Monthly Archives: December 2008

A Manifesto

 

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There are many pleasures to be found in videogames. Some games are varied and diverse; others are more focussed on particular pursuits. Some games are almost solely directed towards the pleasures of competition, of challenge, of skill. Others are instead of the pleasures of a world: of interaction, of creation. 

These things we know videogames do very well. But we’re slowly realising that these aren’t the only things that videogames are good at. With casual games, we’re seeing that there is quite a lot more to the medium than we’ve assumed. Casual players, for example, don’t seem to like difficulty. Casual players like to get in and get out, enjoying the experience but leaving the grinding to those who need it.

Michael Abbot today wrote about the new Prince of Persia and the difficulty issue that some commentators have complained of. Certainly, many hardcore players don’t like the lack of punishment the game doles out and the consequences of its generosity. But by the same token, I’m certain many will embrace the accessibility provided by the pulling of the Prince’s punches. This is a crucial point: if we can be disinterested in challenge in games, what then else can we be interested in? Exploration and navigation are some of the ideas I am most obviously interested in, as I have argued through this blog and in my thesis. However, I think these ideas are linked to a larger concept that videogames do very well: being.

Iroquois Pliskin wrote of 2008 as the year of ‘being there’. It’s an illustrative metaphor, as Iroquois aptly shows just how important this year was for the immersive depth of our videogame worlds. But he also hones in on the point that made some see 2008 as an off-year – not with the ‘being’, so much as the ‘doing’. The problem with Grand Theft Auto IV was not with the wonderful world, but with what one had to do in it. The same, Iroquois suggests, can be said about Far Cry 2, Fallout 3 and other major 2008 videogames. There are probably ways to overcome this, and certainly in the future we will have videogames with great worlds and amazing things to do in them (if we don’t already).

However, I want to argue that for 2009 and the future, ‘being’ should be just as much of a point as ‘doing’.

This medium, this wonderful new medium, has given us a whole new language to communicate and depict experience. We don’t have to just use it in the pre-established modes of competition, challenge and skill. Why can’t we just be?

This is how videogames could be used to more effectively communicate memory, feeling, emotion. We could have biographies – where the player simply navigates the memory, the life of a subject in a dream-like state. The simplest description might be some sort of cross between The Graveyard and Flower; an experiential world where goals are only loosely present and vaguely desirable. The greatest achievement is to be there; to experience, to see, to hear. To be a digital tourist, a sight-seer (or perhaps more accurately, a site-seer) of sorts.

We could reconceptualise the music of The Beatles through a navigable space; visiting Strawberry Fields, seeing Sergeant Pepper’s band and counting how many potholes it takes to fill the Albert Hall. While watching a recording of Cirque du Soleil’s Love show, I was struck by just how much I wanted to interact with the performance of The Beatles’ music. I didn’t want to play it – I have a guitar for that. I wanted to perform it. I wanted to experience it on a level that only a videogame could give me: I wanted to be there. 

The ability to be and not do could be immensely powerful. It would allow us to experience the world, our history, our imagination in ways that those original, hopeful theorists of videogames thought some far off dream. It would allow us to convey ideas, to revisit time and place far gone, or not yet imagined. Our experience would be shared in ways similar, but inherently different than the goal-oriented ways we currently play. Importantly, it would allow videogames to say new things about topics I had thought inappropriate for the medium. It might show us Hiroshima before and after the bomb. It might take us through a history of physics, from Newton’s apple to the inner workings of Einstein’s mind. Most immediately, it would enable us to experience the wars of the Twentieth Century as more than the view down the barrel of a gun.

The current modes of videogames are incredibly popular and widely loved for good reason, and I am in no way proposing that they be done away with. But we should open ourselves up to these new experiences that the medium offers us: the experience of being. So in this post, a manifesto of sorts, I want to see if we can momentarily turn away from what we thought games were about. Let’s imagine being, and not doing.

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A Year in PR: Part VIII

“They make the war. We make the bullets. We’ll sell to any of them. We’re really pleased with that.”

– EA CEO John Riccitiello is frighteningly honest on why the console war is good for EA.

 

And with that, we return you to normal Subject Navigator programming.

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A Year in PR: Part VII

“It’ll be fun, but it’ll also be very cinematic, as the Bond movies are.”

– Garrett Young, Executive Producer, Quantum of Solace.

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A Year in PR: Part VI

“Popular video games such as the upcoming release of Mass Effect for PC, offer consumers over 50 hours of entertainment. Compared to other things that you can get for $60 these days, video games like Mass Effect provide more value for your dollar. Going to the movies costs $10 for two hours of entertainment. For $60 at the movies, you would only receive 12 hours of entertainment, which is 4 times less than a video game such as Mass Effect. For that matter, $60 won’t even get some car owners a full tank of gas, which would likely only last a week. Why not stay home, save the environment, and play Mass Effect?”

– EA bring out the calculators for a Mass Effect PC Press Release.

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A Year in PR: Part V

“So, you jump right in to it, and before you know it, you’re using, you know, force powers that you’ve never seen in the movies that are just doing incredible amounts of damage.”

Alex Mack, QA Lead on DS version of The Force Unleashed, channels Genji: Days of the Blade and completes our Star Wars trio for the year.

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A year in PR: Part IV

“To be specific, there’s no multiplayer in the Xbox 360 and PlayStation 3 versions, because there is on the Wii, PSP, and DS. As far as specific reasons are concerned, we don’t really like to get into the reasons why we don’t do things because I don’t think there’s really a satisfactory answer that people would really be happy with. So, there isn’t multiplayer and that’s kind of how it is.”

– Adam Kahn, Senior PR Manager at LucasArts, gets specific on the deep decisions behind The Force Unleashed.

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A year in PR: Part III

“It’s no longer a game: It’s a platform”

– Cliff Bleszinski on Gears of War 2.

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A year in PR: Part II

“So that literally, being unleashed is only a flick of the wrist away.”

– Project Lead Haden Blackham on the DS version of The Force Unleashed.

 

 

NB: I have discovered that GameSetWatch posted their own equivalent piece (on Press Releases only, mind) mere hours after I posted my first installment last night. It’s also worth a read, and surprisingly, there is no crossover. I just wanted to make it clear that I’m plagiarizing Magical Wasteland, not GameSetWatch, k?

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A year in PR: Part I

Unashamedly plagiarizing Magical Wasteland’s ‘Bad Writing About Games’ series, I’ve been saving up a collection of PR and developer-made comments about games from this past year. Because occasionally, press release creators and overenthusiastic project leads need reminding that we actually remember the rubbish they say. I have a grand total of eight selections which I’ll be posting over the next few days. I hope you enjoy them.

 

“The game takes place in the everyman’s warzone … the hood beyond the hood.”

Swordfish Studios’ Julian Widdows on the Middle-East and 50 Cent: Blood on the Sand.

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Braid: The best-worst game of the year

hiroshima_mon_amour_1959

 

In the dying moments of the calendar year, gaming journalists ritually thank their luck stars for making it through the November rush unscathed, and look to the approaching holiday as sanctuary, a time period where one can relax, sit back, and actually play the games reviewed in the last two months. But before then, one last duty is required: the game of the year. So while ‘best of’ lists are streaming in at every other website imaginable around the Internet, I thought I’d use this as an opportunity to get in on some end-of-year discussion. 

This is largely because there was one game this year that I had a lot to say about that I never had a chance to: Jonathon Blow’s Braid. Like some of the other games I’ve written about recently, Braid is a game that has inspired its fair share of discussion, so I’ll be brief.

I hate Braid.

I absolutely hate it. I feel so strongly about my dislike for Braid that I often surprise myself. I’m not usually one to strongly dislike anything; even in bad films I can usually find something to appreciate. I’ve certainly never felt this way about a game before. Even thinking about playing it makes me clench up and mentally withdraw in anticipation.

This is despite the fact that I really should like Braid. I am certainly its target audience, as I believe games should be encouraged to do more of what I feel Braid attempts to: be self-reflexive, marry gameplay and fiction effectively, and tell stories that don’t involve space marines or the Second World War. In many respects, I think that Braid represents the future of game design, and I applaud Jonathon Blow for his innovation and thoughtful design.

However, I cannot play Braid. I’ll admit here that I haven’t finished the game; I became so sick of failing, of the impenetrable – and sometimes, seemingly arbitrary – nature of many of the puzzles, of the repeating backwards motions and looping sound effects when I held down the ‘X’ button. It became like fingers down a chalk board.

Some time ago, I likened Braid to the French New Wave, and I think this is a surprisingly helpful comparison. Specifically, I’d like to compare it to Alan Resnais’ film, Hiroshima, Mon Amour. This is a fitting analogy in more than one way, and I’d really quite like to see someone who has finished Braid in its entirety to draw out the thematic similarities. Of course, Hiroshima, Mon Amour, as the name might suggest, is about love and nuclear bombs, just as (it has been suggested to me) Braid is. There is a certain melancholy between the two that I find strikingly similar, and I wonder if Blow used the film as inspiration, or if it is simply happy coincidence.

However, it is also in my reactions to the two that I find similarities.

On an intellectual level, I very much appreciate Hiroshima, Mon Amour. It’s an amazingly thoughtful film, and being one of the first of the New Wave, it played a huge part in film history. However, as much as I can appreciate what Hiroshima, Mon Amour is trying to do, and is tying to say, I just cannot stand to watch it. It is beyond boring. As a cinema lover, I usually revel in slow takes, and in languid, emotional performances, but while watching Hiroshima, Mon Amour, I was in serious danger of falling asleep in that darkened theatre. The repeated lines, the deliberately obfuscated plot, and the whole mood of the film both numbed and irritated me.

Similarly, as much as I can appreciate what Braid is trying to do, I just cannot play the damn thing. It’s frustrating, and incredibly unrewarding for me. As I’ve already said, I can understand how others could get enjoyment out of it, just as I understand why so many love Hiroshima, Mon Amour.

So for me, Braid is the best-worst game of 2008. It is great for what it achieved, for what a towering work of intellectual design it is. At the same time, I truly believe Braid to have been my least favourite game all year. No other game caused me such brain melting frustration, and yes, even anger. So while I hope that designers take Braid as inspiration, I hope that it does not kick off a New Wave of gaming; a series of intellectual games, which just like the French New Wave of films, I can appreciate, but only from a distance. I want to be able to love our harbingers of change.

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