Voices Carry

by David Gallaher

I remember the first time Spider-Man spoke to me in a video game.

It was 2010 ... Shattered Dimensions. Four versions of Spider-Man from across the multiverse, each voiced by someone who had defined the character for a generation: Christopher Daniel Barnes from the '90s series, Josh Keaton from Spectacular, Neil Patrick Harris from the MTV show, and Dan Gilvezan from Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends.

That last one? That was my Spider-Man. The one who narrated my childhood. The one who defined what a hero sounded like before I had the words to understand it.

When Gilvezan spoke, it wasn’t just nostalgia. It was impact. The reverb of the scene, the texture of the voice, the weight of the performance ... it wasn’t just a throwback. It had presence. It mattered.

That’s the point. Sound isn’t window dressing in games. It’s not a luxury. It’s infrastructure. It’s what makes the world feel real.

In 2019, we brought in Jon Bernthal to voice Cole D. Walker in Ghost Recon at Ubisoft Paris Studio. People knew him as Marvel Studios' The Punisher. But when he hit the booth, he wasn’t playing a part. He came in raw. Direct. Every line carried a lived-in anger and a heavy emotional cost. It wasn’t voice acting. It was pressure, bottled and released.

Superhero games are built on big visuals, sure. But what gives them weight ... what makes them stick ... is friction. Sound creates that friction. It gives texture to emotion. Not by being loud, but by being specific.

You don’t connect with a game because it looks good. You connect because it sounds right. That’s the difference between watching something and being in it. The sound of gravel under boots. The hum of a subway tunnel. The slight delay in a voice when a character knows they’re lying. These aren’t surface-level polish ... they’re the cues your brain uses to believe the fiction.

Bad sound is forgettable. Good sound changes how you feel.

You hear a floorboard creak behind you? You stop moving. You hear a hero’s theme swell during a final fight? You lean forward. You hear nothing after a gunshot? That silence does more than noise ever could. Great sound design builds mood, anchors emotion, and sells every moment twice ... once through action, once through atmosphere.

GETTING THE VOICE RIGHT

In Narrative, you might get to suggest casting, but you don’t always get final say. Still, if you do have that influence, make those decisions as early as possible. Cast while you’re still shaping the character. That gives you time to write to an actor’s strengths ... their vocal range, rhythm, delivery, even their emotional gears. Because when casting is an afterthought, performance becomes damage control. If you’re making the call, here’s a partial list of what you need to consider:

1. Understand Your Characters

• Personality and Role: What kind of voice fits this character? Hero, villain, sidekick, narrator ... each role carries different vocal weight.

• Background and Tone: Age, culture, class ... these shape accent, pacing, and emotional depth.

• Game Tone: Comedy needs timing. Drama needs restraint. Action needs bite. Voice must reflect the genre.

2. Find the Right Actors

• Talent Agencies: Agencies can save you time, vet talent, and manage logistics.

• Auditions: Don’t skip this. Custom reads tell you more than demo reels ever will.

3. Evaluate the Candidates

• Demo Reels: Listen critically. Does the reel show range? Clarity? Character?

• Experience: Prior game work helps. So does animation, dubbing, or anything with strong timing.

• Budget: Know what you can spend, including usage fees, pickups, and retakes.

4. Cover the Logistics

• SAG-AFTRA: Union projects have specific rules. Make sure your talent is cleared.

• Contracts: Lock down terms. Spell out rights, usage, AI restrictions, remakes ... the works.

• Communication: Direction matters. So does feedback. Keep it clear, specific, and consistent.

Casting isn’t just about the right sound ... it’s about building the right performance infrastructure. You’re not just hiring a voice. You’re hiring the emotional core of a character.

Beyond dialogue, here’s the anatomy of what also makes sound land:

• Foley gives the world shape ... footsteps, collisions, physicality.

• Music handles pacing ... it lifts, drops, and drags you with it.

• Ambient audio fills in the rest ... it’s what makes a world breathe.

When those elements click, it doesn’t just sound like a world. It feels like one.

Arkham Asylum nailed this. Kevin Conroy didn’t need cutscenes to dominate. His voice was enough to establish Batman’s authority. Add a gothic score that never drew attention to itself ... and suddenly, Gotham felt like a prison, even before you saw the cells.

The Last of Us proved how minimal sound can do maximum work. A single guitar string. A deep breath. Silence between words. The game didn’t overload your senses ... it targeted them.

That’s what sound can do. It tells you what’s really happening ... even when nothing’s on screen. It sets expectations. It changes pacing. It tells you what characters won’t say. It’s not extra. It’s the difference between a game that entertains and one that stays with you. Every time a sound hits ... whether it’s a radio click, a breaking window, or a single whispered name ... it’s a chance to say something the script can’t.

Sound carries subtext. Without it, your game is hollow. Like watching an action movie on mute. With it? It’s alive. Dangerous. Human. And when it’s done right ... when it all lines up ... the sound doesn’t just support the moment.

It is the moment. Because when a hero falls, and the room goes still? You don’t need to see it. You hear it ... and that’s what makes it real.

That’s why Gilvezan’s voice still echoes after all these years. It wasn’t just a performance — it was a presence. That’s the real power of sound. It stays with you, long after the screen fades to black.