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Linearity is Not a Dirty Word

Posted by Amber Ahlborn



With the dawn of 3-D games on home consoles, new buzz words and selling points like draw distance, open worlds, and free roaming worlds were birthed. Games grew in size and linearity become a negative point on many reviews. Bigger, however, is not always better, and great games should never be docked points because they proceed in a linear fashion. Content is king!

It has always been an enigma to me why linearity has developed this stigma. Why it should ever be considered a negative while wide open, sandbox, free roaming aspects are typically considered a good thing. Let's ignore the entire history of gaming greatness that existed in the linear majority of 2-D games and just look at some samples from my 3-D library. Some of the most enjoyable games I've ever played have been knocked in reviews for their linearity, while other games have actually used their wide open dead space as a selling point.

I've picked on the Zelda series before by calling out the vast emptiness of Twilight Princess' Hyrule Field, but the first 3-D Zelda to offend here was the first 3-D Zelda. Hyrule Field from Ocarina of Time was huge for its day and a technical feat. How long it took to cross on foot was talked up as a selling point but the field was basically bare, offering no real reason for its existence other than “Hey, look what we can do!”. Super Mario Sunshine also suffered from the vastness of its game worlds. Unlike Zelda's field, the areas in Sunshine were loaded with stuff and felt terribly cluttered and chaotic. I found them too large and disorganized with too much going on to be as inviting as the comparatively simple, but focused worlds of Super Mario 64. Finally, one of the most gratuitous examples of a game world that was too big for its own good was the city hub world found in Jak 2. This maze-like metropolis was filled with mindless pedestrians and crawling traffic. Once the gee-whiz factor wore off, I filled with frustration and despair as I was forced to criss-cross this giant pacing tar pit to get to the points of interest. Don't even get me started on Star Fox Adventures. That game deserves a post all to itself.

Okay, so we know big, wide open, free roaming game worlds can be mishandled and drag down an otherwise good experience, but what are the advantages of a linear design? Games that force a generally straight path to the goal corral the player. From a design perspective, you always know where the player will be at because the player can only move forward or back. This makes it easy for the designer to set up game events like dominoes for the players to knock down. It can help to keep the pacing fast and ensure a constant stream of content for the player to experience and always provide a definite goal: reach the level end. These sorts of achievements act as consistent milestones and encourage players to keep going.

The Ratchet and Clank series arranged most of its localities into corridors that the player must fight through. This set up lended itself to a constant pressure of enemy ambushes and firefights. Every step landed the player into the next piece of action. The first Sly Cooper game also followed a corridor format to handily set up acrobatic platforming elements as Sly raced from goal to goal with nary a dull moment as he scrambled up pipes, bounded over rooftops, and leaped through forests of laser arrays. Prince of Persia: Sands of Time was mostly paced more slowly, using a linear game world to present clever environmental challenges to the player. Each area of the game had one exit, and figuring out what combination of the Prince's acrobatic repertoire would get him to the end was nothing short of a joy to play.

The wide open sandbox may be the hot trend in many games today, and that this wide open style can lead to a fantastic experience when built with purpose is undeniable, but equally undeniable are the merits of more enclosed, linear designs. To those who have ever sneered at a game because it was “too linear”, you might be seeing a negative where there isn't one. If the experience works, if it's enjoyable, what's the problem?



Related Links:


End Game: The Necessary Evil of Boss Fights

Gimmick: not a dirty word

Philosophy? In my Zelda?


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Comments

Alex said:

Great article, and a good point. Having beaten Mario Galaxy months ago, I've been playing it again leisurely once more (as Luigi), and what amazes me is how it still feels very fun. Mario Sunshine, while not a terrible game, always gave me the feeling that I was just kind of milling about in a pointless world--too big, not focused.

Galaxy, on the other hand, has you do relatively short, linear levels which are themselves often broken up into bite sized chunks, the little planets. While playing Galaxy, I always felt like I was doing something and going somewhere. The linearity allows the player to get from one new locale to another. It kept me wondering what was going to happen next, and in turn, kept me playing the game. There are very few games I've played in recent years that could elicit the same kind of feeling in me.

October 14, 2008 10:56 AM

Roto13 said:

Alex makes a good point about Mario Galaxy. The levels were definitely linear in design, but they're also some of the best designed levels in the history of video games. They're fantastic.

I think linearity can be a bad thing, though. Take Final Fantasy X. The game is almost a straight line. Seriously. You can walk from one end of the world to the other, with a few branching paths here and there that lead to dead ends. There are only a few opportunities to explore.

But linearity isn't inherently bad, it's true. Hell, look at No More Heroes. The linear parts are great fun while the non-linear parts are pretty bland.

October 14, 2008 1:47 PM

John H. said:

The historical purpose of non-linear game worlds has been to vary the game, to allow the player greater leeway in facing the game's tasks.

To illustrate by using a fairly basic example....  In the (original) Mega Man games, the eight (or six) levels can be tackled in any order the player chooses.  All the levels are fairly difficult at first, but different players may find one or two easier than the others.  Once a level is finished and a special weapon acquired, some of the other levels will be slightly easier because of it, perhaps enough so that the player can finish another of them.  And so on, until the eight levels are finished and the Dr. Wily levels, which are a more-traditional, sequential gauntlet, are revealed.

The key, here, is that a typical Mega Man level is a different experience if the player has no weapons and if the player has all the weapons.  It adds a factor of variability to the game.  This helps replayability, provides to the game a sense that the player is making his own way through instead of following bread crumbs dropped by the designer, and most importantly, means he is actually improving his state by his own efforts, and not just because the game designer says "at the end of level three you get a new weapon."  The possibility that the player might or might not have a given advantage lends strategy to the game, in that the player should attempt to play in a way that he has it.

To go over the other examples given....

Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess' non-linear play is partly illusionary.  In both games the player can explore and find Heart Pieces and some miscellaneous items outside of the main progression.  But the world in both games (especially TP) is block off according to item collection, and nearly all the useful items for unblocking world areas comes from dungeons, and the dungeons must (mostly) be completed sequentially.

The result is that I never felt the need to play through Twilight Princess after the first time I finished it.  Yet the original Zelda, which is mostly wide-open with only a few blocks due to collecting dungeon items, and with a much larger proportion of useful hidden things to find relative to the size of the game, I've played through many times.

October 14, 2008 4:09 PM

About Amber Ahlborn

Artist, writer, gamer and DigiPen survivor, she maintains a day job as a graphic artist. By night Amber moonlights as a professional Metroid Fanatic and keeps a metal suit in the closet just in case. Has lived in the state of Washington and insists that it really doesn't rain as much as everyone says it does.

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John Constantine, our superhero, was raised by birds and then attended Penn State University. He is currently working on a novel about a fictional city that exists only in his mind. John has an astonishingly extensive knowledge of Scientology. Ultimately he would like to learn how to effectively use his brain. He continues to keep Wu-Tang's secret to himself.

Derrick Sanskrit is a self-professed geek in a variety of fields including typography, graphic design, comic books, music and cartoons. As a professional hipster graphic designer, his recent clients have included Hooksexup, Pitchfork and MoCCA, among others.

Amber Ahlborn - artist, writer, gamer and DigiPen survivor, she maintains a day job as a graphic artist. By night Amber moonlights as a professional Metroid Fanatic and keeps a metal suit in the closet just in case. Has lived in the state of Washington and insists that it really doesn't rain as much as everyone says it does.

Nadia Oxford is a housekeeping robot who was refurbished into a warrior when the world's need for justice was great. Now that the galaxy is at peace (give or take a conflict here or there), she works as a freelance writer for various sites and magazines. Based in Toronto, Nadia's prized possession is a certificate from the Ministry of Health declaring her tick and rabies-free.

Bob Mackey is a grad student, writer, and cyborg, who uses the powerful girl-repelling nanomachines mad science grafted onto his body to allocate time towards interests of the nerd persuasion. He believes that complaining about things on the Internet is akin to the fine art of wine tasting, but with more spitting into buckets.

Joe Keiser has a programming degree from Johns Hopkins University, a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, and a fake toy guitar built in the hollowed-out shell of a real guitar. He writes about games and technology for a variety of outlets. One day he will stop doing this. The day after that, police will find his body under a collapsed pile of (formerly neatly alphabetized) collector's edition tchotchkes.

Cole Stryker is an American freelance writer living in York, England, where he resides with his archeologist wife. He writes for a travel company by day and argues about pop culture on the internet by night. Find him writing regularly here and here.

Peter Smith is like the lead character of Irwin Shaw's The 80-Yard Run, except less athletic. He considers himself very lucky to have this job. But it's a little premature to take "jack-off of all trades" off his resume. Besides writing, travelling, and painting houses, Pete plays guitar in a rock trio called The Aye-Ayes. He calls them a 'power pop' band, but they generally sound more like Motorhead on a drinking binge.


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