Mechanics as Narrative in It Takes Two
Form follows function.
I still remember my high school English teacher discussing the phrase in my AP Literature class.
I had never heard of the term before, and I don’t think I had a real grasp of what it meant at the time.
Somehow though, I had a knack for finding it in works of literature.
For example, I remember absolutely adoring the ambiguous nature of the writing in Henry James’ 1898 novella The Turn of the Screw.
In this book that so struck me, it remains unclear whether the main character is seeing real ghosts or having a psychological breakdown, imagining the presence of said-apparitions in her own state of delusion. She can’t trust herself, and you, the reader, cannot trust yourself either thanks to the writing style itself.
The form and content of the words on the page casted doubt in my own mind if I was interpreting the presence of ghosts or the presence of madness correctly, just as the sights and sounds the governess was experiencing caused her to question if she was seeing ghosts or real children.
Was I reading too far into the text, imaging the book’s happenings, or was the protagonist hallucinating? The form followed the function.
That is, of course, just one example, but these were the bits of our required reading that captured me the most, that fascinated my developing mind, that gave me a deep appreciation for the artform. In fact, I’m sure I would’ve argued at the time that any media that takes this action — where its form follows its function — was true art.
And I probably still believe that. After all, so much of my writing here has focused on exactly that topic. I’ve just never bothered to put a name to it until now.
It is, for me, the single best and most interesting device that a developer can use when creating through the medium of video games. And the medium itself is so perfect for it — there are so many more mechanisms through which to storytell in a video game than a physical novel or a movie or a television series.
And It Takes Two makes use of tons of them.
To understand how Form Follows Function in It Takes Two, you must first understand the nature of the protagonists. This way, you can see clearly how the game’s activities mirror them.
In “real life” (meaning the version of our protagonists that exist as humans, not dolls) May is the aggressor, the initiator, the blamer in the relationship.
In fact, we see her initiate this behavior towards Cody almost right away, when she scolds him for forgetting Rose’s dentist appointment in the game’s opening cutscene.
She goes a step further too, exclaiming “what have you done!” at her first opportunity when she realizes she’s been turned into a doll. Note that she doesn’t say, “what happened to us!?” but instead reflexively assigns fault to her husband.
Later, Cody and Dr. Hakim both ask May why she’s always blaming her significant other. Those around here are acutely aware of her propensities for guilt assignment.
Meanwhile, Cody is often the victim. He’s much more passive when compared to May, playing a supporting role in the relationship — he stays at home caring for the house and for Rose while May is off actively working.
During the story, Cody is much more often exclaiming an emotional response to the hijinks that him and May get up to, while May is typically the one to suggest action.
Cody & May’s personalities, as well as each’s respective role in their relationship, are echoed in their weapons, actions and mechanics all throughout the gameplay and campaign of It Takes Two.
Almost every tool, toy and piece of equipment the two swap between throughout the campaign reflect the characters that wield them and their place within the narrative.
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Just look at all the examples.
- May wields the hammer, smashing, hitting and causing an effect, while Cody wields the nail. His weapon often enables May’s action (the nails act as platforms and monkey bars to support May’s movement) while also sitting passively, waiting to be “hit” by her repeatedly.
- When fighting against the bees, Cody wields the non-damaging explosive goo that can’t do anything unless May acts upon it. And she does, holding the detonator weapon, shooting the goo and causing an explosive reaction that damages their enemies.
- During the airplane escape sequence from the tree, May is the one taking part in the Street Fighter-inspired boxing match on the aircraft’s wings, while Cody is supporting her, passively flying and steering while she takes part in the action.
- In the top-down, isometric dungeon crawler, Cody is the ranged mage character, while May is the paladin-style brawler focused on being up close and personal, dealing and receiving damage.
- In the gardening level, May carries the scythe, reaping roots and weeds. Cody, meanwhile, uses the root, trapping things in place or holding doors open so that May can move through the level and cut down passages for Cody to catch up with her.
So, form follows function.
What’s beautiful is that, as the game goes on, this mechanical symbolism takes on new layers of meaning. It Takes Two’s mechanics, systems, and weapons don’t just represent the character’s natures — they actively communicate the narrative through gameplay.
The Snow Globe
In the snow globe, Cody and May wield magnets in the segment of the campaign where they specifically rekindle their attraction for one another.
…Erm, alright, that one is so on the nose it almost hurts, but I promise it gets better.
The Clock
In the clockwork segment, May can create a shade of herself and then teleport back to the location she placed it in at any given time. The mechanic is a shade of how her real-life character desires to be in two places at once — working to support the family, but also being at home to raise Rose.
Her and Cody even argue about this exact thing at one point in the game, where Cody accuses her of never being home or having time. Aptly, he says this to her while the two are traversing platforming levels inside of a clock.
On the flip side of the coin, Cody wields a time manipulation ability in the clock level. He can un-do and re-do events, controlling the flow of time on select objects. This is again poignant, as Cody is the one pleading for May’s time, wishing he could turn back the clock to salvage their relationship and have more precious moments with his family.
The Garden
The garden segment explores Cody and May’s nurturing of each other and of their passions.
Cody, being the more natural nurturer, has a garden that’s fallen victim to weeds and diseases, symbolic of how the two’s relationship has also rotted. While it is Cody that is saving his garden here, it is actually May that ends up learning to nurture in this section.
In the second half of the garden level, the two perform a role reversal that symbolizes how they are growing and learning to be what the other needs.
This is demonstrated tangibly when May, in addition to her scythe, acquires a watering hose, which she uses to enable Cody’s plant forms. With May’s assistance, nurturing and emotional support, Cody’s plant forms are stronger, shooting the level’s baddies while morphed into the cactus plant while also fighting the level’s boss as all forms of potatoes, tomatoes and limes.
At the end of combat, Cody apologizes to his plants for not taking care of them, to which May interrupts.
“No. [It’s me that is] sorry. I didn’t understand how important it was for Cody. I do now.”
There are plenty of other excellent examples in It Takes Two — I didn’t mention Cody’s usage of a drum symbol as a shield (a passive weapon) in the music level, for example.
What I love so much about them is how they aren’t just cute avatar interactions or relatable tropes just for the sake of beefing the game’s playtime. The actual mechanisms with which you are navigating the game’s world are seamlessly and delicately storytelling at the same time.
Their form follows their function.
With the inclusion of this type of mechanical nuance and storytelling, video games add layers to their collective experience. You don’t just get to experience the story, you get to do the story. The things you’re doing are the story. The narrative doesn’t exist independently from the gameplay — if that was the case, why not just make a movie instead? — they exist in inseparable, harmonious tandem with one another. The gameplay is the story.
When I played It Takes Two, I wasn’t watching Cody and May’s relationship unfold in the cutscenes, I was playing it — pressing buttons and maneuvering around the world while those exact button presses allowed them to maneuver around their troubled marriage.
Its form follows function, it’s art, and it’s the kind of thing I can’t get enough of in my video games.
