I’m going to deal with another retro LARP-manifesto classic, just so I know I’ve covered it off. This time it’s a pair of documents, The Manifesto of the Turku School and The LARPers Vow of Chastity. I’m not going to break them down like I did Dogma 99, I’m just going to flag them up, and then talk about why I don’t like them, which is basically because they’re all about Immersionism. However, for all I disagree with them I think that, much like the Dogma 99 Manifesto, they provide a great starting point for thinking, and I do encourage reading them.
So Immersionism and Me, then. Well, basically, I regard Immersionism as selfish. It is, particularly when taken to the extremes of the Turku school, all about saying “I came here to play this character, and anything that pulls me away from that is bad. My highest obligation is to my character, which is to say to what is going on in my own head”. It feels like it’s kind of the roleplaying equivalent of Objectivism – elevating the (fictional) self, rather than the group. (And it therefore doesn’t surprise me that it’s popular with a certain subset of gamers.)
Don’t get me wrong: I know it can be rewarding to look back on a session, and realise that you were thinking as someone else, making decisions that you would never make yourself. And if that can be done safely, and while meeting one’s obligations to the group, than that’s absolutely brilliant. But it’s a happy secondary goal, not the primary objective.
To me, the primary goal of LARPing is intrinsically social. It’s saying “I came here to share and shape an interactive narrative experience in such a way that the largest number of people have the most amount of fun. My highest obligation is to ensure that those around me are enjoying themselves.”
I hate the phrase “my character wouldn’t do that”. I absolutely believe that characters can have an inner life, and can with enough Immersion, suddenly originate new information about themselves in the mind of the player. That’s fine. But I also believe that the player is in charge of the character at all times, and that the character can be changed.
An overly-simple example: Character A is holding a gun to the head of Character B. If Character B is executed, it is known that the this will be No Fun for their player, who is up for playing out a fun, dramatic scene where a gun is held to their head, but not for having their character die. And yet, in the fully-Immersionist school of play, if Character A would pull the trigger, then they should pull the trigger.
Except that Character A is fully under the control of their player. The player can opt not to pull the trigger, and then work out why Character A didn’t do it later, and in the process discover/invent some new facts about Character A.
And, of course, it doesn’t need to be on this scale. I’ve seen people (and I don’t exclude myself from this – I have done stupid things I wish I hadn’t in the past) do things that upset other players, ranging from the trivial (slightly inconveniencing of something another player had planned), to the more major (dominating another player’s game experience with their actions, in a way the other player does not enjoy) to the character-death example above, because they were “what their characters would do”. And it can all be excused, if your highest goal is “Immersion”.
So that’s where I get to with Immersionism: it’s a nice and fun thing, but it does not trump other obligations to the overriding goal of Fun Game. I’d be very interested in hearing opposing views, because I’m aware that it’s a very popular gaming philosophy, and I’d like to understand the thinking behind why it is considered good a bit better, in a way that the Manifesto’s amusing confrontational style rather fails to get across.