Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted [Understanding Video Games, Chapter 8]

Narrative, the eighth chapter of Understanding Video Games, addresses the ways in which narrative and fiction are incorporated into video games, as well as the question of whether or not narrative should be incorporated into them.  In fact, the chapter begins by noting that scholars, parents, and critics commonly criticize video games for being unable to tell a story, as the perception is that there is an incompatibility between gameplay and narrative.  The authors make their stance on the subject clear early on.  Using the example of Blade Runner, they point out that the story provides context for player actions, as well as guiding future actions.  The relationship between narrative and gameplay is not that simple, however, as the story is guided by the player’s actions, just as the actions are guided by the story.

The authors state that early video games, such as Asteroids, were too abstract for plot to be a central design concern, but that all modern games use some sort of fiction framework.  Further, they point out that links to other media (film, comic books, television, etc.), allow for games to recreate scenes or aspects from these other media without feeling abstract or dissociated, for they tie into the larger narrative, their example being Star Wars Episode I Racer.  While the fiction framework and media links are good connections to make, the authors do not realize that they negate the assertion that early games were too abstract for plot.  For example, Asteroids, the game they cite specifically as having no plot, did indeed have one.  The plot for Asteroids was actually similar to that of Michael Bay’s Armageddon, in which the player’s ship is in space to break the titular asteroids down as much as possible before they struck Earth.  In fact, most Atari game manuals contained plot summaries as long as two to three pages to add context to the action.  Further, licensed games, incorporating characters and scenes from other media started early in video game history, as well, from the fan-programmed Star Trek game to The Empire Strikes Back and Superman for the Atari 2600.

Another problem with the authors’ reasoning comes up when they offer their definition of narrative games as any games in which narrative plays a heavy role.  While, on the surface, that idea seems logical, it does not delineate between narrative encoded by the game’s developers and player-instilled narratives.  Case in point: Gran Turismo does not have any narrative elements in the traditional sense, but the player may still formulate a narrative arc around his/her experiences moving up in race and circuit rankings, with attendant upgrades in cars and parts, akin to a sports-underdog film, such as Rocky or The Mighty Ducks.  The authors do attempt to address this notion with the theory that fictional cues (minimal setting, emblematic characters, etc.) prompt the player to generate a narrative-related experience, if not an explicit one, and yet this concept is not taken into account in their definition.

It is noted that fictional worlds are not the same as narratives, or even inextricably linked to each other.  A fictional world, an imaginary construct created by descriptions and imagery, may be present even in the absence of a proper narrative (not to be confused with the concept of story, but being made up of story, text, and presentation).  Fictional worlds are one of the three ways the authors offer for breaking down storytelling in video games, however; the other two categories being mechanics of the narrative and reception, or how the player experiences the story.

The chapter then delves into the use and controversy around cut-scenes.  Cut-scenes, non-interactive clips in video games are used for a litany of functions, as detailed by the authors: they introduce a central narrative tension (eg. a central conflict or context for upcoming play segments); they shape the narrative in a certain direction without limiting player action during gameplay segments; they compensate for missing game narrative, such as jumps in time/space or providing new information; they emulate and evoke cinematic styles, in order to draw links to other media experiences; and they provide gameplay-necessary information, such as establishing the layout of a level or highlighting a gameplay objective.  The problem with the use of cut-scenes is that critics deem them as indicative of game design incompetence, in that they present a passive, rather than active, experience, and that the device is a clear sign of cinema envy.  Supporters of cut-scene use argue, as Rune Klevjer does, that they are a manifestation of the author’s voice in the creation of the diagetic world, and that these scenes act as a primer for the gamic action to follow.

From this point, the discussion moves to the notion of characters and characterization in video games.  The authors offer a continuum of character types, from non-interactive background characters on one end to player-avatars on the other, pointing out that not much academic focus has been placed on video game characters.  It is also noted that there is a drive amongst game developers to create relatable, identifiable game avatars in direct opposition of literary convention, by giving the avatars minimal personality so that the player may overlay his/her personality without an attendant sense of alienation over the personality conflict.  This idea seems odd for anyone who has ever wanted, for example, to be Spider-Man or Wonder Woman as a child, but the idea is not without merit, as there may also be a conflict between ‘Spider-Man/Wonder Woman stopped the bad guys’ and ‘I stopped the bad guys’ which the interactive nature of video games may engender.

The topic of narrative structure is then raised, with an acknowledgment of the difficulty of providing a strong narrative structure without forcing linear gameplay on the player.  One solution offered to this dilemma is providing branching narratives, that is, multiple narrative paths determined by player actions, with plot bottlenecks which every player experiences.  This notion would see itself borne out in the Mass Effect games, where decisions made by the player are carried from game to game, affecting the overall shape of the narrative.  There is an issue with the authors’ discussion of narrative structure, however, in that they assert that an emotional curve is absent in video game narrative, and that this absence is filled with the emotional satisfaction of solving puzzles and progressing through increasingly difficult boss encounters.  The problem with this notion is that it treats each individual puzzle and boss encounter as its own autonomous unit, rather than looking at the aggregate of these experiences, combining them with cut-scenes, and seeing that an emotional arc is possible and, in most cases, present.

In relation to these ‘units’ of gameplay, the concept of the quest is discussed.  The authors define quests as a set of parameters in the game world that creates a challenge for the player, through a set of instructions tasking the player with accomplishing specific goals.  The authors treat quests as a form of narrative which takes the interactive nature of video games into account, as you are following a narrative line, but doing so actively rather than through cut-scenes.  What they don’t take into account is how overwhelmingly linear most in-game quest structures are, allowing little to no deviance in the ways in which the quests are completed (although, admittedly, games such as Skyrim and Dragon’s Dogma are working towards changing that).

The notion that reception theory-based analysis is a good model for examining story in video games is then introduced.  The authors’ reasoning is that reception theory offers an explanation of the interplay between narrative (not clarified, but likely non-interactive) and gameplay, which shapes the player experience in story-based games.  To this end, the authors suggest that Wolfgang Iser’s theory of the literary repertoire is instrumental in understanding how players process story and fiction in video games.  Iser’s theory, as the authors discuss it, is that any story in any medium carries markers or references to earlier or outside works, social norms, historical events, and the like.  As such, the audience (reader; viewer; player) is able to draw familiar points of context, by way of this repertoire, which allows for some familiarity given to the world of the fiction, even if he/she has no prior knowledge of the particular story itself.  Further to this, Iser’s theory also posits that the audience ‘fills in the gaps’ (missing pieces of narrative) based on information provided within the narrative itself, be it descriptions, audio/visual cues, events in a progression, and so on. 

The authors feel that this particular idea is uniquely suited to video game engagement, as the player is interacting with the story on two distinct levels.  On the one hand, the player is filling in the gaps, as she/he would with any other media, based on the present signifiers; on the other hand, the player is actively ‘filling in the gaps’ on a gameplay level, as the player is actively moving the story forward through play.  This introduction of Iser’s theories is, in my opinion, one of the strongest points of this chapter, if not the book.  This use of the theories on the part of the authors explains the dynamics of player engagement clearly while not dismissing the unique properties of the medium, despite using ideas generated for earlier forms of media.  Further, by setting up these ideas, the authors are then able to point out that narrative in games gives important clues for how gameplay is supposed to progress, as well as elevating that same gameplay above rote action repetition.  Both of these concepts are strong points built on a well-reasoned foundation.

The chapter then progresses through a history of video game literary theory, from the 1990s, where video games were taken as a facet of the emerging phenomenon of digital media, to the current day, in which video games are starting to be examined for their own merits.  Then, the chapter juxtaposes this progression with the attitudes game designers themselves have about integration of story into video games.  Andrew Rollings and Dave Morris are cited as valuing what they term ‘active storytelling’ over making the player a passive audience (by way of non-interactive cut-scenes and the like).  Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman are also cited as saying that every aspect of a game may be used for crafting a story with wider ideological issues and concerns at its core.  The authors also offer an opinion of their own, stating that Joseph Campbell’s ‘hero’s journey’ is a good way to both tell a story within the medium and to set up the gameplay progression of the player’s character, via abilities, items, and rewards.

At this point, the authors discuss the big debate in video game studies: narratology versus ludology.  It is pointed out that literary theory has been applied to any new medium as a means of springboarding the development of new, medium-specific, disciplines.  Ludology fights against this application of literary theory, arguing that games must be studied as games and cannot be understood through narrative-based theories.  Jesper Juul is cited for providing reasons why narrative and video games may be confused: the player can tell stories of a game session after the fact; games contain narrative elements, which may result in the player realizing a narrative sequence; and that video games and narratives share some structural traits.  Because of these competing attitudes, two camps have arisen: the ludologists, who feel that a narrative focus on video games ignores games’ intrinsic properties, and narratologists, who feel that the ludological approach dismisses out-of-hand the narrative properties and possibilities of games.  Tied to this debate is the discourse on interaction versus narrative.  The idea is that there is a paradox in reconciling win/loss scenarios with satisfying narrative arcs.  As I have already discussed the problem behind this consideration when talking about character arcs earlier, I will not go into it any farther here.

In their closing statements, the authors make an impassioned plea for the way in which narrative in video games should be examined.  They argue for a ‘whole world’ approach, as any video game world is more than just a diagetic representation of this or any other world.  Each facet of the game world is designed for the purpose of telling a story and encouraging interaction with both the story and the game on the part of the player. 

Gotta Catch 'em All [Understanding Video Games, Chapter 7]

Chapter 7 of Understanding Video Games, entitled Player Culture, moves the focus away from the games themselves and onto the people who play them.  This subject is an important topic of examination, for games would, as Galloway puts it, simply be inert code without the act of play. The authors, however, offer dubious conclusions, and their ideas in regard to one of their discussion points veer horribly into the offensive.

The authors do start their discussion from valid premises.  They realize that while players may organize into groups based on shared affinity for certain games and/or genres, these groupings and sub-cultures are not simply reducible to the games themselves, due to the investment and activity involved.  Further, they note that while these cultures are made up of game players, not all game players are a part of these cultures.  Already, an issue arises.  While the authors acknowledge that not all game players are part of these cultures, they do not discuss the reasoning behind this selectiveness, an indication of the direction, and problems, in their later discussion.

From this point, the discourse shifts to reasons for playing video games.  The authors provide the theories of several scholars on this point:

-          Juan Alberto Estallo – Games provide a self-esteem boost, concurrent with a symbolic value attached to the games themselves.  This boost and perceived value engenders high levels of creativity, heightened capacity for learning, and higher levels of extroversion.

-          Mihaly Csikszantmihalyi – Theory of flow, wherein a person enters a state of concentration and satisfaction when applying skills and talents to an enjoyable activity with a personally powerful goal (similar to the perceived value of Estallo’s theory).

-          Jonathan Baron – Emotions as motivator or discouragement of the play experience.

-          Sherry Turkle – Games offer a chance to experiment with different identities and experience the idea that there is no unified self.

In regard to Turkle’s theory, it is acknowledged that the potential for a dangerous identity schism is present, but she insists that this experimentation of different identities is both curative and illuminating for the player.  While I cannot argue against this stance, I do take issue with the authors’ assertion that Turkle provides “an enormous amount of empirical information” (pg. 150).  Their idea of empirical information is “stories told by participants in MUDs and role-playing games of various kinds” (p. 150).  As there is no mention of Turkle actually observing this play with identities, this is clearly not empirical evidence, but instead anecdotal evidence provided after the fact.  It is troubling that no one takes into account the inherent differences between the MUD and MMORPG communities, as treating them as similar experiences would be akin to asking an Advanced Dungeons and Dragons player to discuss the experience of playing Diablo III without ever having played the game.

The authors continue the theories of why people play video games by discussing the notions of grief play and metaculture.  Grief players take pleasure from playing for the sole purpose of ruining the experience for others, either by way of breaking the illusion of the fictional world of the game, cheating at the expense of other players, or both.  The metaculture is the community surrounding a game, maintaining forums, websites, and the like, and the authors argue that there is a level of prestige associated with certain in-game accomplishments which acts as a social motivator. 

My problem with the metacutlure line of reasoning is that the authors claim that this prestige completes an understanding of the act of play, but the entire metaculture idea seems like a result of playing and the desire to play, not a cause.  There is no reason to look for prestige amongst a group of people who share a common interest unless one shares that interest as well, even nominally.  The other problem inherent in several of these theories is that they only consider multiplayer games.  This seems to be a problem with video game studies as a whole, where academics are more interested in the social dynamics of the online space rather than the overwhelming amount of single-player games in existence.  Even the authors fall into this trap, despite their assertion of the importance of single-player games at the end of chapter 5 of the book.

Moving on from motivations for play, the discussion then turns to player culture itself.  The authors divide player culture into two categories: game communities, where relations between players are established by team play in-game (eg. strategy discussions, informal rules, extra rules, and the like); and metaculture, discussed above.  After continuing to discuss these two categories at length, the authors narrow the examination of metaculture to that of fan-created media.  In this discussion, they refer to any fan-made works (fan-fiction, fan art, walkthrough write-ups) as ‘poaching’, a way for fans to re-use content from other media in creative ways. 

While the term ‘poaching’ is technically a valid one, it does carry negative connotations.  These negative views are not held by the majority of game developers, as evidenced by examples like BioWare posting fan-created media on their official website as encouragement, or Seth Killian’s employment at Capcom as a result of his work as a fan.  An alternative term, borrowed from other media studies, would be re-mediation, as the characters and settings are transplanted from their original context and re-worked for the new piece.  Interestingly, the authors also do not comment on how the interactive nature of video games lends itself more easily to re-mediation, as players are already given a degree of agency over the characters, game world, and development of the game’s story.  Nor do they see game mods as part of this movement, but instead something which stands apart, as modders are working with the game and its tools directly.  However, machinima artists do the same, and they fall under the purview of fan-created media.

Shifting focus away from fan cultures, the authors decide to tackle the topic of gender in gaming.  It is at this point that the chapter falls apart, due to dubious research and derogatory assumptions which lead to biased conclusions.  They begin by asserting that the video game industry is ‘overwhelmingly dominated by men’ (pg. 161), and yet proceed to contradict themselves with the following statistics on female gamers (as of 2006): U.S. – 39% of all gamers are female; Western Europe - 25%; Japan – 36%, with 70% of women having what they term a ‘game machine’ at home.  These numbers, provided by the authors themselves, clearly contradict their own assertion.  Further, since the book’s publication, the rise of mobile gaming, via the iPhone and iPad, as well as the success of the Nintendo Wii, these numbers have risen even further.

Attempts to appeal to a female audience are then discussed.  The authors state that Ms. Pac-Man was an attempt to entice female gamers during the early days of gaming.  This ‘fact’ is blatantly untrue.  Ms. Pac-Man, the game, is the result of three MIT students who decided to hack the original Pac-Man’s programming.  As a result, Ms. Pac-Man, the character, was their attempt to avoid getting sued by the copyright holders by changing the avatar enough to avoid copyright infringement.  The authors continue on to say how Barbie games (which they term as girl best-sellers), Tetris, Myst, Frogger (these games termed as ‘neutral’), and music games have been traditionally successful with female gamers.  This assumption is based on marketing materials and sales numbers, rather than actual collected data about players.

The authors then move on to actual studies conducted about gender differences in video games.  They cite Kafai’s findings, based on experiments and research, that gender differences are more context dependent than innate.  Yet, in spite of these findings and methods, the idea is immediately followed up with a citation of Schott and Horrell’s study, which defines several ‘girl-centric’ characteristics looked for in video games.  Schott and Horrell do acknowledge, however, that the girls in their study showed a desire for better gender representation and less sexism in video games.  The authors do not take into account or mention the wording of the questions asked of the girls in Schott and Horrell’s study, which may have been pre-disposed to certain answers, a constant danger in any survey or experiment of this type.  Further, by all indications, neither the authors nor Schott and Horrell make the connection between the desire for better gender representation and a preference for pre-existing games with a-gendered characters as indicative of an awareness of a catering to the male gaze, even when the player-avatar is female.

The chapter then points to two main types of academic research in regard to gender in video games – in-game representation and women as game-players.  The authors make this distinction without recognizing the causal link between the two categories.  They do, however, state that representation studies are critical of the medium, finding ‘the worst kind of social prejudice and objectification of women’ (pg. 163), with a focus on stereotypical representation of bodies and behaviour, both male and female, with further discussion on the male gaze. 

The authors seem to take an oppositional stance to this view.  They cite Tracy Dietz’ 1995 study showing that the main female roles in video games are as sex symbols, prizes, or victims of male power (overwhelmingly portrayed in the damsel-in-distress role), as an example of examinations of representation.  They then dismiss most of this work by arguing that these studies do not offer any empirical evidence, and focus on games as representational media only.  That the authors suggest this notion, combined with their earlier mention of ‘overwhelming empirical evidence’ in Turkle’s study, makes it clear that they are unclear as to the nature of empirical evidence.  The roles of women in video games are easily observable, thus making it empirical evidence.  Further, the authors themselves argue for the importance of graphics and representation only two chapters earlier.

The authors also argue that the situation has changed since Dietz’s 1995 study, with more female protagonists/co-protagonists, and that both male and female protagonists are portrayed as beautiful.  This assertion makes one wonder if the authors are familiar with the concept of the male gaze.  Yes, both male and female protagonists are beautiful, they are still represented in different ways.  This representation conforms to a specific model of gender portrayal enforcing artificial binaries.

Continuing the focus on appealing to female gamers, the authors cite Brenda Laurel, and the features she outlines as being appealing to female gamers:

-          Leading characters who are everyday people, ‘as real to girls as their best friends’.

-          Goals of exploration and new experiences, with degrees of success and varying outcomes.

-          A focus on multi-sensory immersion, discovery, and strong storylines during play

-          Everyday, ‘real-life’ settings, as well as new places to explore.

-          Successes stemming from the development of friendships.

Once again, problems arise in this line of reasoning.  There is no evidence provided to support these features, at least as far as the authors mention.  This list sounds suspiciously like the ideal game is ‘playing house’, leading one to question whether the test subjects (if any; no tests are mentioned) were simply telling the researchers what they wanted to hear.

The focus then shifts from representation to the players themselves.  It is pointed out that there is an entry barrier to the hobby for girls based on scarcity of attractive game content and perception of video games as a male-dominated culture.  While this is a good point, yet again, the authors do not draw the causal link between lack of attractive content and perception of male-dominated culture.  It should also be mentioned that, throughout the discussion, the authors choose to refer to female gamers as ‘girls’ rather than ‘women’ or simply ‘female gamers’.

Another factor referred to as a barrier is the gendering of game spaces and gaming practices.  The authors contend that, as arcades are typically male-dominated spaces, and that women prefer domestic spaces for play, women are thus less likely to play certain games, such as first-person shooters.  There is so much wrong with this concept.  While, yes, arcades are typically male-dominated spaces, they have also become largely extinct and were at the time of publication.  Further, once more, the authors do not draw the causal link between avoiding male-dominated spaces and the desire for domestic play space. 

The oddest part of the assertion, however, is the logical leap from women showing aversion to arcades meaning women avoid first-person shooters.  First-person shooters are traditionally home-based experiences (either on computers or game consoles), and outside of the 1999 Midway-released FPS War, have never had a presence in arcades.  It is possible that the authors are referring to light gun games, such as House of the Dead or Buck Hunter, but for the fact that they went out of their way to differentiate between the two types of games in chapter 4.  Further, the top Quake player for years was Stevie “Killcreek” Case.  In addition to Ms. Case, as of the publication of this book, the Frag Dolls, an all-female professional gaming team, had been active and earning publicity for at least a year.

This notion of women not enjoying certain types of games because they are coded as male-dominated is carried even further by the authors.  They express surprise that female EverQuest players enjoy the game not only for the exploration and conversation aspects, but also for the combat and competition, activities the authors consider male-interest activities.  There is no consideration given to the idea that these activities are not gender-coded, but are, as Kafai points out, context-dependent.

The chapter concludes by pointing out that there are no video games without players, and that players engage with the games on multiple levels.  One can only hope that the authors consider the idea that female and male gamers are given equal importance in this idea.

Rondo of Blood [Understanding Video Games, Chapter 6]

Chapter six of Understanding Video Games, titled Video Game Culture, seeks to map the cultural position held by video games, already having laid the groundwork for a basic understanding of the phenomenon of video games in the previous chapters.  The authors state their intention of looking at the cultural relationship between video games and other media, how public perceptions towards this new medium have grown and evolved, and how games may be used for different purposes, depending on the group utilizing them.

This examination starts by pointing out that all new media has faced opposition in its infancy.  In fighting for acceptance, any new medium has had to face criticisms of being low-brow, illiterate, and market driven as forms of dismissal in the face of more classical art-forms.  That these arguments are highly classist, meant to maintain an elitism and an entry barrier, in place to suppress the lower classes, does not go unnoticed by the authors.  They cite Pierre Bourdieu, who illustrates similar points, but replaces the term ‘class’ with ‘social group’.  Bordieu’s ideas also point to a ‘culture/counter-culture’ model, where traditional ‘high’ arts are confronted with emergent ‘low’ arts in a constant struggle for legitimacy. 

This struggle has resulted in what the authors term a blurring of ‘high culture’ and ‘pop culture’ in the mid 20^th century, with trends such as pop art, cultural relativism, media studies, and cultural studies.  This movement has been an attempt to shed imperialistic attitudes academia has long held towards other cultures, be it along class lines or nationality.   Ironically, media studies has started practicing the same elitism it had railed against, as video game studies are still widely dismissed, as recognized by the authors, although the discipline has started to gain a foothold academically.  2012 was the first year the Canadian Congress of the Humanities featured a series of presentations devoted solely to video game studies, and, while the presentation space was limited, it is still a step in the right direction.  Having attended and presented at the event, I can personally speak to the exciting mix of fresh ideas and opinions presented by all involved.

Another issue the authors recognize is the conundrum of the question of video games as art.  On the one hand, this question is completely arbitrary, as a definition of art is purely subjective.  On the other hand, possible answers determine academic, political, and social acceptance, funding, presentation, and so on.  The problem is that video games are not the only medium still stuck in this quagmire, as television, comic books, and even film, to a degree, are still fighting for legitimacy.

There is an interesting phenomenon pointed out in modern society illustrated by the authors.  Despite (or, possibly due to) fewer and fewer people being able to lay claim to having never played a video game, fears about mental and physical effects of games continue to be widespread.  The most common of these fears is the representation and subsequent encouragement of violence.  This concern is not new to video games, as questions were raised about Death Race back in 1976, as mentioned in an earlier blog post.  It is pointed out that discussions about violence in video games are often framed by examples of youth violence, as it seems, solely for sensational effect. 

Mention is also made of a finding presented in the British Medical Journal about playing video games being linked to increased aggression, and that this increased aggression is clearly considered a detriment.  What is not discussed, however, is that aggression and violence are not one and the same, and that good forms of aggression (self-confidence; ability to be more outgoing; more willing to speak up/speak out) are also possibilities.  Be that as it may, the chapter then details how Mortal Kombat in 1992 and Night Trap in 1994 forced the game industry to establish the Entertainment Software Rating Board (ESRB) in North America and Pan European Games Information (PEGI) in Europe to provide ratings for all video games, much like the movie industry did in the face of criticisms of moral turpitude.

Much like the situation with the film industry, it is clear that media panic has contributed to the reaction against video games, as well as the pressure to form the ratings boards (please note: I do not think the ratings boards are a bad idea, whatsoever.  They serve to inform parents of the content their children are consuming, as more and more people play video games daily).  The authors define media panic as the public’s reaction to the form and content of new media, typically focusing on its effects on the young.  Further, that the news media regularly cites video games as influences in relation to youth violence and tragedy, despite lacking any evidence of said influence, or even that the assailants had experience with the game being vilified, is noted by the authors.  They cite Dmitri C. Williams’ discussion of video game representation in news media, as he mentions how said representation is inaccurate, filled with misrepresentations, and vilifying the games themselves.  Williams indicates that these problems reflect basic conservative fears about new media, while serving at the same time to enforce social norms about gender and age, through underrepresentation of game players who are female and/or older.

Despite these arguments, it is clear that there is still marketing within the industry which tries to sell games based on sex, violence, glory, and transgression (for example, the campaign for Dead Space 2 in 2011, centred around the idea “Your mom hates Dead Space 2”, instead of any mention of the narrative or gameplay).  The authors contend, however, that the most common approach to marketing video games is to aim for people who are already gamers and thus ‘in on the secret’.  This idea is incorrect now and was at the time of this book’s publication, as, in addition to game ads, such as the ones for Mass Effect and Uncharted: Drake’s Fortune (both of which were aired in 2006), more and more resembling movie trailers, there is also the Nintendo Wii’s marketing campaign, designed to feel more welcoming and inclusive to all.

The chapter then details the reactions to video game culture taken by different world governments:

-          U.S. – No legislation as yet, despite attempts in several states.

-          South Korea and Thailand – Government-funded game addiction centres.  Thailand has also implemented a gaming curfew, blocking certain game servers between 10 P.M. and 4 A.M.

-          China – Ban on minors from online games where player-characters may kill one another.  The country has also banned the games Hearts of Iron I and II for depicting Tibet as an independent state.

-          Greece – Ban on all electronic games, in an attempt to curb gambling problems in the country.  The ban was later narrowed to allow video games.

This look at various reactions highlights the dichotomy between considering video games as ‘kids’ stuff’ and the perceived need to legislate this new medium.  The authors actually warn against taking video games as ‘kids’ stuff’, in their discussion of idealization of play.  They contend that, as people, through nostalgia, form perceptions of what play should be, and that play is linked to childhood, these perceptions may also carry class biases via elitism, ignoring the darker, more adult elements of play in people of all ages.

The discussion then returns to video games’ relation to other media.  The authors point out that, as games have increasingly entered into the mainstream, styles from other media, such as film, television, and comic books, have been incorporated.  In this way, these older media have borrowed elements of video game presentation in return, but the exchange is far from an equal trade.  Video games, as the newer medium have taken more style elements from older media as an attempt at legitimacy by way of resemblance.  By this token, however, game mods (modifications) and game visuals are brought into the discourse as works of art, carrying distinct visual styles and experiences, as evidenced by Velvet-Strike and Pac-Manhattan.

Finally, the authors take an extended version of Huizinga’s view that (video) games inform and reflect culture.  Their examples are the satire present in the Grand Theft Auto series and the representation of history in Civilization III.  While this notion is a good idea, the authors do not take it far enough, failing to recognize inherent cultural biases in the games, such as the programmed-in racism and imperialism present in the Civilization games, which Alexander Galloway did see clearly.  The authors do cite Sutton-Smith as indicating that there are subconscious values inherent in game design, but only so far as the games act as primers for behavior, not as reflections of biases.

Mind-Blowing Next-Gen Graphics! (TM!) [Understanding Video Games, Chapter 5]

Video Game Aesthetics, the fifth chapter of Understanding Video Games, seeks to offer an understanding of the major features of video games, in order to better examine them critically.  To this end, the authors define video game aesthetics as all aspects of a game experienced by the player.  To further delineate, three categories are offered: rules (which determine what the player may or may not do, as well as win/loss/scoring scenarios); geography and representation (the world of the game and the effects of the game world on player actions); and the number of players.  An important concept for these categories is that no one of them stands alone; they all interact with one another to create a whole experience.

In discussing these elements, the category of ‘rules’ is the first, as the authors feel that a game is its rules; that is, that rules are a game’s defining characteristic.  Further, they argue that rules are transmedial (not tied to one material or another), and illustrate this idea with the notion of Star Wars Chess or real-person chess.  The scale and visual representation in both examples changes dramatically, but as the rules remain the same, so too does the game itself.  However, the authors contend, while rules define the game, it is context which defines the experience of the game.

Having established the importance of rules in their discussion of video game aesthetics, the authors proceed to offer their definition of this concept: imperatives governing the interaction of game objects and the possible outcome of this interaction.  The authors feel that while rules are, indeed, restrictions, it is these restrictions which shape the experience of play and challenge the player to succeed in the face of these limitations. 

With these concepts established, the authors then refer to a number of academics for a cross-section of different rule-type theories:

-          Gonzalo Frasca – Ludus rules (relating to win/loss conditions); paida rules (referring to game procedures

-          Jesper Juul – Game state rules (basic aspects of the game state at any given time); outcome valorization rules (defines positive versus negative outcomes); information rules (determines information relayed to the player about the game state during play)

-          Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman – Operational rules (governs processes and victory conditions); constitutive rules (the underlying formal structures which define basic dynamics); implicit rules (unwritten rules which are taken for granted)

At this point, the authors contend that Salen and Zimmerman’s rule types become less applicable as games become more complex.  To this end, the authors use the example of Halo: Combat Evolved, arguing that it is not easy or meaningful to describe Halo based on constitutive rules.  As in earlier chapters, the authors make a claim like this without offering further explanation for their thought process, making the argument fall apart.  In Halo, enemy behavior patterns, weapon power/accuracy, and interactive environmental structure are all based on underlying structures rather than operational rules, thus the authors’ contention makes little sense with their example.  The authors do offer their own rule types, as well: interplay rules (determines relationships and properties of the elements in a game) and evaluation rules (decides which occurrences are rewarded versus which are punished).  From this set of rule types, the following definition of gameplay is then arrived at: game dynamics emerging from interplay of rules and game geography.

This definition leads into a discussion of the next major element of video game aesthetics: geography and representation.  The authors highlight the difference between geography and representation by pointing out that geography is the interactive space of the game world, whereas representation adds to the experience of the game world without having a bearing on player interactions and possibilities.  The authors then make a plea for academics not to ignore graphics and graphical style choices as mere ‘window dressing’.  They feel, as I do, that graphics capabilities and properties may influence gameplay styles, as well as making new styles possible (see the transition from 2D to 3D, as will be discussed later).

Further to this argument, the authors point out that geography, representation, and gameplay are interrelated.  As evidence, Space War is put under the microscope.  There are a limited number of objects on-screen, and the screen could not scroll, but that did not necessitate the wraparound space of the playing field; the view is third-person, as opposed to first-person, giving a different, broader perspective of the playing field; the game takes place on a plane, with X and Y axes, but no Z axis, fundamentally shaping the way in which the game is played based on the space in which it is played; there is a single screen shared by two players, so screen scroll would not be possible, as it would give one player an unfair advantage over the other.  At this point, the authors point out that these design choices mirror the visual aesthetics of a board game, shaping the experience at its roots.

In order to discuss geography and, more to the point, representation, a breakdown of possible perspectives used to display the game world is necessary, and the authors do not disappoint.  Their offerings are as follows:

-          First-person – The game world and action are seen from the point of view of the game’s protagonist/avatar (the authors do not make this distinction, but the player-avatar and the narrative’s protagonist are not automatically one and the same.  See: Dungeon Keeper; Overlord).

-          Third-person – the player is able to view the object/objects under her/his control, such as an avatar character, strategy game units, city assets, etc.

-          Isometric third-person – an ostensibly 2D view, but designed to convey a feeling of 3D space via a ¾ overhead perspective.

-          Top-down third-person – a ‘Bird’s-Eye’ view of the area and characters

After providing these categories, the authors argue for the interchangeability of the first- and third-person views, but suggest that game genres tend to adhere to one or very few perspectives: real-time (RTS) and turn-based strategy games are always third-person, as are action games (the authors point to the difficulty inherent in controlling Lara Croft via first-person), shooters are always first-person, and so on. 

This idea of genres being tied to perspective is a huge assumption, which is also incorrect.  Within thirty seconds, I was able to come up with examples which countered this idea: the 1998 Battlezone reboot is an RTS controlled from a first-person perspective; Mirror’s Edge is similarly first-person, and successfully offers all of the acrobatics of Tomb Raider; the Gears of War series is a highly successful third-person shooter. 

Moving on from perspective, the next major discussion to be had regarding representation is of 2D versus 3D graphics.  Simply put, 2D graphics take place on a plane with X and Y axes, but no Z axis, as mentioned earlier, while 3D graphics have said Z axis.  This Z axis addition transforms the graphics from images on a plane to objects in space.  3D effects, however, are attainable in 2D in several ways (the aforementioned isometric view; scaling bitmaps such as the Mode 7 effects of the Super Nintendo), therefore, the authors feel it is better to categorize 3D games as those which allow movement along perceived X, Y, and Z axes.

Three approaches to game space are then offered:

-          Unconnected levels – when a level is finished, the player-avatar is immediately placed at the start of the next level (e.g. Donkey Kong; Pac-Man)

-          Zone-based Multi-Screen space – the player-avatar exits from one side of the screen and perspective jumps to show the avatar on the other side of the screen in a new environment, suggesting that the view has panned rather than that the avatar has teleported (e.g. Legend of Zelda; Metal Gear)

-          Seamless Multi-Screen space – screen scrolling gradually reveals the game space as the player-avatar moves

The authors assert that these distinctions are important because they delineate between what is immediately perceivable by the player and what must be projected and planned for. 

Following from on-screen space, two different types of off-screen space are discussed: passive, where nothing is happening off-screen until the space appears on-screen, and active, where what happens beyond the frame of the screen affects the course of the game.  The most extreme version of active on-screen space is that of the MMORPG (massively-multiplayer role-playing game), as any one player is experiencing only a tiny fraction of total game activity at any given time, and the game continues its actions during any individual player’s absence.  By this token, two forms of game exploration are laid out: forced (constraints are placed on the player, such as forced screen scroll, a stage timer, etc.) and unforced (the player is allowed to explore the game space at her/his leisure.  The idea of unforced exploration is a potentially sticky one, however, as even “unforced” and “open-world” games, such as Super Metroid and the Grand Theft Auto series restrict full access to the game world until certain gameplay requirements are fulfilled.

One aspect of video game aesthetics the authors feel is woefully under-examined, especially given its importance in the study of other media (literature; film), is time.  Game time is experienced by the player and is subject to design choices in order to shape the experience of the game.  On this note, the authors use Jesper Juul’s two categories of video game time: play time (the “real” time spent engaged in actual play), and event time (the time which passes in the game world during the course of the game).  They do acknowledge that the division only works when the distinction is clear.  For example, there is no event time in abstract puzzle games, such as Tetris, but entire generations of event time in certain RPGs, such as Dragon Quest V or Phantasy Star III.  Further, different play actions may represent different event times (e.g. action games occur in real-time; strategy games may pass months or years within minutes of game actions), thus dictating how the game is to be played. 

The final discussion in relation to visuals is graphical style.  For this discussion, the authors use Aki Jarvinen’s three classifications:

-          Photorealism – attempts to represent reality as closely as possible.  Sub-categories are televisualism (mimics the aesthetics of watching a television broadcast) and illusionism (photo-realistic graphics in service of non-realistic content).

-          Caricaturism – present the essence of a person or object by exaggerating its/her/his most prominent features, attempting resemblance to a cartoon.

-          Abstractionism – does not try to represent people or real-life objects, but is instead about pure form.

To wrap up the discussion about representation, game sound is the final topic in the category.  The authors see two major problems with attempts to discuss sound systematically: sound has received relatively little attention in audiovisual media studies; and generally speaking, people are not taught how to articulate the qualities of sound.  In order to deal with these inadequacies, four categories for understanding game sound are put forth:

-          Vocalization – voices of characters, including voiceover and off-screen elements.

-          Sound effects – sounds made by in-game objects.

-          Ambient effects – sounds which add to the atmosphere of the game world without impacting gameplay.

-          Music – the soundtrack of the game, which may be atmospheric and/or also directly diagetic.

One of the most interesting claims the authors make in regard to video game sound design is that it is not strictly realist, but instead needs to offer the feeling of realism.  The problem is that, outside of looking at the purely technological aspect (randomized sounds versus a sound loop), they do not explore the implications inherent in the idea.

The authors conclude by saying that video games are an anomaly in the wider sphere of games and play, as the majority of them only require one player.  The problem with this idea is twofold.  First, if one considers puzzles games, then there is a large contingent of single-player traditional games: jigsaw puzzles; crossword puzzles; Sudoku; anagrams; etc.  Secondly, the authors do not consider the idea of the developers who created the game with which the single player is engaged as a form of opposing player.

The Song of Time [Understanding Video Games, Chapter 4]

The fourth chapter in Understanding Video Games, entitled History, attempts to offer what the chapter’s title promises, but unfortunately, there are some large missteps along the way which call the entire chapter into question.  The authors start out with a ‘pre-history’ of video games, beginning with board games dating back to Third Dynasty Egypt (2686-2613 B.C.E).  They broadly track the emergence and evolution of board games, card games, games of chance, and sports throughout the centuries and across continents.  The discussion then becomes more focused with an examination of the progression from symbol to overt simulation in board games is presented, prominently citing Monopoly and commenting on the game’s fostering of capitalist values.  Here is the first misstep, as the authors do not consider the idea that Monopoly, through its system of destroying friends to get ahead is actually a critique of capitalist values, not an affirmation of them.

This pre-history then charts the rise of strategic table-top war-gaming in the wake of World War II.  This rise in war-gaming’s popularity is one of the phenomena the authors attribute to the rise and influence of table-top role-playing games (RPGs) in the mid-20^th century.  One of the other aspects the authors credit is the supposed introduction of fantasy literature with the 1954 publication of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.  Once again, this is a rather large assumption to make.  Even ignoring the pulp novels of the early 20^th century and the massive popularity of Victorian penny dreadful novels, many of which dealt in fantasy material, Tolkien’s own The Hobbit was first published in 1937, well before the authors’ purported ’54 introduction of fantasy literature.

The authors describe how content plays out in Dungeons and Dragons (incorrectly) and argue that older RPGs were more focused on accumulating treasure and points, rather than the focus on dialogue, character and storytelling of modern RPGs (a subjective interpretation based on certain assumptions about play style).  This description is in service to a charting of the rise of RPGs and attendant concerns about these games encouraging youth suicide, criminal behavior, violence and blasphemy.  While the authors describe this reaction, they do not take the extra step to show how video games have faced the same criticisms, despite going on to point out how video game RPGs have adopted many of the trappings, both aesthetic and system-based, of table-top RPGs.

The authors then proceed to ask the question: ‘does history matter’?  Their answer is that, while it is not necessarily required knowledge when studying the phenomena of specific game subjects (their example is how teenagers play World of Warcraft (WoW) versus how their parents played Pac-Man), history allows for an understanding of the wider significance of contemporary games, and their cultural position in contemporary society.  This affirmative answer only serves to negate their negative counter-point (WoW versus Pac-Man), because that particular comparison may be irrelevant but comparing WoW to the original Neverwinter Nights (SSI, 1991) or even to Gauntlet (Midway, 1985) is of utmost importance in studying and predicting similar trends.  Furthermore, the relevance of WoW versus Pac-Man is an incorrect assumption, as both games may be examined as phenomena of teenage social interaction, further negating their counter-argument.

The discussion then proceeds to a history of video games themselves.  The structure for this documentation of history is odd, however, in that rather than strictly offering a chronological examination, the authors offer broad trends/important milestones, and then follow up with an examination of a particular decade based on the four genres they had established in the previous chapter, as though the genres did not influence each other whatsoever.

This history starts with three possible progenitors of video games being offered: A.S. Douglas’ tic-tac-toe program for the EDSAC (Electronic Delay Storage Automatic Calculator) in 1951; William Higinbotham’s oscilloscope table tennis at Brookhaven National Lab in 1958; and Space War, developed at MIT in 1962 by Steven Russell, Wayne Wittanen, and J.M. Graetz.  Without explicitly choosing one as the genesis of video games, the authors instead choose to focus on the evolution of Space War, and how it started receiving user modifications as it was freely disseminated throughout the 1960s.  The next major note is the development of the first home video game console prototype by Ralph Baer in 1967 and his partnership with Magnavox the next year.

The first decade to get its own discussion is the 1970s, as the authors contend that this was the era which saw the rise of video games as an industry.  The main reason for this contention is the rise of Nolan Bushnell and Atari, whose revenue went from $3 million in 1973 to $20 million by the end of the decade.  This meteoric rise in revenues is attributable to the success of Pong (1974) after the initial failure of Computer Space (1970), and the release of the Atari Video Comupter System (VCS, or more commonly known as the Atari 2600).  The progression to the VCS is mapped out, from Ralph Baer’s Magnavox Odyssey (the commercial release of Baer’s ‘60s prototype) to the Channel F (the first console to feature swappable cartridge games) in 1976 to the release of the VCS.  The authors note that, aside from the transistor-based Odyssey, none of these systems would be possible without the invention of the microprocessor in 1972.

In the discussion of genres, the authors follow the evolution of action-based games in the ‘70s from the failure of Computer Space, to the success of Pong.  In this period, they see the emergence of new gameplay experiences, from the active, simple combat of Tank and Gunfight to first-person driving in Night Driver, as well as the cultural impact of Space Invaders and Asteroids.  They also note the first rumblings about violence in video games with 1976’s Death Race, in which the players compete to run over stick figures (not noting that the game is clearly inspired by 1974’s Death Race 2000).  The authors also touch on the emergence of text adventure games as an alternative to action games, noting the influence of table-top RPGs on these games.  They also discuss the emergence of MUD (Multi-User Dungeon) and the establishment of basic ideas which would evolve into contemporary Massively Multiplayer RPGs.

Once the authors start discussing the 1980s, however, problems emerge.  While they do correctly cite the ‘80s Video Game Crash as an important turning point in video game history, they incorrectly cite it as taking place in 1984, instead of 1983.  Further, they feel that the failure of E.T. for the Atari 2600 was a warning sign of the crash, rather than one of the major instigators, despite the game being such a failure that Atari in its original form never recovered from it.  The problems continue as the discussion turns to the release of the Nintendo Entertainment System’s (NES) release bringing the video game industry back from the brink of extinction.  They incorrectly cite the release of the NES as 1986, when it was released in the fall of 1985, a full year before their claim.  Additionally, they note the relationship between the military and video games, as with the U.S. Army-commissioned version of Battlezone as a training simulator, and the rise in popularity of turn-based strategy games.  They fail, however, to discuss the Cold War tensions present in those games (outside of a brief note on 1985’s Balance of Power) or the reflections of these tensions and Reagan-era America in games such as Missile Command and Contra.

The examination of the 1990s is, for the most part, better constructed and researched.  The authors discuss the shift from 2D graphics to 3D polygonal representation.  This shift is the result of more powerful hardware (Sony PlayStation; Nintendo 64) and the emergence and meteoric rise in popularity of first-person shooters, with the arrival of Wolfenstein 3D in 1992, and Doom the following year. This era also sees a sharp increase in the concerns over violence in video games as graphics and/or controls become more realistic, with the Mortal Kombat series and Carmageddon being notable examples.  Another major milestone of the 1990s is the release of Myst in 1994, as it is the first game to be taken as more than a novelty by the media.  Myst was widely reviewed in literature and media sections of newspapers and magazines, legitimizing, if not the video game industry en masse, then at the very least the point-and-click adventure genre.  The authors do make another misstep in discussing the emergence of massively-multiplayer RPGs, in that they cite Ultima Online’s 1997 release as the first majorly successful graphics-oriented MMO.  The problem is that they are six years too late, as the original Neverwinter Nights was designed for the emerging America OnLine network in 1991, and was the first successful graphics-based MMO, running until 1997 and claiming 115,000 users at its peak.

As the chapter moves into the 2000s, history gives way to contemporary examination and future speculation.  As the book was published in 2007, an examination of the decade as a whole was simply not possible.  The authors do notice a trend toward conservatism in development during the decade, however, due to inflating development budgets and the subsequent high cost of failure.  They also comment on how increased budgets have edged out smaller developers, a valid fact which has since been countered with the rise of the indie developer movement and the emergence of downloadable distribution.  Interestingly, one of the predictions made has come to bear in a way not even the authors could have foreseen.  While they forecast an increase in the popularity of mobile gaming, the iPhone and iPad gaming scenes have become so monolithic that traditional portable game systems (Nintendo’s 3DS; Sony’s PSVita) have been severely impacted.  Their other predictions are similarly accurate: that narrative will always have a place in games (five years later, narrative is more important than ever, despite an increase in importance of multiplayer); declining PC importance may dissuade developers from making PC games (not entirely accurate, but PC games certainly are taking a back seat to console development, for the most part); and the rise of indie developers through the use of online distribution (a fact which has already been mentioned).

While these predictions are accurate, the chapter as a whole faces a question of integrity due to the sheer amount of facts left out or represented incorrectly, as well as ideas which are not properly given the correct linkages.  The chapter certainly is not a complete loss, but it also is not the comprehensive overview the authors claim it to be.