How open worlds vary

 One hill too far.

The Open World game is one of the most complicated beasts in all of gaming if you ask me. At it's heart, the very concept is indicative of the modern prototypical assumption of what a game even is, as informed by the supremacy of 3D era Grand Theft Auto games and the deluge of copycats that streamed after it. We're long past the days when gaming was chiefly represented by the Goomba stomping platforming antics of Mario, and maybe rubbing onto an age where online deathmatch games will take the predominant spotlight. (or at least, more online centric style games) But for the time being there's a special sort of intrinsic familiarity we all feel when a Open World game is laid before us, even when we've no idea what it's about or the roads it will travel, because these sorts of games have been ironed into our very souls. They'll have an almost smothering amount of freedom, usually plenty of ways to kill time beyond just playing the main quest, typically follow a traditional narrative set-up and take anywhere upwards of 20 hours to beat. So if this image is so well ingrained, why aren't these games created equal?

Indeed, one may look upon an open game world and consider it's sprawling golden fields a bounty of exploration and untapped dynamic adventure, whilst that same person could look upon another and shudder at the magnitude before him and the chore of tasks that await behind just those mossy hills. The observer hasn't changed, the game has, but in ways that aren't exactly obvious to first impression. Heck, it might not even be clear to most developers either, given the way in which a sizeable number of these guys make their bread and butter churning out the latter type of open world whilst each time promising it's the former. So whereas we may sing our praises of Rockstar's Open Worlds, from GTA to Red Dead Redemption, we roll our eyes as the, sometimes bigger, play spaces of Ubisoft's Assassin's Creed and Watch_Dogs, and I wanted to see if I could pinpoint the many reasons why.

I think a lot this starts with design intent, and the purpose of the world that is in the process of being made. Ubisoft and Rockstar have very different approaches when it comes to this most basic of step, and it lays the foundations for very different styles of games, despite their rather comparative visual quality to one another. With Ubisoft the purpose of the world being made is very functional, in that it's always created into chunks and regions that are separated by the rising tide of difficulty and the game's overall challenge, rather than the natural heart of what this virtual world would look or feel like. Rockstar are more into the idea of creating a believable play space, and so you'll usually notice that their worlds are specifically designed to feel lived in and genuine above all else. Of course some concessions are made to be more pleasing for the player to either navigate or look at, but verisimilitude never leaves the thought process for any significant amount of development time.

Another big component is the art of actually filling that world, known not-so-affectionally as 'side content' in gaming vernacular. Again, this links back to design intent, but is perhaps the most clear way that we can see what sort of open world we're dealing with. Rockstar, in recent years, has tended towards side content that is formed in minigames or meta tasks, or just something that is going to give the player reason to return to parts of the map repeatedly, perhaps even beyond the life of the core narrative. Even further points, in Rockstar's book, if it feels like a natural addendum to that part of the world and creates the sorts of activities that people within this world might enjoy in these locations. (Tennis minigame at the courts down by Venice Beach, for example) Ubisoft have an approach that has invited comparison to 'checklists', for the way that their 'side content' is almost always different types of collectibles. Chests, fathers, flags, pages, stuff shoved around the world with no care about why they might be there in-universe or even for enriching that area of the map for repeat visitors. They're just blips on the map that lure you over just to pick them up and then you'll likely never return for the rest of the game; contributing to the feeling that a lot of Ubisoft open world's feel supremely under-utilised and wasted.

 

The biggest use of the world in a game is, of course, to be a vehicle for the main narrative, which means right now I'm assessing its primary purpose. You'll hear different terms be thrown around which are mostly synonymous but have their own quirkish oddities to them. Sand Box, Open World, Hub space; that generally relate to how the game world exists for it's narrative. Games like Destroy All Humans and Red Faction Guerrilla (as well as Far Cry) have a sandbox world that exists for the player to mess around with and have fun in. The main narrative merely exists to direct people across this space in a linear fashion, directing them to steadily more dangerous areas as we discussed earlier. More open world games like GTA, Red Dead and Fallout either lack these 'linear scale of difficulty related to location' or hide it more subtly. They try to engage with actual world building and instilling purpose and justification to the various lands you visit. Those storylines might have you spending all of your time around one area of the map simply because this is where it feels natural for events to be happening, the skill comes in justifying way players should branch out to the more dour and less central corners of the play world as well.

And then there's the question of the non-essential addendums to our worlds. The things that aren't related to exploration or side activity, the visuals and mechanics that are merely in place to make the world feel alive. How can I believe that this world is breathing if I don't believe people actually live in it, and the way that developers handle this question is one of the most interesting to me. Having people wonder the streets and towns seems a given, but the way in which different games handle this simple factor varies wildly. In Ubisoft games they pride themselves on the diversity of the crowds and the cultural accuracy of their looks. (Or for Far Cry games, the accuracy of the dynamic wildlife) Rockstar games have gone to making the crowds act with unique animations or react in fun ways to the situations around them, and Elder Scrolls gives every single character a unique routine and a backstory. There's no recipe for success here, and that's why it's so fun to compare and contrast.

I have a special relationship with open world games, in that I have a tendency to love as many as possible whenever I can, even despite the weaknesses here and there. Rockstar worlds can sometimes forget to prioritise certain corners of their maps through their need to provide purpose to every waypoint. Far Cry games often don't spend enough time anywhere, or does such a poor job in being believe that nothing feels real to me and I end up caring little for it. Assassin's Creed games pile on worlds that are too big with ludicrously expansive collectibles or side quests chains so that it feels like a total chore to slog through. No one type of open world is perfect and for all of their flaws they all have their benefits too. Rockstar worlds are endlessly replayable, Ubisoft worlds are unerringly gorgeous, Bethesda worlds always feel brimming with living lore. They're all special in my book.

The study of open worlds is fascinating to me, and I could see myself coming back to this topic time after time in my life and finding a new shade to fawn over every single time. I just feel that of all the archetypes of games out there, of interactive art pieces, these are the one's that feel the least defined and yet the most explored. Nothing in art is ever straight forward and simple, of course, but that doesn't make the humble open world game anyless mysterious and wild to a simpleton like me. And maybe at some point there could be room on this blog for analysis of all those hundreds of games out there with open worlds that don't work on any level, and from there I might start to deduce that special recipe for invariable open world success. (It might be fun)