There’s a long-held wisdom about writing: Show, Don’t Tell. It’s a reliable guideline for all who wish to create and share a story, which advises a writer not to simply Tell an audience, whether through narration or characters’ exposition, something about a character or an event, but rather to create actions, circumstances, and dialogue that display this characteristic the writer wishes known to the audience, and allow the audience to experience it firsthand. Definitely a sensible and worthy method of storytelling, to be sure, because empirical evidence is just generally more compelling than hearsay--the phrase “I’ll believe it when I see it” exists for a reason. Roseportal Games, as an example, can Tell me as much as they like that Aerin of The Princess’ Heart undergoes personal growth during the game’s events and is at the game's end a better, more mature romantic partner than she was at its beginning, but they’ve Shown me not a single piece of evidence to back that up, so I don’t buy it for a moment.
With that said, I think it’s a common mistake that many people believe that Show, Don’t Tell is the final word on quality storytelling. It’s a great and a safe method, absolutely, but not the be-all, end-all of how to write well.
First of all, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: If you know what you’re doing, the Tell method actually can work very well. Isaac Asimov used a lot of Telling in his works, especially his famous Foundation series, and pretty much everything he wrote that I’ve come across is fantastic. He knew how and when to rely on his own narration to get the job done, what situations it would work for--the Foundation stories, for example, involve not a small theme of historical documentation, for which the Tell style adds authenticity, since we associate such an approach with things like history textbooks and biographies and whatnot. To bring it back to RPGs, I would say that a fair portion of the narration of Planescape: Torment, and its spiritual successor, Torment: Tides of Numenera, could be considered as Telling more than Showing--and PT and TToN have definitely got the masterful writing talents on staff to make such scenes as brilliant and captivating as all the rest.
More importantly, however, is my belief that Show, while more desirable in general than Tell, is still only a part of the ideal way of writing. In my opinion, you’re at your best when the idea you want to convey is Shown and Told. Yes, you can be Told that some character is amazing and wonderful and/or has undergone incredible personal changes for the better, but the sentiment is meaningless because you’re not able to observe evidence of it. However, you can also be Shown the character’s greatness and how dynamic they are, but not fully appreciate these facts because the lack of a Telling element hasn’t framed these qualities for all they’re worth.
Since I used a non-RPG example initially a moment ago, let’s start the same way with this. You can see an example of what I mean by a Show-and-Tell method in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, specifically with the character of protagonist George Bailey. The key, core element of the film around which every part of its plot, message, and cast revolve is the outstanding virtue of George as a man, and the irreplaceable value he has to his friends, family, and community as a whole. Now, the movie does an excellent job in establishing the greatness of George Bailey through Showing the audience many, many examples of his selfless and kind nature throughout his lifetime, allowing us to see, from the perspective of an observing angel, his past. And for that matter, we also see examples of that generous spirit once the movie catches up to the present: Clarence’s entire plan to keep George from committing suicide revolves around the knowledge that George will put his own despair on hold to save another person, and a little later, George feels compelled, even while still distraught over his own terrible circumstances, to express to Clarence that the latter worries George, and to ask about whether Clarence’s own situation is stable. There’s more than enough Show in It’s a Wonderful Life for us to adequately understand George Bailey’s saintlike qualities.
Yet at the same time, we’d be missing out if the movie were not also Telling us what a great guy George is, too. The fact that we hear angels themselves speak highly of George Bailey helps to confirm what we can ourselves see, and also brings to light which specific merits of George’s are most relevant to our understanding of him and the film as a whole. Furthermore, hearing the prayers at the movie’s beginning from those who know George, prayers which Tell the audience that this (as of this moment) unknown character is a good person, is not just a useful framing device for our perceptions of what we will be Shown, but emphasize and sell 1 of the most important aspects of George’s character, the quality around which Clarence’s plan to help him revolves: his invaluable and wonderful impact upon the lives of all those in Bedford Falls. It’s a confirmation and emphasis that could only go so far with Showing alone. And the movie’s filled with such examples--in another, we can see an individual instance of the Bailey Building and Loan’s positive impact on the community as we see the celebration of Mr. Martini moving into his new home, but that example of Show means much, much more with the context of the audience having been Told by Peter Bailey why this is especially important in a town otherwise run by Mr. Potter, and having also been indirectly Told by George during his angry speech to Potter about the people of the town deserving a decent living situation regardless of their economic situation. What we can be Shown is a single occurrence, what we can be Told is the significance of that occurrence and the great number of times it has happened. There are many reasons why It’s a Wonderful Life is a truly excellent movie, but part of it is that it combines Showing and Telling perfectly to keep every major cog in its narrative machine turning smoothly.
Now, to bring things back to RPGs, think of Commander Shepard from the Mass Effect trilogy.* I think most people would agree that he/she is a pretty awesome hero, and while going through ME, the player gets a personal sense of confidence and capability that I believe few other game heroes can create. I certainly never have felt anywhere near as cool and can-do when playing as any Link from a Legend of Zelda game, for example, nor as inspiring and leaderly as Dragon Age 1’s Grey Warden, and so on. And sure, a lot of that is due to the fact that the Mass Effect series Shows us, time and time again, that Shepard has the brains, the physical prowess, and most importantly, that intangible quality of guts that can carry him/her to victory against any odds. But a huge part of why Shepard stands out as such an iconic action hero isn’t just the fact that we can see him/her acting as such--we can see that stuff in lots of significantly less memorable main characters. It’s also the fact that all along the way, from the very start of the series, other characters frequently point to Shepard as an incredible soldier and leader who can get seemingly impossible shit done. From Anderson’s paternal confidence and encouragement, to The Illusive Man outright telling Shepard that he spent incalculable sums of money to bring Shepard back to life, virtually unaltered, because he/she represents a unique human quality of accomplishment, to Shepard’s closest companions expressing time and again their faith in him/her to pull them through any situation, to even NPCs like the consort Sha'ira showing an almost reverence for him/her...yes, all this Telling would be empty if we weren’t Shown over and over that it’s confidence well-placed, but at the same time, all that Showing wouldn’t be nearly as empowering to Shepard as a hero without the Telling calling appropriate attention to it. Shepard stands out as a hero thanks to a Show-and-Tell process.
This approach is also good as a way of emphasizing the development of a character, too, not just their unchanging qualities (George Bailey and Commander Shepard, while arguably not static characters, nonetheless are most significant for qualities that don’t really change too terribly much overall). Take the relationship between Tear and Natalia in Tales of the Abyss. Early in the game, soon after Natalia has filled the last empty party member slot, it’s clearly shown from their interactions that Natalia and Tear don’t really get along very well; they just rub each other the wrong way. As time goes on, this gradually changes, with Tear and Natalia interacting more and more amiably as they assist one another on the game’s journey, and find neutral or positive ground upon which to communicate in the form of discussions with their mutual companions. It’s a natural alteration of their relationship, which happens at an organic pace, and as such, even though it’s being Shown to the player the entire time it’s happening, it doesn’t usually stand out--eventually Natalia and Tear are on good terms, and it’s happened smoothly enough that it seems like the normal state of affairs to the audience. I think that it’s only late in the game, during a certain skit, that the magnitude of their friendship’s journey is really apparent. At 1 point, as they converse, they look back at what they initially thought of each other, and Natalia reflects that she disliked Tear at first. When Tear prompts her with the question of what Natalia thinks now, Natalia warmly responds that Tear has become very dear to her. It’s a heartfelt moment, but it’s also an interesting one, because this changed relationship is one that wouldn’t have even really occurred to me to pay attention to if I’d only been Shown it--as I said, it’s gradual and natural enough a process that Natalia’s and Tear’s becoming trusted friends is just something you go along with automatically. It’s only once the game Tells us what a difference has come about that we realize the significance of their relationship’s growth, and properly appreciate the warm fuzzies of a sincere friendship between them. The Tell has given us a chance to appreciate the Show to a degree we would have otherwise missed out on.
The old adage isn’t a bad one: if you have to choose between Showing and Telling, then go with Showing, because by itself, Telling is much less likely to get the job done, unless you have a specific style or circumstance that particularly connects to Telling. But I do think that Show, Don’t Tell is a policy that will ultimately limit a truly talented writer if followed too stringently. The best results are going to come from a story that knows how to use the process of Telling to showcase and enhance the strength of what is Shown.
* Yes, trilogy. Andromeda does not count as Mass Effect.
I think there's some truth to the adage, although I think it would be more accurate to say "showing is more important than telling." If the writing tells us something which does not correlate with what we are shown, that can be a major issue. For instance, I like to pick on the Trails in the Sky/Trails of Cold Steel games for hyping up their bosses to an absurd degree (i.e., the games repeatedly tell the player that the bosses are incredibly strong), but this hyping is severely undermined by how easy most of the bosses are (i.e., the bosses are shown to be weak). I remember a boss in Cold Steel 2 that I defeated without so much as getting attacked once, only for my party members to be panting in exhaustion after the fight, while the boss boasted how he would start fighting "for real." In that case, what I was shown did not come close to aligning with what I was told, to the point of distraction.
ReplyDeleteOf course, I think there are some exceptions where creating dissonance between what is told and shown can be effective, but it requires some smart writing and self-awareness. In Chrono Trigger, the player is told that Tata is the legendary hero, but Tata's actions clearly show that he is an ordinary, weak boy and explicitly not the legendary hero. Hence, any player with average intelligence will not be surprised when Tata subsequently confesses he is not the hero, since his actions already showed the truth, and the game's writers presented Tata in this manner, deliberately.
In general, I enjoy when game designers can show the player something through gameplay. The excellent example from Final Fantasy VII that everyone cites is the Nibelheim flashback. The player is told that Sephiroth is strong, but his strength is shown much more effectively in the mandatory fight against a dragon at the start of the flashback. Cloud is level 1, Sephiroth is level 50 (a level which is far higher than the player's will be at that point in the game), and Sephiroth effortlessly kills the dragon while the playable Cloud can barely scratch it (and Cloud will die in one hit if the dragon attacks him, whereas the AI Sephiroth will take 0 damage). That scene is a great way to show the later antagonist's strength using the game's own mechanics (unfortunately, the later stuff with Sephiroth is not nearly as brilliant, but that's another issue).
Overall, I think that showing can function without telling better than telling can without showing. I will admire writing (or game design, in this case) that shows me something and has the confidence to expect me to understand what happened without being told (and is willing to risk alienating people who cannot pick up on the subtleties). On the other hand, I lose respect for writers who tell me something but cannot back it up (or are too lazy) to show it in the game itself. A lot of people who've played Final Fantasy XIII criticize it for its Datalog, which is made up of a bunch of text that tells the game's worldbuilding to the player. Personally, I wouldn't mind the Datalog if this worldbuilding could also be deciphered from actually playing the game. That is not to say that writers can't get by with just telling some things without showing them; I'll believe a writer who tells me that a character went to school and had writing lessons--I don't need to see all their education and lessons. Excessive showing can lead to unnecessary bloat.