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.      

decrypter toolkit

The first chapter I will cover from Computer Games: Text, Narrative and Play, is Diane Carr’s chapter titled Games and Narrative. Carr takes the chapter to extensively cover the narrative functions of Baldur’s Gate, a PC game of the RPG genre first released in 1998. However, Carr’s purpose in analyzing the elements of narrative within Baldur’s Gate is not to reconcile narrative theory as a cohesive possibility to analyze videogames, but rather to show that traditional narrative theory is flawed for analyzing games and needs to be rectified with gamic concepts.

Carr begins by asserting that the “story”/”narrative” element in Baldur’s Gate matters, even if it, from a “ludic” perspective, “remains secondary to pleasures, activities and demands of gameplay.” Carr then makes a very important observation about avatar creation and the beginning of the game.  Once the player “creates” his/her avatar (according to a set of particular attributes and aesthetics), the game narration refers to the protagonist as “you”. This proverbial “you” is further certified by inducting the player to the specifics of game mechanics, gameplay, interface, and sequential cut sequences. Through these observations, Carr asserts that “you” at times refers not only to the player and game protagonist as separate entities, but also as a third, hybrid quality-a player-avatar creation-that “clarif[ies] how this storytelling coexists with the playable nature of the game.”

At this point, Carr spends a few pages defining narrative theory, and the approach to going about critical analysis through narrative theory, in order to lay ground work for a discussion on why “Computer games, even those that contain substantial amounts of storytelling, do not reside comfortably within existing models of narrative.”

Carr argues that “key elements” of narrative, those sequences within the story that are consistent despite player interaction, are only some of the storytelling elements of Baldur’s Gate. The remaining elements of storytelling rely heavily on player choices in gameplay. Carr notes that the elapsed time between story events is in control of the player (direct line between each event is possible but the choice is what separates computer games from conventional narrative theory). Carr even discusses the in-game commentary box which, although appearing as an area capable of narrative theoretical discourse, is a response/narration of the player’s actions via the avatar. However, Carr does note that these events do partially fit comfortably within traditional narrative theory (within concepts of simultaneous narrative as discussed by Genette).

Next, Carr delves into narrative theories concepts on implied author and reader, the narrator and narratee. Carr brings up Aarseth’s Cybertext to clarify notions of sending and receiving positions. Carr conflates the implied reader with an implied player and notes this position to be difficult to pin down because of the frequently changing roles of the player within gameplay. From a detailed examination of the gameplay of Baldur’s Gate as example for her thesis, Carr then turns toward the game system (or possible implied author) which she redefines as an implied Game Master.  This implied Game Master is a re-defined version of the tabletop role playing term GM/Game Master or DM/Dungeon Master, the person who controls the narrative and ludic portions of play for such tabletop RPGs as Dungeons and Dragons. Carr’s concept of the GM (based off traditional concepts of the position) serves as a much better descriptor for the position of implied author, in that “the implied GM can issue ludic as well as narrative transmissions”, an idea with which I wholly agree.

Carr concludes her chapter with a short recap of examples which, for her, prove that gameplay and narrative are so tightly interwoven within Baldur’s Gate. This interweaving shows that conventional theories of narrative do not suffice for analysis. She describes this lack of theoretical ability as a concept of “mobility”, which she claims she will explore further in the next chapter.

Carr’s concepts within this chapter remind me very much of my fellow peer Chris Alton’s academic paper Cinematic Gameplay: A Discussion of the Divide between Cinema Representation and Ludic Action in Video Games. In his paper, Alton attempts to find common ground in the narratological/ludological debate which has clogged video game study for the past decade by analyzing Metal Gear Solid via a hybrid lens concentrating on a narrative/gameplay blend. In this light, Carr also appears to have created a bridge from which to view a common ground between the two areas of videogame study. Carr’s arguments for the needed change in narrative theory, in order to correctly analyze videogames, is very strong, logically sound, and well represented through sources and her examination of Baldur’s Gate. I found myself highly enthralled with this chapter and am really only concerned with when the author claims that perhaps her idea of the implied GM will most likely not work with all games. I highly disagree with this statement and would rather give Carr credit for articulating something that could very well be used to help describe Galloway’s ideas of informatics structures within videogames. Utilizing the idea of an implied GM as an architect for the informatics in place within the game would yield an organic allegorical analysis of those systems. The implied Gm is therefore an extension of the development team resulting in a background negotiation between “author” and “player”.  

      

The next text being covered through these blogs is Computer Games: Text, Narrative and Play by Diane Carr, David Buckingham, Andrew Burn and Gareth Schott. Only three chapters will be covered, two by Diane Carr and one by Andrew Burn. Cohesively, the three chapters fit quite well into an understanding of how gamic and narrative elements actually work in tandem with each other to bring forth qualitative gameplay experience.

The writer's position

The 9^th chapter in Christy Marx’s book is titled Writing vs. Design, and concentrates on a more practical guide for what to expect when looking for writing positions. The chapter also touches upon some theory on writing for games.

Marx starts off by differentiating the role of “designer”, as opposed to the role of “writer”. In the past, designer/writer was a synchronous role. However, as videogames progressed, these jobs became separated, allowing a release from the creative pressure of holding the dual position. Marx comments that the best way to truly discover where you fit in terms of the market is to look at job postings and check their requirements, then compare the required skill set to your own. She also asserts that although it is not required of game writers to be programmers as well, having some programming knowledge is beneficial for communication between the two positions.

Next, Marx delves into the writing specific position within the industry.  Possible credits for these positions could include, but are not limited to, “Writer, Story Writer, Scenario Writer, Scriptwriter, Dialogue Writer, Content Designer, Story Designer, Narrative Designer, Writer/Designer, or something else invented on the spot.” Marx makes it clear that if you feel particular creative elements might be better for the designer rather than the writer, that you should say so and receive due credit for that work as well.

Marx then goes on to discuss particular industry standard terminology and compares the lexicon used to that of Hollywood (making sure to make evident the distinction between the definitions of certain terms, i.e. “development” in Hollywood refers to “mainly the writing process” where as in the game industry it is considered “the process of making the game.”) She also points out the difference in the term “scripting” (as opposed to scriptwriting, this refers to programming) and “world building” (which refers again to design work rather than writing). The most interesting claim Marx makes is the collation between the hyphenated and slashed job descriptions (in Hollywood the hyphen is preferred where as the game industry prefers the slash, i.e. writer-director vs. writer/designer). Following this, Marx provides eight pages of definitions of selected terms she feels are well to know as a game writer. Most of the terms are familiar to anyone who considers themselves a part of videogame culture (NPC, PvE, Spawning, Power-Up, etc). However, some phrases such as “Trigger, Flag, Hook” (a programming term “that indicates a piece of code that checks for specific conditions and activates the correct response depending on those conditions”) were unknown to me.

After the definitions, Marx delves into a discussion of Linear vs. Nonlinear narratives. Marx notes that traditional linear storytelling can appear to be nonlinear, but that it is really more non-chronological. Some videogames, however, contain nonlinear narrative, which refers to a story where the player organizes the narrative events according to how they experience it rather than a reorganized telling from an implied author. To serve as examples, Marx brings up her own games where player choices had direct effects on the narrative outcome of the game. Throughout the market, particular jobs will adhere more to one model than the other (such as console, as Marx claims, which has more linear narrative driven elements than PC MMOGs).

The next section of the chapter discusses “Game Structure”, divided into two sections titled “Story Structure” and “Game Parameters”. Marx discusses games with story structure as utilizing the basic three act structure of set-up, complications, resolution. However, she makes a clear distinction between those games which rely on story to engross a player (Max Payne) and those which don’t (Myst). For those games that do rely on story, Marx proposes that a games “resolution” will depend on how satisfying the payoff is for the player via “how thoroughly the player has gotten involved in the story and the characters.”

In the section titled “Game Parameters”, Marx clearly states that the term “parameters” and the “typical examples” she uses are her own terminology. By “parameters”, Marx refers to those limitations set forth by the design world. The following are the examples she touches upon:

1) Zone

-concept of a restrained area with parameters concerning movement and accessibility

2) Time or phase

-a particular amount of game time, or when a particular place is accessible because of gameplay time.

3) Player level

-a particular value placed on the player’s avatar advancement through the game

4) Player Race, Faction, or Class

-that particular options for gameplay will only be available to particular avatars that meet certain criteria

5) Acquisition of Game Objects

-game progression or certain game experiences require a particular parameter to be achieved first before moving forward

6) Predetermined Events

-events that take place throughout gameplay despite player interaction (they exist with or without the player but will not be experienced unless progressed toward through gameplay)

In the final section of the chapter, Marx discusses “More Things You Need to Know” (as the section is aptly titled). She mentions the proverbial “What if...” writing statement and offers some writing advice on how one should approach a story through videogames and how different “what if”s can affect gameplay.

Marx then goes on to talk about “variables and flexibility”. Variables consist of how making particular game choices based on previously set parameters will affect how you write the following sequences. Flexibility refers to your ability as a writer to work with and around certain parameters given to you while also being capable of making changes to story according to last minute changes in design and/or programming code.

Briefly, Marx discusses “Gradients” (the concept of difficulty progression as the game story progresses) and how they should be kept in mind when writing particular sequences (i.e. more aggressive NPCs could later have affected dialogue because of this factor).

Next, Marx discusses the idea of “choice” within gameplay and how it affects “linearity and storytelling.” Choice requires a greater account for the variables and parameters as the player is given more opportunity to experience and, in turn, mould the story narrative. These “choices” must also be balanced within game design so that the player can make “meaningful” choices that will progress or affect gameplay. For Marx, keeping in mind the idea of choice involves a balanced and well organized narrative.

“The Interface” is Marx’s next topical point. She argues that although interface is not technically a writer’s job, understanding the “interface” itself will affect “precisely how story and dialogue are implemented in the game.” Although this serves better for some games and not so much for others (Assassin’s Creed would be a good example of this, Uncharted would not), Marx’s final question in this section “how... would you try to convey story elements using the interfaces you encounter” directly ties in with her ideas of simulating narrative through gameplay as much as possible. This idea, of blending narrative into/with gameplay, has been a hot topic throughout my research on game development over the period of this course. I find Marx’s advice concerning this topic highly solid; understanding the interface and those elements like it will give you creative boundaries to work with as a game writer.

Marx concludes the chapter with a note on “The Player’s Mindset” where she describes coming to the revelation:

“Players are the Forces of Chaos. They will do anything in any order, whether it makes sense or not. They use trial and error rather than figure out your clever clues. They throw logic out the window.”

I found this chapter of Marx’s book highly enlightening. Her concepts on writing narrative for videogames works well as a basis for how to go about work-shopping story elements, narrative arc, character bios, and creation. This chapter also works quite well as an overall basic understanding of the process of writing for all games that contain narrative. Marx makes quite clear that to write for videogames means knowing “parameters” and working with those boundaries rather than against them. Much like any other writing field with creative restrictions, videogames are no exception. However, the interactive element that separates videogames from classical storytelling is an understanding that classical narrative boundaries (performed via audience or reader participation) must be redefined because of interactivity (the actual playing/experiencing of events via an avatar). Therefore, the same narrative boundaries that affect watching a movie are only part of the narrative boundaries that affect a game. As a writer, I find this idea fascinating because it forces me to think of new ways in which I could tell stories. 

Links to the past...

The first of two chapters which I will be covering from Christy Marx’s book Writing for Animations, Comics, and Games is chapter 8, History/Evolution of Videogames. Marx takes a very PC-centric view of the progressive history of the medium. Actually, her lack of discussion concerning the console systems is rather peculiar to me seeing as how Nintendo was making vast evolutionary leaps with games like Ninja Gaiden, which contained some of the first in-game cut sequences (thus having cinematic script and should be note-worthy for this chapter).

In Marx’s introduction to the chapter, she discusses that all forms of “computer entertainment” have two things in common: their existence is made possible because of the advancement in technology and they are all forms of “interactive...computerized entertainment.”

The next section of the chapter gives a short description of the concept of “game” which Marx follows up by comparing NFL video gaming with that of Dungeons and Dragons tabletop role playing games. Marx then delves into her own ideas in “The Evolution of the Videogame”, where she divulges a brief history “from [her] perspective as a writer, rather than detailing the march of technological development.” This section is interesting in that Marx here makes a clear distinction concerning the industry: the job as “writer” is becoming more and more a separate position unto itself within the production world of videogames, rather than being meshed together with “designer/programmer”. As such, the central part of her discussion is focused on her own perspectives as a writer, and more so, a storyteller, within the videogame industry.

Marx first discusses Zork, one of the earliest text based games.  She describes the job of the writer as someone who had to be multifaceted with the storyline capable of predicting a player’s actions/choices (much of which sounds like narrative theory concerning an implied author and reader).The next evolutionary step for story-based videogames according to Marx is graphics, for which she brings up Mystery House, a 1980 text based adventure game with simple pictorial graphics. Then Marx delves into the use of the “mouse” as controller and the “user [on-screen] interface” which again necessitated writer/designers to think of new and more interactive ways in which a player could be immersed in the narrative.

Point-and-click interfaces evolve into minimal or no interface at all for Marx.  Her main examples are Myst and The 7^th Guest, which force players to interact in a seemingly “organic” way with the narrative, by locating “hot-spots” on screen with the mouse pointer. At this point, Marx makes a clear distinction between the designer and writer roles of the industry, stating that the narrative of a game like Myst would be limited to the “design document”, given to the writer, which contains the puzzles and other gamic actions performed by the player.

At this point in the chapter, Marx takes a few detours in her linear timeline and discusses particular game genres (she later classifies as “categories”) which bypass the story elements to concentrate on gameplay/ludological elements. SimCity is the first of her references in which there truly is no win/loss scenario, thus the writer’s position is non-existent. I did find this point unsettling because, despite SimCity not having a particular narrative, the scenarios themselves could be seen as episodes of literary/social critique (i.e. one scenario references the bombing of Hamburg, Germany in WWII).

Marx also discusses the FPS and, in turn, Doom, which she claims has a virtually “non-existent” storyline.  She claims this, despite containing elements of narrative included not only in the backstory within the instruction manual, but also between levels and through gameplay instructions. Marx then concludes her FPS discussion by acknowledging the significant amount of work presently in the industry is for FPS writers.

The last part of this deviation from the topic at hand revolves around console games and the concept of the cinematic being a major narrative crutch for heavily controller-based console systems.

Next, Marx touches upon MMOs and the plethora of writing job opportunities associated with them, because of the expanding universes of these games. Marx concludes this section informing the reader that the industry is taking a clear turn towards professional writers becoming more and more a necessity, rather than an afterthought.

In the next section of this chapter Marx outlines videogame categories according to their platform, which “dictates how extensive or complex the gameplay can be.”

Major Platform Categories:

1) Console

-i.e PlayStation, Xbox

2) Handhelds

-i.e Game Boy, PSP

3) Mobile

-i.e cellphones, PDA

4) PC

-i.e Windows, MAC, Linux

5) Web-Based

-i.e games that use the internet, accessible through any computer

From here Marx jumps directly into a list of “major videogame categories” which I have summarized as follows:

     -action adventure (Prince of Persia)

     -arcade (arcade machines)

     -casual (Bejewelled)

     -educational (Zoo Tycoon)

     -FPS (Halo)

     -MMOG (Massive Multiplayer Online Game, World of Warcraft)

     -RPG (Role Playing Game, Final Fantasy VII)

     -RTS (Real Time Strategy, Starcraft)

     -Sandbox (open world to explore, Grand Theft Auto)

     -sims (simulators, Railroad Tycoon)

     -Sports (Fifa 2012)

The final section of this chapter discusses “Alternative Markets” which could be seen as another one of Marx’s “major videogame categories.” ARG or alternate-reality games are a very “niche” corner of the market. Marx describes the position of the writer in this context as being more akin to traditional writing rooms within the television industry, where the product becomes a process of collaboration. Some forms of this work exist within marketing campaigns for feature films (giving away added portions of story not found in the film, which can be associated with other merchandise, i.e. shirts, toys, etc). Marx then lightly touches upon what she dubs “Serious Games” like America’s Army (previously mentioned in Galloway’s book) and Food Force which are used as tools to teach or recruit.

Finally, Marx shortly mentions “Virtual-Reality Worlds”, gaming which she claims has nothing to do with the videogame writer, but is interesting to note nonetheless as it is becoming a vastly growing market (think the 2009 Hollywood blockbuster Gamer).

In this chapter, Marx presents an interesting perspective from her own experiences as a writer within the game industry. For the most part, her evolution/history of games from her personal writing perspective seems well informed. However, I found that when she moved away from her linear argument on the development of writing, I was slightly confused. Her “non-narrative” examples take away from her progressing concept of the role of “writer” within the gaming industry. I would have been more satisfied if she had maintained her own perspective on narrative storytelling and its development, rather than delving into game “categorization” through her discussion of Doom and SimCity.

Speaking of Marx’s “categories” for “platform” and “videogames”, I suppose these are industry-based (or possibly standard?), although I am not quite sure on either. I would argue that Marx has these categories wrong, however, as I am unsure of what criteria she uses for these classifications. In general, this chapter makes claims that are not supported by anything other than what Marx gives us. I don’t have a problem with this, but I find that I need better reasoning for particular classifications or I could have difficulty categorizing certain games, i.e God of War: Ghost of Sparta which appears as both a download from the PlayStation Network for PS3 and for PSP.   

Writing Mentors

The next couple of blog posts pertain to Christy Marx’s “Writing for Animation, Comics, and Games.” Although this book falls more under the “how to” section of your local bookstore, we felt it related to the process of making our own game. We covered only chapters eight and nine because we felt that those chapters were the most essential chapters in the book for our learning process.

Marx is an experienced writer and, as I recently discovered, she was a prime source for many of the Saturday morning cartoons I used to watch as a child. I found the readings engaging overall and her advice to be sound. Marx’s direct experience with the game industry clearly shines through her writing and her discussion on game “parameters” (as she coins the term) in chapter 9 is creatively enlightening.

Brütal Legend [Understanding Video Games, Chapter 10]

The tenth and final chapter of Understanding Video Games, entitled Video Games and Risks, sees the authors end their overview of video game studies by looking at a controversial subject: the potential harmful effects of playing video games.  While the binary offered, that of the Active Media perspective versus the Active User perspective, is treated in a relatively even-handed manner, the authors do give their stance on the issue away, based on their wording.  They use the phrase ‘alleged harmful effects of video games’ as opposed to ‘possible harmful effects’, taking a more accusatory tone with the notion of the harmful effects of video games.

Regarding the two perspectives examined by the authors, the division is an artificial one established by the authors in order to allow for discussion of contrasting methods and opinions.  To that end, the authors first define the perspectives they have delineated.  The Active Media perspective is categorized as media (more specifically, video games) actively having an influence on an essentially passive recipient (the player/players).  This perspective is mainly influenced by social psychology and behaviorism, and, as the authors point out, offers problematic research due to a lack of interest and/or basic knowledge of video games and video game culture.  This research typically consists of two groups, a test and a control group, in a laboratory and is designed to measure levels of aggression using various methods both before and after gameplay, looking for significant changes.  The Active User perspective, conversely, emphasizes that players are actively interpreting and filtering during the experience of playing games.  The main influences cited for this perspective are anthropology, cultural studies, and media theory/studies.  The typical research approach of this perspective follows a group of subjects in a natural setting over a longer period, observing any changes in behavior and how the subjects discuss the games themselves, with a larger focus on context-sensitivity.  The main difference between these two perspectives is that Active Media is concerned with what video games do to a player, while Active User is focused on what players do with a game.

Each perspective is then examined in more detail, starting with the Active Media perspective.  Due to its roots in behaviorism, the methodologies employed in research for this perspective are more traditional psychological approaches, such as experimental studies and cross-section correlation, with experimental studies being the most common practice.  The major assumption carried across these studies, however, is that a given medium has one particular, uniform, effect on all people exposed to it.  The main theories associated with the Active Media perspective, as given by the authors, are as follows:

-          Catharsis theory – the notion that experiencing depictions of violence in media reduces aggression by reducing internal tension.  This theory is widely dismissed at this point.

-          Cultivation theory – the hypothesis that media may lead to distorted perceptions of social reality through practices such as stereotyped depictions.

-          Social learning theory – behavior is cultivated through imitation of attractive models with attached rewards.

-          General arousal theory – a player’s arousal level and, by extension, the energy and intensity of his/her actions increase through the act of playing video games.

-          Cognitive neo-association model of aggression – Violent media breed hostility and aggression due to reinforcement of related association nodes in the brain of the subject.

-           General aggression model – violent media content increases aggressive behavior by teaching how to perform aggressive actions, influencing underlying aggressive and cognitive schematas, increasing arousal, and creating an emotional and aggressive mental state.

It is interesting to note that, in regard to the general aggression model, there is an acknowledgement of underlying aggressive and cognitive schematas pre-existent.  The logical progression of this idea is that this influence media is supposed to have only occurs with subjects who are already disturbed in some way, a notion which goes against the all-people-one-effect theory of the Active Media perspective.  The authors do not touch on this notion whatsoever.

Moving past the theories, the actual research conducted in the Active Media mold is then discussed.  The authors point out that most of this research conducted in the ten years prior to the book’s publication has been meta-analysis: an examination of the findings of earlier studies, in order to build a stronger case for the risks of video games.  A cross-section of experimental studies conducted between the years 2000 and 2002 is also offered, with an interesting set of conclusions.  These studies did find the increased aggression typical of Active Media expectations, but discovered that benefits were also possible, although the authors never mention the exact nature of those benefits.  A recent trend in Active Media towards more sophisticated statistical analysis is then brought up.  This trend has revealed a flaw in much of the earlier research: increased violence was equated with violent video games without consideration of other factors, such as parental involvement and teacher interest (or lack thereof), perceived gender differences, and so on.  Further, the inconclusiveness of meta-studies is illustrated via a cross-section of opinions by psychologists on the matter which take a wide range of stances on the subject.

The main criticisms of the Active Media perspective are then offered.  These criticisms are as follows:

-          Laboratory experiments do not simulate everyday video game use.  Therefore, important variables in the actual effect of video games on the subject are excluded.

-          Establishing correlations is not the same as establishing causation

-          Definitions of aggression are not absolute, and vary greatly from study to study.  As a result, measuring aggression is likewise variable.

-          Video games are treated as a violent/non-violent binary, without taking into account the widely varying content and styles of the medium, as would be done with any other medium.

-          Basic assumptions based on classism, conservatism towards children and youth, and the truths of positivism and behaviorism are widespread.

The authors have observed that these criticisms have increased over the ten years prior to the book’s publication.

The discussion is then shifted to the Active User perspective.  This perspective consists primarily of humanities academics and has a preference for research methods such as interviews and field observations.  This preference exists because the Active User perspective posits that players are competent and selective, rather than passive, recipients of media-based information.  Simply put, the player is the one with agency, not the game.  As a result, this perspective hesitates to correlate content with behavior changes, as context dictates how media is consumed.  The authors offer the main theories associated with the Active User perspective:

-          Reader response; Reception – readers create meaning through various ways of engaging with texts.  Taken further, texts have no meaning other than what is assigned by interpretive communities.

-          Play as meta-communication – the meaning of a given activity depends on the person or persons involved, as well as the level of involvement of each person.

-          The Children’s Perspective – children construct a frame around their play and culture which is virtually impenetrable to adults, due to a vastly different frame of reference.

The problem with this last theory, shared with many of the theories and ideas expressed in regards to this issue, is the assumption that children are the primary audience for video games.  This assumption reveals a bias on both sides towards viewing video games as toys rather than a respectable medium, whose main demographic age is actually 18-40 years old.  In fact, the authors point out that most studies from this perspective focus on how children perceive video game play, along with the notion that adults have a limited understanding of video games.  The Active User perspective, however, rarely attempts to address the perceived dangers of video games and the possible increase of aggression due to video games.  The reason for this aversion is that it is impossible to generalize the range of video games and of player contexts.  The main criticism against Active User research is that this perspective challenges the reliability and validity of Active Media research results yet does not apply the same rigorous demands on Active User research, which results in a ‘limited scope of results’ and weak documentation.  Further, the data from Active User research may be stretched in order to make generalizations.

Moving beyond the Active Media versus Active User debate, the authors discuss three additional concerns about video games.  Video game content is the first of these issues, as there are concerns over whether games offer a stereotyped, possibly discriminatory, view of the world.  The authors offer no opinion one way or the other about this topic.  Next, is the question of whether women, children, and social under-classes (due to systemic inequality) are more susceptible to potential harmful effects of video games.  This particular discussion is the epitome of the classism and conservatism, mentioned earlier as a criticism of the Active Media perspective, along with sexism and elitism.  One has to wonder why it is even mentioned as a serious issue.  Finally, the issue of addiction is mentioned and found to be problematic as definitions of video game addiction vary, as do categorized effects of said addiction.

In the final remarks for the book, the authors call for more academics to start examining the realm of video game studies.  Given the missteps, biases, and contradictions in the book, I strongly agree: more academics are needed in video game studies, so that a better overview text may be written.