Half-Life 2 VR Mod review: key lessons to inspire VR developers

Virtual reality enthusiasts such as myself have banged on about the need for more AAA content. The frustrating truth, at the time of publishing, is that spiffy new headsets arrive more frequently than big budget, high profile games. This dearth of AAA content can push us towards modified versions (or “mods”) of pre-existenting titles—classics that’ve been converted, usually unofficially, into experiences that are playable in VR. 

One of the most enjoyable I’ve encountered so far is the mod for Half-Life 2. This title (originally released in 2004) is a stone-cold classic, not just widely regarded as a first-person shooter par excellence but considered one of greatest video games of all time, appearing on “best of” lists from the likes of IGN, Time Magazine, GQ and Empire.

Many words have been written about Half-Life 2 over the years; there’s no need for me to re-enter the well-trodden discussion about its general merits. Instead I’ll focus on a couple of aspects of the game—particularly during its first hour—that are particularly well suited to virtual reality, and can impart valuable lessons for VR content creators. The developers at Valve obviously never intended for it to be played in this medium, so whatever lessons it imparts are the result of good game development in general terms. But those lessons can, and should, inspire VR developers.

1. Steering the player

The first is about introducing the player to a dramatically compelling environment and steering us through it, without it feeling like we’re being steered. Half-Life 2 begins on the last leg of a train journey, as it pulls into a station, building anticipation for the destination we’re about to discover (the Walking Dead: Saints and Sinners games, which were built from the ground up for VR, take a similar approach, placing us on location-establishing boat rides, as does Horizon: Call of the Mountain). Two other men are in the carriage. If we walk to the one closest, he says “I didn’t see you get on.” 

This is a deceptively clever line, hinting at something mysterious at play and tapping into a shared sense of uncertainty (we, also, did not see ourselves get on—though we know we were inserted there by the mysterious “G-Man”, whose appearance kickstarts the experience). When we disembark, we find ourselves in an Orwellian hellhole: a former train station converted into a grim processing venue, with detention centre-like fences and rubbish everywhere. Broken-spirited prisoners are dressed in a nondescript washed-out blue uniform, and ordered around by guards in scary masks. On large wall-mounted screens, a video plays on repeat, showing an authoritarian leader saying: “Welcome to City 17. You have chosen or been chosen to relocate to one of our finest remaining urban centers.”

This is a great introductory location, at once familiar and otherworldly. It naturally evokes certain questions i.e. “what happened to this world?” We make our way through the space easily; it doesn’t feel like we’re being pushed in a particular direction (until we encounter a guard who orders us into an interrogation room). This isn’t just about level design but the nature of the location: given it’s a large airy train station, it makes sense that we can find our way through it fairly easily. 

2. Establishing expectations 

The second point I want to focus on is around establishing expectations about how, if, or with whom we can communicate in this world. We can’t talk to people in the opening moments of Half-Life 2, but there’s some important caveats. Partly involving set and setting: this a nasty and oppressed place, so we don’t expect to sit around and chinwag. And the guards aren’t exactly friendly: if you walk up to one and try to talk, they’ll bash you with clubs—a good motivation to avoid them. 

Half-Life 2 soon encounters an old video game challenge: how to handle a player character who doesn’t speak in the narrative world (instead of using dialogue trees, we’re essentially a very quiet individual). These early touches play a significant role in setting expectations; they get us accustomed to not speaking in ways that feel germane to the experience, so that, later on, when we’re in calmer scenarios but also can’t speak, we’re less likely to react by thinking “why can’t I do this?”

When we make it out of the train station, we witness the ravaged nature of the wider universe. One kids playground, for instance, looks terribly depressing, with a block missing from its noughts and crosses display and a battered baby doll lying on the ground, reiterating the brokenness of this world. Once inside an apartment building, the pace gets an injection of energy when we walk past one room and a man leaning out of the doorway says: “hey you, in here!” When we enter he exclaims “head for the roof, there’s no time to lose!” This line’s a little on the nose, but it’s effective, kickstarting a burst of hot-blooded action while imparting clear and basic instructions. 

I could go on and on about Half-Life 2’s many excellent small touches. It’s easy to get pulled into this world and forget you’re participating in a mediated experience. That’s not just a great feature, but the ambition of artists since time immemorial.