I know that I'm new here and this is my first post and I have no right to so extensively display my opinion, but I?m going to throw some game titles at you before you can protest. Catch.
Call of Duty.
Journey.
The Last of Us.
Gone Home.
Resogun.
What do these have in common? I?ll tell you:
Very little.
Let?s say you?re picking up a game. You make your way through the shifting sands that obscure a tragically lost civilization, being guided by a mysterious figure in white robes, hoping to just make it to the top of that mountain.
You pick up something else, and now you?re racking up a kill count that would put Genghis Khan to shame, and you love it. You?re just a couple matches away from that next unlock, but if you change your killstreak, maybe you can get a high enough score after the double XP weekend starts to get it in one game.
And now you?re waiting with bated breath to see the fate of the Muad?Dib. You can practically feel the sun scorching your skin, and Gurney Halleck?s words make you love him like a brother. You?re walking with them on their journey, just one layer of material between your world and theirs.
Now, Solomon Northup is hanging from a tree, and you can feel yourself choking as he struggles to stay on his toes. And you?re running with him through the forest, you?re crying with him as he experiences the rare kindness of a sympathetic worker.
Suddenly, Adewale is freeing slaves from a ship, and your pulse is pounding. The ship is sinking, and all you can think is that not one more person can die today. When you and Adewale can?t save the remaining souls, you feel the same hatred towards the people who open-fired on the slave ship as you did towards Northup?s crazed master who just wouldn?t put down the whip.
Men with guns running through a warzone. The White House is down. You?re saving America with them, and when they succeed, you feel victorious, regardless of how involved you were.
We can't say that the first two are any different from each other than the last two. This is entertainment. It?s time to start drawing some new lines.
Video games are widely demonized in modern culture, even by the people who play them. The people who don?t play think gamers are lazy assholes, and the people who do feel the need to make excuses for why and how they play them. ?Oh, I game for the experience.? ?I game because it?s just so much fun.? I'm making generalizations here, but you get the point. And it?s true; people get addicted to video games in an unhealthy way all the time. World of Warcraft is one example of a true GAME. You play and you play, and there?s always more to win. More gold, more equipment, more time; the problem is, it impedes productivity. There are certainly games like that, and that?s fine. People need to blow off steam, yes. Is too much of this bad? Yes. But there is one huge mistake in the use of semantics here:
Not all games are games.
Now, about levels of productivity. If someone is divining some greater meaning from a form of entertainment, a credit that is given to the greatest books and movies, suddenly the consumption of the media becomes permissible. It?s the reason why books like Twilight and movies like? uh, Twilight? are shunned just as much as, or perhaps more than, Call of Duty: it?s dumb time-wasting for the sake of dumb time-wasting, which is great for short spurts of stress relief, but not conducive to great degrees of mental stimulation. But see, there is a difference here. Twilight is easily categorized as a book, since it?s a collection of words on a page. It may not be particularly well-written, but it serves the same general purpose as a great work like War and Peace, if not nearly as well. It?s harder to find the similarities between Call of Duty and a game like Gone Home. Are they both first-person? Yes, but they don?t serve even close to the same purpose. One is about compelling narrative, just like a book, and the other is about pulse-pounding score-stacking. So, this brings us to another necessary facet of the argument: The kind of control the player is given.
Gone Home?s first-person control serves the purpose of telling a story through your environment. There is no score that can be achieved, and there isn?t really a way to play the game well or poorly unless you count the ability to thoroughly search the house. Dear Esther takes ?game? interactivity to an even barer level, restricting the player?s control to walking around and triggering narrative bits depending on where you walk. So, perhaps we can say this: A game can be defined by the level of skill required to complete the experience. If a game can be finished without having any skill beyond simply paying attention, like the Stanley Parable, then it isn?t a game.
The trouble is, we?ve been conditioned to think that?s a criticism.
If you hop onto a site like Metacritic and scroll through the user reviews for Gone Home or Dear Esther, you?ll find a whole slew of negative reviews. The low scores are founded on the ?criticism? that the game isn?t a game at all. People are actually astonished that the developers of such experiences think that the lack of familiar gameplay tropes in their games is a selling point. As such, outrage has broken out across the internet in reaction to games that aren?t games. Those who rally in defense of the titles argue that they are games as their main counterpoint. Both parties are operating on a very strange, confusing assumption: that it?s impossible to create a new form of entertainment. Because if they aren?t games, and please humor me here, then what exactly are they? This question has increased in importance as games with an emphasis on narrative have become more popular, and we?re reaching a turning point. What is that point, exactly?
Let me show you.
Over the next few decades, games begin to develop into three distinct categories. The first are traditional, arcade-like experiences; in short, games that fit our usual definition of a game. Think Space Invaders. The second are narrative-driven experiences like Dear Esther. As the second category grows in prominence, people start to realize that they can?t really call them ?games? anymore, as you?re not playing towards a distinct, reward-driven goal; you?re walking forward to let a story unfold in a manner that?s simply more immersive than pressing the ?play? button on your T.V. Film crews start jumping on board as motion capture becomes better and high-end graphics rendering equipment gets cheaper, and suddenly, the second category of ?games? are starting to feel a hell of a lot more like interactive films where your choices impact the outcome. As the years go by and this new form of entertainment rockets to the top of the charts, someone has a rather ambitious idea: what if we could just give them a world in which these movie moments could occur ad-hoc, without pre-realized content? What if we could give gamers- no, journeymen- a way to occupy a completely different world, one without a goal, one where they don?t play; they live? It?s awfully similar to the more constraining experiences of the past, but it gives people an unfettered opportunity to do as they please to a greater degree than was allowed before. By now, the genre-label ?game? has long been disassociated from this form of entertainment.
So, let?s backtrack. If a fully immersive experience is no longer a game not because of the lack of constraint (if constraint dictates a game, then movies are games, too), but rather because of the lack of a discernible score-related goal, then how are the not-games of today games at all? And how is it a bad thing that they aren?t, especially if this leads to a whole new realm of entertainment possibilities that operate outside of any known genre?
A new genre, then, is called for. It?s time for a revolution in gaming, because right now, it?s hard to be experimental. Let?s liberate the little guy of the name ?game? so that one day, he can be the big guy.
I think it?s time to change the name of the game. What do you guys think?
tl;dr: Games like Dear Esther and Gone Home aren't games, and that's not a bad thing; we should let them become their own genre.
Call of Duty.
Journey.
The Last of Us.
Gone Home.
Resogun.
What do these have in common? I?ll tell you:
Very little.
Let?s say you?re picking up a game. You make your way through the shifting sands that obscure a tragically lost civilization, being guided by a mysterious figure in white robes, hoping to just make it to the top of that mountain.
You pick up something else, and now you?re racking up a kill count that would put Genghis Khan to shame, and you love it. You?re just a couple matches away from that next unlock, but if you change your killstreak, maybe you can get a high enough score after the double XP weekend starts to get it in one game.
And now you?re waiting with bated breath to see the fate of the Muad?Dib. You can practically feel the sun scorching your skin, and Gurney Halleck?s words make you love him like a brother. You?re walking with them on their journey, just one layer of material between your world and theirs.
Now, Solomon Northup is hanging from a tree, and you can feel yourself choking as he struggles to stay on his toes. And you?re running with him through the forest, you?re crying with him as he experiences the rare kindness of a sympathetic worker.
Suddenly, Adewale is freeing slaves from a ship, and your pulse is pounding. The ship is sinking, and all you can think is that not one more person can die today. When you and Adewale can?t save the remaining souls, you feel the same hatred towards the people who open-fired on the slave ship as you did towards Northup?s crazed master who just wouldn?t put down the whip.
Men with guns running through a warzone. The White House is down. You?re saving America with them, and when they succeed, you feel victorious, regardless of how involved you were.
We can't say that the first two are any different from each other than the last two. This is entertainment. It?s time to start drawing some new lines.
Video games are widely demonized in modern culture, even by the people who play them. The people who don?t play think gamers are lazy assholes, and the people who do feel the need to make excuses for why and how they play them. ?Oh, I game for the experience.? ?I game because it?s just so much fun.? I'm making generalizations here, but you get the point. And it?s true; people get addicted to video games in an unhealthy way all the time. World of Warcraft is one example of a true GAME. You play and you play, and there?s always more to win. More gold, more equipment, more time; the problem is, it impedes productivity. There are certainly games like that, and that?s fine. People need to blow off steam, yes. Is too much of this bad? Yes. But there is one huge mistake in the use of semantics here:
Not all games are games.
Now, about levels of productivity. If someone is divining some greater meaning from a form of entertainment, a credit that is given to the greatest books and movies, suddenly the consumption of the media becomes permissible. It?s the reason why books like Twilight and movies like? uh, Twilight? are shunned just as much as, or perhaps more than, Call of Duty: it?s dumb time-wasting for the sake of dumb time-wasting, which is great for short spurts of stress relief, but not conducive to great degrees of mental stimulation. But see, there is a difference here. Twilight is easily categorized as a book, since it?s a collection of words on a page. It may not be particularly well-written, but it serves the same general purpose as a great work like War and Peace, if not nearly as well. It?s harder to find the similarities between Call of Duty and a game like Gone Home. Are they both first-person? Yes, but they don?t serve even close to the same purpose. One is about compelling narrative, just like a book, and the other is about pulse-pounding score-stacking. So, this brings us to another necessary facet of the argument: The kind of control the player is given.
Gone Home?s first-person control serves the purpose of telling a story through your environment. There is no score that can be achieved, and there isn?t really a way to play the game well or poorly unless you count the ability to thoroughly search the house. Dear Esther takes ?game? interactivity to an even barer level, restricting the player?s control to walking around and triggering narrative bits depending on where you walk. So, perhaps we can say this: A game can be defined by the level of skill required to complete the experience. If a game can be finished without having any skill beyond simply paying attention, like the Stanley Parable, then it isn?t a game.
The trouble is, we?ve been conditioned to think that?s a criticism.
If you hop onto a site like Metacritic and scroll through the user reviews for Gone Home or Dear Esther, you?ll find a whole slew of negative reviews. The low scores are founded on the ?criticism? that the game isn?t a game at all. People are actually astonished that the developers of such experiences think that the lack of familiar gameplay tropes in their games is a selling point. As such, outrage has broken out across the internet in reaction to games that aren?t games. Those who rally in defense of the titles argue that they are games as their main counterpoint. Both parties are operating on a very strange, confusing assumption: that it?s impossible to create a new form of entertainment. Because if they aren?t games, and please humor me here, then what exactly are they? This question has increased in importance as games with an emphasis on narrative have become more popular, and we?re reaching a turning point. What is that point, exactly?
Let me show you.
Over the next few decades, games begin to develop into three distinct categories. The first are traditional, arcade-like experiences; in short, games that fit our usual definition of a game. Think Space Invaders. The second are narrative-driven experiences like Dear Esther. As the second category grows in prominence, people start to realize that they can?t really call them ?games? anymore, as you?re not playing towards a distinct, reward-driven goal; you?re walking forward to let a story unfold in a manner that?s simply more immersive than pressing the ?play? button on your T.V. Film crews start jumping on board as motion capture becomes better and high-end graphics rendering equipment gets cheaper, and suddenly, the second category of ?games? are starting to feel a hell of a lot more like interactive films where your choices impact the outcome. As the years go by and this new form of entertainment rockets to the top of the charts, someone has a rather ambitious idea: what if we could just give them a world in which these movie moments could occur ad-hoc, without pre-realized content? What if we could give gamers- no, journeymen- a way to occupy a completely different world, one without a goal, one where they don?t play; they live? It?s awfully similar to the more constraining experiences of the past, but it gives people an unfettered opportunity to do as they please to a greater degree than was allowed before. By now, the genre-label ?game? has long been disassociated from this form of entertainment.
So, let?s backtrack. If a fully immersive experience is no longer a game not because of the lack of constraint (if constraint dictates a game, then movies are games, too), but rather because of the lack of a discernible score-related goal, then how are the not-games of today games at all? And how is it a bad thing that they aren?t, especially if this leads to a whole new realm of entertainment possibilities that operate outside of any known genre?
A new genre, then, is called for. It?s time for a revolution in gaming, because right now, it?s hard to be experimental. Let?s liberate the little guy of the name ?game? so that one day, he can be the big guy.
I think it?s time to change the name of the game. What do you guys think?
tl;dr: Games like Dear Esther and Gone Home aren't games, and that's not a bad thing; we should let them become their own genre.