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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Jonn Elledge and the Young Hagrid Audition

I auditioned for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, for the part of “Young Hagrid”. Except I didn’t.

I’ve been dining out for years now on the fact I auditioned for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, for the part of “Young Hagrid”. It’s one of those funny stories I tell people when a bit drunk, under the no doubt entirely wrong impression that it makes me sound like I’ve lived an interesting life.

Except, when I came to write this thing, I realised that it’s not actually true. I didn’t actually audition for the part of Young Hagrid at all.

Technically, I auditioned to be Voldemort.

Let’s start from the beginning. In November 2001 I was in my last year at Cambridge, where I split my time roughly equally between pissing about on a stage, writing thundering student paper columns about the true meaning of 9/11 as only a 21-year-old can, and having panic attacks that the first two things would cause me to screw up my degree and ruin my life forever. I was, I suppose, harmless enough; but looking back on that time, I am quite glad that nobody had yet invented social media.

I was also – this is relevant – quite substantially overweight. I’m not a slim man now, but I was much heavier then, so much so that I spent much of my later adolescence convinced that my mum’s bathroom scales were broken because my weight was, quite literally, off the scale. I was a big lad.

Anyway. One day my friend Michael, with whom I’d co-written quite a bad Edinburgh fringe show eighteen months earlier, came running up to me grasping a copy of Varsity. “Have you seen this?” he panted; in my memory, at least, he’s so excited by what he’s found that he’s literally run to find me. “You have to do it. It’d be brilliant.”

“This” turned out to be a casting call for actors for the new Harry Potter movie. This wasn’t unusual: Cambridge produces many actors, so production companies would occasionally hold open auditions in the hope of spotting fresh talent. I don’t remember how many minor parts they were trying to cast, or anything else about what it said. I was too busy turning bright red.

Because I could see the shameful words “Young Hagrid”. And I knew that what Michael meant was not, “God, Jonn, you’re a great actor, it’s time the whole world got to bask in your light”. What he meant was, “You’re a dead ringer for Robbie Coltrane”.

I was, remember, 21 years old. This is not what any 21-year-old wants to hear. Not least since I’d always suspected that the main things that made people think I looked like Robbie Coltrane were:

  1. the aforementioned weight issue, and
  2. the long dark trench coat I insisted on wearing in all seasons, under the mistaken impression that it disguised (a).

Most people look back at pictures of their 21-year-old self and marvel at how thin and beautiful they are. I look back and and I wonder why I wasted my youth cosplaying as Cracker.

The only photo of 2001 vintage Jonn I could find on the internet is actually a photo of a photo. For some reason, I really loved that tie. Image: Fiona Gee.

I didn’t want to lean into the Coltrane thing; since childhood I’d had this weird primal terror that dressing up as something meant accepting it as part of your identity, and at fancy dress parties (this is not a joke) I could often be found hiding under tables screaming. And I didn’t want to be Hagrid, young or otherwise. So I told Michael, quite plainly, that I wasn’t going to audition.

But as the days went by, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. This was an audition for a proper, actual movie. I’d always had this idea I must have some kind of talent*, and that Cambridge was where I would find out what it was**. What if this was my big break?*** What if I was being silly?****

So when it turned out that Michael had literally started a petition to get me to change my mind, I acceded to the inevitable. Who was I to resist the public demand for moi?

And so, I graciously alerted the people doing the casting to the fact of my existence. A few days later I got an email back inviting me to go see them in a room at Trinity College, and a few pages of script to read for them.

The first odd thing was that the script did not, in fact, mention Hagrid. The film, I would later learn, does include a flashback to Hagrid’s school days at Hogwarts. By then, though, the filmmakers had decided they didn’t need a young actor to play Young Hagrid: instead that sequence features a rugby player in a darkened corner, with a voiceover courtesy of Coltrane. The section of the script I was holding instead featured a conversation between Harry Potter and a character called Tom Riddle.

I asked my flat mate Beccy, who unlike me had actually read the books, who this person might be. She shuffled, awkwardly. “I think he might be Voldemort...?”

Further complicating things, the stage directions described Riddle as something along the lines of, “16 years old, stick thin and classically handsome, in a boyish way”. As fervently as I may have denied any resemblance between myself and Robbie Coltrane, I was nonetheless clear that I was a good match for precisely none of those adjectives.

I’m not sure what I was expecting when I went to the audition. I don’t suppose I expected Chris Columbus to be there, let alone Robbie Coltrane ready to embrace me like a long-lost son.  But I was expecting more than a cupboard containing a video camera of the sort you could buy at Dixons and a blonde woman not much older than me. She introduced herself as “Buffy” which, given that this was 2001, I am not entirely convinced was her real name.

“My friends always tell me I look like Robbie Coltrane,” I told her, pretending I was remotely enthusiastic about this fact. 

“Oh yeah,” said Buffy. “But he’s really... big isn’t he? I mean he’s a huge guy. You’re more sort of...”

Or to put it another way, if they had still been looking for a young Hagrid, they would have wanted someone tall. I’m 6’, but I’m not tall. I was just fat.

If they had been looking for a Young Hagrid. Which, as it turned out, they weren’t.

The section I read for was included in the final film, so with a bit of Googling I found the script online. It was this bit:

TOM RIDDLE Yes. I’m afraid so. But then, she’s been in so much pain, poor Ginny. She’s been writing to me for months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes. Ginny poured her soul out to me. I grew stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful enough to start feeding Ginny a few secrets, to start pouring a bit of my soul back into her...

Riddle, growing less vaporous by the second, grins cruelly.

TOM RIDDLE Yes, Harry, it was Ginny Weasley who opened the Chamber of Secrets.

I mean, you can see the problem, can’t you? I don’t remember this many years on what interpretation I put on my performance. I suspect I went beyond camp and into full on panto villain, and I dread to think what I may have done to communicate the impression of “growing less vaporous”.

But what I do feel confident about is that I was absolutely bloody awful. Five minutes after arriving, I was out, and I never heard from Buffy again.

So – I didn’t become a star. You probably guessed that part already.

In all honesty, I didn’t really realise what a big deal Harry Potter was. I’d seen the first film, and thought it was all right, but I was yet to read the books; three of them hadn’t even been written yet.

I had some vague idea there was an opportunity here. But the idea I was missing a shot at being part of an institution, something that people would be rereading and re-watching and analysing for decades to come – something that, a couple of years later, at roughly the point when Dumbledore shows Harry the Prophecy, and a tear rolls down his cheek, would come to mean quite a lot to me, personally – none of that ever crossed my mind. I’d had an opportunity. It hadn’t worked out. Happened all the time.

I do sometimes like to think, though, about the parallel universe in which that audition was the start of a long and glittering career – and where the bloke who played Tom Riddle in this universe is scratching a living writing silly blogs about trains.

*I don’t.

**I didn’t.

***It wasn’t.

****I was.

Jonn Elledge edits the New Statesman's sister site CityMetric, and writes for the NS about subjects including politics, history and Daniel Hannan. You can find him on Twitter or Facebook.

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