In our previous Dev Diary, we talked a little about the concept of pillars, and how they help shape the development of the game. This time around, I’d like to dig into one more specifically - “Zaniness.”

When taken as a word, it’s pretty straightforward what this means, right? It’s a goofy, madcap, frenetic kind of humor that feels essential to what makes the world of the Smols so unique. There is a colorful cast of eccentric characters, who perpetually seem to be one step away from catastrophe in their world. The humor comes from both the ridiculous contrast, as well as the nonchalance with which it presents it.

Zaniness earns its place as a pillar due to how intrinsic and implicit it is to the experience, while also acknowledging the difficulties inherent in manifesting it. Humor is difficult to create, and more so in games - but why is that?

Let’s start with some comparisons! Though it might seem odd, writing for humor and writing for horror actually share a lot of the same structures. This is because being humored and being afraid are both states that are easy to invoke, but difficult to maintain.

Consider watching a horror movie - what is often the most shocking or terrifying moment? It’s usually when the suspense and dread gives way to helplessness - the killer suddenly appears; the monster eats someone. Up until only a moment ago, those characters had life and agency. Now their actions brought them down the path to their inevitable outcome - our fear comes from seeing a scenario (and imagining ourselves) in a situation where there is only powerless futility.

If that’s true, then why aren’t more horror movies nothing but a conveyor belt of characters being pushed into a metaphorical woodchipper? It’s because fear isn’t sustainable once it has lost its novelty. After a second or a third character gets culled, we’re likely already “checking out” and accepting this as reality. There’s no reason to be invested in any of the characters, and thus no reason to insert ourselves or emotions - why care when you know what will happen? Without care, there is no fear.

This is why horror is often a “modifier” to another type of content, such as “psychological horror” or “supernatural horror.” The primary piece determines the kind of world that we build in order to establish the tone and the pacing that the horror elements “interrupt.” These elements speak to our suspension of disbelief, and bring us into a place that makes us amenable to those moments of fear so that when they come, they have impact. Good pacing builds suspense and anticipation, so that we don’t burn out or disengage from the other elements of the film.

So what does this say about comedy? We are still talking about zaniness here, after all! Unless Smolville is secretly a game about going to an idyllic Summer camp with a cast of Smols that come to realize that they aren’t alone in those woods…

Okay. Getting back on track. The important connection between these two concepts is pacing. Think about the different forms of how you interact with things that are comedic. Oftentimes they’re short - a joke and a punchline, a single video that is setup and executed, a parody song, and so on. Even films that are primarily comedic tend to be shorter (~90 minutes) than their dramatic counterparts, and like horror above, they often exist as modifiers - “romantic comedy,” “action comedy,” etc.

This is because humor suffers from the same diminishing returns as fear. This is combatted through pacing, setup, and anticipation. Most standup comedians present jokes in the form of telling stories - it gives you time to anticipate, to wonder what the joke is or where the story is going - but it pulls you into the comedian’s pace. Similarly, movies often set up scenarios - sometimes building layers upon layers - for a cascading series of payoffs.

This brings us to another facet of writing comedy - the “immediacy” of a joke. Some things happen instantaneously - a sight gag, a clever line - while others are the result of a long buildup to an eventual payoff.

These examples are very bespoke - we’ll often go back to rewatch a favorite movie or something similar (and then realize we’ve been getting the quotes wrong.) But do we watch these with the frequency or the duration that we often spend in game worlds? Most likely not! That brings us to the last major challenge: maintaining novelty.

Imagine this: your player character goes up to another character in the village to start a conversation. They respond to you with funny sounding gibberish. Your character responds “Great, I’m terrible at making Smol talk.” It’s hilarious. Probably the funniest thing you’ve read in your entire life. So you read it again. Is it as funny the second time? The third? Likely not, because the joke is losing its novelty.

That brings us to the true question here - how do we make something that is built to be funny, but also built to last?

Our answer is to make our world one where the best jokes come from you, the player. We can build a world that leans into the bizarre and the humorous, and we can facilitate unexpected and entertaining moments. These will be experiences that are part of your journey, with your villagers, on your explorations and day-to-day life. We want to give you the tools to make a story worth sharing and laughing about.

That’s a lot of talking about theoreticals! Let’s ground it with an example. In one of my Animal Crossing playthroughs, I had a cow that moved into my town. I couldn’t stand them. They were snooty to me, and so I hit them with a bug catching net. This didn’t improve their demeanor, so I dug holes around them to trap them to leave them trapped in the village square - an example of my wrath and judgment for all others to behold. The cow still refused to move out. I sent them a gift of a cow skull decoration for their home, with a letter that read “Wish this were you.” They sent me back a footstool and thanked me effusively for my kind gift.

Stories like that came from me, and what I brought to the game, with the tools that the game gave me to interact with. The humor didn’t get immediately stale, because it wasn’t prefabricated. It was an evolving story. That cow never did move out, long after more beloved (but ultimately more forgettable) villagers had long since moved on. This is the kind of power and creativity that we want to foster.

Of course, there’ll be other tone changes in the game to alter up our pacing. We are Darkbright after all, so don’t be surprised if some unexpectedly (now expectedly?) noir humor rears its head. Like I was saying about that Summer camp… what the Smols didn’t realize was that from the very moment they had arrived, there was someone watching them. The mysterious figure said nothing. Their silence was only punctuated by the “shhh-clunk…. shhh-clunk…” sound of something being dragged behind them, hitting the ground as they slowly approached…

What? It’s time to go already? Well, until next time!