The Game Boy: Why Games Need to Quit Wasting Time

All of The Darkness II is like that. It jumps from action-packed-event-to-action-packed event, rarely bothering to take a meaningful breather. I never got a chance to settle into the world or feel like I was part of something larger because, before the game was even done setting up its pins, it was already screaming at me to knock them down. And then the credits rolled after about five hours, and I looked back and realized that I had no idea how many in-game days or weeks had passed over the course of that story. The whole experience was disjointed and choppy, dashing madly for the finish line and blatantly ignoring my desire to stop and smell the roses.
The Darkness II is hardly the only game that deserves to do time for its crimes against time, though. Skyrim, for instance, bases its entire existence on the idea that you'll eat, sleep, and breathe it for days or even months – probably at the slowly fatal expense of eating, sleeping, and breathing. And yet, even as in-game years fly by, nothing changes. Seasons stagnate, cities neither rise nor fall, and the world's inhabitants may as well be starring in Groundhog Day. It's jarring, to say the least – less like a living world and more like the occasionally writhing corpse of one.
And I'm only singling out Skyrim because it's a recent and relatable example. Truth be told, I can count the games that put detail into the passage of time on a single hand, and one of them's a farming simulator. And that's a damn shame, because the few who've opted to buck this industry-wide trend have given gaming some of its most memorable moments and worlds.
Mafia II, for example, may not take home an Originality Award for its plot and characters, but its world was a brilliant slice of 1940s nostalgia. So – given that the game's sort of called Mafia – you commit some crimes, get your hands a little too dirty, and wind up behind bars. Until 1951. When you finally emerge, the world's a different place. Car models, music, fashion – nothing's the same. It reminded me a bit of Shawshank Redemption, but less horrifically depressing. More importantly, though, it filtered old-timey Chicago through a brand new lens, lending it an entirely different personality.
Then there's Dragon Age II, which – in spite of all its flaws – did an excellent job of conveying changes in culture, race relations, and politics over the course of roughly a decade. Sure, the structure of Kirkwall – and, in many cases, people's freaking clothes – remained largely unchanged, but DAII still deserves credit for tackling social issues in a believable manner, both by way of interesting allegories (Mages vs Chantry echoes battles for both gay rights and racial equality, for instance) and marked change over time. And while the player wasn't exactly the catalyst for a lot of that change, other games – like Microsoft's Fable franchise – have used the passage of time to demonstrate the direct consequences of your choices.
And finally, let's not forget To The Moon. It narrowed its focus down to two people but widened its net to fit an entire lifetime. It also made me cry.
Most games, however, seem content to leave this rich vein of potential quite a bit more than six feet under. Whether it's thanks to a torrid love affair with constant Hollywood-style scene cuts or sheer, willful ignorance of time's ability to alter anything other than the little numbers on the calendar, games constantly leave time out of the equation. Unless every game developer on earth is secretly Han Solo frozen in carbonite, there's simply no excuse for this. Everyone ever in the history of history has experienced time. And the above examples barely even scratch the surface of its potent possibilities within games. So let's stop wasting time. Standing still is boring. Let's move forward.