One question from Sorcerer that I love is, "Do you consider this to be a good idea for a movie? Because if you wouldn't spend $7.50 to see a story about this, why should you bother playing it?"

Like many other men, I spend $7.50 to see entirely or mostly undeterrable heroes. William Wallace in Braveheart and the protagonist in The Patriot were mostly undeterrable. Someone like "The Punisher" (soon to be a major motion picture) is entirely undeterrable, or tries to be. He doesn't become a hero until everyone he cases about is dead. (I'm not going to spend money to see the new Punisher movie.)

The best example of such a protagonist is the sniper anti-hero from "Day of the Jackal." I won't spoil the most shocking point of the movie, but there is the classic example of a film protagonist acting like the D&D assassin character that your ten-year-old brother might play. Whether he is motivated by professionalism, bloodlust, or some other perversity, he is *not* in it for the money. He is willing to risk his life for the mission.

A more fantasy-oriented film is "The Shadow" (1994, featuring Alec Baldwin as you've never seen him before). In an early scene, the anti-hero demonstrates that he can claim great emotional attachment to subordinates -- and yet put his mission objectives at a higher level of importance. (I won't spoil the scene, which is perhaps the best in the movie.)

"The Crow" had a protagonist who was emotionally involved. Then he became a hero of revenge when all his emotional attachments were taken away. At that point, revenge was his only mission, and he was mostly if not entirely undeterrable. (He had at least one non-necessary point of contact with humanity, and he had an Achilles heel.)

In a more mundane vein, the "Death Wish" series never commanded my full attention, but they appeared to make most of their money in sequels because audiences wanted to see a mostly or entirely undeterrable vigilante, bent on revenge. (Apparently the original character in the original novel was a bit more psychologically subtle, but when the movies were made, he was re-written to appeal to a larger audience by pandering to the lowest common denominator.)

I like heroes who consciously plan ahead to prune emotional attachments out of their lives. Doc Savage (admittedly a childish hero) specifically refuses to marry because any woman he married would be targeted by kidnappers. I haven't seen "Luther," the recent film biography of Martin Luther, but I suspect he was undeterrable in matters of theological doctrine, although he might have had a love interest in there somewhere. And some popular heroes have a minor capacity for friendship but are willing to sacrifice their friends' lives when necessary -- as in "Master and Commander."

With this in mind, I think it's safe to say that these "childish" or "adolescent" heroes who embody fantasies of violence are fairly popular stars of the cinema. How many action heroes have a convincingly deep emotional bond with their love interest? I think in most cases, the love interest, if any, is a bit of arm tinsel. Perhaps the plot would never allow the hero to shoot through her, and perhaps she is used as a tactical football to give the incompetent bad guys a fighting chance against the competent hero -- but there are few action movies that are also convincing stories of deep emotional bonds. ("Out of Africa," which has Meryl Streep and Robert Redford facing the perils of the Dark Continent, might come close, but it's not primarily an action movie.)

In this context, then, I've got to take issue with the following:

Ron Edwards wrote:

What won't work is the adolescent pseudo-character that you don't see as a primary protagonist in movies, novels, short stories, and plays: the "I'm sooo bad and sooo cold, no one messes with me" fantasy of black-clad lethality. These characters are observed only as cautionary characters, the kind which demonstrate where the protagonist will end up if he doesn't behave differently. Johnny Ringo is an excellent example.

It is a classic developmental process for a young author: making up slit-eyed assassins who care for no one, kill anyone, sneer at everyone, and punish those who dis them. It is, as I say, an adolescent fantasy (and not in the literary sense of the term), and people grow out of it - if they don't, the stories have no interest for anyone besides the author.

Hi Red,

What you're missing is embedded in the very stories you're referencing. In every case, there comes a time partway through the story in which the protagonist has the chance to give up. He even can give up with a certain partial advantage, and gain safety.

My favorite example is John McClane, the hero of Die Hard. There he is, halfway through the movie, with bleeding feet and no apparent way to achieve the one thing he wants most, to re-connect with his estranged wife. And he has the chance to leave the building. Yup, just leave.

Guess what? He doesn't. And guess what II? Your typical "I care nothing, I'm a bad-ass" player-character would leave, right then. What does he care for Holly? What does he care for marriage? He cares for nothing, just don't tug on his cape or dare to look him in the eyes, punk.

That's the difference right there. The undeterrable protagonist is only interesting when we see that he has the chance to do otherwise, and hey, maybe we in that situation might take that chance. That's why John McClane is a great character in a great story, and Casey (Stephen Seagall's character) in Under Siege is a boring hunk of nothing in a piece of crap.

Does that make any sense?

Best,
Ron

Hi,

I'll piggy back onto Ron's comment because there's sometimes confusion about this:

Just because, say, Maximus doesn't give up at crucial moments, doesn't mean he couldn't. The magic of a "fixed" story of a movie is that we sense the currents and options within the character even as he or she makes the choice that drives the tale forward in a satsifying way. He's a bad ass because he had an emotionally charged choice and still stuck it out. But this can't seem/feel/appear like a given. Think of Harison Ford's Dr. Kimble at the damn when he could surrender, but jumps... and so on. Looking backward we can see "of course, he wouldn't give up." But in the moment, we must sense the options pulling at the protagonist, even as he feels the options pulling at him. In the moment the option must feel live.

Second...

Right now, playing at your local theater, is an amazing example of these two contradictory types of protagonists existing together in the same movie!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I offer you "Man on Fire." Go see it. Even if you never meant to see it, go see it. If you're a regular on this board and have an interest in Nar play, go see it.

In the first half, we get this amazing story of a burnt out man slowly being transformed by love. It's gentle, with lots of growing dread. (The relationship between Washington and Christopher Walkens character is the sweetest relationship I've ever seen between two tough guys in the movies. Really. It's subtle, gentle.)

Washington's character is making choices left and right, resisting sometimes, plunging other times. It's great.

And then...

And then.... The movie simpy derails. I won't go into all the structural issues. But I tell you this: Not since Clint Eastwood found the "hand out prop" under the bare matress in "Line of Fire" leading to his next "encounter" have I watched a movie that smelled more of a bad RPG session than the second half of "Man on Fire." And it goes on FOR AN HOUR!

He gets a clue. He goes to the next guy. He makes some intimidation rolls. He gets the next name. He goes to the next guy. He makes some intimidation rolls. He uses some combat skills. He gets the next name...

For and HOUR!

And here's the thing, Redwalker, and all, they cut his emotional connection off at the legs. I mean, the man simply becomes "a professional." We've already established his resume. And then we watch him use his skills for an hour. All the tension, choices, uncertainy, options are over. He's a skill set on a mission, and clearly nothing is going to disuade him -- not himself, and no one else.

It didn't have to be like this. A man who never wanted to be a monster again, who has to be a monster to avenge the girl who showed him love is premise rich. They simply... um... forgot about the first half of the script.

It was really weird.

I really, really, really was thinking all about the Forge and Nar play watching this movie. Really, go check it out. In one sitting you'll get to see an Active Premise and play without Premise in one shot. The distinction will be very clear.

Christopher

I was looking at some of the character's Redwalker lists: The Shadow, The Crow, and Doc Strange. These three all choose an ideal of justice or balance over their own humanity. (Sorcerer defnition of humanty here might be personal connection with individuals).

These three isolate themselves in order to be more effective fighting the big fight, yet, we could find many examples where it's an individual personal connection that gets them involved in a crusade, or keeps them from leaving a crusade. It might be as simple as child met on the street, but that's enough to draw them in to risking their lives.

I think the dramatic interest in these characters is the stark contrast between their aesthetic avoidance of personal connection and the moments they open up. This is the "big softie" principle.

Maximus is like this in Gladiator. Near the end he becomes cynical and bitter, but seeing Lucilla and her son inspire him to finish his opposition to Commodus.

Now, about the Jackal - I would disagree that he is a protagonist. I think it shows better in the original movie: the Jackal is the antagonist; the detective trying to catch him is the protagonist. The movie plays the trick of focusing it's attention on the antagonist. At least in the orignal (I haven't seen the remake), the audience's primary interest is in seeing somebody stop him.

Wow...I so wanted to bring up "Man on Fire" in this thread but couldn't quite figure out how to make it on-topic. Of course, now that it's been introduced...

I actually had a different reaction to the movie, also driven by my recent experiences here at the Forge. I saw a tale of Humanity, starting low, rising, rising, rising...Then dropping like a Mafia rat in cement shoes. I saw the end as fulfilment of the "Die at the end of the session if you drop to 0 Humanity" option.

On a less game-y side, at several points during the second half of the movie, member of the audience cheered. They CHEERED for the horrible torture and mutilation of a human being (granted, a wretched human in a movie, but still). I was overcome by the depths Creasy was plumbing.

You say they cut off his emotional attachments at the knees, I think they became even stronger. If he had no attachment, he would have left. Consider the way he handles the girl's father and his conversations with the mother.

Also consider that a normal Hollywood action movie would have started 45 minutes into Man on Fire and would have had a happy ending. We also wouldn't be talking about it now and wouldn't remember it in two weeks.

Hi Jaik,

Since this isn't "At the Movies," we'll just have to move very carefully here and keep it on track talking about active Premise.

Let me offer that what's at stake is not "emotional attachment" for Premise, but choice. My point is that while I can assume Creasy is doing what he's doing because of his attachment to the little girl, there wasn't a single moment for 45 to 60 minutes where I thought -- once -- he had to make a choice, was going to make a choice, wanted to make a choice.

Stephen Segall's character has "motivation" in Under Siege, but that doesn't make him a compelling character. Motivation will not carry a tale. Motivation is easy. "She's dead. I'll kill them." Okay. Now what.

I agree with you Creasy's going low -- and that would have been great if at any moment he looked like he might back off. We could have, for example, reintroduced the threat of his drinking. He wouldn't, of course, for fear of screwing up his abilities. But that would mean he's have to confront what he was doing cold. And that would cost him. But there was no cost. In Sorcerer terms, it was as if I was watching a zero humanity PC for an hour. And the rules, for very good reason, spell out that once you hit zero, you're no longer a protagonist.

Creasy had no reaction to what he was doing, and thus no need, choice, option, or desire to do otherwise.

To look at it another way, in the original Terminator movies, the heroes are the humans, because they're the one's deciding how they're going to behave. The terminator himself is just a killing machine, like the shark from Jaws. When it was time to make Arnie likable in T2, it was the Terminator's behavior that was at stake -- would he knee-cap everybody or restrain himself, would he survive at any cost, or die for others? The concerns of a protagonist -- how to behave -- got transferred to a machine to make him worthy of being a protagonist. There's no way Arnie from T1 could have sustained being an interesting protagnoist in T2. He would have been every boy's pet assassin playmate, but not a character.

In the second half of Man on Fire, I'd argue, the motivation is clear, but Creasy is a Terminator. There's not an actual protagonist in sight.

Do you see the difference?

Christopher

Hi Red,

The key difference between the empty protagonist and the kind that is best suited to Nar play is summed up in one word: Care.

Consider Wolverine; you have a man on the edge of humanity at times, loner, cynic, and classic badass. But despite everything he says, his actions point him out as being a team player and fiercely loyal to his friends. You'll find its the same with many of the other badass characters who are popular in fiction.

Now, to contrast to the typical rpg loner, they have no connections, no friends, and, throughout play, never develop them. They never create a reason to ever get involved.

While folks like Batman or the Punisher may have lost their families, you'll see an active relationship with the dead families as they a) try to bring them back/earn their love/redeem their lives or b) help out folks who remind them of their deceased family members or themselves. Check out Gladiator as a perfect example of this sort of thing.

The difference that folks are pointing out is that many gamers see this rebellious person, and the trashtalking, but they don't see the fact that:

The loner KEEPS getting involved in everyone's business, they keep coming back to rescue people and get into trouble.

which is really the key point.

Chris

Hi,

I just cross-posted with Chris.

And while I hesitate to contradict the estimable Mr. Bankuei... I feel I must.

Connections are vital for a protaganoist -- but only because these connections make options vital.

"Stay for her -- or flee?" [Die Hard]

"Become the good citizen I always claimed I was -- or become part of my father's criminal organizaion?" [The Godfather]

"Surrender to my wounds and join my wife in the land of the dead -- or battle my way to defeat the traitor to the roman empire?" [Gladiator]

As a guy who works a lot with screenwriters I can offer that coming up with solid emotional connections that resonate isn't easy -- but it's not the end of the road. As Ron pointed out, it's McClane's options -- to leave, to surrender, to put his life on the line on the roof without an escape route when he realizes the hostage are all going to be killed -- that make him a character worth hanging out with for two hours.

The connections are vital, but only because they feed the choice. Premise depends on Choice. Engaging Characters depending on live wire choices. Without connections, no choice. But one can have connections, but no choice. Hence, straight to video movies -- and "The Punisher".

Christopher

Hi Chris,

You're not contradicting me in any fashion. We're saying the same thing :)

Chris

Oh, thank god!

Just a quick, possibly facile answer purely to the question in the thread title... yes, but generally the satisfying version of this is called Tragedy.

You know those plays where you got the guy who will not bend, will not compromise.

And the play keeps asking "What, not even when...?"

And the answer keeps coming back "Nope, no matter the cost."

And the character pays the cost, and it breaks them.

Ron Edwards wrote: Hi Red,

What you're missing is embedded in the very stories you're referencing. In every case, there comes a time partway through the story in which the protagonist has the chance to give up. He even can give up with a certain partial advantage, and gain safety.

My favorite example is John McClane, the hero of Die Hard. There he is, halfway through the movie, with bleeding feet and no apparent way to achieve the one thing he wants most, to re-connect with his estranged wife. And he has the chance to leave the building. Yup, just leave.

Guess what? He doesn't. And guess what II? Your typical "I care nothing, I'm a bad-ass" player-character would leave, right then. What does he care for Holly? What does he care for marriage? He cares for nothing, just don't tug on his cape or dare to look him in the eyes, punk.

That's the difference right there. The undeterrable protagonist is only interesting when we see that he has the chance to do otherwise, and hey, maybe we in that situation might take that chance. That's why John McClane is a great character in a great story, and Casey (Stephen Seagall's character) in Under Siege is a boring hunk of nothing in a piece of crap.

Does that make any sense?

Best,
Ron

Bankuei wrote:

The key difference between the empty protagonist and the kind that is best suited to Nar play is summed up in one word: Care.

Consider Wolverine; you have a man on the edge of humanity at times, loner, cynic, and classic badass. But despite everything he says, his actions point him out as being a team player and fiercely loyal to his friends. You'll find its the same with many of the other badass characters who are popular in fiction.

Now, to contrast to the typical rpg loner, they have no connections, no friends, and, throughout play, never develop them. They never create a reason to ever get involved.

While folks like Batman or the Punisher may have lost their families, you'll see an active relationship with the dead families as they a) try to bring them back/earn their love/redeem their lives or b) help out folks who remind them of their deceased family members or themselves. Check out Gladiator as a perfect example of this sort of thing.

The difference that folks are pointing out is that many gamers see this rebellious person, and the trashtalking, but they don't see the fact that:

The loner KEEPS getting involved in everyone's business, they keep coming back to rescue people and get into trouble.

which is really the key point.

Chris

Ron Edwards wrote:

Red, I think you might consider the difference between two things:

a) a protagonist in a story, which I know you understand because you referred to wanting an audience, even a hypothetical one, to identify with your characters as good guys

b) real actual people of whatever qualities

The two things are so different, in every possible way (existence comes to mind as a variable), that referring to (b) when talking about (a) isn't even vaguely relevant. Check out my post again: it's only about (a).

Christopher Kubasik wrote:
Connections are vital for a protaganoist -- but only because these connections make options vital.

"Stay for her -- or flee?" [Die Hard]

"Become the good citizen I always claimed I was -- or become part of my father's criminal organizaion?" [The Godfather]

"Surrender to my wounds and join my wife in the land of the dead -- or battle my way to defeat the traitor to the roman empire?" [Gladiator]

As a guy who works a lot with screenwriters I can offer that coming up with solid emotional connections that resonate isn't easy -- but it's not the end of the road. As Ron pointed out, it's McClane's options -- to leave, to surrender, to put his life on the line on the roof without an escape route when he realizes the hostage are all going to be killed -- that make him a character worth hanging out with for two hours.

The connections are vital, but only because they feed the choice. Premise depends on Choice. Engaging Characters depending on live wire choices. Without connections, no choice. But one can have connections, but no choice. Hence, straight to video movies -- and "The Punisher".

Christopher

Alan wrote: I was looking at some of the character's Redwalker lists: The Shadow, The Crow, and Doc Strange. These three all choose an ideal of justice or balance over their own humanity. (Sorcerer defnition of humanty here might be personal connection with individuals).

These three isolate themselves in order to be more effective fighting the big fight, yet, we could find many examples where it's an individual personal connection that gets them involved in a crusade, or keeps them from leaving a crusade. It might be as simple as child met on the street, but that's enough to draw them in to risking their lives.

I think the dramatic interest in these characters is the stark contrast between their aesthetic avoidance of personal connection and the moments they open up. This is the "big softie" principle.

Maximus is like this in Gladiator. Near the end he becomes cynical and bitter, but seeing Lucilla and her son inspire him to finish his opposition to Commodus.

Now, about the Jackal - I would disagree that he is a protagonist. I think it shows better in the original movie: the Jackal is the antagonist; the detective trying to catch him is the protagonist. The movie plays the trick of focusing it's attention on the antagonist. At least in the orignal (I haven't seen the remake), the audience's primary interest is in seeing somebody stop him.

[I cross-posted this post with Redwalkers last post to Alan. His term "procedural" is exactly what I mean by "Guys at Work"]

Hi Redwalker,

I respect where you're coming from.

And I think you've nailed the divide between your concerns and the concerns of Ron, Chris or myself.

Essentially, you're describing Guys At Work. They've got a job to do. How well can they do it? The ideal, if I may, might be a documentary showing guys making their choices, doing their job well -- or as best they can. However, dramatic narrative depends on something else. Not that Hollywood doesn't provide plenty of examples of "flat" characters.

I'd offer that my friend's critique of "The Crow" was, "No, I didn't like it much. It was like a guy with a laundry list," might be exactly why you *did* like it. (I like it to, because I'm a sucker for cool and strange movie visuals -- not because of the character.)

Now, I'm strange in that I have very clear views. I know what I like, and I know what I like to make. But I know human beings are very varied. And there's no way I'm going to tell you you're wrong in your taste. But I will be clear: the construction I'm talking about seems to be the dramatic work that engages audiences fully, keeps them, for reasons they may not always understand, talking to their friends about a play or movie they have to see. Spectacle, like in The Crow, can help replace the need for Character Choices, but -- well, there it is.

As for Gladiator. Next time you get to see, I offer this: really watch how long it takes for Maxiumus to get shaken into action. After the death of his wife and son, he *doesn't* want to fight at first. It takes a looooooong time for him to become proactive. He's almost got to be jabbed into it, *responding* to attacks to wake him back up into life. And the terrific scenes with Oliver Reed -- the man's almost like Obi Wan luring Luke to go on an adventure with him in the hut scene in Star Wars.

Yes. When we look *backward* it all seems inevitable. But if you watch scene by scene, especially in the first half, you'll see he's taking one small step after another to get "back" into action.

As for Medea... Again, I think your critique depends on far, far too much hindsite. Medea has no plans to kill her sons at the start of the play. She has no plan to poison the princess when the play opens. Having hacked her brother's body to pieces to help Jason escape, we know she's, um, intense, and capable of dark deeds. But the deeds that trasnpire aren't "written" in stone. At the start of the play she's negotiating Jason to build a life together. Her tactics as this fails are responses, rising in horrible nature, to his intractible behavior. She's *not* about "just" hatred. She's a woman who loves this man so much she'll betray her family for him -- and slowly comes to hate him through the course of the play, with rising tragedy for all involved.

All of which is a way of saying if *you* see "Man on Fire," you'll probably sit there in the first half thinking, "What the fuck, can we get on with it!" and love the second half!

Christopher

H Redwalker,

You've hinted that you prefer a simulationist approach to role-playing and things you've mentioned support this. There's no need to explain that: simulationist play is just another kind of role-playing.

However, this thread got started after some discussion about Sorcerer in another thread. Many of us have been pointing out character choices in the example movies you've chosen, largely for the purpose of emphasizing how they might work in Sorcerer. Because Sorcerer is about making choices, not having scripted decisions, or choices determined by pre-set personality traits.

If you would like to play with mechanics like pre-set personality traits (which support simulationist play very well), then you should know that Sorcerer supports simulationist play very poorly.

Now, you could try narrativist play just to get a feel for a different approach, but you won't actually experience it unless you do allow yourself to explore a new approach for a while. That means giving up things like pre-set personality mechanics, etc.

You have to make a decision about that. If you decide you'd just be happier playing an inhuman killer in a simulationist way, then you'd be better off just choosing a game designed to support such play. I think there are some - maybe someone could suggest a couple good ones: Obsidon, FATAL, WoD?

The idea of the "procedural" in RPG's is very interesting. It immediately made me think of Call of Cthulhu , where you know full well your character is going to encounter the uncanny and probably go mad or die or both.

It's a very powerful model for gaming, but I can see that it really is approaching the game in a very, very different way than Sorcerer.

Alan wrote:

Now, you could try narrativist play just to get a feel for a different approach, but you won't actually experience it unless you do allow yourself to explore a new approach for a while. That means giving up things like pre-set personality mechanics, etc.

You have to make a decision about that. If you decide you'd just be happier playing an inhuman killer in a simulationist way, then you'd be better off just choosing a game designed to support such play.

Hi DannyK,

Since this topic is near and dear to my heart, I'm going to tweak your reference to CoC a bit.

Yes, it can be played as a supernatural version of Law & Order. But it can be played straight Nar as well.

In my favorite game I played years ago, my guy was Bill, an uneducated dock worker who caught a glimpe of his little daughter taken away by something... uncanny ... one night, and devoted himself, against his wife's pleadigs, to find out what happened.

Yes. He went mad. He had to find out. But the knowledge that he was getting deeper and deeper into something that he knew more and more could bring no good to him only offered up more and more choice. There were plenty of scenes -- plenty of standing at the entrance to a dark tunnel, plenty of books he could choose to open or not, plenty of times he could have just walked away -- that were rich in choice. And the hovering moment in that decision is what made the game compelling for me.

Look what we've got here: a) Connections (daughter, wife), and b) choice (does Bill pursue the truth at the expense of all he's ever known to be true). A Narrativist, premise driven play.

Now. One can also set up the Group o' Investigators. They're "job" is to go find stuff out. They know the risks, do cost benefit analysis of opening the tome on the spot. They're Guys at Work. We can be playing it to bring up the "bits" from Lovecraft (and knowing we're succeeding because we're doing this well); we can play to get out of the session with as much HP and San as possible left; we can go all Delta Green and use our frickin' best Black Hawk Down tacticts to torch the mother fuckers and go home to a six pack.

Each of these are valid goals for the right group. The rules might or might not support each style of play better than another, but that's another issue.

What matters is the game can be turned to different needs. And one of these needs might be procedural ("We do our job, we do it well"), the other premise rich ("Okay, if I stop now, I never find out what happened to my daughter -- can I live with that.")

Christopher

To go into this in a double barreled way…

The Crow. I recently had a chance to watch The Crow with my fiancée, who had never seen the movie before. For the first half of the movie she was bored and annoyed, finding the violence meaningless and repetitive, the protagonist without redeeming merit. We almost stopped watching the movie twice. (Interestingly, it was the cop that kept her watching the movie – she wanted to find out what he’d done to get busted down in rank.) Then, right after the shoot out in Draven’s loft, her attitude changed. Once the laundry list of folks to be killed was done, once wasn’t on a linear mission, and especially once he had to choose between going to rest with his lost love or saving the little girl, my fiancée suddenly started to care about the movie.

I liked the movie the whole way through, but my fiancée isn’t the only one I know who had that reaction – I’ve several friends who’ve said, “Lovely visuals, but the only time I cared about the character was when he was sitting on the grave waiting to die and Draven took the little girl.”

Now, I was always a big Crow fan and a big fan of some other dark comics from the angsty 90’s type of guy, so it will be no surprise to anyone that I eventually ended up playing a very Crow type character. He was a warrior from another timeline with a great sense of noblesse oblige whose crusade for the common people had cost him his family, his fortune, his wife, and his world – as he chased the sorcerer who brought down his realm into our world and killed him there at the start of his ‘superhero’ career. (Yes, I ripped off Dark Ages Spawn. Shut up.)

So the game starts, and my character immediately falls to the big softie principle – he’s hard, he’s angsty, but he cares about the “common” people and will do anything to protect them. He gets drawn, in the first couple game sessions, into a new romance with a girl that looks very much like his lost wife, a war with the mafia over protection rackets, and one of the other PCs – a supercop trying his best to stay clean. Things move along, and a lot of it is laundry list, I find mafia goons, I beat them, they give me info, I go to the next mafia goons and beat them, rinse, repeat. I had fun, it was good, and it let me and the cop PC have some real intense moments where he did have to make choices.

Then one game everything changed. I finally had gone up to the top of the list, was sneaking into the Don’s house with every intention of killing him as dead as I’d killed his cappos. I come into his room, where he’s sitting at a desk, and put my sword against his throat. From behind me comes the voice of the girl – the one who looked exactly like my dead wife, whom I’d now been dating for almost a year in IC time – telling me to put down the sword as she cocks back the hammer of a gun. The Don, it turns out, is her father. Then the PC cop comes into the room, late to the party, and pulls his gun. I’m distracted by the girl and the Don pulls out his gun too.

So there my hard-ass laundry list running PC is, with the Don he hates at the tip of his sword, two and a half-guns pointed at him, looking at the woman he loves and whom reminds him of the wife so brutally stolen from him, and he says “Dana, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

She replies, “All my choices have already been made sugar.” I know if I try to kill her dad, she’ll kill me – then the cop will kill her. Know it for fact. I could kill her, and maybe get the Don too before the Cop gets me. I could put down my sword and walk out. I could, I could, I could….

By this time the tension was so thick in my chest that I felt like I was going to smother. It was that wonderful, intense, dramatic rush you get when you’re reading a book and the moment of ultimate truth comes. There were a hundred choices, none of them good, and every one of them would define for ever after who my character was.

Do you know what I chose?

If so, could you tell me? Cause right then the game ended for the night, and because of some sudden idiocy IRL, we never got to play again. I never got to see my character make that choice, never got to figure out what he was going to do. To this day I and all the other players (at least those still talking to each other) remember that moment as something special – something that was really interesting, that really had everyone around the table watching my character with the kind of intensity people in RPGs rarely even watch their own character with.

It wasn’t because my character was special, or bad-ass, or original. He wasn’t really any of those things – it was because he was on the verge of making an impossible choice, a real choice, and proving what kind of hero he was. Be it RPGs or movies, I think that one universal is one of the issues that is going to separate the men from the boys.

So yea, we get a lot of movies, and RPGs, without the dramatic characters making the dramatic choices. That’s because in the course of human events things are going to be done poorly, or be done for different reasons, or be done to different tastes. But in the end all of my favorite protagonists are those that have to make the choice, a choice of connections and real consequences.

And BTW, that’s why I didn’t like Gladiator – I never felt Maximus really make that choice. Which, I suppose, shows that there is a lot of variation in where individuals will think interesting choices are, and are not, made.

Excellent Post Brand.

And you know, when you got to the part where your guy turned and saw the gun in the girl's hand.... Well, I leaned in, without even thinking about it, heart, I realized, going faster...

These are the golden moments of dramatic narrative.

Now, here's the trick. We often focus on the Climactic decisions (Will your guy kill the Don, will Luke trust the Force)... But the real vein of gold is struck, for Nar RPG or solid dramatic narrative, is to have these choices sprinkled throughout the tale, rising toward the really, really big choice where there's no turning back and The Decision that ends all decisions is made.

By the way, I sympathize with your feelings about Gladiator. I didn't like it the first time I saw it. But then it made a gazillion dollars. And then I realized every time I drove past the Arclight cinema the audience was 50% female or more. Then, when I mentioned this to a friend who HATED the movie, he said, "Of course. Crowe suffers like a woman." I thought, I gotta check this out again.

So I watched it, and there was this light bulb moment when the Emperor and Maxiumus are talking, and somehow stoic philospohy comes up (or the Emperor was Marcus Areilius, or something, right???) and I thought... You know, you don't often get references to Stoic philosophy in a $60 million action movie --

And I realized Maxiumus' choice is to CONTINUE. He keeps going, even though he's lost his wife, his son, his home. All he wants to do is be with her, and he's got an obligation to take care because -- well, he didn't die. He wants to be dead, he wants to join his wife, he's alwasy pullled by images of her in that field... But his obligation as a living man IS TO KEEP LIVING -- no matter what terrors come next. Should he die, great. But remember for the first half of the movie after his family is killed the emperor isn't even an option on the horizon. The real choice is to continue living, to endure, stoicly. And only after he's proven he's got enough life left to be an excellent gladiator does he discover he's got a shot at going to Rome and confronting the emperor.

Astoundingly then (and I don't expect everyone to buy this), the connection to his wife is the reason *not* to keep fighting. She is the lure away from battle, life and vengeance. It is his role and obligation as a stoic and responsible man that makes him keep fighting until he confronts the emperor. Only after he's fought until his last breath, a last breath that needs to be taken, not surrendered, has he earned the right to die.

And by continuing to fight to the end, by meeting this obligation of living on in a wearying, ignoble life, he finds he's able to help another mother, another son.

I think if you turn the expectation of the "motivation" around you'll see he has lots of choices. And made really strong ones. He is an "anti-martyr" -- a man who chooses life in order to die by his principles.

Christopher

Christopher Kubasik wrote: But the real vein of gold is struck, for Nar RPG or solid dramatic narrative, is to have these choices sprinkled throughout the tale, rising toward the really, really big choice where there's no turning back and The Decision that ends all decisions is made.

Christopher Kubasik wrote: By the way, I sympathize with your feelings about Gladiator. I didn't like it the first time I saw it.... And I realized Maxiumus' choice is to CONTINUE. He keeps going, even though he's lost his wife, his son, his home.

Brand_Robins wrote: Then, right after the shoot out in Draven’s loft, her attitude changed. Once the laundry list of folks to be killed was done, once wasn’t on a linear mission, and especially once he had to choose between going to rest with his lost love or saving the little girl, my fiancée suddenly started to care about the movie.

I liked the movie the whole way through, but my fiancée isn’t the only one I know who had that reaction – I’ve several friends who’ve said, “Lovely visuals, but the only time I cared about the character was when he was sitting on the grave waiting to die and Draven took the little girl.”
...
So yea, we get a lot of movies, and RPGs, without the dramatic characters making the dramatic choices. That’s because in the course of human events things are going to be done poorly, or be done for different reasons, or be done to different tastes. But in the end all of my favorite protagonists are those that have to make the choice, a choice of connections and real consequences.

And BTW, that’s why I didn’t like Gladiator – I never felt Maximus really make that choice. Which, I suppose, shows that there is a lot of variation in where individuals will think interesting choices are, and are not, made.

Christopher Kubasik wrote:

The real choice is to continue living, to endure, stoicly. And only after he's proven he's got enough life left to be an excellent gladiator does he discover he's got a shot at going to Rome and confronting the emperor.

Astoundingly then (and I don't expect everyone to buy this), the connection to his wife is the reason *not* to keep fighting. She is the lure away from battle, life and vengeance. It is his role and obligation as a stoic and responsible man that makes him keep fighting until he confronts the emperor. Only after he's fought until his last breath, a last breath that needs to be taken, not surrendered, has he earned the right to die.

And by continuing to fight to the end, by meeting this obligation of living on in a wearying, ignoble life, he finds he's able to help another mother, another son.

I think if you turn the expectation of the "motivation" around you'll see he has lots of choices. And made really strong ones. He is an "anti-martyr" -- a man who chooses life in order to die by his principles.

Christopher

I think you missed Christopher's point. But rather than trying to hit his excellent point again, I'll say something in my own way:

redwalker wrote:
Maximus keeps going because he is not allowed to die for his own convenience.

redwalker wrote: (snip)

tetsujin28 wrote:

redwalker wrote: (snip)

Err...meaning no disrespect, but what? I honestly don't understand your whole argument. If the players (and you) are enjoying the game, what's the point?

Alan wrote: I think you missed Christopher's point. But rather than trying to hit his excellent point again, I'll say something in my own way:

redwalker wrote:
Maximus keeps going because he is not allowed to die for his own convenience.

So who's not allowing him to die? Who has that much control that they could stop a determined man from committing suicide to join his dead family?

Only his choices, made individual, each time, lead to his survival. And the reasons for those choices are the screenwriter's assertion of theme.

[Hi. I cross-posted this with red's responses. Sorry for speaking out of turn if it comes off that way.]

Hi tetsujin28,

Hmmmm.

Let's see. I'm not sure if you replied after only reading red's first post, or after reading the whole thread... So I'm not sure what your point is.

I'll offer this:

Red was looking over the rules for Sorcerer. He found passages in the rules that stated the typical "lone wolf, no connections, I'm interesting cause I kill well" PC really wouldn't work well using the Sorcerer rules.

He wanted clarification on this. He's thinking about playing the game, and he wants to understand better what the author of Sorcerer meant. (Specific passages quoted in the first post.)

It's axiomatic around here that certain rules work better for certain styles of play. Red's hip to that, and so he wanted to get a better handle on how the Sorcerer rules are going to play, and how best to use them. Because, I believe, he hasn't played with, and at least doesn't prefer, the kinds of PCs Ron Edwards advocates using for the Sorcerer rules.

He gave examples of the kinds of heroes from movies he likes, using them to counter Ron's requirements for a solid Sorcerer (and Sorcerer & Sword) character.

Then a lot of us chimed in with a great deal of, "Ah, but if you look at this way, then there were these emotional choices and emotional connections for the characters...."

So... The point is that he's checking out a new game. The games rules require a certain kind of PC to play really well. He's under the impression (correct, I believe), that if he uses the Sorcerer rules without getting a handle on these kinds of PCs, he and his players won't have fun.

Thus, he's hanging around here, tossing the discussion back and forth, testing new points of view, holding his ground where he thinks he should hold his ground, and seeing what there is to learn about this new game he's bought that he's intrigued with but hasn't wrapped his head around you. (Though I believe his head is fairly wrapped around a lot of it now, and may have discovered that what Sorcerer offers isn't what he wants. But I'm not sure about that. Either way, all is cool.)

The overall point is that there are many different ways to have fun in RPGS. Different players bring their own agendas (with what they think is fun -- for example, using the rules for swift, tactical victories, or creating, as a priority, heartfelt scenes of strong emotional decision). And different rules sets bring their own agendas (for example, by rewarding tactical behavior on the part of the players, or gearing the rules, like Sorcerer, to the establishing and closing of strong, interpersonal narrative tensions.)

By being aware of these different agendas, and then bringing together rules promote and players enjoy the same kinds of agendas (as much as is possible -- which leaves lots of leeway), people get the most fun out of playing as is possible.

Like if you loved playing baseball, and your best friend loved playing chess and hated baseball. You might sit down a play a game with him every once in a while. But you would probably eventually stop badgering him about joining in a loud, roucous social activity out in the sun when every time he joined such a game he looked utterly miserable. Two valid games. Two valid enjoyments. And sometimes they just don't overlap.

So, Red is working to make sure he and his players will enjoy whatever game they choose to play -- a game chosen with eyes wide open, to provide the kind of fun they enjoy the most.

Christopher

PS Since I don't know where you're coming from all this (your post was somewhat abrupt), I'm not sure if you're point of view is, "Any rules work as long as the players are having fun." I'll just point out again that around here that's considered a somewhat dubious point of view. If you'd like to discuss that specific matter, just start another thread, and I'm sure a lot of folks will happily discuss it with you.

Hi Red,

I appreciate that it's time to wrap this up.

Let me just quickly add then, that your premise, "Do I live by the philosophic code of honor, or allow myself the relief of death and reunion with my wife and child in the after life," is still a choice. And a damned good one. One can have a relationship with one's self, after all! What's at stake in this discussion of attachments and choices is simply that there are choices. And even if Maxiumus is choosing to act by his own code time and time again, it's a choice, and that's what matters.

I'll offer this up as well, if you get to see the movie again. Remember that Maxiumus and Marcus, the good emperor Maximus serves, have close relationship. The two men share the same philosophy and support each other. Marcus clearly sees in Maxiumus the kind of son he wishes his own son had been. Am I going too far to suggest that there is a familial relationship between them? I am not. Watch it again -- you'll see it's there.

Now, one doesn't have to see this to enjoy the movie. Maxiumus is, after all, making the tough choice to follow his code on his own. But it is in the movie: an emperor you serve with your life, who has taught you the philosphy you live by, and treats you like a son he loves and trusts, and would like to have as the heir to the empire.

Maximus may be the one making the choices as he goes, but if one wants, one can find the emotional core that drives his noble choices in in the relationship with Marcus. Now, whether that is what drives Maxiumus, we'll never know. But when I take apart a movie, I look at all the clues... And all that screen time between Russel Crowe and Richard Harris are there for a reason. They have a strong relationship. They've both served and honored each other the empire. It's a connection. Whether its what makes Maximus do anything I don't know, but it is a connection.

And that's the point of Sorcerer. No matter what the connections, the PC, via the player, always has to make his or her own choices. Just like each of us in life.

Christopher

Christopher Kubasik wrote: Hi DannyK,

Since this topic is near and dear to my heart, I'm going to tweak your reference to CoC a bit.

Yes, it can be played as a supernatural version of Law & Order. But it can be played straight Nar as well.

In my favorite game I played years ago, my guy was Bill, an uneducated dock worker who caught a glimpe of his little daughter taken away by something... uncanny ... one night, and devoted himself, against his wife's pleadigs, to find out what happened.

Yes. He went mad. He had to find out. But the knowledge that he was getting deeper and deeper into something that he knew more and more could bring no good to him only offered up more and more choice. There were plenty of scenes -- plenty of standing at the entrance to a dark tunnel, plenty of books he could choose to open or not, plenty of times he could have just walked away -- that were rich in choice. And the hovering moment in that decision is what made the game compelling for me.

Look what we've got here: a) Connections (daughter, wife), and b) choice (does Bill pursue the truth at the expense of all he's ever known to be true). A Narrativist, premise driven play.

Now. One can also set up the Group o' Investigators. They're "job" is to go find stuff out. They know the risks, do cost benefit analysis of opening the tome on the spot. They're Guys at Work. We can be playing it to bring up the "bits" from Lovecraft (and knowing we're succeeding because we're doing this well); we can play to get out of the session with as much HP and San as possible left; we can go all Delta Green and use our frickin' best Black Hawk Down tacticts to torch the mother fuckers and go home to a six pack.