EXP Podcast #219: Violence, Art, and Representative Games

This podcast started with a single question I posed to Jorge: "If someone who has never played games came to you and asked you to show them what video games are all about, what would you show them?" It's a big question, one that may well be impossible to fully tackle, but it's something that has come up in the wake of BioShock Infinite and the discussion surrounding its violent imagery. Does the game undercut the impact of some of its themes with unnecessarily explicit or abundant scenes of violence? Is it a problem that one of the premiere examples of artistic and narrative achievement in the medium falls back on the familiar run-and-gun scenario? A growing number of folks are saying "yes" to these questions. This week, we talk about what types of games encapsulate the medium, and how we introduce them to the uninitiated.

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Show notes:

- Runtime: 35 min 19 sec
- "BioShock Infinite Is Insanely, Ridiculously Violent. It's A Real Shame," by Kirk Hamilton, via
- "Opinion: Violence limits BioShock Infinite's audience — my wife included," by Chris Plante, via Polygon
- Music by: Brad Sucks

Interacting With Virtual Guns

Image from PopMatters

This week at PopMatters I write about a topic I know almost nothing about: guns.

Over the last week or so, I've experienced a mini Dunning-Krueger phenomenon when it comes to virtual firearms. At the risk of getting overly "meta," it's not that I was simply ignorant, it's that I didn't know what I didn't know.

Things started to come into focus as I played Far Cry 3 and Receiver concurrently. Both games are about shooting things with guns, but they are extremely different in their approaches. Far Cry puts a premium on visual fidelity and sound quality, but all of its exotic weapons function in the same basic way: there's a button to look down the sights, a button to shoot, and a button to reload. All these actions can be performed independently from each other at any time and require very little practice to execute properly. Receiver goes in the opposite direction by simulating the multistep process that is wielding a gun. Your gun doesn't just bob at the center of your field of view; it must be leveled and aimed. Reloading and arming your weapon is a manual process of switching out magazines and chambering rounds, a process that's easy to screw up if you skip steps or do them out of order. It's a painful learning curve, but a great demonstration of how the mechanical process of shooting has been simplified to an extreme level of abstraction, even in games that aspire to a high level of realism.

The second part of the column focuses on the larger social forces around video game guns. Simon Parkin's excellent Eurogamer piece on how gun manufacturers license their products to game companies made perfect sense after I read it: why wouldn't gun makers capitalize on the chance to make some money while also getting a great advertising opportunity? The embarrassing thing is that I simply hadn't given the topic that much thought until this point. Everything from soda to cars gets licensed for games, so why wouldn't guns? Everyone draws their own moral lives in different places, but I don't think I'm alone in feeling uncomfortable that I've been funding assault rifle companies with my gaming dollars.

So what is the point of all this? I'm not the biggest fan of exploratory pieces that offer little in the way of resolution. But if I'm being honest, I have to admit that I'm not sure what the next step should be. I'll definitely be more aware of how abstracted the shooting is in most games, even if they look realistic. Maybe some trips to the shooting range to get a better understanding of how guns realistically work are in order? As for the relationship between arms manufacturers and publishers, I'm not quite ready to write off all military shooters, but I'll be more careful about the ones I recommend and fund.

As a side note, Simon's article is exactly the kind of writing about games we need: the kind that makes established players in the industry uncomfortable. Publishers want people to post recycled press releases, rumors about new games, and even controversial or tasteless ad campaigns. It's all part of the marketing plan as it gets people talking. It's the stuff they don't want to talk about, the stuff that gets hidden (like their deals with gun makers), and the stuff in need of some sunlight and serious consideration.

Missing in Action, part 3: Anonymity in Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

This is the third post in a three part series dedicated to analyzing Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. Feel free to read the first part, Civilians in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, and the second part, "Seeing the Elephant" in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare.

Beware of spoilers in this post.

The question about whether games can and should have overarching messages is a contentious one. Video games, perhaps more so than any other medium, foster an environment in which both the author and audience are highly active participants in creating the meaning behind the final product. Even in the case of highly scripted games like CoD 4, individual player choices and experiences have the potential to elicit a myriad of interpretations regarding the work's themes.

My experience with CoD 4 was affected just as strongly by what was present in the game than by what was not present. Over the past two posts, I have argued that CoD 4's thematic strength comes from its omissions. The game's lack of a civilian presence highlights the ways in which non-combatants are transformed from people into abstract justifications for war. Also absent is combat's aftermath and wider ramifications: CoD 4's dramatic, chaotic battle scenes may give us a glimpse of "the elephant," but this view comes at the expense of a wider exploration of the beast's true destructive nature.

In searching for the larger message of CoD 4, I was again drawn to the gaps in its construction of reality. After the initial shock of the nuclear explosion and the death of Sgt. Paul Jackson, I began to see the broader lesson of the character's death. While spectacular from the player's view, Sgt. Jackson's death fades into obscurity against the backdrop of the larger conflict, thereby highlighting the anonymity imposed on those touched by war.

Jackson's death is jarring in terms of its suddenness and its aftermath. It is surprising enough to witness the failure of the "good guys," but even more unexpected is the sudden erasure of a character the player had grown to know. Not only is the player's relationship with the character terminated, the character's identity is stripped down to the barest details.

While the spectacle of the nuclear blast was impressive, the most shocking part of the event was how quickly Jackson faded into obscurity after his death. The early portion of the game was spent following (and controlling) Jackson and his comrades. After the blast, Jackson becomes a single name on a huge casualty list and simply fades into history.

The casualty list has no room to mention the many dangerous missions he took, nor does it state that he died trying to save a fallen soldier. In fact, unlike the Sgt. Jackson in the video below, my Sgt. Jackson immediately turned around after waking up from the blast, crawled over to one of the other soldiers in the helicopter, and tried in vain to rescue them. Only after seeing they were dead did he/I exit the chopper and begin searching for other survivors.

Regardless of the particulars of his or the player's story, Jackson is distilled into three sterile letters: "KIA."

Perhaps shamefully, I knew more about Sgt. Jackson's exploits than most of the actual soldiers who die in today's real wars. Some get their names read on the nightly news, but it is exceedingly rare to learn about the context behind their death or the life behind the name. How many names on the Vietnam Memorial are those of people who died as anonymous heroes?

Those fortunate enough to escape death, fall victim to a similar kind of societal amnesia. In the Iraq war, some soldiers were whisked from the front only to find themselves dropped into the battle of Walter Reed, a fight in which reinforcements are sorely wanting. Although some people avoid incurring physical scars, it is hard to make it out completely unscathed.

CoD 4's ethos is a slippery one: sometimes over the top, other times poignant, the game seems to take pleasure in sampling a variety of sometimes contradictory, sometimes hypocritical philosophies. Every time the player fails, they are greeted by a quote about war. Some of these lament war's existence, others partake in militaristic pride, while several engage in gallows humor. Taken as a collection, they serve to illustrate war's existence as a set of conflicting notions mashed together to create a single ugly entity.

CoD 4 shows us how the separate pieces of this creation can become lost after they are combined. Although CoD 4 highlights the characters' and the player's specific contributions during the story's pivotal plot points, the game is ultimately about the subsumption of the individual. Civilians and soldiers alike become abstract entities, the grisly realities of battle are abandoned in search of the next fight, and heroes become marks on a casualty list.

In their absence however, these details become conspicuous. Simply because Call of Duty 4 leaves certain things out does not render it useless for understanding war's cultural importance. Things that start out as missing in action instead become points of learning and reflection.

Missing in Action, part 2: "Seeing the Elephant" in Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

This is the second post in a three part series dedicated to analyzing Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare. The first part, "Civilians in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare," can be found here.

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare contains very little about the characters that inhabit the game's world. The story revolves around a group of Bad Guys who like to do Bad Things and a group of Good Guys who like to do Good Things. Little time is devoted to developing the characters controlled by the player: Other than giving them stereotypically fitting accents, the player knows nothing about the soldiers they control or the enemies they kill.

While this omission may hurt the game in a narrative sense, what remains is a useful tool for examining the specific phenomenon of combat. During the American Civil War, soldiers would refer to joining the army and going into battle as "seeing the elephant." While the origins of this phrase are unclear, the meaning is both fitting and poetic: to the western world, the elephant is a beast that is simultaneously fascinating, exotic, and terrifying. CoD 4's strength lies in allowing players to "see the elephant."

The game's highly polished visual and sound effects, in combination with its first person perspective, trap the player within the terrible din of battle. Being on the ground in the middle of a larger campaign conveys a sense of being compelled forward, as though one were caught in a living tidal wave. The sound of distant mortars creates forms a back-beat accented by the high pitched whine of bullets and the anguished screams of the fallen. The game is about marveling at the spectacle of war. It challenges the player to perform calmly under tremendously hectic circumstances.

Civil War soldiers offer accounts of their comrades similar to those we use when describing the action heroes in our games. Soldiers claimed that "no tongue, or pen can express the excitement" of battle, and routinely saw their comrades and opponents "behaving like wild men."¹. A soldier of the 47th Ohio regiment wrote: "I had no idea that I had such determination, such, stubborness or strength...I saw men perform prodigies, display the most unparalleled valor...One man Joseph Bedol of Co 'D' was surrounded & knocked down by the rebels, he came to, jumped up, killed and wounded three & knocked a fourth down with his fist."²[sic] Keeping in mind the possibility of embellishment, it is still clear that, while it may not provide a personal story, CoD 4 effectively captures horrible excitement of war.

CoD 4 walks a fine line between excitement and chaos. The game is a world comprised exclusively of pure battlefields. With no civilians, the world is morally binary one: people and objects are parsed by determining whether or not they can kill the player. As Krystian pointed out in the comments of part 1 of this series, the fog of war causes the ever-present problem of friendly fire. In a situation in which the only way to stay alive is to be fast on the trigger, accidents happen. Without any civilian presence, everyone with a gun is a potential threat, which instills a "shoot or be sorry" mindset while creating a world of extreme physical and mental violence.

This kind of life is not sustainable in the long term. Both Union and Confederate soldiers soon tired of "the glory of war" which was comprised mainly of "seeing dead men and men's limbs torn from their bodies." John McCreery , a teenager fighting on the Union side, demonstrated hard-earned wisdom when he wrote "got to see the Elephant at last and to tell you the honest truth I dont care about seeing him very often any more, for if there was eny fun in such work I couldent see it...It is not the thing it is braged up to be."³[sic]

As I bounced from war zone to war zone in CoD 4, McCreery's thoughts became increasingly understandable. What started as a blustering romp became an exercise in self preservation. Whether I hung back and let my comrades clear a room or charged in guns blazing, my intent was the same: stay alive and kill anyone wearing a different uniform. During the moment, idealism and rationality faded away and were replaced by cold practicality. This mindset was epitomized during the game's signature AC-130 gunship scene. While initially novel, the action soon became a function of callous destruction. Glory is retroactively ascribed to battles; during the fight, there is no time nor room for such sentiment.

CoD 4 might lack compelling, character-driven narrative. The game's overall message about war is unclear, and perhaps even nonexistent (although next week, I will argue that the game carries a very specific message). What is present is the spectacle of total battlefield and the sense of immediacy fostered by being a part of that spectacle. Call of Duty 4 shows us the ways in which battle destroys the larger context of war, and offers us a peek at the elephant.



1. James M. McPherson, For Cause and Comrades, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 40
2. McPherson., 40
3. McPherson, 33

Missing in Action, part 1: Civilians in Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare

This is the first of a three part series dedicated to analyzing Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare is an exceedingly entertaining game, which makes it a bit problematic for folks who like to think of video games as meaningful art. At first blush, the game seems vacuous: while playing, I was never inspired to ruminate on any philosophies, I never made any particularly heavy ethical decisions, and the plot had all the nuance of an episode of 24.

The game's outstanding production values can give off the sense that the game is "war porn." Players are quickly funneled through the game, jumping from one explosion to the next, very rarely reflecting on the human toll or existential meaning behind the battles they fight. Despite a large cast of characters, the game seems to lack humanity.

Duncan Fyfe gives aptly describes the morally unambiguous world of CoD 4:

"There is never any question about who's hostile and who's not; everyone is, and they'll confirm it by firing first. The rules of engagement, in part, exist to prevent unnecessary civilian casualties. In these games, the civilians are never there to begin with. These are entertainment wars."

Clearly, the game has blind spots, but that does not mean it has nothing to say about war. Instead of dismissing the game as mindless entertainment, we can use utilize its omissions to explore our understanding of war in both our video games and our larger world.

To revisit Duncan's point, it should be noted that although the civilians "are never there to begin with," it is implied that they are "somewhere" and that they must be helped. Their implied presence is used as a tool to justify the game's violence, and by extension, the violence of war. During the opening scene, the player's ability to act is stifled as they witness a brutal military coup. An attentive player watches while civilians are beaten and executed. Although the player is powerless to help at this point, they have been provided with the justification for action. By removing a large portion of player control, the game links the player to the theoretical civilians via a feeling of shared helplessness. When the player is finally given a gun, they are justified in using it.

As is the case with many justifications, this one's utility overrides its logic. Real civilians serve as a representation of humanity in the opening scene, but are quickly transformed into a mantra to justify combat. At one point, the player's squad learns that the enemy is massacring civilians in a nearby village. Upon arrival, there are few signs of a massacre, let alone previous habitation. In effect, the player's true mission was never to rescue civilians, but rather to kill enemies. "They're killing civilians" becomes a stand in for "They're the bad guys," which is in turn a stand in for "Shoot 'em." But how is this helping the civilians? Who are these people? How many of them have been killed? Somewhere along the line, these questions stopped mattering.

Of the many spurious reasons behind the United States' invasion of Iraq, the goal of "helping the civilians" was one of the more noble ones. However, as in CoD 4, the cry of "Saddam's killing civilians" was quickly translated into "Stop the the bad guy," which was a stand in for "Shoot 'em." Never mind trying to parse out the intricacies of military force, the aftermath of battle, or war's unintended consequences, let alone anything regarding the needs and culture of those who needed help.

The average person knows almost as much about Iraqi citizens as they do about the practically non-existent people that supposedly inhabit the world of CoD 4. None of these victims have names, families, or history; they are ultimately used as a collective entity to justify action. While it may be absurd that the player never interacts with those they are tasked to protect, is it any less absurd than the fact that no one can decide how many Iraqis have died since the invasion?

The resemblance between the confirmed death count in our real war and the confirmed death count in our video game war demonstrates that CoD 4's world may not be as detached from reality as it appears. This is in no way an apology for the game; this is claim that the game simply succeeds in mirroring the world it aspires to emulate, albeit in unintended ways. CoD 4 creates a world absent of fully-realized humans, a world in which civilians are plot devices used to advance the narrative of war.

Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare introduces us to theoretical civilians. Unfortunately, it is not the first time we have been presented with such a concept.

Consuming Warfare

Setting aside for a moment the battalions of soldiers that populate our media history, the gun wielding heroes (and occasional heroines) who weave a treacherous path through enemy infested territory, let us look at a specialized task of condensed terror and men burdened with the risk.

Hurt Locker, the latest work of Director Kathryn Bigelow, is part classic war film and part inventive thriller. Screenwriter and journalist Mark Boal penned the script, imbuing it with his experiences embedded with an American bomb unit tasked to disarm Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs), frequent killers in Iraq.

Hurt Locker was a quiet yet suspenseful success, one I thoroughly enjoyed viewing. This isn't a film review, so my hearty recommendation must suffice. Rather, one scene -- enveloped by context of course-- piqued my interest in particular. Allow me some non-spoiler background.

Specialist Owen Eldridge (Brian Geraghty) provides support for a three member team led by Staff Seargent William James (Jeremy Renner), the man who dons the bomb suit with frightening ease, regularly putting all of their lives at risk. With slightly over a month remaining in his tour of duty, Eldridge is buckling under the strain and contemplating inevitable death. In the scene in question, a Colonel reassures Eldridge, interrupting his play session of Gears of War 2.
It comes as no surprise that soldiers unwind with videogames, relieving combat stress or the invisible monotony of war. My reaction was not consternation that Bigelow was equating violent videogames to actual violence, which may or may not have been her intent, but interest in two fictional characters. Eldridge has about as much in common with Marcus Fenix and I do, yet both make up consumable warfare.

Marcus is a maverick, taking mankind's fight for survival to the enemy, frequently killing grotesque monsters face-to-face with never a civilian to muddle the mission. Marcus has no reason to hesitate. Eldridge on the other hand, is scared. His enemies are faceless, there is no queen to eradicate, only another bomb between him and his last day of duty. Each mission is less about his capabilities and more about fate. Eldridge has no power over if or when an IED will go off, and one mistake could skew luck against him. For Marcus, war is hell but at least it's simple.
During an interview with David Chen of Slashfilm, Director Kathryn Bigelow stated Hurt Locker is "looking at the price of heroism and the cost of that kind of bravado and that cost of that skill set." As she sees it, Eldridge and his team members are heroes carrying a great burden. Of course Eldridge plays Gears. Of course I do too.

So it is that Gears of War and its war game compatriots join the ranks of simplified combat films (in contrast to Hurt Locker), resting comfortably with John Wayne's The Green Berets and Pearl Harbor. This is not to critique the quality or content of these works; surely each holds a shred of reality. Rather, our consumption of palatable warfare exists across mediums. The creation of violence aside, do war games help some people rationalize and make sense of combat? Perhaps not many, but yes, absolutely. Of course there are those who want war to be simple, who want easy answers to explain away countless lives lost. Who would not seize an opportunity to cull the madness of warfare?

Even films that reveal some of the complexities of war, including Hurt Locker, simplify other aspects for the benefit of comprehension. There are times where simplicity is required, when we calm our consciousness to tell other stories too easily lost in the overwhelming ugliness of humanity at war. Some of these are painful, others beautiful. This partly explains our fascination with World War II in film and video games. It is an ostensibly understandable and just war that was, in reality, anything but simple.
There is a danger in succumbing to simplicity. There are those who believe in the fantasy of a palatable war. I believe this is less the result of media than self-imposed blinders, but I don't take this for granted. For soldiers like Eldridge, there is only the hope of temporary relief, un-dulled by hopeful catch phrases. In response to the army's "Be All You Can Be" slogan, Eldridge asks "what if all I can be is dead."

There are also times when the story of Eldridge, or the real life stories of the individuals he was based on, are what we desire. We willingly give away our agency by partaking in a non-interactive film, one that does not empower us the way Marcus empowers us. We, on occasion, want to feel powerless.

Films like Hurt Locker, which does not explicitly tackle the merits of war in Iraq, can still depict one small shred of the complexities and brutalities of war. I willingly enter Eldridge's world, one without restarts, easy answers, or visible threats.There are moments when games are too easy, the protagonists too effortlessly heroic. There are times when we want to feel trapped under the flaws of humanity for many reasons. If possible, I would like to see games give us this difficult experience.

Nathan Drake in: The Curse of Ludonarrative Dissonance!

With Uncharted: Drake's Fortune, Naughty Dog presents the player with Nathan Drake, a character designed as an alternative to super-powered space marine heroes so often found in games. In the game's "making of" featurette, the development team repeatedly mentions their commitment to fashioning an "every-man" hero.

Michael Abbott sums up Drake's appeal:

"Much of Uncharted's success can be traced to its hero, Nathan Drake - a regular guy with no special powers or skills (well, he is a pretty good climber). Nate's ordinariness helps explain the game's overarching structure. Nate is basically in it for the ride, tracking a story he does not control, figuring it out as he goes along."

Based on the voice acting and cutscenes, this is accurate. Yelling "Aw crap!" when a grenade rolls in front of your feet seems like a natural reaction. Grunting and panting while scaling a sheer cliff is something I could see myself doing. And who really makes sure their shirt is tucked in at all times? Drake's characterization suggests he could indeed be one of my drinking buddies.

However, when it comes to actively playing the game, I feel as though I am controlling a completely different character. Why? Because, when faced with an obstacle, this plucky, fun-loving, regular dude morphs into a frighteningly efficient killing machine.

Things started getting weird when the trophies came rolling in. Every so often, I'd hear a chime alerting me to my latest accomplishment, the majority of which were tied to weapon proficiency. Soon, I began to wonder just how lethal Drake was, so I collected some data:

Drake's Body Count

Trophy	Confirmed kills	Estimated kills
Brutal Slugger (kill 20 enemies with brutal combo)	20	-
Stealth Attacker (20 stealth kills)	-	5
Steel fist (melee kill after dealing bullet damage)	-	2
Run-and_Gunner	20	-
Hangman	-	5
Grenade Hangman	-	0
50 Kills: PM - 9mm	50	-
50 Kills - 92FS - 9mm	50	-
50 Kills: Micro - 9mm	10	-
20 Kills: Wes - 44	-	5
20 Kills: Desert - 5	-	3
30 Kills: MP40	30	-
50 Kills: AK-47	50	-
50 Kills: M4	50	-
30 Kills: Dragon Sniper	30	-
50 Kills: Moss - 12	-	-
50 Kills: SAS - 12	-	-
30 Kills: M79	-	20
20 Kills: Mk-NDI grenades	20	-
Totals	320 (confirmed kills)	358 (conservative total estimate)

Note that these numbers are a conservative estimate of how many enemies were slain over the course of my play-through. Although I cannot substantiate it, I would guess that the actual body count is closer to 500.

I soon realized I was controlling a character whose cutscene persona clashed with his gameplay persona. Cutscene Drake was a smooth talker who tried to bluff his way out of jams, lived to solve historical mysteries, and was not immune to accidentally bumping his head on low doorways. Gameplay Drake shed his conventional charm, instead becoming an expert marksman proficient with over a dozen firearms, a stealth assassin whose first move against an unsuspecting enemy was to kill rather than incapacitate, and a juggernaut who slaughtered his way out of predicaments. Unfortunately, this Drake was unable to kill that infamous beast we call "ludonarrative dissonance."

Naughty Dog was actually too successful in casting Drake as an every-man. The writing, acting, and directing did help me identify with the character, so much so that I felt like I was betraying their creation when actually participating in the game. Uncharted is one of the few titles in which I have given any thought to how many people I/my avatar killed in a game. Based on his personality and competance, Drake simply did not seem like the kind of guy who would (or could) pick up any random gun and use it for large-scale manslaughter.ally seem like the kind of guy who would shrug off large-scale manslaughter. While interesting, I do not think this was the developer's intent.

I am hoping that in Uncharted 2, the Drake that shows up in the gameplay will be the same Drake I got to know in the cutscenes. A shift of focus towards "action" rather than "combat" could provide big thrills by emphasizing ingenuity in the face of danger rather than blood-lust. Implementing more complex platforming or chase sequences would both show off the game's wonderfully crafted engine while also preventing Drake from becoming a sociopathic killer.

Since the game so successfully relies on cinematic techniques, why not look to the master for inspiration?

Despite its low body count, the scene conveys is full of hazardous excitement. The fighting showcased is not that of trained warriors, but that of desperate people in an extraordinary circumstances . Indy's admission, "I'm making this up as I go," also serves to remind the audience that he is not a superhero; he's just a guy trying his best to stumble through ridiculous situations.

An action/adventure approach would mesh well with the character Naughty Dog created. Gameplay that downplays gun fighting in favor of more physical and environmental challenges would better complement the Drake we meet in the cutscenes. Additionally, this approach would give the game some much-needed separation from the ubiquitous run/shoot/cover gameplay popularized by Gears of War.

As an added bonus, limiting the amount of explicit killing could clear the way for more prudent, meaningful, and hilarious violence:

Talk about an everyman: Who among us cannot sympathize with Indy's decision? I have a feeling Drake would.

EXP Podcast #21: Perpetual War Games

Last week, Konami announced Six Days in Fallujah, a game set during the tumultuous 2004 batle in Fallujah, Iraq, developed by Atomic Games. Nothing stirs up controversy like a videogame adaptation set in a current war zone (except a large scoop of gratuitous nudity). With war veterans on both side of the fence, it is not so easy to work out how videogames should address warfare and current events. Yet Scott and I try to do just that anyway! Join us while we discuss PR insults, mixing games and social messages, and limitations of fun.

At the bottom of the page, you'll find our delightful show notes. In them you'll find the Wall Street Journal's and LA Times' articles concerning Six Days in Fallujah, we encourage you to read them, particular for soldiers' opinions. Also, Chris Breckon of Shacknews had a closer look at the actual game, the product seems unsatisfying, but his thoughts on the subject are insightful. As always, we look forward to reading your thoughts in the comments section.

Some discussion starters:
- Is there a market for games about current events, particularly about controversial subjects?
- Can a game intend to make players uncomfortable yet still be fun, or does this defeat the purpose?
- Have any games you've played addressed serious and currently significant subjects?

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: 24 min 59 sec
- Wall Street Journal, Iraq, The Videogame
- Los Angeles Times, Konami announcement update
- Chris Breckon of Shacknews, Six Days in Fallujah, One Small Problem
- Oligarchy, a political game about the petroleum era.

Killing Morality: Playing Blood Meridian

This month's Round Table topic, combined with our recent discussion on violence in games, has me thinking about an alternate reality in which Cormac McCarthy's, Blood Meridian, was a video game. McCarthy's novel is one of my favorite pieces of literature. It melds poetry, philosophy, and history to create something that is both beautiful and terrifying. The book explores the nature of humanity, and the role violence plays in defining existence. I imagine it could have first been released as a game, but would people dare play it? The story's grim analysis of human nature would be a shock to players, as it is anathema to how most games handle morality and choice.

The default moral position of most games is "good." Whether it is saving the kidnapped princess, defeating the evil space empire, or recovering a long lost artifact, the protagonist of the game, along with their ultimate objective, is most often perceived as based in morality. Samus kill aliens and Mario stomps goombas, but they are excused because their actions are altruistic. In games like Fallout 3, Fable 2, and Bioshock , the player is presented with choices, but these choices tend to stick to a binary construction of morality in which definite "good" and "bad" choices exist.

In Blood Meridian, morality is killed. The story is set in the mid-nineteenth century United States and follows a gang of filibusters who indiscriminately kill everything they come in contact with. The closest thing it has to a protagonist is The Kid, a nameless young man whose single-minded focus on surviving in a harsh world sees him act as both a savior and a killer. The closest thing to an antagonist is Judge Holden (referred to throughout the story as "the judge").

The judge is not so much a man as he is an unstoppable force. Eloquent in a multitude of languages, scientifically brilliant, and a master philosopher, he represents the embodiment of human knowledge. He uses this knowledge to spread destruction wherever he goes, and when the filibusters meet him, it seems almost as if he were waiting for them, ready to take them to a place where the only law is strength, and any struggle against this philosophy of kill or be killed is futile. The judge represents history and progress as a sequence of violent acts that create a world order.

At first blush, this does not seem to be outside the realm of possibility for video game. Examples of games in which killing is the method of advancing are plentiful. However, at the end of most games, the player is recognised as winning or losing, choosing the "good" path or the "bad" path, saving the world or facing another game over screen. A game faithful to the story of Blood Meridian would contain no such things, and would be challenge the way we think about the "point" of a game.

While pontificating on the nature of humanity, the judge proclaims:

"Moral law is an invention of mankind for the disenfranchisement of the powerful in favor of the weak. Historical law subverts it at every turn. A moral view can never be proven right or wrong by any ultimate test...Decisions of life and death, of what shall be and what shall not, beggar all question of right," (McCarthy, 250).

This philosophy is borne out regularly in the book, and I think it is one that could easily be conveyed in a video game. It would take a brave developer to try this, though.

The game would have to ditch the notion of "rewards." In a world where violence is a means and an end, there is no reward beyond staying alive. The player could not rely on any help fromNPCs , fellow players, or the environment. Violence would be the primary method of conducting business. Therefore, it would have to be meaningful: Buildings would need to stay destroyed and players would have to forgo magical health packs. Every altercation could result in a possible maiming that would effectively end the player's progress. We think of this as "unfair" or "hard," but in Blood Meridian, this is just life.

Perhaps the player would control the kid and journey through this hellish world, focused on defying the judge's commandments. Or, the player could take control of the judge and travel through history, inciting violence and brutality in order to form existence itself.

The game's most sinister aspect would be found in attempting to "beat" it. I could think only three possible ways the game would end:

1. The player, as the kid, would die.

2. The player, as the kid, would embrace the judge's logic, blasting past the platitude of "might makes right" and embracing his true message: Might is existence. The kid would then become the judge, and continue playing the game indefinitely, fated to eternally destroy life in order to define it.

3. The player, as the judge, would grow tired or complacent and succumb to the judge's logic, resulting in death.

I wonder what the ESRB would rate this game? Can an "Adults Only" rating be given out based on profoundly disturbing philosophical content?

EXP Podcast #9: A Bloody Mess

Some of those smart minds over at the University of Rochester got together and published a little study for us to talk about this week. Those psychologists, tinkerers of the brain I call them, have learned gamers don't always need gore. The original article can be found in the show notes for your enjoyment. Your input on the subject is always appreciated, feel free to answer some of the questions we have for your below if you need some inspiration.

Some discussion starters:
- How often do you notice gore when playing a game?
- When is violence and gore excessive?
- Would you miss the gore if taken out of traditionally violent games?

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: 27mins 10sec
- The University of Rochester study.
- Music provided by Brad Sucks