Arkham City and Mass Effect: Why do you so rarely get to play a character that experiences sexism?

There is gender in the world of video games but it is often one-dimensional or tokenistic. Games so often include prejudice and bigotry, but won’t direct them at player characters. Why?

Ever noticed that when there is racism or sexism in a video game it is usually directed to people other than the main character? From the over the top racism in the world of Bioshock: Infinite to the sexism of Duke Nukem Forever it so often seems to avoid the character you play as. Even in games like The Saboteur or Red Faction: Guerrilla, where you are trying to rebel against oppressive hostile armies, barring an initial act that triggers a revenge story these oppressive armies don’t actually hassle you. And in The Saboteur those guys are Nazis, the biggest bunch of pricks ever assembled on the History Channel, yet even they won’t bother you until you bother them.
Why is it that games will so cheerfully let us watch prejudice and bigotry, but won’t direct them at player characters?
One answer is perhaps that the element of wish fulfilment that permeates many games will not allow players to be part of an underclass or a victim. Would playing a game where you are actually persecuted mean that the game becomes less enjoyable, or would it add some extra bite to proceedings? There are of course plenty of opportunities to kill racist characters in video games, but typically this will be done to protect others. For example in Bioshock: Infinite though the world is a very racist one you play a white guy so nobody ever sends any of that prejudice your way. The racism often displayed towards others informs us that these characters are legitimate bad guys deserving to be slaughtered in the most violent ways possible. The main character is a proxy, a third party, intervening on behalf of the downtrodden, not one of them, a Messianic outsider to fix all the things.
Sexism however is handled differently to racism in games and will sometimes manifest itself against a female protagonist. This poses an interesting conundrum. Should a game world be as honest as possible and treat female characters in the manner that is consistent with that world? Or should video games provide a space where female characters and women who play them are given absolute equality? And what of male players, should a female character merely provide a male player with a more interesting rear end to watch in third person view, or should it be a different, potentially more challenging experience?
If we compare the female Commander Shepard from the Mass Effect series with Catwoman from Batman: Arkham City then we can see these opposing approaches in action. The female commander Shepard, known to most players as Femshep, is the alternate and non-canonical female version of Manshep, the male commander Shepard and the hero of the Mass Effect series. You get to pick at the start of the game whether you want to play as the male or female version of the character and barring romantic interests the story pans out in the same way. Catwoman is a secondary protagonist in Batman: Arkham City who crosses into the main plot from time to time but also has her own objectives.
The Mass Effect series is set in a universe that doesn’t have much direct sexism in character interactions, but is a horrible mess nonetheless. For example the majority of alien species don’t even have females that feature in the game. In one case this is an important plot point, fair enough, but by and large the universe is a sausage fest. The exception is the Asari who are there to provide a token alien female presence and nightclub dancers, mostly the latter. The Mass Effect universe literally has all things male in one set of species and all things female bundled into their own separate species. This leaves the humans standing around awkwardly in the middle trying to explain why they installed EDI into a robotic stripper body rather than a tank. Some of us liked the tank.
In this world however our intrepid Femshep faces no sexism herself. She gets paid the same as Manshep, she gets promoted at the same points, she is taken as seriously, or not, by her superiors as her male counterpart. Nearly everything remains the same and the changes are purely superficial. This does mean that Femshep is a formidable protagonist in many ways, though this is undermined in some regards by knowing that the character was written male and simply treated to a change of avatar and a better voice actor.
Contrast this to Catwoman’s lot in Arkham City. The character of Catwoman suffers from many of the same problems as plague the Asari species in the Mass Effect games, a great deal of her role is based around titillation, which is something that depictions of female comic book characters have largely had to deal with since forever. The art style of Arkham City certainly doesn’t fight against any conventions here and indeed it largely panders to expectations. However Arkham City does do something unusual for a game with a female protagonist, it takes the sexism of its aesthetic and carries that over into the gameplay elements.
This makes Catwoman a very, very unusual character to play. Typically, playing a female character in a game you kind of expect that character to be treated like a male character. This does not happen with Arkham City. The villains of Arkham City fear Batman because he’s a scary guy who likes to leap out of the shadows and kick their heads in; this manifests itself as a kind of respect, even if they are trying to kill him. However the bad guys have no such respect for Catwoman. They are crude, they are sexist, they make a lot of distinctly rapey comments and generally you get the impression that the intent of these villains is not just murderous.
It’s not pleasant, not in the least, but it fits the game and, ultimately, as distasteful as it is, there is a certain raw honesty to it. Arkham City is a game that owns the unpleasantness of its world and drops the player right into it. Having the villains acting like such a bunch of misogynistic scumbags makes it all the sweeter to kick them around the street, where’s the fun in battering people who don’t deserve it?
But here’s the thing. If I was a woman, would I want to be playing a character that gets the kind of abuse thrown at her that Catwoman gets? I don’t know and I’m not going to presume to guess. Therein lies a question though, does a design choice justify itself because one person (or one demographic) likes it, and is it invalidated if it alienates or offends another? Clearly the way that Catwoman was treated in Arkham City did offend plenty of people.
While I would argue that the sexism of the villains in Arkham City is fitting for the characters and ultimately improves the game from my subjective point of view, that’s not an entirely comfortable position. Just because I think something improves a game does not necessarily mean that it is right to include it.
Does this mean that our characters in video games should be spared from bigotry and prejudice because that bigotry and prejudice might resonate with a player who experienced them in real life? Maybe sometimes they should, but maybe sometimes not. There are no easy or universal answers unfortunately.
Bowdlerised and unchallenging games are awful, but we have to accept that what one person finds challenging another may find objectionable. One of the greater strengths of gaming as a pastime is its inclusivity and though obviously there’s nothing wrong with a game appealing to audience having every game chasing the same audience is self-defeating all round. Games should be true to their creative visions, but if that creative vision requires a game to antagonise and alienate then it needs to have a very good reason.
That said of course, if you want to experience all the fun of being subjected to all the most base and bigoted abuse under the sun, a new Call of Duty just came out, fill your boots.
Catwoman from Batman: Arkham City.

Phil Hartup is a freelance journalist with an interest in video gaming and culture

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On the trail of Keith Jarrett's melodies

Lose focus for a second and you can quickly drop the thread of Jarrett's complex improvisational techniques.

“So, this is a piano,” said Keith Jarrett, sitting down at the one that had been placed centre stage for him in the Royal Festival Hall on 20 November. Blowing on his hands to warm them, he acted as if he had never encountered such an instrument before, raising a chuckle from the hundreds of fans who had turned out to see the man in the flesh. For 40 years, Jarrett has been giving concerts like this – alone with the piano, playing his improvised music to a room full of rapt devotees. Notoriously grumpy – and now as well known for his tirades against cameras and coughing audience members as for his early days playing with Miles Davis – he has an almost eerie focus onstage, relieving the tension only very occasionally with his barbed observations about the excellence of the instrument, or the shuffling in the auditorium.

Jarrett gave us a series of short pieces, each rendering separate and distinctive musical ideas. He began with an intricately woven flash of notes in both hands, criss-crossing the melodies that were by turns dark and haunting, or light and dancing. At particularly complex moments, when his arms were crossed over and the notes were flowing from his fingers faster than anyone could imagine them into existence, he leaned his ear down towards the keys, as if physical closeness could help his ideas more swiftly become sound.

A couple of folk-inflected ballads followed; heart-achingly sweet melodies picked out above rumbling, sour arpeggios. Like Glenn Gould, the Canadian pianist best known for his recordings of Bach’s Goldberg Variations, Jarrett can’t help adding vocalisations as he plays, which are all the more evident in his quieter compositions. He rose and fell from his stool; we heard his guiding hum along with the melody, as well as the odd strangled shout, yelp and grunt. He might insist on absolute silence from the audience but his own noises seem completely uninhibited as the music spins around him.

Although notorious for his curmudgeonly attitude to his fans, Jarrett was mostly restrained in this outing, allowing himself just one short, sweary outburst about killing a “f***ing camera”. At the age of 70 and with the power to sell out his concerts in just a few hours, you do wonder how much of the persona is genuine and how much of it is just giving the audience what it expects. A case in point came near the end, when he yielded to clamouring and gave a surprisingly simple and straightforward rendition of “Danny Boy”, an encore that long-time fans know well.

Given that this recital was under the auspices of the London Jazz Festival, there was surprisingly little in Jarrett’s programme that could easily be identified as jazz. One piece, full of brisk rhythms and chunky chords, gradually revealed itself to be based on a modified 12-bar blues structure and another had haunting overtones surely pulled from the classic American songs of the first half of the 20th century. Indeed, this musical ghosting becomes a major preoccupation when you see Jarrett live. It is too easy to distract yourself in trying to follow the auditory trail he has laid for you – was that a bit of Debussy, or Bach, or Glass just then? – and lose the thread of what he plays next. The improvisational technique might have more in common with jazz but now, 40 years on from his bestselling live recording The Köln Concert, it’s difficult to characterise Jarrett’s output as anything other than contemporary classical music.

If it needs a classification, that is. At one point, I became convinced that a particular piece was a Jarrett riff on Beethoven’s Bagatelle No 25 in A Minor – or Für Elise, as it is more commonly known. I was sure it was all there: the extended opening trill, the rising arpeggios in the left hand, the melody cascading from treble to bass and back again. Except, by the time I surfaced from my musing, there was no trace of Beethoven to be heard. A clashing, almost violent melody was dangling over a long drone in the bass. If you try too hard to pin down Jarrett’s music, it moves on without you.

Caroline Crampton is web editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 November 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Terror vs the State