Assist Mode by Samuel Gronseth

Written by Samuel Gronseth

I believe pretty strongly that one should strive to experience a work as intended.

This is different from the question of authorial intent; that discourse is about whether the meaning of a story is determined by its creator or the unique experience of each individual, and it’s a constructive discussion to have. But this isn’t about meaning so much as craft.

Creating something is a lot of work. A lot of consideration goes into every aspect of it, as the person (or people) making it wants to evoke emotion, inspire thought, guide someone to a specific headspace. Every aspect of the work is there to create that experience; to remove it is to alter the work, and in the case of particularly good ones, probably to weaken it as well.

An easy example from linear media would be removing the visuals from a film. Listening to a movie would often communicate the basic events of the story just fine, but film is a visual medium; much of the story and its meaning is communicated through its visuals, especially in a carefully crafted one. Even less essential elements can have this effect; removing audio, dialogue, music, plot twists, or any other major element of a movie would similarly cripple its ability to communicate the ideas and create the emotional response the creator(s) worked so hard to embed in the movie.

Video games are an interactive medium. Whether by making choices that alter the course of the story or simply controlling a character as they experience its twists and turns, this medium is centered around the player’s participation. This is usually thought of as gameplay, but it’s also an element of storytelling; interactivity has far more forms than gameplay or multiple endings, and even the most linear video game story inherently involves the player in a way that art forms like film or literature generally don’t.

It would follow, then, that to experience a video game without playing it yourself is, in my estimation, an incomplete encounter with it. If a video game is meant to immerse and involve the player in a story, watching a playthrough or reading a summary would be a pale imitation of the real thing. On a smaller scale, to cheat one’s way through a game would also be an alteration of the process of play that cheapens the experience that someone carefully, lovingly crafted to work a certain way. I feel rather strongly that this is not to be done lightly.

That said.

Not everyone can abide by that outlook. Removing the visuals from a film may remove its primary method of storytelling, but a blind person doesn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, which is why many films and shows have visual description modes. Removing punishment for failure in a video game may remove the challenge and tension of play, but also may be the only way someone with one of a variety of visual or physical disorders can successfully get through more challenging moments, which is why an increasing amount of games are giving such options now. I can’t succeed at some games without help due to a deutan color blindness that makes certain colors blend together, which is why many action games now have color alteration modes to make certain things more decipherable to people like me.

The fact is that not everyone can experience everything in the same way as everyone else. It’s sad, but it’s true. And while I think it’s important not to arbitrarily remove important facets of an artistic work, I also think it’s far more important that someone experience it at all than do it exactly as intended.

Celeste agrees with me on this point, and it does it very well.

The game features an assist mode, which allows players to alter the way the game plays in specific ways that make it easier. It’s possible to enable an extra dash, so Madeline can move around in the air more times before falling helplessly to her doom. It’s possible to slow down the game’s speed, so there’s more time to react, get the timing right, and figure out next steps. It’s possible to remove the stamina mechanic, so Madeline can cling to a ledge indefinitely without losing her grip and falling. It’s even possible to grant Madeline invincibility so she won’t be harmed by the various obstacles in the game.

The original message that appeared when activating easy mode acknowledged that “[the game’s creators] believe difficulty is central to the experience,” and recommended trying the game without these options for the first time. But it also acknowledged that “every player is different,” and the game was designed to be a “challenging but accessible game.” It expressed hope that those who would be unable to play the game in its original state would still be able to enjoy it.

The bit about difficulty being central to the experience is no understatement. As mentioned in this issue’s article about ludonarrative harmony in the game, Celeste is the very definition of a game whose process of play is a central element of its story and themes. Climbing the mountain is a metaphor for Madeline’s struggles, and the difficulty of the process (and the inevitable act of trying again and again until the player succeeds) is an important part of what makes it work as well as it does.

But the game doesn’t work at all if it can’t be played.

No matter how strongly I feel that a game is best played as it was designed to be, that doesn’t help someone who literally can’t do that. An unwavering belief like mine would dictate that they simply don’t get to experience it at all, and that doesn’t sit right with me. No one should be blocked from an experience if it’s at all possible to enable them to enjoy it.

So yes, though I believe in preserving the intended experience, I also absolutely believe that improving accessibility takes precedence. But Celeste goes beyond a simple change in priorities.

The brilliant thing about Celeste’s assist mode--the thing that makes it so much more effective than a simple difficulty setting--is its customization. Celeste is indeed designed to be challenging, and the ability to tweak specific mechanics allows the player to loosen aspects that make it inaccessible for them while retaining an element of that challenge, if they so choose. Whatever a player’s specific difficulties, they can alter the thing that makes it inaccessible while retaining the things that keep the game challenging for them.

The game’s original message has been altered since release; a speedrunner who has hemiparesis (which causes weakness and loss of feeling in one half of the body) expressed concerns that the original message’s mention of an “intended experience” felt exclusionary, and despite all my talk of intentional design, I can understand this perspective. The fact is that accessibility in games isn’t about crippling the experience so less capable people can deal with it, as some have argued, but altering the experience in such a way that brings it closer to the intended experience for people who are differently abled.

The new message’s phrasing, that the game is meant to be “challenging but rewarding” and assist mode exists to allow people to keep the game’s difficulty in that range, is an accurate summation of the entire concept of accessibility in games. It’s not about altering the intended experience, but broadening the concepts of challenge and reward to include people that more rigid systems might have excluded. And that’s unquestionably a positive thing.

I still think it’s important to experience a work in full when possible. As an able-bodied person, I have no plans to start listening to movies, or watching games in lieu of playing them. But Celeste is an important game that says things worth saying, and I’m glad that it found a way to allow far more people to experience it. The game is not damaged by assist mode; it’s expanded.

SAMUEL GRONSETH is the creator, writer, and host of the popular YouTube channel, “Games as Lit. 101.” https://www.youtube.com/user/gamesasliterature