You should also take a moment to compare the separate videogame rendered sequences running alongside the graphical worlds that we 'actually' inhabit while playing. The step down in quality from a game's opening rendered sequence, or segueing narrative sequences, during the days of the original PlayStation was vast. Indeed, most in-game graphics at that time barely resembled the lush and beautifully produced rendered preambles and interludes, and, of course, the character animation was laughable by comparison. Today's videogame formats have evolved so swiftly from the milestone created by the PlayStation that the quality gap between rendered sequences and in-game graphics has shrunk considerably - but, again, not where character animation is concerned. Granted, rendered sequences allow the animators to breathe subtlety into the life of a character, as though moving them through a scripted scene, and, naturally, there are no abrupt controller interactions demanding instant movement transitions on the whim of the player. But the massive leaps in environmental production value that we're presently experiencing only further highlights the obvious discrepancies in the effort afforded to videogame characters. Moreover, the game worlds we play in are gradually becoming the central character - and surely we must view that possibility as a worry.

It's a worry because we're talking about following the basic laws of animation here, that's all that's required to bring organic character animation up to the same level as its environmental and mechanical counterparts. Disney's 'The Illusion of Life' (written by legendary animators Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston in 1981) is largely considered to be the bible of traditional 2D animation technique, and is perhaps a tome of knowledge all 3D game animators (or uneducated technicians based on some of the final products) should be forced to study and integrate into their work. It lays down a thorough groundwork of animation skill and instils in the reader the absolute importance of 'action' and 'reaction', of 'anticipation', and 'overlap' of 'movement arcs' and 'follow-through' for capturing the essence of human movement. For example, our daily lives are not performed across straight lines, everything we do is carried on arcs; they might break or fracture when moving abruptly or at speed, but we do not move on straight lines. To do so looks unnatural. From moving slowly into a sitting position or suddenly sprinting at full speed, everything we do in life is governed by steep or shallow curves - every limb, joint, and extremity, nothing is exempt from physical law. This is a fundamental failing of many, many videogames and leads to all-too frequent instances of truly awful animation. Some may argue the merits of budget and time constraints against the complexities of character animation - just one part of the layered videogame process - to which the one and only correct reply is that the videogame commands budgets comparative to most and makes more yearly revenue than Hollywood - more than $10 billion a year in fact. There's no excuse for poor character animation when faced with that kind of financial return, and with the sad demise of 2D animation, there are literally thousands of experienced traditional artists who can be put to work. Moreover, you can train a skilled animator to use a software animation programme, but you can rarely train a skilled technician to animate.

And, when placed beside the biggest and best of modern 2D and 3D animated feature films, production levels in videogames are no more demanding. Both animated movies and videogames are storyboarded and scripted, both require layouts, backgrounds, and scene planning, and both endure massively labour-intensive work in character and special effects animation. Yet, only one of the two focuses equally on character and environmental detailing and doesn't allow modern technological advances to usurp the importance of character. For proof of that statement, look no further than Pixar's truly staggering 3D animated feature The Incredibles. Brad Bird's animated masterpiece uses all the latest technology to create film characters so perfectly and utterly human that the audience never abandons its suspension of disbelief or is left feeling as though it's watching rendered three-dimensional creations moving through engineered spaces and environments-which, sadly, is a sensation all-too common in modern videogames.

This article may be considered somewhat of an editorial diatribe, or an exercise in personal frustrations, but character animation isn't always a case of bad press for the whole of the videogames industry. Not if you happen to be Ubisoft. The French heavyweight publisher and developer is perhaps one of the only videogame companies consistently producing content as uncompromising in its animation quality as it is in its environmental detailing. There are few games that can stand up against the series for the subtlety and pacing of its character animation, few that can mirror the gritty human realism of Ghost Recon, and perhaps even fewer that can oppose for genuinely accomplished weight of movement and fluidity of interaction. In games such as these, we, the players, are given the chance to 'exist' on a convincing stage where the environment complements the character, and, in turn, the character complements the environment - neither occupies a higher billing and both contribute equally to create a considerably more 'involved' experience. Moreover, we never feel separate from games such as these, we never feel we're controlling a lifeless avatar devoid of empathy that's simply there to channel button presses and stick movements into on-screen actions - a reality that can be levelled at a great number of videogames and their creators, who rely on the gut-punching power of sprawling game worlds and environmental aspects to mask the lack of soul inherent in their central characters.

By Stevie Mostyn