Video game male characters used to be basically the same guy. You know the one. He’s got the buzzed hair, the gravelly voice, and enough emotional depth to fit inside a soda cap. He was a power fantasy. A tank. A dude who exists to shoot things first and maybe grunt a one-liner later. But things have changed. A lot. If you look at the landscape in 2026, the way developers build men in games has shifted from "how much can he kill?" to "what is he actually afraid of?" It’s a massive pivot that has saved some of the biggest franchises from becoming total relics.
Honestly, we’ve moved past the era where a protagonist just needs a big gun and a tragic backstory involving a dead wife. Players want more. They want the messiness.
The Death of the Stoic Wall
For decades, the industry lived by a specific rule: men don’t show weakness. Look at the original God of War trilogy. Kratos was a personification of rage. That was it. He was a blunt instrument. When Sony Santa Monica decided to bring him back in 2018, they didn't just give him a beard and a son; they gave him the burden of history. They made him a video game male character who was terrified of his own shadow. That’s why it worked. The tension isn't just in the axe-throwing; it's in the way he struggles to put a hand on Atreus' shoulder.
It’s about the silence.
Sometimes the most effective character writing happens when the protagonist says absolutely nothing. Take Joel from The Last of Us. He’s a killer. He’s done terrible things. But Naughty Dog didn't write him as a hero. They wrote him as a desperate, aging man clinging to a version of the world that died twenty years ago. When people talk about "prestige" gaming, they’re usually talking about this specific shift toward vulnerability.
We aren't just playing as avatars anymore. We’re playing as people.
Why Arthur Morgan Changed Everything
If you want to talk about the gold standard for video game male characters, you have to talk about Red Dead Redemption 2. Rockstar Games is known for chaos, but Arthur Morgan is their masterpiece. He isn't a "good" man. He’s a mid-level enforcer for a cult-like gang. But the game forces you to inhabit his physical decline.
You feel his lungs failing. You see him grapple with the fact that his loyalty was misplaced.
- Arthur’s journal is a key detail. It’s not just a menu; it’s a peek into a soul that he hides from his peers.
- The choice system matters here, but the core of his character—the weariness—is baked into the animation.
- His relationship with Dutch van der Linde isn't just "boss and employee." It's a tragic son-and-father dynamic that ends in total disillusionment.
Most writers would have made Arthur a silent badass until the end. Rockstar made him a guy who cries over a horse. That’s a gutsy move in an industry that used to prioritize "toughness" above all else. It proved that you can have a massive, billion-dollar hit where the main character is fundamentally a failure in his own eyes.
The Rise of the Relatable Disaster
Then you have the "disaster men." These are characters like Ichiban Kasuga from the Like a Dragon (formerly Yakuza) series. Ichiban is the polar opposite of the stoic archetype. He’s loud. He’s obsessive. He’s a total nerd for Dragon Quest. Most importantly, he’s an optimist in a world that wants to crush him.
He’s a video game male character who wears his heart on his sleeve, and it’s incredibly refreshing.
While Western developers often lean into "grit" to show depth, Japanese developers have been experimenting with characters who are allowed to be goofy and sincere. Ichiban’s strength doesn't come from his muscles—though he has plenty—it comes from his ability to make friends. It’s a "power of friendship" trope handled with such sincerity that it doesn't feel cheesy. It feels necessary.
Let’s look at Leon S. Kennedy
Leon is a weird one. In Resident Evil 2, he was a rookie cop having the worst first day of work in human history. By Resident Evil 4, he’s a government agent doing backflips and fighting cultists. But the 2023 remake did something subtle. It added "edge." Not the cool kind, but the "I have PTSD and I’m barely holding it together" kind.
The way he breathes when he’s low on health. The bitterness in his voice.
It’s a far cry from the action-hero tropes of the early 2000s.
The Complicated Role of Choice and Identity
There is a segment of the gaming community that misses the "simple" days. You’ve probably seen the discourse on social media. People argue that games are becoming too "soft" or too focused on narrative over gameplay. But the data doesn't really support that. Games like Baldur’s Gate 3 allow players to define their own video game male character, and the results are fascinating.
Players aren't choosing the "alpha" options.
They’re choosing the characters who have flaws. They’re romancing the wizard with a magic bomb in his chest (Gale) or the vampire spawn dealing with centuries of trauma (Astarion). These characters have massive fanbases because they offer something the old-school protagonists didn't: a reflection of real human baggage.
Expert narrative designer Darby McDevitt, who worked on Assassin's Creed, has often spoken about the "lived-in" feeling of a character. It’s the difference between a character who reacts to the plot and a character who drives it because of their own internal mess.
Does Masculinity in Games Need a Rebrand?
It’s not really about a rebrand. It’s about expansion.
We can still have the Master Chiefs of the world. There is a place for the silent, armored super-soldier. But that shouldn't be the only option. The success of indie hits like Hades proves this. Zagreus is a great male lead. He’s stylish, he’s witty, and he spends the entire game trying to talk to his dad. It’s a family drama wrapped in a roguelike.
The "alpha" male lead is dying because he’s boring. He doesn't have anywhere to go. A character who starts perfect and stays perfect has no arc.
What We Get Wrong About "Representation"
Whenever the topic of video game male characters comes up, people get defensive. They think "better writing" means "taking something away." It’s actually the opposite. By allowing men in games to be something other than violent, we’re getting better stories.
📖 Related: Smithy's Seal of Quality MH Wilds: Why You Can't Find the Quest
- We get to see Geralt of Rivia be a father in The Witcher 3.
- We see Jin Sakai struggle with the loss of his honor in Ghost of Tsushima.
- We see Nathan Drake realize that his obsession with treasure is destroying his marriage in Uncharted 4.
These aren't "political" shifts. They’re just better writing.
If you look at the most successful games of the last five years, almost all of them feature a male lead who is forced to reckon with his own limitations. Even in Elden Ring, the " Tarnished" is a lowly, grace-less nothing trying to become something in a world of literal gods. That struggle is what makes the victory feel earned.
Moving Forward: What to Look For
If you’re a writer, a dev, or just a fan, pay attention to the small things. Watch the idle animations. Listen to the "bark" lines (the things characters say during combat). The way a video game male character interacts with the world tells you more than any cutscene.
The era of the blank slate is over.
We are entering an age where the "hero" might be a dad, a failure, a jokester, or a survivor. Sometimes all at once. And that makes the medium so much stronger. It’s not about being "woke" or "traditional"—it’s about being interesting.
Practical Steps for Players and Creators
If you want to dive deeper into how these characters are built, or if you're trying to write your own, keep these points in mind:
- Analyze the "Flaw": Every great modern protagonist has a fatal flaw that isn't just "he cares too much." Think about Arthur Morgan’s blind loyalty or Kratos’s past guilt.
- Observe the Silence: Next time you play a narrative-heavy game, look at what the character does when they aren't talking. Body language in modern engines (like Metahuman) is a massive storytelling tool.
- Broaden the Scope: Don't just play AAA blockbusters. Indie games like Disco Elysium offer some of the most complex male character writing in the history of the medium. Harry Du Bois is a mess, but he’s a brilliantly written mess.
- Follow the Narrative Leads: Look up writers like Neil Druckmann, Rhianna Pratchett, or Sam Lake. See how they approach character hooks. Their GDC talks are often available for free and offer a "behind the curtain" look at why characters act the way they do.
The next few years are going to be wild. With AI-driven NPCs and more reactive worlds, the very definition of a "character" is going to change again. But the core will stay the same. We want to see ourselves in the pixels, even if we’re playing as a seven-foot-tall Spartan or a 19th-century outlaw.
Realism isn't about the graphics. It’s about the heart.