God of War Ragnarök got me thinking about cinematics in gaming, or perhaps, cinematic gaming.

Cinema and gaming have their similarities as entertainment mediums. They both involve things happening on a screen and eyeballs following those things that are happening. But there is also one key difference that sets both mediums apart. Cinema requires an audience to function passively. Just watch, don’t touch. If I’m in the mood for a movie then it’s safe to say I’m looking forward to kicking back, relaxing, and allowing that film to do all the work entertaining me. On the other hand, if I’m inclined to play a game then I’m prepared to take on an active role, that is, my fingers and thumbs are clicking buttons while the rest of me remains firmly planted in a padded chair. I want to be more involved with what’s happening on screen. I want to be in control. Therefore, to seamlessly blend both mediums into one hybrid, cinematic gaming experience takes precise balance and excellent game design. We’ve seen great examples in the modern era. The Last of Us intertwined a dystopic world with brutal combat reflective of that world’s gritty reality, driving the player forward with an emotional story about one man finally finding his heart again years after the loss of his only daughter, thanks to the unlikely companionship of a young girl whose innocence had not yet died. Uncharted 2: Honor Among Thieves, another Naughty Dog title, upped the ante for theatrical gaming when it threw Nathan Drake into several beautifully precarious scenarios that the player was tasked with saving him (and themselves) from, all while resisting the urge to drop the controller and simply gape at each masterfully crafted set piece.

 These titles were fundamentally tied to a more cinematic style from the beginning. That was part of their draw, part of what made those games stand out at the time of their release. In 2018, God of War was released as the latest entry in a franchise that helped define one of the most frantic game genres: hack and slash. Hacking and slashing were still possible, albeit with far less weapons and at a far slower pace. This was a reboot, not the God of War 4 that core fans may have expected. Gone were the wide camera angles when fighting hordes of enemies. Gone were the long stretches of gameplay without any in-depth cinematics interrupting the experience. Now, the entire experience was cinematic. In fact, the game opened with Kratos building a funeral pyre for his wife, an introductory segment that included no combat at all, in stark contrast to the opening of God of War 3, which featured Kratos riding the back of a Titan and slaughtering waves of enemies right out of the gate, including Poseidon (sorry about your eyes, pal). The camera was brought in close to Kratos and the presence of a director behind that camera was more noticeable than ever before. There were no cutscenes in the traditional sense. That is to say, the story beats were unable to be skipped, nor did they look any different than the in-game action. The passive role of the viewer and the active role of the player were now put together into one role, which could potentially pose problems for gamers (like me) who prefer to adopt a mostly active role in their games.

So, why did I still love God of War, even after it took control away from me so often and gave me no choice but to be constantly part of its story? There are a few reasons. Near perfect pacing is one of them. The mix of gameplay and cinematics was well-measured, and the revelations within the story were spaced out skillfully enough to capture my curiosity throughout. Overall thematic cohesion is another. The father and son tale was simple yet effective. The murderous, grief-stricken Kratos has trouble connecting with his young, hopeful son, a disconnect that plays out similarly to the captivating plight of Joel and Ellie in The Last of Us. Finally, impactful and challenging combat kept me engaged once the action arrived. For God of War to work in the eyes of a gameplay-first gamer like me, it had to be focused, passionate, innovative and immersive. It was. The game convinced me to give up a degree of control for the sake of being a part of Kratos’ new Nordic story. I found myself getting excited when the ashen god took a few steps forward on his own artificial volition and I realized another scene was about to play out. So many of those scenes tied expertly into the gameplay that came before and after, like when Baldur arrogantly taunts Kratos at the outset of the game, building my anticipation for finally punching him in the face. In an inferior game with the same style, I may have been not been so willing to release the controller.

Speaking of an inferior game with the same style, let’s talk about God of War Ragnarök. First and foremost, this game was what its predecessor could have easily become with a few mistakes: a dragging drama that strays way too far from its source material. At first, I was all in. The thrilling introduction of a vengeful Freya’s aerial assault on the man who killed her son was the perfect appetizer for an electric (pun intended, of course) duel with Thor. The game was wasting barely any time letting the action commence, as expected from a sequel. But then there came a shift. I sighed. I groaned. I impatiently tapped my foot. I rolled my eyes and yawned a lot. I barely smiled. Eventually, I even contemplated walking away from the adventure prematurely.

 I truly wanted to love this game, but back when it was announced that Cody Barlog, the man whose personal connection with his own son greatly influenced the strong, straightforward story of God of War, had been replaced as the director for the follow-up, the writing was on the wall for the aforementioned near perfect pacing and thematic cohesion of the reboot to be at great risk. There is a lot going on in Ragnarök. So much, in fact, that the game splits its story between both Kratos and Atreus in an unprecedented move that only served to confuse and disenchant me. Many more characters are introduced, and the motives of new and existing characters are often questionable, such as Atreus arrogantly moving forward with his secretive attempts to undermine the very prophecy that he consciously follows, or the dwarven blacksmith Sindri irresponsibly encouraging Atreus’ naïve behavior despite previously appearing to respect Kratos too much to ever do such a thing behind his back. The lack of compatibility between Kratos and Atreus feels like the same ground being retread, which reduces the value of God of War’s conclusion, where father and son had finally reached a mutual understanding and were much more capable of becoming a fearful duo. Instead of alternating between two playable characters at random points in the story, I feel a character changing mechanic throughout the game would have better supported a sense of progression from the last game to its sequel. Something akin to Batman: Arkham Knight perhaps, where during certain side missions, the player can perform a special combo finisher that smoothly switches between characters until a high enough combo is achieved to perform the next finisher.

So, what’s this got to do with cinematics in gaming? Well, the game is another “one shot” experience, meaning all cinematics are weaved into the gameplay in an unskippable fashion. However, Ragnarök doesn’t earn the active player’s passive compromise this time around, an issue made even more apparent by the fact that the gameplay (when controlling Kratos) has arguably been improved, albeit slightly. It seemed I was being pulled out of the game again and again until I came to dread reaching the next obtrusive story beat. But it’s not strictly cinematics that bored me this time around . . . technically. Sometimes, I was forced to “play” one long cutscene. There is a painfully protracted segment of the game spent riding around on a yak as Atreus, featuring bland combat encounters and a meandering revelation about the deception of the giants. After about five minutes controlling this lumbering beast (the yak, not Atreus, though controlling him isn’t so great either) I couldn’t stop wishing I were somewhere else. In Alfheim, perhaps, sliding in the sand on a dogsled, looking for the next mini boss to fight. But no, I was trapped in slow, drawn-out sequence that could have easily been condensed into a shorter cutscene with the exact same effect. The same thing happens again when Atreus is tasked with scaling a mountain late in the game. The more I played, the more the replay value was reduced. I completed God of War twice, obtaining the platinum trophy and scouring all available realms for every secret and combat encounter they offered. The only times I ever felt like speeding up the process was when I was forced to slowly climb a rockface by shimmying with the analog stick and pressing circle (the type of “gameplay” that will always age poorly, no matter how good the story is). Otherwise, I was always engaged. Moments like Athena’s dramatic appearance on Kratos’ boat as he returns home for the Chaos Blades are some of the best parts of that game, which pay homage to the previous installments while giving fans a reason to cheer for this new, alternate version of Kratos. They provide an incentive for the player to chase a pay-off. Rumbling thunder and a red sky herald the arrival of Athena in Kratos’ mind. Kratos regretfully retrieves the powerful weapons with which he once caused so much merciless destruction. Then comes the pay-off. It’s time to kick ass with those blades. There are no such moments in Ragnarök because there is just no room for them. The focus on Kratos’ personal conflict is sacrificed in favor of too many conflicts to count. This means the story comes out jumbled and far harder to invest in, which ultimately culminates in tedium. Fighting Thor toward the finale of the game isn’t nearly as awesome as a Kratos vs. Thor marquee would imply, because by the time we get there Thor has been reduced to an abusive, shambling drunk and Kratos doesn’t even want to fight him. The first fight between the two is much more intense, but doesn’t that sound sort of backwards to anyone else? Ragnarök could be a much more forgivably scattered experience if its cinematic scenes were skippable, though such a change couldn’t completely redeem the haphazard plot and pacing on its own.

Games like The Last of Us and God of War were designed well enough to overlook how much time I was spending as a passive witness to many of their events. In Ragnarök, I was always aware of the minutes ticking by as my controller went untouched. I desperately wanted to play the game, not watch it. If developers are going to take a risk in subverting the traditionally active role of a player and blending it with passive participation (as so many titles are wont to do these days), they need to consistently test the game to ensure that its cinematic inclusions do not force players to question why control is being stripped away from them so often. It’s a difficult thing to achieve. In God of War, I accepted the rebooted Kratos as a more stoic and measured god-in-hiding as opposed to the vehicle of carnage he always was. During Ragnarök, I deeply missed the unhinged side of the spartan, because that kind of Kratos was guaranteed to provide fun gameplay for hours on end. In retrospect, I think God of War should have potentially been the character’s swan song, because lightning doesn’t always strike twice, even it’s being shot from Mjolnir.