George was playing Call of Duty 2 on the big screen TV, and I watched him climb up sheer walls of ice (often falling off), race snowmobiles, hang from cliffs, and do all sorts of other cool stuff that just blew my mind. In reality, a lot of the Battlefield and Call of Duty games go like this, they break up the monotonous shooting levels with in-your-face action, car chases, hang-on-for-your-life moments, and plenty of cinematic spills and chills.
Contrast this with tabletop games such as Descent and roleplaying games like D&D4 and Pathfinder. In tabletop strategy games such as Descent, they place varied sub-goals on the map to break things up, but often the same turn-denial tactics win the day, and you are left with just the math and random chance to provide the excitement. My four figures against your ten, with infinite monster replenishments providing the impetus to end the scenario quickly. You can't run across a flaming log bridge only moments from collapse, dodge falling pillars as the temple crumbles around you, or leap aross an ever widening crevasse to safety. Scenario design could alleviate some of these problems, but too often tabletop games seem mired in the thought of 'math is fun' and expect that combat alone will solve all problems.
Roleplaying games fare a bit better - but you need a spectacular referee and players willing to throw caution to the wind to have a great time. A party that turtles up and avoids running through the collapsing temple, looking for another way around is going to kill your seat-of-your-pants fun; and similarly an unimaginative referee who presents a dull and structurally sound temple full of the same old goblins will get you back to that same old boring experience.
Players could revolt at the entire idea, and shout 'railroading' at the collapsing temple scene and they would be partially right. You need to give and take though, and the cry of railroading can be a method of refusing to participate; you have total freedom in there to escape, and you need to give a little to see how the story comes out. You could call everything in roleplaying games beyond a generic sandbox as railroading, but where is the fun in that? The referee needs the freedom to setup cinematic deathtraps for the players to escape and beat, and these are the challenges in which heroes are made. If I am a player, I accept your railroad, and I shall beat this train in my own way - with style.
So back to the question, where are our cinematic and immersing experiences? The old game Paranoia had it right: if you are boring, you are dead. Take chances, and you shall be rewarded. Your character's survival, however, is not guaranteed. Smart play, daring risks, and decisive action are the path to victory - but even then, a bad dice roll could turn your brave plan into a fool's folly. The only certainty is failure through inaction or cautious play. This is the unwritten contract between players and referees that made that game work so well, and the groups that understood it had a blast. The groups that played the game like some 1984 psychological drama or post-apocalyptic game had less fun.
In itself, math is not fun. A new way of rolling dice does not make a game fun. Having plenty of character design options does not make a game fun. Putting twenty figures on the map for your team of heroes to fight does not make the game any more fun than placing ten. In fact, more figures and more stats means less fun and more work. Combat is dull if it is just a dry calculation of AC versus combat modifiers. We need those moments of excitement. We need for characters to fail and fall. Without failure, there is no risk, and thus, no fun. The definition of a game is an activity in which you can fail.
Where do we go from here? You need to look inside yourself, as a referee, and make that choice to take the game into your own hands - and provide those cinematic experiences to your players despite what the rules say. As a player, you need to rise to the challenge, and accept fate. If the bridge ahead of you is burning and falling to pieces, you should go for it. As a referee, they should have a chance to cross that bridge based on skill, luck, or ingenuity - it is not a 100% certain deathtrap. This is more changing ourselves than the rules or the game, to accept action-oriented cinematic experiences as our personal playstyle - no matter what the game.
Players: Take chances and accept fate. Inaction is failure.
Referees: Present cinematic experiences, and to hell what the rules say.
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