Or maybe your game adaptation of the Odyssey needs some Penelope scenes to reinforce that, yes–Penelope is pretty awesome and worth fighting monsters and gods to return to. You want to show how she’s handling her own troubles back home to inspire the player.

Or maybe you want to show Sidekick Guy getting murdered back at the base while the player is out on a mission. Or maybe you want to show the Great Dragon slowly awakening beneath the earth. Or maybe…

…well, you get the point. You want to switch away from the player’s point of view and use a cutscene to provide information or atmosphere you couldn’t otherwise get across. In a film, you wouldn’t think twice about it.

Here’s my advice: Think twice. That’s not to say you shouldn’t switch viewpoints for a cutscene in a video game. The advantages are obvious (and pretty much the same as they are in traditional, non-interactive media–thus, not worth discussing in great detail here) but there’s a lot to consider before you jump in.

First, be aware that a viewpoint-changing cutscene reduces the primacy of the Player Character. You are quite literally “breaking immersion” (a term I normally avoid, but a relevant one here) by shattering the tie between the player and the Player Character; what I see is no longer what the character sees, and we no longer share a mind and a common viewpoint. Generally speaking, a tight player-Player Character bond is to your benefit and the consequences of violating that bond are subtle but real–you’re signaling the player, intentionally or not, that this is not purely his or her story.

Second, consider whether the information delivered in the cutscene–a cutscene presumably not witnessed by the Player Character–would change how I as the player want to act as the Player Character. If I know that the story’s villain has placed a traitor among my Player Character’s companions, then I’m going to feel helpless and frustrated if the Player Character still treats his or her buddies like trusted allies. In a film or novel, the notion of a secret traitor would generate tension; it arouses concern for the characters on the part of the audience. In a game, it emphasizes my detachment from the Player Character and blocks my full emotional integration into his or her journey.

The funhouse mirror version of this scenario involves the Player Character emotionally reacting to situations shown in cutscenes as if he or she had seen them. This is less frustrating for the player, but it’s still a bizarre and distracting violation of character–if you show, say, the charismatic city mayor cackling evilly in a cutscene, then have my police investigator Player Character treat him with suspicion when they meet for the first time, I’m going to wonder why my character is so surly and paranoid. Sure, I know the mayor’s corrupt, but my character sure shouldn’t!

These are extreme examples, but less over-the-top versions aren’t hard to think up. If two NPCs are chatting enigmatically in a cutscene and delivering foreshadowing, and I can’t ask them about it when I’m in control of the Player Character? I’m not intrigued–I’m frustrated! On the other hand, if a cutscene contains no new information–if it’s essentially something that the Player Character could have imagined (“the captured prince is sad about being captured!” or “my loved one is worried about me!”)–you avoid this particular trap. A cutscene that contains no actionable information–a cryptic hint at something utterly unrelated to what the player is presently experiencing–is similarly “safer.”

Third, if you do think the advantages of a viewpoint-changing cutscene may outweigh the disadvantages, consider other potential mitigating factors:

• Do you have multiple Player Characters and switch between them already? Then your player-Player Character bond is already relatively weak and viewpoint changes are already integrated into your game’s style. This might reduce the issues with Player Character primacy.
• Can you make the cutscene into an interactive sequence instead? If you’re already violating point of view, you might consider going one step farther and giving the player a new way to emotionally engage with the characters.
• Is your game comedic? Is the cutscene funny? Then you can get away with pretty much anything.
• Is your Player Character something of a cipher anyway? (Maybe he’s a silent protagonist, or her motivations are intentionally unclear.) Then my choice to act on information only available in a cutscene (if such a choice is available) may be less distracting.
• Are you consistent about your use of cutscenes, and do you establish their use early on? Unveiling a single viewpoint-breaking cutscene thirty hours into a forty-hour game is very likely to jar the player. Conversely, if you cut to only one other viewpoint on a regular, predictable basis and start from the beginning (e.g., every time Odysseus leaves an island we get a Penelope cutscene), your player is more likely to become inured to the negative effects.
• The big exception to that last point is introductory cutscenes, which of course come before the player’s point of view has been firmly established! In this way, an introductory cutscene can do all sorts of things a mid-game cutscene might have trouble with.

Try to be aware of all the consequences of your narrative choices and weigh them accordingly. Changing viewpoint isn’t a casual decision in a video game, and while it can certainly be employed adeptly, well… if you’re not sure it’s worth it, you’ve got plenty of other tools available.

Let’s talk about empathy and the moral responsibility of the writer.

Suppose you’ve got an audience of a million people for your AAA video game, broadly representative of the American population (because these days, everyone loves games!) As you hash out your plot, think about your audience for a second and ask yourself: Are you comfortable with the story you’re telling to them and about them? Would you be prepared to sit in a room and justify your artistic choices, one-on-one, to your players?

• If you’re not Hispanic, are you prepared to justify to a Hispanic person how you cast (or didn’t) Hispanic characters?
• If you’ve never been a sex worker, are you prepared to justify to a sex worker your story’s handling of strippers and prostitutes?
• If you’ve never been in the military, are you prepared to justify your war story to a veteran?
• If you’re a man, are you prepared to justify to a woman the casting and portrayal of women in your story?
• If you’ve never been in a gang, are you prepared to justify your crime story to a gang member?
• If you’ve never been disabled, are you prepared to justify your handling of a paraplegic character?

These aren’t the only people and experiences you should be thinking about–this is a grab-bag of “things games have historically handled poorly.” But you see the pattern. I began writing this post to offer a rule of thumb for sensitively handling sexual violence in games, but then decided such a rule has much broader applications; “could you justify this in a one-on-one conversation” is an approach that works for so many things.

If the thought of people in the above groups (or the group of your choice) engaging with your story makes you uncomfortable… think hard about why that is. Most folks can handle opposing viewpoints, but are much less easygoing about being portrayed inaccurately, or as a stereotype, or as something less than a three-dimensional human being. Or if you can’t picture that personal conversation at all, why not? If you can’t even start to form that image, surely you don’t know enough about Group X to do it justice in your portrayal.

Of course, the fact that you are prepared to justify your handling of Topic Y doesn’t mean you’re right. Maybe you feel your over-the-top depiction of gun violence is so far in the realm of fantasy that it doesn’t convey any real-world message; maybe you did your research about life under the Khmer Rouge and you’re pretty sure you’re conveying as accurate a picture as you can. Ultimately, you’re the one who has to make the call. You could still be wrong. But be sure you’re as certain as you can reasonably be.

And if you do think you might be wrong, consider this as well: Are there other voices out there–other games, other narratives–that convey an alternative viewpoint? Or are you the only one showing characters of this particular type at all? In the former case, you can afford to be a little more slipshod; not that you want to neglect your responsibilities to truth, but if you fail, the consequences are mitigated. In the latter case, you’re potentially doing something useful but you also have a special level of responsibility–bad representation isn’t always superior to no representation.

And what if your portrayal is a common one, but not one derived from personal experience? That is, what if there are plenty of other narratives out there featuring characters of Background Z, but they all tend to treat them in a similar fashion? Again, the harm you inflict by going along with that trend is probably pretty minimal even if it’s an unfair portrayal–but it doesn’t excuse you from taking time to reflect on your writing, or from doing your research.

And that’s all this post is really about: Reflection, research, and empathy. Cover those three bases and you’ve done what you can. You can’t ever really speak for anyone else (no matter how similar to you that person may be), but that’s the mantle you’re picking up all the same, every time you write any character.

The least you can do is try to do people justice.

Games–especially open-world action-adventure games and role-playing games–tend to have extremely large casts. This is partly due to length (you can cram a lot of characters into a 40-hour game), but mostly due to mechanics: If every quest requires a unique quest-giver, or if every town needs to be populated with a dozen or more conversable NPCs, or if every item seller needs dialogue attached, you’re going to end up with vastly more characters than the narrative really warrants. When it comes to speaking roles, a game like Dragon Age: Inquisition makes the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy look intimate and focused by comparison.

Let’s forget mitigating this fundamental issue for now (and there are ways to design games to reduce this problem) and focus instead on how to handle all those characters. We’re not just dealing with a cast of thousands, but a cast of a thousand walk-ons–characters who appear for one scene, serve one purpose, and then may never be seen again.

These characters still need to be interesting and engaging. They need to establish themselves fast–within a handful of words, not by the end of a full scene. They need to engage the imagination of a player who may not be fully focused on the narrative. And they need to be different. So in the space of a small number of lines, how do you make every character feel unique and memorable? If most characters can be distinguished in at least, say, two of the three following aspects, you’re probably on the right track.

Voice

When I talk about character voice, I’m not talking about actual voice acting. Instead, consider all the aspects that determine how a character speaks: Education, class, word choice, syntax, and so forth. A character who speaks in short, to-the-point phrases using precise but not obscure language has a wildly different voice than a character who speaks in lengthy, ultra-formal paragraphs. Consider these variations on one line:

• “I wouldn’t have killed her, and I didn’t. Doesn’t mean she’s worth crying over.”
• “I did not kill her. I do not mourn her.”
• “I had no involvement in her death, but I grant you this–I’d relieve myself on her grave, given the opportunity.”

They’re all (probably) awful people expressing the same sentiment, but they sound dramatically different. When characters speak in the same voice, it’s one way they can end up blending together in the audience’s mind.

It’s easy to go over the top with character voices and end up with a parody instead of a natural speaking style. It’s also easy to default to a few specific voices (e.g., working class and upper class). Not every character needs to be instantly recognizable from her speech pattern alone, but if you’re falling back on the same few styles over and over, you probably need more variety.

Presentation

I use “presentation” mostly to refer to physical aspects of the character. Age and ethnicity and accent and choice of hat aren’t personality traits, and they don’t excuse a bland NPC–but when you’re dealing with a large cast, they’re effective signposts to differentiate characters in the player’s mind. I’m going to be a lot more likely to mix up two middle-aged white male security officers than I am to mix up a young black female security officer and an elderly Asian male security officer.

This is true even if (especially if!) they have the same basic voice. Physical traits are big, clumsy, and effective differentiating features. (As a side benefit, differentiating characters in this way also gives you a more diverse cast.)

Attitude and Context

Just because characters have similar voices doesn’t mean they’ll actually end up sounding the same. Two characters with similar backgrounds and speaking styles may sound drastically different depending on their respective reactions to what’s going on, to the Player Character, and so on.

An educated, absent-minded shopkeep may be thrilled to see the player if he’s had no customers all day; or he might be irritated to have his day interrupted, if he only wants a few moments of peace. A soldier under fire may be gung-ho or terrified. If all of your characters default to emotionally neutral, they not only all feel the same–they also end up feeling as if they have no lives or history beyond the purpose of their one scene.

When writing a game with large numbers of minor roles, it can be well worth the time to select a few lines at random from a variety of characters and put them all side-by-side. Without focusing on content (that is, specific people or events or quests those lines mention), can you tell who’s speaking just based on the tone and style? If you can’t, you’ve got some work on your hands. Consider how you can adjust NPCs’ voice, attitude, and context to make each one unique–and, if not the star of the game, at least someone who’ll catch a player’s interest for a little while.

Additional Reading: The great Patricia C. Wrede has articles on similar topics (from the perspective of a prose writer) here and here.