For my critical play this week, I played “The Stanley Parable” (TSP). I’ve played a portion of TSP once before when I was much younger, and the experience this time (viewing the game through the lens of a designer) was altogether different. In this response, I argue that the game’s structure and narrative techniques demonstrate the unique storytelling capabilities of walking simulators. Walking through the game’s setting, the choices it presents, and the unique mechanics we engage with (such as the use of the narrator’s voice), all lead to individualized narrative journeys that could change with each playthrough, but I think these journeys exist more as a direct reflection of the player themselves.
TSP opens in a seemingly ordinary office setting, reminiscent of the popular ‘Backrooms’ urban legend. The setting is non-descript, and immediately evocative of the bland deindividualization that has become synonymous with megacorporate locations in popular culture. The premise of the game involves Stanley, the protagonist, who finds that his co-workers have mysteriously disappeared. As I made my way through the office, the game’s core mechanic emerged with the presentation of various choices. The opening moments of the game begin with a simple decision between two doors. Though mundane, like the setting and the protagonist, this decision eventually branches into a series of increasingly complex narrative paths that grow apart based on player decisions. Being posed with true choices in-game is a key element of how walking simulators provide personalized storytelling. As noted in the Salon article, making these decisions also comes with ample time to reflect on your choices (since you are doing not much else besides walking and choosing). In doing so, players have to come to terms with their own agency in crafting the narrative. I’m a big fan of this design choice – I love choose-your-own adventure books and text-based adventure games – so I would like to explore incorporating similar mechanics into my project 2 game.
TSP doubles down on this idea of reflection through one of its most famous elements – an omnipresent Narrator that responds to and comments on the player’s decisions. As a result, the Narrator plays a central part in defining the game’s atmosphere and player experience. Throughout my playthrough, the Narrator described Stanley’s ‘thoughts’ and ‘actions’ (which were essentially a function of my decision-making) in a way that I would describe as sarcastic yet authoritative. Initially, my instinct was to play separately from the Narrator’s comments. As time progressed, however, I realized that depending on whether I chose to follow the narrator’s script or deviate from it, I would be presented with increasingly varied reactions from him. When I began experimenting with ignoring the Narrator, this led to him becoming irritated and at one point even directly commenting on my disobedience of his instructions. For me, the Narrator eventually became almost like a second player in the game, but one that was warping and then reflecting my own actions back to me. Once again, I was constantly being presented with the implications of my own actions, forcing me to stop and think about how my choices impact the telling of the story.
The story itself is also personalized. TSP is known for including several unique endings, each clearly serving as a commentary on the concept of choice, predestination, and fate. I did some research on the game’s possible endings, and found that one involved Stanley destroying a mind control facility – clear symbolism for a break from conformity and scripted gameplay. The meta-commentary persists from the Narrator and in the endings themselves, with another ending apparently ridiculing the concept of achievements in games, raising questions to the player about the value of their in-game actions. There are also endings where the narrator and Stanley find themselves in a game development studio, or where the game restarts repeatedly, each time altering the narrative slightly to reflect the player’s previous choices. These meta elements allow TSP to comment on its own structure and the nature of video games as a medium, and by breaking the fourth wall in this way, they force players to reckon with their own position as creator of the narrative while also being subject to it.
In sum, TSP manages to tell a deeply personal story in an incredibly bland setting with minimalist mechanics. I think it is precisely this choice – to leave the game itself quite bare – that provides the narrative with room to attain significant emotional richness. As an exemplar for the walking simulator, it demonstrates precisely how these games differ from other genres. They focus heavily on narrative, choice, and player-led exploration, engaging players in a dialogue with themselves about their own agency. Each playthrough of such a game becomes a personal interpretation of the game’s themes, and an individual exploration of the narrative they are presented through.
