April '09 BoRT: Characters with History

This post is part of Corvus Elrod's monthly cross-blog event, The Blogs of the Round Table. This month's topic is about social problems that disturb us, and how games handle them. As per request, I would rate this post "T" according to the ESRB ratings guide.

For this month's BoRT, Corvus asked us to imagine a game that would tackle a social issue that disturbs us. As usual, I will prod the boundaries of the topic guidelines and suggest something more nebulous than explicit violence or harmful sexism. Of the many disturbing social ills in existence, I am most troubled by societal tendency to embrace historical amnesia.

What has happened to our beloved video game heroes over the years? The answer depends on the frame of analysis: They have become prettier, have branched out into a various genres, and some have learned to speak. But as characters, as psychological and historical actors, they have remained stagnant. Examine some of the legends of the gaming pantheon like Mario, Link, Samus, Sonic, or Lara Croft, and one will find characters that defy history as readily as they do gravity. I would like to try to envision a game in which the characters do not live in a universe devoid of time and consequences. I yearn for a game that makes its characters, and by extension, the player, responsible for their actions.

As Jorge eloquently described, Gears of War 2 awkwardly attempts to humanize the brutish super soldiers introduced in the first game. While the success of marrying emotions to characters that generally amount to one-liner-spouting tanks is debatable, I found some of the scenes unexpectedly engaging. When Tai, a stout soldier in both mind and body, is taken prisoner by the enemy and brutally tortured, he ultimately kills himself. His suicide scene briefly exposes the psychological cost of total unrestricted combat. However, it is only a glimmer, and is quickly snuffed out after the cut scene ends.

Metal Gear Solid 4 contains similar sparks of character development and the exploration of trauma's effects. Snake's aging body conveys the passage of time and the exhausting life he was born into. The brilliant flashback sequence also hints at the mental toll his adventures have exacted. However, instead of using his flashback to explore his psyche, the game quickly brushes it off as a dream.

While short, scenes like these game me the impression that not only was I witnessing the effects of trauma, but as the player, I was complicit in them. After seeing Tai's death, I could not help but comtemplate what Marcus Fenix must see when he closes his eyes. Going back to setting of Metal Gear Solid 1 with Snake made me re-live the decades of missions I led him through. Every time I saw him groan and rub his back, I mused on the origins of that pain: did the recklessly thrown grenade on Shadow Moses or the the senseless fistfights I started on the Tanker contribute to that?

The gameplay wheel need not be re-invented in order for a game to create a character subject to history. Imagine a game where in some scenes, the player controls a character at the height of their physical and mental prowess. They could go "Rambo" at every opportunity and still survive, but they would face the consequences in the next scene, in which they would control the same character some forty years later. Is it not somewhat perverse that, in most games, fighting makes characters stronger? What if experience points were not absolutely positive?

Perhaps all the gunfire damaged their ears, and the sound would be muffled? Maybe all of the flips and physical stress has lead to chronic pain, thus severely limiting the player's movement. Post-traumatic stress disorder could come in to play: the years of battles might make the older version of the character prone to flashbacks or hallucinations similar to those in Eternal Darkness. It could that be in winning the wars of yesterday, the player paved the way for the character's journey into obscurity. Envisioning Duke Nukem, rid of any alien foes, whiling away the hours as an employee in a run down hardware store is both hilarious and melancholic.

Video games excel in reflecting the way humans often conceptualize the world: in discrete moments. While it is essential for survival, viewing events as snapshots, disconnected from a timeline of events, is both limiting and damaging over the long term. I fervently hope that Six Days in Fallujah will show us the broader ramifications of war and its effect on people, but I fear we will learn very little about how the combatants actually dealt with the process of being sent, surviving in, and coming back from conflict.

There will always be a place for characters that exist within their contextual vacuums, but this need not apply to all games. Link is known as the "Hero of Time," but I think the medium would be equally enriched by heroes that simply existed in time.

EXP Podcast #23: Gears of War Roundup

Well yippee-kay-yay, this week on the EXP Podcast we focus on big burly men with chainsaw-guns. Developed by Epic Games, the Gears of War franchise has found immense success amongst a variety of gamers. With a collection of books , a movie in the works, and an inevitable third game, Gears of War just seems to stick in our minds for some reason. Earlier this week L.B. Jeffries of Popmatters drew connections between GoW2 and the Iliad , the talented editors/contributors of Critical Distance chatted about GoW2 and ludonarrative dissonance (which Scott and I discuss briefly on this podcast), and I wrote my own Sensationalist piece on the game Monday.

Scott and I finished both games in the series on cooperative mode, much like Resident Evil 5. Though not as controversial as RE5, we still plumb the subterranean depths of Gears of War and find some "sweet" analysis of the coop experience, over-the-top storytelling, and how to make giant worms even more epic. Please share your own thoughts in the comments section, we love to hear them.

Some discussion starters:
- Do you think the Gears of War franchise is representative of triple-A games at large? Has Gears become cliche?
- Do you think Epic is wasting their time incorporating a serious story on top of the tone set by gameplay?
- Somewhat referring to last week's podcast, would you show a videogame outsider Gears of War to draw them into the medium?

To listen to the podcast:
- Subscribe to the EXP Podcast via iTunes here. Additionally, here is the stand-alone feed.
- Listen to the podcast in your browser by left-clicking the title. Or, right-click and select "save as link" to download the show in MP3 format.
- Subscribe to this podcast and EXP's written content with the RSS link on the right.

Show Notes:

- Run time: 34 min 40sec
- Music by Brad Sucks

The Sensationalist: Loss, Value and Gears of War

This post is part of "The Sensationalist," a continuing series here at Experience Points in which we examine games' abilities to evoke emotions and sensations in video game players. Please have a look at the series' introduction as well its previous entries. As always, we welcome your thoughts on all the matters we discuss, and look forward to analyzing one of gaming's most powerful, yet intangible, abilities.

Most Sensationalist posts will likely revolve around how games succeed in evoking emotions and sensations, but there are times when a game's failures provide just as much insight into the creation of emotion. The Gears of War franchise, particular the most recent sequel, is such a case of interesting failure. Developed by Epic Games, and the oddly-notorious-for-a-developer Cliff Bleszinski, Gears of War undoubtedly focuses on immense action and explosive entertainment. Yet atop this tale of gargantuan soldiers exuding masculinity, Epic attempts to tell a story of loss.

The sadness that accompanies loss is not alien to us by any means. Most everyone has lost a loved one, be they family or pet, so it is relatively east to feel empathy for those coping with the death of someone close. It could be said playing off such emotions is an easy method to captivate an audience, a sucker punch to the heart. Yet Gears fails to elicit an emotional response despite having an easy target, largely due to crippling thematic incompatibilities.

There are plenty of unfortunate deaths in the Gears franchise. Marcus Fenix, the game's lead, sees first hand the death of a superior officer, a fellow soldier of comparable girth, two of four Carmine brothers (rookies), a compatriot's wife, and various soldiers, civilians, and enemy combatants. There are plenty of reasons this rough member of the Cog Army could get misty-eyed, but he never does.
Yet surely we can feel for our protagonist, even if he shows no outward sign of emotion. There is no reason we cannot empathize with a soldier who has traveled through the depths of an enemies subterranean home and lost friends along the way. Soldiers stolid in the face of suffering could even enhance the story as we embrace the emotion they do not have the luxury to feel. Even the most impassive individuals can be the face of tragedy, as long as we are shown through other means (cut scenes of a normal world, playable flashbacks, etc.) the importance of what we've lost. However, even visually, only the destruction is beautiful.

It is impossible to feel a sense of loss when nothing in the world but violence holds value. Marcus does not interact with loss in any significant way. His compatriot's suicide earns a "Nooo " and some disapproving head shakes, but the mission quickly resumes as if it never happened. This same cold focus on the mission at hand occurs after every scene of loss, which itself acts as a transition between calculation and sports camaraderie taunts like "Sup bitches" and "Eat boot," which all delta squad members seem to enjoy.

The most emotional scene in Gears occurs when Dom, searching for his lost wife through both games, finds her emaciated and zombie-like, and puts her out of her misery. I actually find the scene in question more powerful out of context. The story is potentially effective because we are so familiar with this cliche yet mournful tragedy, but the opportunity is wasted. Marcus and Dom spare two sentences of vague remorse and head full speed into battle.

Maria, Dom's wife, is just one of many valueless objects in the Gears universe. What makes makes Maria so appealing, other than she appears to be the last civilian female on the planet? What memories does Dom hold so dear that he would risk the fate of the world on finding her? Our protagonists show little affection for anything but violence and "hot food." We are never shown what makes this planet worth saving, so there can be no sense of loss.

I find it hard to critique the game for trying to evoke emotion and in a pre-established universe that makes such an effort impossible. The lesson may be that the combination of epic adventure and jovial stylized violence may be incompatible with evoking mournful sensations. Had Marcus shown concern for the safety of civilians, or interacted with his own emotions and the emotions of others more sincerely, the ravished world could stand in contrast to a valuable world rich in meaning, but this may have sullied the experience. Instead, a rallying speech from Chairman Prescott explains why violence is the only thing of value in Gears: "War is all we know."

Review: Zephyrs and Zeitgeists in Lost Winds

In this brave new world of downloadable console games, it is easy for an old curmudgeon like Yours Truly to worry about the fate of traditional platformers. Can good 'ol fashioned 2D sidescrollers exist in a world whose newest medium brings us everything from artistic experimentation to the patently absurd? Fortunately, Lost Winds, created by Fronteir Developments and released on WiiWare, assuages any fears related to platformers' fates in this climate of blooming DLC. More importantly, it embraces the latest format and technology to enhance the old 2D formula to provide a fresh take on gameplay with deep roots.

Lost Winds makes excellent use of the Wii's unique control style in terms of both story and gameplay. The plot itself is one that sounds familiar enough: a young boy, Toku, happens upon a benevolent wind-spirit, Enril, and the two join forces in order to prevent an evil deity from grabbing power. Things get a bit more complicated in the execution of this mission: using the Nunchuk to control Toku and the Wiimote to control Enril, the player traverses landscapes, solves puzzles, and fights baddies in hopes of saving the fair land of Mystralis.

In Lost Winds, the player advances the plot by utilizing the Toku and Enril's divided skill sets. Because of this, both the gameplay and the story contain novel takes on traditional video game mainstays. Unlike so many other platform heroes, Toku lacks the power to jump twice his height, and he is unable to conjure fireballs, or wield a mace to thwart opponents. Running, gathering items, and short hops are the order of the day.

Super-human feats are supplied by Enril and controlled by a variety of subtle, yet distinct Wiimote motions. Fast, straight lines elicit gusts used to help Toku jump over chasms. More complex aerial routes are achieved by tracing flight paths for Toku to glide on with his Super Mario World-inspired cape. Although the infamous "Wii waggle" is present, it is used strategically to create a small cyclone that cushions the fall from a high ledge. Enril and Toku work in unison when solving puzzles that require the use of environmental objects like torches and boulders. Whether it is trouncing baddies or scaling the village rooftops, the game teaches the player to use both characters, and both control inputs in unison.

This complementary dynamic is elegantly linked with the game's narrative. Toku and Enril rely on one another within the narrative to complete their quest, and the player must learn to integrate their divided skill sets during the gameplay. Initially, not having a "jump" button was disconcerting in both a narrative and gameplay sense: thoughts of "I wish I had a jump button!" were followed by "Why can't this guy jump?" Thankfully, the omission morphed from an annoyance to a pleasure: it forced me to experiment with the wind, thereby letting me discover the nuance in the controls while also inspiring deeper thought about the game's characters.

Even when not performing an attack or aerial technique, subtle touches remind the player that he exists as a companion as well as a reticule. Every time a character addresses Enril, it differentiates his function from the legions of other Wii games with WiiMote cursors. Enril's movement continuously impacts the environment: if the player moves the cursor past a character, a gentle breeze ruffles their clothes, leaves rustle asEnril glides past them, and health items are yielded by whisking through the grass.

All this is presented graphically in a modest, yet pleasant storybook motif. Pastel hues and backgrounds resembling water-color paintings are favored over highly detailed textures and realism. Rather than animated cut scenes, stylized tableaux paintings are used for expository purposes. The artwork in these scenes is a cross between concept art and mock-archaeological glyphs that give the world of Mystralis a textured feel.



These visuals supply much needed breaks in between some challenging gameplay segments. Lost Winds, despite the impish look of its characters and its existence on a "casual gamer" console, is no pushover in terms of challenge. Controlling the wind to manipulate objects takes patience and precise movements and the puzzles require surprising amounts of physical and mental dexterity to perform. Many times I had to reach solid ground and stop for a moment to size up my surroundings in hopes of finding a solution to a puzzle, or to prepare for a particularly difficult series of wind-assisted jumps.

As many of you know by now, I am somewhat of a masochist when it comes to video games. These difficulties did not bother me, but I can easily see how some might be turned some of the game's more unforgiving elements. In many ways, the game is perfect for someone that likes their games to push back: optional collectibles add depth to the action and the puzzles, the lack of a map means those that learn the world will have an easier time finding their goals, and the various wind-related gymnastics and attacks take time to master.

Lost Winds takes advantage of the possibilities the Wii presents and marries them to long-held gaming concepts to create something charmingly innovative. The game's delicate gameplay and narrative touches impress without drawing attention away from the experience as a whole. Like many downloadable games, Lost Winds can be completed in a relatively short amount of time. A sequel has been confirmed, and I will be interested to see what direction the series goes. I could see the game becoming episodic, with each installment focusing on a different gameplay style; perhaps one segment would be a series of Braid-like puzzles while another a gauntlet of Shadow of the Colossus-inspired boss battles?

Lost Winds strikes a perfect balance for someone who can be circumspect in their gaming tastes. Although these are the winds of change, they carry with them an air of familiarity.

EXP Podcast #22: Games for the Uninitiated

If you read this site, you are probably one of two kinds of people:

1. The kind that loves video games or...
2. The kind that is subjected to rants about why we love video games (i.e. non-gamer friends and family).

This week, we were inspired by Owen Good's article about explaining the allure of video games to non-gamers. We use his discussion of trying to decide which games to demonstrate for his grandfather as starting point to discuss the tricky business of sharing our favorite games to people that probably have never heard of them. It is a situation in which many of us have found ourselves, so please feel free to share your stories in the comments!

Some discussion starters:

- Have you ever tried to explain or demonstrate your gaming interests to a non-gamer? How successful were you?
- What is the most effective way to draw someone in to gaming? Finding a game that ties in with their interests? Showing them something completely new? Demonstrating graphical realism? Showing them inventive story-telling?
- Which games would you show to a non-gamer and why? What would you want to communicate to them?

To listen to the podcast:
- Subscribe to the EXP Podcast via iTunes here. Additionally, here is the stand-alone feed.
- Listen to the podcast in your browser by left-clicking the title. Or, right-click and select "save as link" to download the show in MP3 format.
- Subscribe to this podcast and EXP's written content with the RSS link on the right.

Show Notes:

- Run time: 30 min 20 sec
- Owen Good's Article, via Kotaku: "What Would You Show to Someone Who's Never Seen a Game"
- Music provided by Brad Sucks

The Videogame Generation Gap

Had she affections and warm youthful blood,
She would be as swift in motion as a ball;
My words would bandy her to my sweet love,
And his to me:
But old folks, many feign as they were dead;
Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
(Act II, Scene 7, Romeo & Juliet)

My tastes have changed since I was younger (I prefer mojitos more than Kool-Aid on a hot day for example), but I like to think my videogame preferences have generally been consistent. Sure I like a broader taste of games now, but I also have better access to games, and thus a broader selection of interesting titles to choose from. Yet for some reason, it seems the older I get the more I feel it necessary to attribute my personal tastes, or complaints, to the generation gap. Donning a "kids these days" mentality to brush off increasingly popular, or unpopular, videogame trends as anomalies is unhealthy for game development and criticism.

I write this not because a particular piece of journalism or podcast sinned in some way, but because I've noticed the frequent appearance of phrases like "maybe I'm just getting old but" or "I am to old for." I too am guilty of relying on this platitude when I'd rather not elaborate my opinion. But these sayings fall into a trap. They deny any significance to what actually explains differing beliefs and values between gamers.

There is undeniably a popular notion in American culture that the generation gap exists and that it is natural. Parents will never understand their children, the old will never be able to handle youth culture, etc. Though children will always find their voice independent of their parents, the generation gap, if it exists, is not nearly as influential as we might think. There are, in fact, plenty of healthy parent-child relationships far into adulthood. The generation gap exemplified by youths' rebellious spirit is exacerbated by marketing tactics exploiting our cultural fetish with youth and a false need to define ourselves by what we buy.
The videogame generation gap may not stem from the same source, but its symptoms are similar. There is a sense that as gamers mature, their tastes mature, they become less patient, and they find it more difficult to internalize new videogame challenges. If the future is as predicted, I may enter my old age replaying Bioshock over and over again because I can't handle those "damnfangled" VR machines.

While I will certainly become senile myself, there is little evidence to suggest adults can't handle new technology. The number of Wii players over fifty and of older adults who have grown comfortable in the Internet savvy world, is a testament to our technical adaptability. There are already sites designed for "old" gamers. Rather than shrug off those who do have a hard time picking up new games as too old, we should reexamine how game educate new players, which is by no means a new concern.

The same can be said for maturing tastes and waning patience of aging gamers. There are plenty of gamers well into adulthood who will excitedly purchase the next Peggle or Onechanbara: Bikini Samurai Squad. Likewise, my desire for games that allow me to save whenever I like is not the result of my growing laziness, but of a shrinking amount of leisure time.
This need not be attributed to a generation gap, despite an obvious correlation. The same goes for difficulty. I do not have time to crash against a wall of failure again and again, but if I lost my job I would suddenly have the time to waste on trivial pursuits. However, I could also just be the type of gamer who enjoys exploration over skill tests and severe punishment, irrespective of age.

I am not one to point to the past as an ideal, but I can understand the concern self-proclaimed "old school gamers" have for the future of videogames. Perhaps some of the fervor to innovate endlessly, to find the next niche game carved out by young developers, has to do with a paranoia we have of growing old and stale, of becoming lost to the videogame generation gap. In doing so, we may miss important lessons from games we played years ago.

That is not to say old and troubling paradigms don't exist in the videogame industry. Even Will Wright, approaching his fifties, understands the importance of new industry trends. But such focus should retain a critical eye towards the history of games we've already established. This includes fields outside of the videogame industry. There is a lot to learn from theater, literature, web 2.0 interface design, and even modern dance. Incorporating the a broad array of cross-generational experiences, is the best way to ensure I'll be playing games well into eighties.

Aristotelian Gaming

A while back, I put out a call to Twitter asking for tips on important works in artistic criticism. As a student of history, my strongest inclination when studying something is to examine the events that preceded it. In hopes of understanding fruitful ways to critique games, I find it helpful to examine the structures of discourse from other mediums. This way, it is possible to borrow what is useful, learn from what has failed, and discard what is superfluous. In many ways, the critical space of video game analysis feels like a wild frontier, and this post is my first effort in obtaining a map of this strange new place.

I am trying to walk that thin line between self-important intellectualism and practical analysis, so bear with me if things get messy. Critical works from other mediums will never yield perfect matches, but that does not negate the lessons learned. To this end, I will dive in head first: What can Aristotle's Poetics teach us about games?

This was the first time I had read Poetics¹, and I was astounded at how applicable Aristotle's thinking is to even the newest of mediums. While not all of his rhetoric is as spry as it once was, there is a reason why his work remains relevant.

While one could dedicate their lives to understanding and dissecting Aristotle's Poetics (many have), for the purpose of this post I will focus on two major concepts Aristotle discusses and describe how they can help us understand and analyze video games.

Imitation and Learning

Aristotle argues that the existence and enjoyment of poetry arises "from two causes, each of them lying deep in our nature" (15). One, "the instinct for harmony and rhythm" seems more applicable to poetry than video games, although the influence of harmony and rhythm should not be underestimated. One could argue for the existence of metre and verse in games as well, but that is a discussion for another post.

Aristotle's other explanation for the existence of poetry speaks not only to why people enjoy video games, but more importantly, why the medium itself is intrinsically valuable. Aristotle holds that the basis of poetry is imitation; imitation of people, nature, emotions, of existence in general.

Because "imitation is implanted in man from childhood," (15) "everyone feels a natural pleasure n things imitated. There is evidence of this in the effect produced by works of art. Objects which in themselves we view with pain, we delight to contemplate when reproduced with absolute fidelity: such as the forms of the most ignoble beasts and of dead bodies" (15). Like poetry, video games delight us by presenting representations of the mundane and the fantastic, challenging us to understand the representations. Something as pedestrian as a bale of hay delights us when it appears in a game like Flower. While it would normally be terrifying to see a killer worm the size of city, Gears of War 2 makes it a treat.

Aristotle, reasons that the pleasure derived from imitation is actually produced by the learning process that occurs during the consumption of poetry. After all, "to learn is a lively pleasure, not only to philosophers but to men in general...Thus the reason why men enjoy seeing a likeness is, that in contemplating it they are engaged in learning,--they reason and infer what each object is: 'this,' they say, 'is the man.' For if you happen not to have seen the original, the pleasure will be due not to the imitation as such, but to the execution, the colouring, or some such other cause" (15).

Here, Aristotle may be used to elegantly argue for the merit and importance of games as an art: as they are imitative, they inspire players to think critically about what is being represented. Whether it is a physical entity, like a city in Grand Theft Auto, or something thematic like the sense of loneliness in Ico, the material being imitated must be given meaning by the person playing.

Playing a game utilizes the same skills that, according to Aristotle, make poetry and plays high art. The audience and the player are rewarded by learning to understand both the imagery and the rules governing the art's composition.

The Plot of a Game

In discussing tragedy, Aristotle asserts the Plot as the "first principle" (27) of a great work, to which all other aspects (setting, characters, props) are subordinate. He argues that plot of a truly great tragedy must be "so constructed that, even without the aid of the eye, any one who is told told the incidents will thrill with horror and pity at the turn of events" (45).

While not the definitive way to evaluate a game, an Aristotelian hierarchy can help identify which pieces of a game are most important. This line of thinking can be modified to examine a game's structure. In the case of games, Aristotle's basic reasoning may be used if the primacy is shifted off of the plot and on to the gameplay.

At its most basic level, a game can be called a set of rules with which a player interacts with. The combination and execution of said rules make up gameplay. While a game may have an explicit narrative, detailed graphics, and vivid characters, it is the gameplay that distinguishes it from a film or book.

Aristotle challenges us to strip a tragedy of it of its characters, setting, and props and see how well the plot stands on its own. In this way, we can measure the greatness of a work. A similar mode of analysis may be applied to video games in terms of the gameplay. For games, the Aristotelian "plot" is actually the gameplay: Pong and can be dressed up in many ways, but their essence, that is to say their basic rules, make them great.



A Useful, Imperfect Analogy

Not all of Aristotle's philosophy fits snugly with game criticism. The world is in many ways a vastly different place: plays no longer last the whole day, modern psychology has complicated Aristotle's inflexible hierarchy of beauty, and technology has opened possibilities classical philosophers could only dream about.

Much of Aristotle's writing has been lost to the ages, and some of its meaning has been obscured by time. Notice I did not attempt to address one of the most controversial topics in Poetics: catharsis. Perhaps the idea of building up an emotion and then purging it applies to games as well? The terror of fighting a zombie hoard or the sorrow losing Aeris are satisfying on an emotional level. However, Aristotle's own ideas on this concept are vague, and I am hesitant to build my already flimsy house on such ancient, shifting sand.

What is clear is that the rubric of high art according to one of the giants of European thinking can be used to evaluate video games in spite of their relative youth as a genre. Aristotle gives the plot of a story precedence over all other elements. In the case of games, the "plot" represents the gameplay, as rules are its basic structure. Within every great game is excellent gameplay capable of standing alone after the baubles of technology and characters are removed.

Most importantly, Aristotle provides an elegant way of defining the allure and the redeeming value of art: in imitating life, it stokes the thirst for knowledge. If we were to ask Aristotle whether games, like poetry and theater, can be art, he might ask us whether they invite interpretive reasoning in their audience. Do they make us think?

We would say yes, and he would say that we have our answer.


1. In this post, citations refer to page numbers in, Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art, With a Critical Text and a Translation of The Poetics by S.H. Butcher. London: Macmillan and Co., 1895.