More Hands-on Time with GTA 5
We return to Los Santos for two more missions, which reveal just how powerful GTA's character-shifting mechanics can be for the game's narrative.
In one sense, the characters are all tightly authored – the dialogue’s sharply written, mannerisms and back-stories carefully elaborated. Each lead has a very definite set of traits. But the second part of their characterization – what they actually do – is almost entirely entrusted to you. In GTA V you become omnipotent figure, able to invade the consciousnesses of three different characters. Los Santos is an incredible place, and you get to see it through three very different sets of eyes.
It’s a long-standing storytelling technique, but one rarely used by games. Changing point of view subtly alters your relationship with that character, emotionally and morally.
I think Trevor’s probably the best example of what I mean. He’s violent, unhinged, and extremely unpredictable. However, it’s possible to look past that soiled vest, presumably encrusted with his own vomit, and be very charmed by Trevor, and that really intensifies the moment you play as him. It’s weird, because you should revile him – he’s an irredeemable pervert and killer, after all – but you can’t. You are him, and I suspect GTA V’s character switching, ostensibly pitched as a mechanic designed to always keep you in the heart of the action, may secretly prove its most potent storytelling device.
As always, this sort of thing is best illustrated through examples. So here are two missions that Luke didn’t mention in IGN’s first hands-on with GTA V. I think they're both great examples of how switching characters exerts a subtle power on the narrative.
With Trevor onboard, it’s harder for Franklin to cavil, and so I amble into the back of Trevor’s van, along with Lamar and his faithful Rottweiler, Chop. It doesn’t take long to reach the heart the hood – Franklin clearly hasn’t moved that far away. It’s a familiar cul-de-sac, intimidatingly fringed by rundown houses and shifty huddles of gang members – it’s Grove Street, the home of San Andreas’s protagonist, CJ. And the gang we’re negotiating with for a kilo of coke? The Ballas.
The throbbing score violently ratchets up, as all hell breaks loose. Disorientated, I stumble into the nearest cover – a low garden wall. I feel genuinely unsafe, surrounded by seriously pissed off gangsters. Trapped at the bottom of Grove Street, we’re as good as dead. We all know it.
Our only chance is to pull together and fight our way up the street. I scramble from cover to cover, hiding behind parked cars, as bullets fly above my head. I can see Chop running around, barking, drawing fire, even biting. I’m pinned down behind the van, so I switch to Trevor, wondering if the ability to switch characters gets you out of jail should you find yourself running low on health, but he was taking just as much heat.
The cops soon arrive on the scene to subdue the urban uprising. This is the distraction we’ve been waiting for. I hear Lamar shout from across the street – he’s found a way out. I follow him down a narrow alley that separates two of the slovenly houses, and instantly the thick claustrophobia of the Grove Street shootout dissipates. The world opens up again. The houses backs onto the Los Santos storm drain – a vast man-made river carved out of concrete. We run down towards the water. Bizarrely there are a group of girls in colourful bikinis dancing for a film crew in front of three jet skis. Is this a TV advertisement? A music video? Porn? I have no time to find out – there’s a police helicopter humming overhead. I push one of the girls out of the way and steal her jet ski. Trevor, Lamar, and I head for open waters – I guess Chop ran home – but we can’t escape. The helicopter’s still on our tail.
After skimming across the open water for a few minutes, putting distance between us and Grove Street cops, we land on a nearby coast. Trevor’s disappeared (I suspect he might do this a lot), and Lamar’s plain out of ideas. It’s up to me to get us out of his mess. The mess he drew me into. As the sun sets, I lead us up a steep path from the beach to the cliff top above. I have my machine gun raised at all times, picking off the cops that greet us.
We eventually reach the roadside and jump into one of the now vacant cop cars. We’re still being pursued, but I sense I can get away. I head off into the dark, down the web of dusty roads that lie far outside of the city. I break line of sight with my pursuers, and my wanted level drops. We’re clear, but finishing the mission as Franklin, I genuinely feel angry. I felt annoyed with Lamar, sat in the car next to me. I didn’t want him to be there. As fun as it was to play, I never wanted to get involved in any of this. It was all his fault. I didn’t want to go back to Grove Street. I get out and walk away into the night.
The second mission I play is entitled Fresh Meat. Michael has been kidnapped by the Triads, and from the faint cries I hear in the background of a threatening phone call, he doesn’t have long. I panic; I have no idea why Michael’s been taken, or where I should start looking in this vast, sprawling world, or where the hell Trevor is. I could really do with some help. But one thing is clear, though: time is ticking, and as Franklin, alone, I need to find Michael… quickly. I’ve heard Michael describe Franklin as the son he never really had, and now playing as Franklin, facing this situation, I acutely feel the weight of that accolade.
Fortunately, I have some help in the form of Trackify, an app on my mobile phone. Using the Triads’ call, it gives me a crude idea of where he might be. So I jump in the nearest car – I opt for an average saloon, quickly realising how much time is of the essence – and head off in search of the flashing marker displayed on my phone.
But this isn’t like the GPS that usually sits in the bottom left-hand corner, with its brightly-illuminated route snaking through the city’s streets, taking you to your destination in the least amount of time. It’s disconcertingly blank – the streets aren’t reassuringly outlined and there’s coloured line for me to follow, just a vague marker nagging in the distance. Feeling somewhat blinded, I miss turnings and find myself frequently heading in the wrong direction. But I’m also getting closer, and eventually arrive at a large factory.
I pull up round back, so as not to be spotted. I need get inside, though. Nearby is a ladder which takes me to the roof, where a narrow walkway leads to the front of the building. I move quickly but cautiously, since I know I’m going to be heavily outnumbered. As I reach the front of the building, I overhear two Triads down below; they haven’t noticed me, so I open fire with an automatic rifle. (In retrospect, it probably would’ve been more prudent to have attached a silencer, but screw it. It didn’t feel like a time for subtlety.) I scramble down the ladder and head into the darkened factory.
I know Michael’s here somewhere. I can hear him screaming.
It’s a meat packing factory, with freshly-butchered carcasses hanging from the ceiling and ribbons of blood staining the porcelain tiles. And some of it’s functional detail – those cadavers help break line of sight, a help and hindrance, and make surprisingly good cover, as I take out the Triads who are there to greet me. Around the corner I find Michael, strung up by his feet, seemingly destined to join the other swaying corpses. A Triad is pointing a gun at him, but I don’t hesitate, shooting the gang member who’s threatening my friend. But it isn’t a clean death – the gang member is pulled into some nearby machinery, and a fountain of blood instantly redecorates the factory’s interior.
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But it isn’t a clean death – the gang member is pulled into some nearby machinery, and a fountain of blood instantly redecorates the factory’s interior."
I toss Michael a pistol, and I’m given the option to switch characters. I do so, and suddenly I’m upside down, as even more Triads burst into the room. I take them out with a couple of head shots, before lowering myself to the ground. Stripped to a bloody vest and gingerly holding his side, it’s evident Michael’s in a lot of pain and that we need to find a way out now. But playing as Michael I strangely feel more in control, like Franklin will defer to me.
Around a couple of more corners, I spot an exit and outside there’s a car waiting to be taken. We jump in, and tear off into the night. But it’s not over: the Triads are right behind us – they’re a persistent bunch, to be sure – in a Japanese tuner, pimped out in neon orange. I weave through traffic, as Franklin shoots out of the passenger window at the car that’s continually gaining ground. As good a shot as Franklin is, he’s ineffective, and I cut across oncoming traffic, thinking I might be able to disappear more effectively on the freeway. The tuner is gaining ground, though, and as I turn to take the slip road, I clip the Triad’s vehicle, which fortunately spins out and is pinned against a wall, where it bursts into flames. I’m free to join the freeway. We made it. Just.
Okay, it’s time for a minor confession. I died quite a few times while playing missions described above, but that’s not down to Grand Theft Auto V being unreasonably difficult. Nor am I terrible at games – really, I’m not. At the time, I thought it might be due to all the new controls and mechanics I had to learn. But then I thought more closely about the moments in which I died. What did these passings have in common? It was when I hesitated, when I didn’t know where to go, and I’ve concluded that fault lies entirely with me. Admittedly, GTA V doesn’t tell you where to go, but that’s the point. You can go anywhere. I died when I lacked both imagination and conviction. You see I’ve become awfully lazy when playing games that involve shooting and driving; I’m content to be pushed towards a mildly satisfying objective. So when I landed on the beach with Lamar, and he suddenly looked towards me for guidance, like a child who got mixed up in something he didn’t fully understand, I was overwhelmed. I could go anywhere, get away by any means I could find, but I died right there on the sand because I’ve grown acquainted to games that consistently underestimate me.I don’t know if Grand Theft Auto V can stem the tide. It might. But after spending four hours exploring its world, I can safely say it’s revived my ailing faith in the big blockbuster game. There’s more to GTA V than just a land of unregulated freedom, though. I’m confident GTA V will receive attention for its technical prowess, swaggering attitude, and love of controversy, but there’s potentially a subtle approach to storytelling and characterisation here that shouldn’t be overlooked.
Passing between characters, identifying with more than one point of view, is sophisticated storytelling, and it provides GTA V with the machinery to tell an ambitious and nuanced story. And these character-based moments – being irritated with Lamar, as Franklin, for dragging me back into the hood – really stood out during my time with the game. I even started to play in a different way, depending on which character I was controlling. The game encourages this very gently with different character stats and special abilities – Franklin’s supposedly the best driver, for instance, so has the ability to slowdown time while behind the wheel. But it went beyond this, I found myself acting more recklessly as Trevor, more fatherly as Michael. I was performing. I actually think that might be the most unexpected and impressive thing I discovered while playing Grand Theft Auto V.
