With the release of "Super Mario Maker", many who may have only consumed video games now had the opportunity to take a small, but direct, part in the development of them. For those unaware, "Super Mario Maker" is a game that functions as a level editor, allowing anyone to make their own custom level from a variety of materials from Mario's side-scrolling escapades. Want to place the Bowser from "New Super Mario Brothers" at the very start of a level? You can do it. Want to make a level of nothing but flames and Bowsers? Go for it, you sadist.
It's that more sadistic aspect that I find most intriguing, though. Many of the levels created are seemingly designed to infuriate the player from the very outset. The levels are packed with gaps that require hyper-precise jumping, completely unforeseen enemies that fly into view at the most inconvenient times, a number of obstacles stacked onto each other in order to create utter chaos, hidden blocks that cause your jumps to be shorter than you intended, and many others. On the one hand, I can understand the appeal of this sort of level design. It can be a fun challenge for groups of friends for each other, or even just perfect fodder for Let's Play's by YouTubers. Hours of video have been spent on trying to complete these levels and certainly millions of views have been accrued, so we can certainly say that there is a demand for the design style.
That being said, I don't think I would necessarily consider them examples of "good" game design. They tend to be immensely convoluted with no real sense of coherency, a hodgepodge of bits and pieces that are in no way intuitive. That's not to say that I think they should all be easy, but I think there should be a level of communication between the player and the level besides "OH YES LOOK HERE YOU INFANT ALL OF THESE MOVING PARTS WILL CRUSH YOUR HOPES AND DREAMS LOL REKT." Even infamously "difficult" games like "Dark Souls" had some form of communication with the player, most often in the form of being consistent in its actions and increasing the difficulty in a way that called upon all the player had learned previously. The very first level of "Super Mario Bros." does this in a perfect way. Every single thing you do in the first level, whether it involves jumping a gap or busting a brick, you do for the rest of the game. Just by simple exploration of the controller, one can quickly learn the mechanics of the entire game, all within the span of about two minutes. Now, in no way does that mean that the game is "easy", for I'd say that it's difficulty holds up due to how coherent the levels are.
So, what we have are many people who have consumed a number of video games, and are very familiar with the language, and they are now in the driver's seat as level designer. Unfortunately, the actual complexity of designing levels that both communicate themselves well to the player and possess a real internal coherency is something that seems to be difficult for many to achieve. What could be a possible solution for this? For one, I would advise people with "Super Mario Maker" to actually go back and play the first few "Super Mario Bros." games. A great deal of attention should be paid to how each level is constructed, and even more so, how the nature of each level is communicated to the player. Care should be given to possible themes within each level. Perhaps, the levels work on a surface and subconscious level? For even more help, one should check out Polygon's YouTube playlist for "Super Mario Maker", where actual video game developers design a level, explain some of their thoughts on its design, and play it.. It's here where one can get some first-hand advice on level design from people who have actually created works.
I think that, given some time, there will be a larger number of more competent levels made. The clickbait-like levels will fall to the wayside, as truly thoughtful levels will remain standing. These will be levels that are truly compelling and challenging, while also instructing and empowering the player towards its completion. I even think it's fair to say that, due to the amount of presence the game has, many more future developers of legendary status are getting a start on their craft while creating some of the more ingenious levels. That certainly makes "Super Mario Maker" one of the more important console games to come out in a very long time.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Video Game Review: Undertale
It's very rarely that I say a video game really moved me. Too often, I see many games either obsessed with trying to be like movies and totally missing the impact of player agency in lieu of "highly cinematic" moments (and the fact that player agency is the defining trait of video games), or just not making any real unity between the moments of agency and more traditional storytelling. Maybe this stems from the fact that many developers, and programmers, and visual artists may know less about storytelling than they think, and that they feel content piggy-backing on the exact models of other mediums. Rarely, I see something that really tries to use the mechanics of the gameplay to both characterize the characters and tell the story, instead opting to have the "story section" and "gameplay section". That's not to say these individuals aren't talented, but perhaps a bit misguided on the applications of those ideas.
Every now and then, though, we get something truly special. Something that takes every single aspect of it and uses it to really push the medium forward or even just is very competent. Toby Fox's "Undertale" serves as a shining example of this. Its story isn't, initially, a very complicated one. Your character, a small child, falls into a hole and finds him in an underground civilization of monsters that were forced down by humans in a war that occurred some time ago. So, obviously, your goal is to leave and return to the surface. At first glance, it certainly doesn't seem like much, what with it's chiptune soundtrack and SNES-era graphics (they happen to be absurdly charming and expressive, though), and even gameplay that seems (at first) to be like most other role playing games from that era. The brilliance is just under the surface, though, for the real gold lies in how Fox makes use of the player's agency. In most games, you engage in combat with enemies (either through ambush or voluntarily), but combat often seems to be the main means of advancing things. "Undertale" gives you a new path. Here is a game that gives you the opportunity to be a total pacifist, something immensely rare in video games. Even more, choosing to engage or not engage in battles has a direct influence on how the story of the game plays out. This unique mechanic ultimately can create some wildly different experiences, and, speaking for myself, may lead to a tear or two.
Each battle has your stereotypical RPG elements: counters that measure health, menus to go through to select what action you will take next, and a turn-based system. The major difference lies, again, in the leaning towards pacifism. It's here that I find it hard not to gush and end up "spoiling" certain aspects of the game, but suffice to say, if one were to choose the non-violent route they would find each monster they encounter responding in very interesting ways. This is even more interestingly reflected with the boss battles. For example, I chose to buy a certain item early in the game. Later on, I had to defend myself against a monster that represented those folk selling the items. At one point, after resisting attacking for nearly a dozen turns, the monster receives a phone call that says that there was a huge misunderstanding, and that there was no reason to attack you. So, by not fighting this monster, I gained an ally. That's so incredibly important to note, as your actions steadily shape how all the characters around you see you. Even your “lv” (level) and “exp) experience tie into this in a very important way. Essentially, the whole of this game is spent both embracing much of the foundation of role playing games, while also subverting so much of what has come to be expected from them. It’s an act of looking forward by looking back.
With “Undertale” we have something truly special, something that is the perfect rebuttal to the idea that a video game’s emotional effect is increased with graphical fidelity. Instead, “Undertale” shows that the real key to making games into “empathy machines” (a term that Rodger Ebert used to describe movies) while also maintaining their uniqueness is through a good understanding of how to unite story and player agency. The mechanics of the game are used as a metaphor for your communication with the citizens of the Underground. Story is told not only through the surface text, but through the subtext of the very battles themselves. It’s something that blows me away every time I think about it. This is a treasure, folks.
Every now and then, though, we get something truly special. Something that takes every single aspect of it and uses it to really push the medium forward or even just is very competent. Toby Fox's "Undertale" serves as a shining example of this. Its story isn't, initially, a very complicated one. Your character, a small child, falls into a hole and finds him in an underground civilization of monsters that were forced down by humans in a war that occurred some time ago. So, obviously, your goal is to leave and return to the surface. At first glance, it certainly doesn't seem like much, what with it's chiptune soundtrack and SNES-era graphics (they happen to be absurdly charming and expressive, though), and even gameplay that seems (at first) to be like most other role playing games from that era. The brilliance is just under the surface, though, for the real gold lies in how Fox makes use of the player's agency. In most games, you engage in combat with enemies (either through ambush or voluntarily), but combat often seems to be the main means of advancing things. "Undertale" gives you a new path. Here is a game that gives you the opportunity to be a total pacifist, something immensely rare in video games. Even more, choosing to engage or not engage in battles has a direct influence on how the story of the game plays out. This unique mechanic ultimately can create some wildly different experiences, and, speaking for myself, may lead to a tear or two.
Each battle has your stereotypical RPG elements: counters that measure health, menus to go through to select what action you will take next, and a turn-based system. The major difference lies, again, in the leaning towards pacifism. It's here that I find it hard not to gush and end up "spoiling" certain aspects of the game, but suffice to say, if one were to choose the non-violent route they would find each monster they encounter responding in very interesting ways. This is even more interestingly reflected with the boss battles. For example, I chose to buy a certain item early in the game. Later on, I had to defend myself against a monster that represented those folk selling the items. At one point, after resisting attacking for nearly a dozen turns, the monster receives a phone call that says that there was a huge misunderstanding, and that there was no reason to attack you. So, by not fighting this monster, I gained an ally. That's so incredibly important to note, as your actions steadily shape how all the characters around you see you. Even your “lv” (level) and “exp) experience tie into this in a very important way. Essentially, the whole of this game is spent both embracing much of the foundation of role playing games, while also subverting so much of what has come to be expected from them. It’s an act of looking forward by looking back.
With “Undertale” we have something truly special, something that is the perfect rebuttal to the idea that a video game’s emotional effect is increased with graphical fidelity. Instead, “Undertale” shows that the real key to making games into “empathy machines” (a term that Rodger Ebert used to describe movies) while also maintaining their uniqueness is through a good understanding of how to unite story and player agency. The mechanics of the game are used as a metaphor for your communication with the citizens of the Underground. Story is told not only through the surface text, but through the subtext of the very battles themselves. It’s something that blows me away every time I think about it. This is a treasure, folks.
Friday, October 9, 2015
Movie Review: The Martian
If I'm going to be frank, part of me wants to consider Ridley Scott's "The Martian" as a sort of apology for "Prometheus." I mean, there are a large amount of similarities between the two, with some being in the props (the space suits the astronauts wear have the same yellow glow inside the helmets, and are even vaguely similar in design), and some being in the very structure of the film (a highly planned and detailed mission to an extra-terrestrial location goes badly). It's where and why the two films differ that serves to be the most interesting part of all this.
The Ares III is forced to leave Mars when it is hit by a large storm. In the process of leaving, Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is struck by debris and thought to be dead. The storm threatens to destroy the Ares III, and kill the rest of the crew, so mission commander Miranda Lewis (Jessica Chastain) is forced to leave the planet, presuming Mark to be dead. As the trailers have shown, he isn't. He awakes and finds himself alone on Mars, with no way to contact his crew or the rest of NASA on Earth. From here, he attempts to find a way to survive as long as he can and reestablish communication with everyone back home.
So, it's easy to see this film as two in one. One film: the trials and tribulations of a human on a deserted planet, forced to improvise every aspect of his survival. The other film: the difficulties of NASA trying to manage a crisis on both public and technological grounds. In the hands of a lesser screenwriter and director, the two would be an ill fit for each other, but Drew Goddard and Ridley Scott found a way to make everything fit together both visually and tonally. The two halves of the film compliment each other in such interesting ways, the discoveries and setbacks affecting both Mark and the scientists at NASA in parallel fashions. Scott, himself, said that he sees the film as one about the fact that we are never really alone, and I'm inclined to agree. Mark finds a way to keep a video diary and records entries every day. At one point he has a little rover that almost serves as a pet. Back on Earth, the scientists and engineers at NASA all pool their resources and lean upon each other to find the myriad solutions necessary to try to find a solution to their predicament.
The interesting thing is, despite all of the drama that comes along with trying to stay alive and keep a man alive on a deserted planet, this isn't some overly self-serious piece of Oscar Bait. There are jokes, oh so many jokes, to be found in this film. That really goes a long way towards making the characters endearing, and in making them very human. Even more, there is a very clear confidence in each actor with the scientific terminology they use. It's very believable that these characters are not only real people, but very much so experts in their fields. Chastain is, as usual, in full form as Commander Lewis. She isa fully confident, and strong leader, but happens to have very feminine traits. Basically, she well-rounded and complex. You know, like an actual person. The rest of the crew bring something special as well, with strong, though somewhat brief, performances from Micheal Pena, Kate Mara, Sebastian Stan, and Askel Hennie. Some additional, fantastic performances include Chiwetel Ejiofor and Sean Bean as Mars mission directors Vincent Kapoor and Mitch Henderson, Jeff Daniels as Teddy Sanders, the head of NASA, and Kristen Wiig as Annie Montrose, NASA spokesperson. No character actually serves as an antagonist, each instead trying to make decisions to the best of their abilities in absurdly tough situations.
The whole of this film works as another great film under Ridley Scott's belt, and a welcome return to form. It really wouldn't surprise me, given how human all the characters feel, if tons of young people who see this film decide to pursue a career in science. Really, this may have been one of the most science positive films I've ever seen. Thankfully, it's also one of the best of the year.
The Ares III is forced to leave Mars when it is hit by a large storm. In the process of leaving, Mark Watney (Matt Damon) is struck by debris and thought to be dead. The storm threatens to destroy the Ares III, and kill the rest of the crew, so mission commander Miranda Lewis (Jessica Chastain) is forced to leave the planet, presuming Mark to be dead. As the trailers have shown, he isn't. He awakes and finds himself alone on Mars, with no way to contact his crew or the rest of NASA on Earth. From here, he attempts to find a way to survive as long as he can and reestablish communication with everyone back home.
So, it's easy to see this film as two in one. One film: the trials and tribulations of a human on a deserted planet, forced to improvise every aspect of his survival. The other film: the difficulties of NASA trying to manage a crisis on both public and technological grounds. In the hands of a lesser screenwriter and director, the two would be an ill fit for each other, but Drew Goddard and Ridley Scott found a way to make everything fit together both visually and tonally. The two halves of the film compliment each other in such interesting ways, the discoveries and setbacks affecting both Mark and the scientists at NASA in parallel fashions. Scott, himself, said that he sees the film as one about the fact that we are never really alone, and I'm inclined to agree. Mark finds a way to keep a video diary and records entries every day. At one point he has a little rover that almost serves as a pet. Back on Earth, the scientists and engineers at NASA all pool their resources and lean upon each other to find the myriad solutions necessary to try to find a solution to their predicament.
The interesting thing is, despite all of the drama that comes along with trying to stay alive and keep a man alive on a deserted planet, this isn't some overly self-serious piece of Oscar Bait. There are jokes, oh so many jokes, to be found in this film. That really goes a long way towards making the characters endearing, and in making them very human. Even more, there is a very clear confidence in each actor with the scientific terminology they use. It's very believable that these characters are not only real people, but very much so experts in their fields. Chastain is, as usual, in full form as Commander Lewis. She isa fully confident, and strong leader, but happens to have very feminine traits. Basically, she well-rounded and complex. You know, like an actual person. The rest of the crew bring something special as well, with strong, though somewhat brief, performances from Micheal Pena, Kate Mara, Sebastian Stan, and Askel Hennie. Some additional, fantastic performances include Chiwetel Ejiofor and Sean Bean as Mars mission directors Vincent Kapoor and Mitch Henderson, Jeff Daniels as Teddy Sanders, the head of NASA, and Kristen Wiig as Annie Montrose, NASA spokesperson. No character actually serves as an antagonist, each instead trying to make decisions to the best of their abilities in absurdly tough situations.
The whole of this film works as another great film under Ridley Scott's belt, and a welcome return to form. It really wouldn't surprise me, given how human all the characters feel, if tons of young people who see this film decide to pursue a career in science. Really, this may have been one of the most science positive films I've ever seen. Thankfully, it's also one of the best of the year.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Video Game Review: "The Stanley Parable" and "The Beginner's Guide"
I'm about two days out from going through both "The Stanley Parable" and "The Beginner's Guide", and I have to say: I'm not really sure what to write. That isn't because I don't have opinions about either one, for I have thousands of words worth of opinions about them (though that won't be the length of this review), but more because my describing what happens inside of each doesn't really do them justice. I may have found the first pieces of media that I think may actually be lessened by finding out a lot about them before you actually interact with them. Normally, I don't care about spoilers, but the very nature of both of these games make your own, personal experience with each immensely important. So, this isn't going to seem like a typical video game review. I"m not going to mention the fidelity of the graphics, or the capabilities of the AI, or even how well optimized they are (since they're both PC games). Instead, I'll talk about something just as relevant to these two games, but wholly separate. If you get around to playing both (and I do recommend you play both), it may make sense why I chose this route for the review.
If I were to look back at my own life, I would see that my own experiences have totally influenced the way I create art. I mean, that seems totally obvious, but I suppose it's one of those things that is more profound on a personal level than we may think. Now, I wouldn't say my childhood was tumultuous, as I did have two loving parents. What I will say, though, is that they certainly had some bad habits that didn't make things to terribly easy. Being quick to anger or overreacting to situations with an overabundance of anxiety or aggression; speaking ill of the other to my brother and me; arguments that amount to just being prolonged screaming matches; some combination of these things, these were more common occurrences than I would have liked. So, these things had an influence on the way I interacted with my family and the way I would think about myself. Knowledge became a refuge, as did logical reasoning and philosophy. I would listen in on their arguments to find the holes in logic in whatever they said so that I wouldn't be caught in the same traps. At the same time, I had an immensely low self esteem. Add to that the leagues of pent up aggression I had within me that I didn't know how to handle and, the massive range of emotions I had, and you have a recipe for one distraught, but intelligent person.
Now, all that wasn't just to elicit some sense of pity from you, but more for the important fact that all of these things influenced the way I started creating art. I would go so far as to say that the articles on this blog certainly are art, so it goes even further into that, deep into the very way I reason my thoughts. That being said, one would be a bit remiss to think that those words you read are a 100% representation of myself. Even more, don't think that there isn't some small level of validation that comes from my checking the data on my Blogger page for this blog, and seeing that people have viewed/read the entries. There definitely is a sense of achievement in that, as well as with my YouTube channel. Tied up in all that is a sort of subtle, but sick kind of thing. There's an addiction there, one to that sense of validation from creative output. That's something that weighs on me a bit, given my predilection to modesty, thanks to my religious beliefs as a Christian. I can admit that I do value that validation that comes from my output, but that doesn't mean that I condone it, in the end. There's a sense of disappointment of self that goes along with it. If I'm going to be totally honest, that was part of the reason I eschewed making this a "normal" video game review. To pursue a different path in the hopes of discovering something new about either writing, or myself.
I don't know if it was successful. Maybe I misconstrued much of what I meant to say, so it may come off as attention-seeking, or arrogant, or deeply pretentious. I can accept that. I mean, those are wholly valid takes on this. You may be more right, than not. A large part of me writes these as a therapeutic act, as well as the previously stated purpose. It involves the exploration of ideas for the sake of peace of mind. Maybe I should be more expository? My fascination with logic, and reason, and art, and God all stemmed from my upbringing. Humor can be a bit of a defense mechanism, so I like to throw in some here and there in what I write and make. I have a very strong desire to be clearly understood, so I can tend to be a bit long-winded. I have a pretty substantial fear of rejection, so perhaps some of what I make ends up subconsciously pandering more than I may want it to. Maybe it's this openness, this sense of truly letting down my walls, that I really am seeking.
"The Stanley Parable" and "The Beginner's Guide" reflects so much of everything I just wrote. The exploration of why we do what we do, and the implications therein; the sense of validation that comes from sharing what we do and why we feel that; even more, the reasons why we ask those very questions. There are sure to be many different interpretations of what takes place in both games, and even more, some may be inclined to not even call them games at all due to their very nature. I, obviously, would be inclined to disagree. Not only are these two games, but I'd say they're two of the smartest games ever made. Not only using the conventions of video games within itself, but exploring the very core of those things at the same time. So powerful was its effect upon me that I felt compelled to write this very thing, and explore those same themes and how they manifest within myself.
If I were to look back at my own life, I would see that my own experiences have totally influenced the way I create art. I mean, that seems totally obvious, but I suppose it's one of those things that is more profound on a personal level than we may think. Now, I wouldn't say my childhood was tumultuous, as I did have two loving parents. What I will say, though, is that they certainly had some bad habits that didn't make things to terribly easy. Being quick to anger or overreacting to situations with an overabundance of anxiety or aggression; speaking ill of the other to my brother and me; arguments that amount to just being prolonged screaming matches; some combination of these things, these were more common occurrences than I would have liked. So, these things had an influence on the way I interacted with my family and the way I would think about myself. Knowledge became a refuge, as did logical reasoning and philosophy. I would listen in on their arguments to find the holes in logic in whatever they said so that I wouldn't be caught in the same traps. At the same time, I had an immensely low self esteem. Add to that the leagues of pent up aggression I had within me that I didn't know how to handle and, the massive range of emotions I had, and you have a recipe for one distraught, but intelligent person.
Now, all that wasn't just to elicit some sense of pity from you, but more for the important fact that all of these things influenced the way I started creating art. I would go so far as to say that the articles on this blog certainly are art, so it goes even further into that, deep into the very way I reason my thoughts. That being said, one would be a bit remiss to think that those words you read are a 100% representation of myself. Even more, don't think that there isn't some small level of validation that comes from my checking the data on my Blogger page for this blog, and seeing that people have viewed/read the entries. There definitely is a sense of achievement in that, as well as with my YouTube channel. Tied up in all that is a sort of subtle, but sick kind of thing. There's an addiction there, one to that sense of validation from creative output. That's something that weighs on me a bit, given my predilection to modesty, thanks to my religious beliefs as a Christian. I can admit that I do value that validation that comes from my output, but that doesn't mean that I condone it, in the end. There's a sense of disappointment of self that goes along with it. If I'm going to be totally honest, that was part of the reason I eschewed making this a "normal" video game review. To pursue a different path in the hopes of discovering something new about either writing, or myself.
I don't know if it was successful. Maybe I misconstrued much of what I meant to say, so it may come off as attention-seeking, or arrogant, or deeply pretentious. I can accept that. I mean, those are wholly valid takes on this. You may be more right, than not. A large part of me writes these as a therapeutic act, as well as the previously stated purpose. It involves the exploration of ideas for the sake of peace of mind. Maybe I should be more expository? My fascination with logic, and reason, and art, and God all stemmed from my upbringing. Humor can be a bit of a defense mechanism, so I like to throw in some here and there in what I write and make. I have a very strong desire to be clearly understood, so I can tend to be a bit long-winded. I have a pretty substantial fear of rejection, so perhaps some of what I make ends up subconsciously pandering more than I may want it to. Maybe it's this openness, this sense of truly letting down my walls, that I really am seeking.
"The Stanley Parable" and "The Beginner's Guide" reflects so much of everything I just wrote. The exploration of why we do what we do, and the implications therein; the sense of validation that comes from sharing what we do and why we feel that; even more, the reasons why we ask those very questions. There are sure to be many different interpretations of what takes place in both games, and even more, some may be inclined to not even call them games at all due to their very nature. I, obviously, would be inclined to disagree. Not only are these two games, but I'd say they're two of the smartest games ever made. Not only using the conventions of video games within itself, but exploring the very core of those things at the same time. So powerful was its effect upon me that I felt compelled to write this very thing, and explore those same themes and how they manifest within myself.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
A Gamer by Any Other Name
So, full disclosure: I'd never heard the word "gamer" until I was about 21. I'm currently 25 (26 here on the 23rd of October). I found it in the articles and comment sections of game review sites and YouTube videos, it almost functioning as a sot of banner people carried. Whether it was speaking on what "gamers wanted from their games" to "gamers being well represented in mainstream culture", gamers certainly seemed to be a very real thing. At least online. The thing is, I haven't met a single flesh-and-blood human who has verbally expressed this identification with the term "gamer". It's not that I think they don't exist (I'm more than certain that they do), but I say it to preface my next statement: despite having played video games for nearly 22 years, I could never call myself a "gamer."
What conditions make a "gamer" a "gamer?" Is it just the mere act of playing video games? What of tabletop games such as "Dungeons and Dragons", or "Magic: The Gathering?" Many would seriously argue yes. We could go further, though. What of poker, blackjack, roulette , or any other form of gambling? Those are, often, games of skill with large communities, much like the traditional definition of "gamer." What of people who play physical sports? Football, baseball, futbol, angling, archery, and many more sports are all games with rules and regulations, and all of the requisite communities. So, clearly, video games don't hold a monopoly over organized play with a large community following. So, if that's the case, certainly any person in any of the aforementioned activities could call themselves a "gamer."
Even with that, while I like all kinds of games, I never saw the need to identify with the activity as a form of identity. I don't see a need to be defined by my enjoyment of a hobby/artform. That isn't to talk down to those who do, and seek the communities therein. Humans are social, so you will likely find communities for any and all activities and interests. Even more, within gaming (henceforth we'll be referring to video games) there are communities for specific genres of game, even down to specific games and even characters.
With all that considered, what is it that keeps me from identifying as a "gamer?" I'm thinking that it has to do with how I consume media. For one, I don't do fandoms. I can't. Not one part of me engages in a sort of higher level, group consumption of media. Playing video games, watching movies, and general consumption of art was almost a solitary activity for me as a kid, so the idea of identifying as a member of a group dedicated to talking about and consuming any piece of media is a wholly alien concept to me. I see being a "gamer" as being a part of a fandom, this fandom obviously around games as a whole. I don't see that as a bad thing, necessarily, but it's something that just doesn't jive with me.
Perhaps, it's the fact that I apply a distance to myself and the art I consume. I really like art, otherwise this blog wouldn't exist, but I am far more concerned with its construction than consuming it. Not to mention there is such a broadness to fandom and the title of "gamer" that I'm not even certain I could apply it to myself. How many games do I play to "officially" be a "gamer?" How long do I have to play games? Hours? Weeks? Years? Do I have to like ALL games? Only twitchy, first-person-shooters? How about a labyrinthine real-time-strategy game against the top players in the world? I could continue this for hours.
There is one big thing that really seals the deal on my not identifying as a "gamer": there's the reality that we ALL are "gamers." Yes, every single one of us is a "gamer," top to bottom. Now, you may be sitting a bit slack jawed, incredulous to my nerve for saying such a thing. Yes, I do admit it's a bit of a "pet theory" but if you don't believe in your own ideas, then who will? Yeah? Yeah.
So, some areas that influenced this opinion are Game Studies and Play Studies, two areas of major importance if your looking to get into game design. I won't go into tons of detail about these two subjects (they have literally VOLUMES of text within them) but, essentially, humans use play at every life stage. Now, many things can be classified as play and there are many different thoughts on what play even is. Add to this the multiple definitions of what constitutes a game, and we can easily see how things can get quite complicated. Essentially, we can turn ANYTHING into a game. "How quickly can I wash these dishes?" "How soon can I make it to work?" "How many articles of clothing can I fit into this basket to wash?"
There is one major counterpoint: games tend to be outside of reality, as in their result has no major implications upon real life. Well, I'm inclined to think that's kinda bunk. People who are professional athletes, or play any game professionally, definitely see a major impact on their life from the results of each game. We don't then say "well, he makes his money from playing the game of soccer, so that can't be a game, now." So, with that in mind, I say we all are intimately concerned with games. Games and play are a major way for us to interact with each other and with the world around us. Even more, we tend to love structure and form, and games tend to be all about that in their structure. We are all "gamers", so I don't see a need to make a special group out of it. It just becomes redundant.
I'm certain there will be many who will have read this and would have vehemently disagreed with me. That's cool. I'm down with dissenting opinions on art and whatnot, as it stirs on discussion. When all is said and done, you won't see me ever standing up for "gamers" beyond just basic consumer advocacy. I do think the designation is a bit of a redundancy, but I don't begrudge you if you find yourself identifying with it. What matters is that we both have a major appreciation for the art form, and hopefully that appreciation spurns on more interesting conversation on what the medium is capable of.
What conditions make a "gamer" a "gamer?" Is it just the mere act of playing video games? What of tabletop games such as "Dungeons and Dragons", or "Magic: The Gathering?" Many would seriously argue yes. We could go further, though. What of poker, blackjack, roulette , or any other form of gambling? Those are, often, games of skill with large communities, much like the traditional definition of "gamer." What of people who play physical sports? Football, baseball, futbol, angling, archery, and many more sports are all games with rules and regulations, and all of the requisite communities. So, clearly, video games don't hold a monopoly over organized play with a large community following. So, if that's the case, certainly any person in any of the aforementioned activities could call themselves a "gamer."
Even with that, while I like all kinds of games, I never saw the need to identify with the activity as a form of identity. I don't see a need to be defined by my enjoyment of a hobby/artform. That isn't to talk down to those who do, and seek the communities therein. Humans are social, so you will likely find communities for any and all activities and interests. Even more, within gaming (henceforth we'll be referring to video games) there are communities for specific genres of game, even down to specific games and even characters.
With all that considered, what is it that keeps me from identifying as a "gamer?" I'm thinking that it has to do with how I consume media. For one, I don't do fandoms. I can't. Not one part of me engages in a sort of higher level, group consumption of media. Playing video games, watching movies, and general consumption of art was almost a solitary activity for me as a kid, so the idea of identifying as a member of a group dedicated to talking about and consuming any piece of media is a wholly alien concept to me. I see being a "gamer" as being a part of a fandom, this fandom obviously around games as a whole. I don't see that as a bad thing, necessarily, but it's something that just doesn't jive with me.
Perhaps, it's the fact that I apply a distance to myself and the art I consume. I really like art, otherwise this blog wouldn't exist, but I am far more concerned with its construction than consuming it. Not to mention there is such a broadness to fandom and the title of "gamer" that I'm not even certain I could apply it to myself. How many games do I play to "officially" be a "gamer?" How long do I have to play games? Hours? Weeks? Years? Do I have to like ALL games? Only twitchy, first-person-shooters? How about a labyrinthine real-time-strategy game against the top players in the world? I could continue this for hours.
There is one big thing that really seals the deal on my not identifying as a "gamer": there's the reality that we ALL are "gamers." Yes, every single one of us is a "gamer," top to bottom. Now, you may be sitting a bit slack jawed, incredulous to my nerve for saying such a thing. Yes, I do admit it's a bit of a "pet theory" but if you don't believe in your own ideas, then who will? Yeah? Yeah.
So, some areas that influenced this opinion are Game Studies and Play Studies, two areas of major importance if your looking to get into game design. I won't go into tons of detail about these two subjects (they have literally VOLUMES of text within them) but, essentially, humans use play at every life stage. Now, many things can be classified as play and there are many different thoughts on what play even is. Add to this the multiple definitions of what constitutes a game, and we can easily see how things can get quite complicated. Essentially, we can turn ANYTHING into a game. "How quickly can I wash these dishes?" "How soon can I make it to work?" "How many articles of clothing can I fit into this basket to wash?"
There is one major counterpoint: games tend to be outside of reality, as in their result has no major implications upon real life. Well, I'm inclined to think that's kinda bunk. People who are professional athletes, or play any game professionally, definitely see a major impact on their life from the results of each game. We don't then say "well, he makes his money from playing the game of soccer, so that can't be a game, now." So, with that in mind, I say we all are intimately concerned with games. Games and play are a major way for us to interact with each other and with the world around us. Even more, we tend to love structure and form, and games tend to be all about that in their structure. We are all "gamers", so I don't see a need to make a special group out of it. It just becomes redundant.
I'm certain there will be many who will have read this and would have vehemently disagreed with me. That's cool. I'm down with dissenting opinions on art and whatnot, as it stirs on discussion. When all is said and done, you won't see me ever standing up for "gamers" beyond just basic consumer advocacy. I do think the designation is a bit of a redundancy, but I don't begrudge you if you find yourself identifying with it. What matters is that we both have a major appreciation for the art form, and hopefully that appreciation spurns on more interesting conversation on what the medium is capable of.
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