with a sword, fire a lightning bolt, or throw a grenade, for instance. Finally, a white
hand appears, which can be moved by the player to select the enemy at whom the
attack is aimed - the Goal. This particular sequence, then, is a transitive structure
made up from a restricted set of elements, forming a classic restricted language of a
kind typical of many games: Halliday cites the choices available in the bidding
process in contract bridge, for instance (Halliday, 1989). In terms of the player-avatar
relation, the player’s function here is dual. In one sense, the player fuses with the
avatar - both of them are the Actor, both do the attacking; in another sense, the player
is like puppeteer, exercising a dramatic authorial function, pulling the character’s
strings; or even a kind of author, composing a sequence within a restricted language
as part of a rule-based structure of causality.
What, then, does the cinematic element add? This functions as part of the
interpersonal work of the text, positioning the player in a kind of spectatorial grammar
(Burn and Parker, 2001). Whereas in the rest of the game, we are usually positioned
above the characters in a fixed position, here we are positioned much lower down,
alongside the characters, as if fighting with them. At times, the swooping camera
angles even place us lower than the characters. This feels as if you’re fighting with
them, helping stock up health points, or re-charge their weapons.
Though this is an offer - it is distinct from the function of those parts of the text
which are demanding specific actions - it fuses with our response to those demands,
changing our sense of how we act. In effect, it mutes the puppeteer feeling that the
demand-response structures create. If we were given these powers and simultaneously
placed high above the characters, the feeling of pulling strings from a distance would