where someone else intercedes to better his position, there isn't much feeling that he needed saving.
This sort of thing works okay for an action movie or one-shot adventure. Chalk it up to luck, or fate, or whatever and move on because the story needs to keep moving and the audience really doesn't need to ponder the implications.
But in a novel or an ongoing roleplaying campaign, you end up with a character who may be able to do awesome things, but it's hard for anyone else to care. Other characters, readers, or players can't relate to someone who seems so flawless and shallow.
Or such is my take, anyway.
Sometimes, it's simply because there's not enough explanation of the character's reason and motivations. That happens a lot in roleplaying situations, where so much goes on in a player's mind that may not be conveyed to others. It also happens a lot in movies, where time constraints limit what can be told.
When I thought of a prime example for this sort of character, Riddick came to mind. I could probably argue the point from Perfect Dark, but Chronicles of Riddick was what came to mind and it happened to be on TV last night. So let's look at some specific events therein...
In the beginning, Riddick is chased by bounty hunters. He neatly takes them out, has a calm conversation with their leader that ends in the guy reaching toward a weapon rack Riddick points out is empty, hijacks their ship, and heads off into space. Well, okay, it's an action movie and we're establishing the lead as a badass. Suspension of disbelief holds just because "hey, cool!"
He reaches Helion Prime. Prior to the invasion, Riddick lays low a bunch of guards after they give him the time to snuff the candles providing the only light in the room. Eh. During the invasion, Riddick is with his holy man "friend" who gets separated from his family. The guy's eager to get to his wife and daughter, but Riddick insist he wait, even when things look like they might be clear. Then some sort of air strike/bomb thing goes off in the clear area. Hmm. Is Riddick supposed to be familiar with necromonger tactics and weapons? Uhh... maybe. I guess.
Riddick continues to kick ass across the planet until he's captured by the bounty hunters to be hauled off to Crematoria. He tells the audience via internal monologue that he planned the whole thing. "Why fly when you can ride?" Errr...
On Crematoria, he stares down beasts, kills prisoners, and watches the guard group flee at the news of incoming necromongers. Surveying the chaos of the guard post, he lays out what happened there between the guards and bounty hunters for the benefits of the other prisoners with him. When asked how he knows, he offers "It was my plan."
Riddick seems to know exactly where to go to race the remaining guards to the hangar with the one ship off the planet. When getting there, he and the prisoners with him see the necromonger ship drop off a squad of bad guys. As the others prepare to fight for their lives in the "three minutes" or so they have before being incinerated, he tells them to wait. "Just wait." On cue, the hangar opens, leading to a firefight between necromongers and guards before Riddick and Co. join in the fight. ... Really? Is precognition supposed to be among his traits, because I never heard that anywhere. And in the final fight, he even manages to be right where the Lord Marshal shifts to, giving him the killing blow.
Basically, every step of the way, Riddick appears to be utterly and totally in control. While that does build him up as an awesome warrior, it removes any real sense of danger, and thus any sense of accomplishment from everything he does. It also makes him hard to relate to, as very few of us seem to be that much in control of our lives. Even in the two or three moments where someone else intercedes to better his position, there isn't much feeling that he needed saving.
This sort of thing works okay for an action movie or one-shot adventure. Chalk it up to luck, or fate, or whatever and move on because the story needs to keep moving and the audience really doesn't need to ponder the implications.
But in a novel or an ongoing roleplaying campaign, you end up with a character who may be able to do awesome things, but it's hard for anyone else to care. Other characters, readers, or players can't relate to someone who seems so flawless and shallow.
Or such is my take, anyway.
Actually, that would be kind of cool. Low level Fate / Precognition which allows you to be able to be where you're most needed, or to prevent serious problems. Actually, in some RPGs, that would be Danger Sense + Common Sense sort of merits, and if you were using Mage, you'd add in 'Right Place / Right Time', which is a simple Fate 2 (3?) Rote. Actually, in my current M&M campaign, one of the characters has the Luck Power. It manifests as him seeing all the potential futures that 'might be', and then choosing the future he finds most to his advantage. Since the character's a time traveller (with serious innate time awareness), it makes sense. And he makes a point of not telling anyone what he's actually capable of, either -- so in that context, as far as people are concerned, he's just got incredible battlefield awareness.
ReplyDeleteSounds neat in theory. I used to think Longshot was cool. So maybe it's just me, but I reached a point where seeing everything work out for a character all the time became boring as fuck (pardon the language). If there's no chance (or really good illusion thereof) of failure, then success is meaningless. In a system using dice, at least there's still a chance of messing up or being outdone, I guess. To each their own, I suppose. In an RPG situation, maybe this boils down to how you get more into things and want to control them and make them right while I tend to retain more of an overall story view. *shrugs*
ReplyDeleteActually, I do consider Longshot to be reasonably cool. ;) The trick is to accept the capabilities of the person, and then open things up in an area where they don't excel. For Riddick, for example, while he was awesome incarnate, he can't save everyone -- and the person / people he actually gets reasonably close to, he can't save. This is where conflict and trial come in... he fails in that he can't save the person who means something. This holds true in RPGs as well. You let the person shine in the area they're geared towards, and then you hit them in the area they're vulnerable. But you're right -- to a large extent I like having control over my own fate in roleplaying games, and will generally build and gear my character towards the area I want them to excel at. When the crunch comes, it becomes a matter of 'how do I fix this' rather than 'what is a good story?' -- the two aren't diametrically opposed, of course - I just don't like tragedy.
ReplyDeleteRiddick does set out to save Kyra and he fails. I'll grant that, but only that. We don't really get to see any effect of it, being at the end of the movie. He looks all sad for a moment, slumps back in resignation, and is the new Lord Marshal. Yay? Again, we're up against movie limits of portrayal there, and impending end credits. Maybe that could have seemed more meaningful if there were more time. Iman's death didn't slow him down earlier either. I don't see how this causes any real suspense or drama. I think there was more tension in the scene over whether Kyra was turned than whether she would live - which is more a matter of her character than Riddick's. And succes can be as interesting as failure, but it usually isn't. Usually when a character succeeds, they just move on. When they fail, they're forced to face that and, just maybe, the audience learns something about the character (and possibly even themselves) in that reflection. You could get similar impact from success, but it's a rare thing, and hollow at best when that success is (or seems) assured.
ReplyDeleteAnd succes can be as interesting as failure, but it usually isn't. Oh, I can't argue that. But from the perspective of the player, success is a lot more gratifying than failure. I think it's one reason, as a GM, I'm reluctant to have the players outright lose. I'll give complications, and the odd setback, but in the end, the characters are constantly moving forward, and have a number of victories along the way. (Actually, in the last two nWoD sessions, the players were surprised, and very happy, to see actual progression without any setbacks). I tend to use Francois as a touchstone for my GMing. I mean, Paul will tell me 'that was a fun game!' from time to time, but I know I'm doing a really good job if Francois keeps bringing the game up -- talking about his character and what he should do, discussing plans, or the setting, or what-have-you. He's done this with my M&M game, and my Scion game -- the two games which are lighthearted and made more for entertainment, than he does with nWoD, which is a lot more serious and a bit bleaker. This tells me what my players are interested in, and the kind of vibe they want from the game. Usually when a character succeeds, they just move on. When they fail, they're forced to face that and, just maybe, the audience learns something about the character (and possibly even themselves) in that reflection. You could get similar impact from success, but it's a rare thing, and hollow at best when that success is (or seems) assured. Again, I can't argue the point -- I think though, it also comes down to if the failure itself has meaning, or a point. If it is a loss that comes out of the blue, or that doesn't, with it, offer a consolation or give something to the character as a compensation, then it hurts a lot worse. The scenario that involved Arion so many decades ago I think imposed with it a very significant scar. The character lost everything all in one go, and there was nothing to help sooth it. I think the sense of loss associated with that, the feeling that everything was taken away, really had an impact on us, and hard-wired us so that it won't ever happen again. (more)
ReplyDeleteYour Star Wars game had a similar effect. In one session, my character saw someone die that he liked, and then had his entire world pulled out from under him -- mentors he was getting to know, other students he was getting to know -- all gone in an instant. I dropped a destiny point in to salvage something so I could say 'at least I have my closest friend, she survived and can help me find some grounding', but then she was whisked off, and all I got from that was a sense of foreboding. Essentially, as a player I felt I had no control, at all, over the situation, and there was nothing really to be salvaged from the event. Which meant that for a while, I had to often remove myself emotionally from the character, and focus on it as a tactical situation: 'what can be done to correct this?' And then when the campaign stopped, it made matters worse. I can accept a degree of failure or loss, but it works better if the player / character can say 'but I've salvaged something from it'.
ReplyDeleteBear in mind that my original post was less applicable to roleplaying characters than literary/cinematic ones. In an RPG, especially an ongoing campaign, things are a little different. Usually, dice systems alone introduce a chance of failure into any notable scene. Those successes and failures usually do not make or break either the character or the campaign, save for pivotal moments or particularly brutal games. "Failures" are usually setbacks - one town may be lost, or the evil warlord gains an edge, or an important figure dies - but the overall struggle continues. GMs (and their groups) walk a line between easy, meaningless victories and soul-crushing destruction of characters. The sweet spot on that scale varies from person to person, which is why my answer to what's right in an RPG almost always "it depends on the group." I'm sorry you weren't happy with where I put that line in that game. The loss-heavy "dramatic" opening to the campaign appealed more to others. I cite my inability to please everyone as a factor in my loss of interest, though I don't blame anyone else for it. Disclaimer: This is not meant as a slight to anyone and their gaming habits or preferences, it's just my own perceptions on my own experiences to date. Newer gamers seem to absolutely love the chance to be awesome and unstoppable, valuing success and badass appearance of their characters over all else. As gamers grow more experienced (or perhaps jaded), they start wanting to see more depth of interaction and want the victories to be more meaningful rather than just plentiful. I almost want to say it's a natural evolution, but a few people I've seen game for a long time still seem to be in the first camp, so... it is whatever it is. *shrugs*
ReplyDeleteAgain, I have to agree. I usually notice with new (younger) games, there's a strong need for escapism and the chance to shine and be on top of everything. As a gamer 'matures', this becomes less of an issue. Actually, I also notice it depends on the game master as well -- if the game master is more experienced / mature, this gets curbed a lot, since the game master is the one who sets the tone.
ReplyDeleteI'm sorry you weren't happy with where I put that line in that game. The loss-heavy "dramatic" opening to the campaign appealed more to others. I cite my inability to please everyone as a factor in my loss of interest, though I don't blame anyone else for it. I didn't even know this was a matter of debate among the players -- nobody asked me if I wanted a 'loss-heavy, dramatic opening'. I thought this was just your decision for the campaign. I don't think you've played with me enough to notice one of the things I enjoy doing -- interacting with NPCs and making a network of characters I can deal with from time to time. I do know there are players who wish to avoid this -- except for the PCs, they don't want any social entanglements, and will even go out of their way to prevent it. The 'nuke everything' sort of sounds like the kind of backstory those kind of players want -- nothing to tie them down to a location.
ReplyDeleteAnd no, I don't really blame you for the Star Wars thing. :)
ReplyDeleteSpeaking from hindsight and reactions. I didn't poll in advance, but I know not everyone reacted as negatively to it as you did. AJ seemed to love it, for example.
ReplyDelete