D-pad

The last article we will be covering for our readings comes from gamestudies.org. Penned by Mia Consalvo and Nathan Dutton, and titled Game Analysis: Developing a Methodological Toolkit for the Qualitative Study of Games, the article attempts to create a methodological research toolkit with which to analyze videogames using four categories: “Object Inventory, Interface Study, Interaction Map, and Gameplay Log.”

The authors begin by describing “previous empirical work” (listing off several examples) of game studies that stem from one of two approaches: player studies or studies concerning critiques of the medium. Bringing up studies by Brooker, the authors clarify that despite his attempt to create an “early template for [videogame] analysis”, Brooker “does not lay out why... elements of [“institution, authorship, character and narrative, genre and socio-political connotations and remakes”] were chosen as opposed to other components.” This lack of intention on the critic’s part is the core focus of the paper- the authors attempt to create a definitive base from which analysis can be conducted.

The next four sections of the paper discuss the authors’ main categories used to create a methodological base with which to study videogames.

The first category up for discussion is “Object Inventory”. The authors’ state:

    

A useful way for researchers to understand the role that objects can play in a game is to create an object inventory that catalogues all known objects that can be found, bought, stolen, or created, and produce a detailed list or spreadsheet that lists various properties of each item.

From this collected data, the authors claim a plethora of research questions can become apparent, and will yield some type of results (the directed outcome of which is not specified). As an example, they consider Nintendo’s Pokemon, for which they state the games main purpose is the collection of all the Pokemon creatures. Despite being an interesting thought on the collection concept, associated with pleasure principles of gameplay in Pokemon, the actual purpose behind Pokemon is to become the Pokemon Master (which does not require you to complete your collection but defeat the current champion, a Boss NPC). Yet, despite this discrepancy, the idea of studying the collecting of particular “objects”, as classified by an “Object Inventory” could yield interesting results involving allegorical representation within the game system/informatic structures (which could also yield social, political, economic, etc. critique). To further clarify the role of “object” as a central category, the authors discuss the PC game The Sims and that, through an “Object Inventory” one can see that “objects are overall less important to Sim relationships than Sim-to-Sim interaction.”

The next section of the paper discusses the authors’ category “Interface Study” where they define the “interface” as:

[A]ny on-screen information that provides the player with information concerning the life, health, location or status of the character(s), as well as battle or action menus, nested menus that control options such as advancement grids or weapon selections, or additional screens that give the player more control over manipulating elements of gameplay.   

Using Galloway as a frame of reference from earlier readings, I took this category as a compendium of non-diagetic gameplay elements (a list of which can be found in the above quote) that the player maintains semi-control over (semi because there are still limitations to the options available). Through this category, the authors attend to several examples, all of which relate to Galloway’s ideas behind informatics and videogame “systems” containing allegory for the modern world. Again, the authors’ main focus for illustration is The Sims.  They discuss Sim-to-Sim interaction as being a context for sexuality, as opposed to character creation options with menus (in-game interactions with other NPCs determine sexuality; if this is the case, then Sim-to-Sim interaction yields the highest possibility for in-game, gamic options, rather than pre-determined variables).

Thirdly, the authors discuss their category “Interaction Map”, which (although containing the word “Map”) pertains to NPC and other player-avatar interactions. Which player options become available through play is the main focus of this category. The authors then present a series of questions that could possibly be used by the researcher to further analysis. The authors return back to The Sims as an example of this category where they dissect the “social meter” of the game’s mechanics (the “social meter” (a fairly binary scale with different degrees of severity) determines one Sim’s relationship to another and can be changed over gameplay interactions). Routing their discussion back to sexuality, the authors conclude that by analyzing The Sims via an “Interaction Map”, a researcher can come to partial conclusions “on how sexuality is constructed in the game, as well as the (many) choices the game affords to individual players.”

Lastly, the authors discuss their category for base methodological research, the “Gameplay Log”, where:

[T]he researcher studies such things as emergent behaviour or situations, the larger game world or system, and intertextuality as it is constituted with the game.

I found this category to be extremely broad, and the authors also contend that the “elements [of this category] can be quite variable depending on the game and genre chosen for analysis” and can even include “glitches” or “bugs” not intended by the game authors. Consalvo and Dutton then lay forth a series of possible questions the researcher may use in order to further their analysis, which they claim “helps in creating a coherence for the analysis” alongside the other categories. In the last paragraph of this section the authors regard The Sims as a “text” which “deconstructs” sexuality and “reconfigures” it by “pok[ing] and prod-teasing players to think about sexual orientation and sexuality, how it is defined and expressed, exploring assumptions and challenging accepted practices” through a consistent system utilizing “objects”, “interactivity”, and “emergent behaviour/the larger game world” as a method with which to express social change.

Although the implications of this article serve as only a starting point for a field very much in its infancy, I found it to be rather generalized and yet focused mainly on one particular subject: The Sims. Although each of the four categories could be used in essence to begin critical analysis, I found the spectrum of each category not only to be extremely broad, but also at times to overlap with the other categories.  This overlap creates confusion as to how one should organize their data (where does one draw the line between “game world” and “interface”?). Allowing for such broad sweeping strokes within your research could lead to findings imposed on the data, rather than as a result of the research itself.    

The final article we are covering regards a Mia Consalvo and Nathan Dutton paper from gamestudies.org. In an attempt to create a base methodology with which to approach research, Consalvo and Dutton present four categories for which to analyze videogames.

The Magic of Scheherazade

The next article we covered by Frasca addresses the “narratology versus ludology” debate, which Frasca claims is “a series of inaccurate beliefs in regard to the role of ludology, including that ludologists radically reject any use of narrative theory in game studies. Aptly titled Ludologists Love Stories, Too: Notes from a Debate that Never Took Place, Frasca takes some time to debunk some of the “most common misconceptions”, having become one of the misunderstood primary sources.

Frasca starts off by defining a narratologist according to the aforementioned debate (games “should be analyzed--at least in part--through narratology) and in “Humanities” (“a scholar who studies narratology, a set of theories of narrative that are independent of the medium of representation”). This is inherently the first “problem” for Frasca who claims that a narratologist is “a researcher who focuses on narrative in any medium, including film, literature or videogames.”

Next Frasca defines ludology as “a yet non-existent discipline that would focus on the study of games in general and videogames in particular”, quoting himself from a previous article. His purpose here is to clarify other “definitions” of ludology which Frasca claims are “simplifications”.

From his discussion of ludology’s definition, Frasca defines who the “Ludologists” are within the field. He clarifies that, in his definition of the term, a ludologist is “simply a game scholar.”

Frasca then tries to clarify who are representative of the “narrativists” (“narrative and literary theory as the foundation upon which to build a theory of interactive media”).  However, he discovers a wide lack of concrete evidence of their existence. He then goes through several quotes which prove that many of the so-called “Ludologists” (Juul, Aarseth) who held angst for narrative theory within videogame study are misquoted and misinterpreted.

Next, Frasca discusses the possibility of ludological radicalists, clarifying a misinterpreted Aarseth (with whom he spoke about the situation and who “confirmed” Frasca’s beliefs on the misrepresentation).

Misconception being Frasca’s major focus, he then harps upon the editors of Screenplay, who focused on Aarseth’s “opening editorial for the first issue of [gamestudes.org]” in Screenplay’s collection of articles on “videogames and cinema”. In the editorial, Aarseth had claimed that both cinema and literature, as fields, had made “colonizing attempts” to formal analysis of videogames. Misinterpreting Aarseth again becomes a central focus of discussion for Frasca, as others have felt that Aarseth’s phrasing concluded that narratology should be “rejected” as an “intervention” within videogame studies.

The last portion of Frasca’s contentions concerns the narrativists’ inability to fully define “what they mean by narrative”, while also clarifying how Ludologists define narrative according to ludic theory. First, Frasca brings up Gerald Prince’s definition of narrative, comparing it to Celia Pearce’s “claims that the game of Chess is a narrative.” Prince’s definition of narrative, which includes a concept of narrator and narratee, rejects Pearce’s definition of Chess as narrative because it contains neither. Frasca claims that because narrativists like Pearce “fail to make explicit” their exact definition of narrative within games, they fall prey to logical enterprise of previous theorists from prior decades of narrative study. Frasca concludes this section by stating that clearer definitions of the role of narrative within videogames must be made in order for a true debate between ludologists and narrativists to take place. He concludes the article by restating his main thesis that “ludologists [do] not reject narrative” and that “the accusations of radicalization of [said] debate are totally unfounded.”

Having discussed this debate with Chris Alton long before having read this article I was unaware of the primary misconceptions behind it. The clarification that to reject narrative theory as a ludologist is a misconception made me consider more closely the term “narrativist”, as opposed to “narratologist” when considering my own stance in the argument. Despite Frasca’s discussion in this article, I find it difficult to favour either theory over the other to analyze videogames. Rather, my analysis allows for some ludic concepts to redefine narrative concepts and vice versa. For example, discussion of protagonist within videogames seems adherent to one of two lines of thought: the player as extension of the avatar (more fixed narrative) or the avatar as an extension of the player (a less fixed narrative with more choice). By further defining the concepts of “protagonist”, “avatar”, and the role of the “player” in “protagonist-avatar-player relationship”, one could create a hybrid analysis that would blur the lines of the debate, thus conceptualizing a new method for analysis based upon both fields of study. This hybridization seems to be the future for videogame studies (as already discussed by several authors we have read, Carr and Burn to name a few).   

"Press 'A' to jump."

One of Gonzalo Frasca’s articles, Simulation versus Narrative: Introduction to Ludology, serves not only as an introduction to the basic ideas which make up ludology, but puts forth the argument that “the storytelling model is not only not accurate but also limits our understanding of the medium and our ability to create even more compelling games.”

Frasca contends that video games are based off of the “semiotic structure of simulation” more than that of “representation”. Throughout the pages after his brief introduction to ludology (the concept revolving around the idea that videogame structures “are not held together by a narrative structure”), Frasca spends some time discussing the definition of simulation and offering his own variation.

Frasca opens with a brief discussion on how industrial technology had limited the construction of simulation, until the advent of the computer. Moving naturally into a discussion on Espen Aarseth, Frasca presents his first argument: games “are not just made of sequences of signs but rather behave like machines or sign-generators.” Representational theory, therefore, does not accurately model videogame structures because the signs are not fixed variables within gameplay.

Next, Frasca offers a scientific model definition of simulation (coined by himself through a combination of semiotic theory and “several computer simulation essays”), which argues that simulation “includes a model of [a system’s] behaviours.” Harping on his own lexicon, Frasca contends that the key element in his definition is the use of “behaviour” (an ideal term of the data transmission (“stimuli”) between player and “model” of simulation). As an example of this thesis, Frasca compares playing a flight simulator with a film of a plane in flight; flight simulators rely on replicating “behavioural stimuli” rather than “fixed stimuli”, as with film.

Continuing his discussion on simulation, Frasca compares videogames to media such as film, and states that videogames “represent the first complex simulation media for the masses.” His main point of illustration for this statement centres on “advergames” as a form of the videogame medium that almost totally rejects narrative theory as a structural base:

“This puts [advertisers] in an extremely privileged position for realizing that the potential of games is not to tell a story but to simulate: to create an environment for experimentation.”

Frasca uses his discussion on “advergames” to move into the topic of rhetoric within videogames. Frasca highlights his main thesis on simulation again, through examples of how narratives (such as Emile Zola’s Germinal) contain fixed structural elements. Frasca calls these elements “isolated experiences”, whereas videogames are not: “we recognize them as games because we know we can always start over.”

Frasca then reasserts his contention that videogames, as forms of simulation, replicate “behavioural rules” central to a “goal”. For example, he reinterprets Zola’s Germinal as a simulation which could take on any number of scenarios that would all “carry a degree of indeterminacy that prevents players to know beforehand the final outcome” (i.e. different scenario variables would allow for different sim-narratives to form). Therefore, simauthors, as he terms them, have the ability to “model difficulty” (presenting views in statistical odds that are “rules” subsumed within the model/system), whereas narrative maintains an entirely fixed order of events.

Frasca begins the next section of his article by likening the forum theatre (from Augusto Boal’s “Theater of the Oppressed”) to the model of simulation previously mentioned. He argues that fixed narrative theory, although amended by the term “interactive narrative”, still cannot account for a proper model through which to express all structural components inherent to videogames. To rectify this failure, Frasca mentions Roger Caillois’ discussion on “paida” and “ludus” (which serve as two types of “action”; a child’s form of “play” versus a “game” with structural rules). Frasca claims that “ludus”-structure games (like chess) contain a three act structure (rules explained, players play, someone wins), whereas “paida” games are more “open-ended”. For Frasca, videogames based upon “paida” structures open up a world of creative exploration over “ludus” games.

Next, Frasca clearly defines “ludus” versus “paida” games through specific examples (those containing binary structures are “morally charged”), i.e Super Mario Brothers versus SimCity. However, because both examples contain rules, he further defines the concept of “rule” through the subcategory of a “manipulation rule” (an “if/then” statement that allows for a rule to be amended under particular circumstance). To further clarify himself, Frasca recaps that “simulations” contain “three different ideological levels in order to convey ideology”: “representation and events”, “manipulation rules”, and “goal rules”. However, Frasca also claims that because of rule modification (such as level editors within particular computer games) a fourth category he dubs “meta-rules” (“a rule that states how rules can be changed”) should also exist within the simauthor’s repertoire.

Frasca concludes his article by making an allegory between simulation and Borges’ “The Golem” (“simulation is only approximation... it is an alternative, not a replacement”). Frasca lastly claims that, in computer technology, “humanity” has finally found a “natural medium” through which to practise the art of simauthorship, where its essence lies on the “basic assumption [that] change is possible.”

I found this article highly enlightening. Considering videogames as more than just “interactive narrative” has been a difficult process over these readings. Having always wanted to be a writer, I contend that everything works under narrative function, without exception. However, Frasca’s compounded arguments concerning the nature and structure of simulation, as a better model for which to find allegory within videogames, I found very intriguing. Considering earlier readings in Galloway, specifically his chapter on informatics structures and allegory, I’ve started to more clearly recognise that the potential for metaphor within videogame structure is a symbiotic process between those allegories found within the game “system” and those found within the game “story”. This reminds me very much of the process for which a director and screenwriter work in tandem. Perhaps, then, Christie Marx’s contention that the videogame industry is heading toward a creative team modelled after television is not only an apt conclusion, but a flourishing possibility to create hybrid allegorical structures for “pleasure play” (as Carr would put it).

      

The following posts are about articles published on another blog Ludology.org, Frasca’s own blog (no longer actively posting but still available online). Frasca is considered one of the forerunners of videogame studies, and rightly so, as his ideas concerning ludological theory have been highly influential in the field.

Mr. Scratch

The final chapter we decided to cover from Computer Games: Text, Narrative and Play is written by one of the other authors of the book, Andrew Burn. Burn spends this chapter discussing the relationship between player and avatar and how it is constructed, using the example of Squaresoft’s classic RPG Final Fantasy VII (FFVII). Burn focuses mainly on one player’s account (Rachel) of a playthrough of FFVII to engage with his arguments.

Burn begins with a short discussion of “social semiotics” from a perspective stemming from Hallidayan linguistic analysis:

“When social semiotics is applied to visual media... it proposes a ‘grammar of images’ which adapts Halliday’s framework of three overarching functions of all language...”

Burn utilizes these “three overarching functions”, (representational, interactive, and organizational) to attempt a social semiotic analysis that would further reconcile the relationship between the ludic and narrative elements of games (as discussed in earlier chapters). To culminate Burn’s basis for his analysis of FFVII and player-avatar relations, he refers to “a further development of social semiotics, multimodality theory”.  He contests that this theory also begets ideas of “transitivity” (another aspect of Genette’s theories regarding narrative discourse, that involve “action” being the centre of narrative discourse which, in turn, “produces a semiotic system”).

Burn uses the aforementioned narrative theory to dive into how FFVII deals with the avatar-player relationship. Referring to Rachel’s account of gameplay, Burn argues that Rachael’s use of pronouns when describing Cloud (FFVII’s protagonist) provides a clear depiction of how the player shifts between different “roles” (the idea of “mobility” as earlier presented by Carr in previous chapters).

Burn next further describes Genette’s ideas concerning “mood” within narrative (“traditionally organized under three headings: indicative... interrogative... and imperative.”). For Burn, game narratives also incur “mood” by forcing player-avatar relations through gamic decisions/achievements which progress game narrative.

Having laid the previous ground work, Burn spends the next few sections of the chapter describing the different roles of the “avatar” and “protagonist” and how they function in regard to developing the relationship with the player. Burn once again goes back to Rachel’s account of the “character” Cloud and uses her lexicon as a stepping stone to discuss the formation of Cloud as a “hero” in the traditional sense. Comparing Cloud to classical heroes like Achilles (who Burn qualifies as a “fairy tale” hero rather than a “mythological” one), Burn justifies Cloud’s archetypical nature as congruent to the type found in most heroes of “oral” tradition. Burn then delves into a discussion on heavy heroes of oral tradition, paralleling Cloud with the offered elements of that notion.  This alignment allows for a connection to be made between the “emphatic” and “performative” qualities of oral tradition and the gamic-narrative qualities of videogames. Burn further asserts Cloud’s conception as a “heavy hero” by likening him to modern pop-culture superhero archetypes (which Burn asserts are an extension of oral heroes, via Ong’s contentions on “‘secondary-orality’ of high-technological societies”).

In the next portion of the chapter, Burn begins his discussion of Cloud as puppet/”digital dummy”, and how this form of Cloud blends with and helps the player shift between the aspects of Cloud as “heavy hero”. Through descriptions of the various actions and limitations of Cloud as an extension of the player, Burn illustrates how Cloud serves as “a bundle of semiotic resources that facilitate the player’s engagement with the game’s systems.”   

Burn then turns to the form of Cloud as “avatar”, which he feels is a comfortable spot for the concept of symbolic “player ambiguity” (which he bases off the different noun descriptors Rachel uses when describing Cloud’s actions in her recount of playing FF7). At this point, Burn delves into Rachel’s experience with the battle sequences within FFVII. Her use of pronouns is again the focus as the main form of representation of Burn’s ideas on player-avatar relations. However, to support his observations of Rachel’s account, Burn returns to a discussion of the multimodal function within FF7. Burn dissects the aesthetics of the battle sequences, terming their qualities as “demand” qualities of the “text” which he connects to “representational” structures within the battle sequences’ gameplay (a clear example of gamic and narrative elements working together to create the ambiguous player-avatar relationship). Finally, Burn delves into the aesthetics of the other aspects of the game (i.e. music, background, exploration) to further the idea of modality confirming the ambiguity of the player-avatar relationship.

Burn concludes the chapter by stating that the experience of player-avatar is in constant “oscillation” between Cloud as protagonist and Cloud as dummy/puppet. However, this relationship is also dependent upon player values and what preconceptions they have before play is initiated.

For the most part, Burn’s theoretical approach for discussing player-avatar relations is well founded. I highly agree with his concepts of “heavy hero” serving as formation for Cloud’s relative “archetypical” nature. In fact, I find that the interactive quality of oral storytelling could have been used to further reinforce Burn’s ideas. Also, game analysis according to semiotic theory seems like a feasible fit and despite readily (and sometimes loosely) jumping between points of discussion, Hallidayan concepts of narrative theory (the “verb” being a central focus of narrative) fits well with gamic theory.

The final note I wish to make about this chapter concerns Burn’s constant use of Rachel’s account of playing FFVII. I find it rather unnerving. Why did Burn not reference other players’ accounts? To reinforce the theoretical connections he makes, Burn should be using statistical analysis to compare gamers from all aspects of the spectrum (casual to hardcore). A hardcore gamer (hardcore, in terms of time/emotional investment) might be consciously aware of the distinction between player and avatar making the use of pronouns within their descriptions much different from Rachel’s account. Rather than harming Burn’s argument, this concept would strengthen it because recognition of the use of different pronouns would further clarify the avatar-player relationship.

Move, move, move!

The fourth chapter of Computer Games: Text, Narrative and Play is again authored by Diane Carr and is titled Play and Pleasure. Carr picks up right where she left off with a discussion on why she thinks Baldur’s Gate is a compelling play experience: the game offers various possibilities for a player to be “mobile” between “attentive states” of “immersion, engagement and flow”. The remainder of the chapter is focused on “what the game invites players to do” that offers a fusion of “pleasure” and “play”.

The first part of this chapter extensively describes the character creation process. Not much is to be noted here, as Carr does not spend any time in critical analysis of any of the options. Rather, she only lists the various possibilities of class, race, aesthetic, moral compass, attribute distribution, and those benefits/consequences behind particular choices.

Carr then describes the difficultly in prescribing characterization of game protagonists/avatars.  Despite being a partial construct according to a set of preordained parameters, player action also largely informs characterization. However, Carr also contests that the consequences for particular narrative and gamic choices limit and govern the game narrative; certain moments of gameplay are only made available because of a particular set of criteria having been met. Therefore, Carr asserts that the ability to “assign traits to characters... is a continuing collaboration between game and player.”

Next, Carr delves into a discussion on the various forms of player mobility between different “attentive states”. Carr describes the process of the player internalizing the game systems and subsystems management “engagement”, which in turn evolves into the gamic concept of “immersion” and “flow” (via seamless transition between such systems, thus culminating in a process that results in quicker reaction times that makes gamic action innate). Carr then concludes that pleasure from play resides within “the player’s slide between more or less conscious moments of attention.” The final point that Carr makes in regard to continual pleasure of mobility involves the “gradient” quality of play (the game increases in difficulty and requires particular parameters to be met in order for progression to be made.)

Carr’s concepts of ludic action informing narrative and vice versa from her previous chapter play quite well into her discussion on how compelling gameplay comes to fruition in Baldur’s Gate; “mobility” between psychological attentive states of “engagement”, “immersion”, and “flow” is made possible because of the interconnectedness of gamic and narrative elements. Although this argument is logical in nature, Carr’s examples from Baldur’s Gate and the narrative and psychological theory she draws from create rather tenuous connections. Also, claiming that “immersion” within gameplay mechanics stems from the interconnectedness of gamic and narrative options, which in turn regulates “flow” and develops “engagement”, appears rather circular in its logic. Despite feeling rather engaged with Carr’s attention to detail in describing the particular gamic and narrative options of Baldur’s Gate (in fact, I am so enamoured with them that I plan to purchase the re-release of the game this September once it is released), I would have preferred a more detailed analysis of why “immersion” occurs rather than just defaulting to the fluidity repetition. Perhaps the “flow” involved with navigating between systems and subsystems occur because of practicing informatics, as Galloway discusses.