The esteemed and very articulate Devin Faraci (of www.chud.com) recently dashed off a series of twitter postings in which he raised the tattered flag of a very old argument: games and art. Are video games art? If not, can they EVER be considered art? And if so, can they ever hold a candle to what we view as “traditional” art forms (literature, cinema, theater, etc).
Having been a gamer most of my life, and having stumbled into a career in game development, I am obviously biased in this area. Before you feign surprise that I think video games can indeed, be considered an art form, you should know that in my experience, there are plenty hardcore gamers and game developers who DON’T agree with me, and in fact consider the insistence on considering games as art hurts the industry at large. The general argument on that side is that games are an interactive experience, and (as Devin brings up in later tweets), this has generally been categorized as outside the realm of what we consider art. Playing Monopoly is not art. Playing football is not art. Therefore, playing a video game can’t possibly be art, and, some would argue, pretensions to the contrary result in bogged-down messes of “interactive movie adventures” that we all hate, right?
Well, yes and no. In the 90s, many game developers, especially those in the business of making adventure games, experimented with FMV-narrative driven games. At the time, the notion of being able to control what real, motion-captured human beings were doing on-screen seemed awesome, but in practice, it amounted to a lot of clicking and then watching pre-recorded video play out. Not very fun, and as time went on, the degree to which these games looked like crap became more and more evident. As the industry matured (and when compared to all other entertainment industries, we have to bear in mind that the games industry is incredibly young), narratives in games became more and more detailed, and the demand for story grew. Looking around today, you’d be hard-pressed to find games that do not have a full-fledged narrative at their heart outside of the casual realm. Even Modern Warfare 2, a brainless (but extremely fun) shoot-em-up franchise that thrives based on its multiplayer deathmatch mode still contains a fully developed, story-driven single player mode. Speaking as a writer, I’d argue that storytelling is an art, there’s storytelling in some games, therefore some games must be art, right? However, the very fair hesitance that Devin and others have is, in my opinion, the result of a problem that has plagued video game design since narratives first began to rear their ugly little heads: Interactivity VS narrative.
Film, Theater, and Literature all have a leg up on video games when it comes to the effectiveness of their narratives because they have a built-in passive audience. A video game, by definition, must be interactive. The tight rope a game designer must walk down when considering playability VS narrative is very perilous indeed. Swing too far in the direction of interactivity, and you are left with something that has no resonance outside of a visceral reaction: twitch-games of the most old-school sort such as Galaga, Pac-Man, Centipede, etc, all fall into this category. Err too far on the side of narrative and you’re left with boring click-fests that are basically nothing more than an “interactive adventure” extra feature on a late 90s DVD (and we all know how awful those were). As a result of this push-pull, striking the perfect balance may often result in a game that nets a reaction far less powerful than that found on the page or the silver screen.
There have been notable exceptions. Three games I will pick off the top of my head (all released originally on the Sony Playstation) are Final Fantasy VII, Silent Hill, and Metal Gear Solid. Questions of quality aside, these three games (from three disparate genres) all share one common quality: they seek to evoke reactions in the player that hinge on an emotional experience, rather than relying on visceral response. In Final Fantasy VII and Metal Gear Solid, players are coaxed into forming emotional connections with non-playable characters, and the uncontrollable aspect of the narrative and how it effects those characters is designed to evoke feeling. This, to me, is as close to a definition of art as we can get without getting caught up in useless, freshmen level college course rhetoric. Silent Hill, on the other hand, uses limited visuals, excellent sound design, and disturbing artistic themes to create settings that evoke feelings of dread, suspense, and excitement. The emotional experience of playing this game exists outside the boundaries of “what do I need to do to advance my character in this experience”.
In his later tweets and responses to comments, Devin seems to be of the opinion that intensely narrative-driven games (which he refers to as “arty” games) are actually a branch of cinema. If I’m misinterpreting his comments, I apologize in advance, but this seems like complete balderdash to me. While many narrative-driven games make full use of pre-rendered cutscenes which take their cues from the cinema world, the final product built around these conventions is a completely different animal. Speaking as someone who has worked in both mediums, the challenges of creating a compelling narrative in which the audience is an active participant must be approached in their own unique way. A filmmaker can only make a film as best as he can for himself, and he, to some degree, cannot control or predict the way an audience will react. However, the same is true of a game developer, but in most modern games, especially in the multiplayer realm, the audience’s reactions to the content change the trajectory of the narrative and the experience of the game. A game designer who does not adequately predict the possible permutations in each individuals gaming experience runs the risk of the narrative failing altogether, or in the case of multiplayer, of one player breaking the experience for others. To sum up a very murky issue, the audience for a game are crashing about in a wood-frame house: if the structure isn’t reinforced properly, the whole thing will crumble. By comparison, the film audience bounces around in a concrete bunker: they might hit their heads on the walls and hurt themselves, but the bunker, like it or hate it, remains intact.
Looking at Devin’s comments and those of other detractors, it seems that there is a general consensus that true art must not be enjoyed actively. A movie is art, but playing a game of football is not. Perhaps. However, I would argue that the meticulous planning of an experience designed to evoke emotion more or less qualifies as an artistic endeavor. Walking through a haunted house might not be art, but I would argue that the architect, set dressers, actors, and make-up people are all artists in their own right. It seems silly to me, then, to dismiss video games as falling outside the realm of true art because they seem to follow the conventions of a contest. In the examples given above, and in nearly all narrative-driven games being made today, the emotional experience of playing a game lies beyond the scope of progress and victory.
I’ll keep plugging away at it, and hopefully my colleagues will too.
It’s probably not the most wise move to start this post by admitting that I only recently (as in last week) began downloading and listening to podcasts with some regularity. Seeing as the following thoughts include quite a bit of rabble-rousing concerning the potential evils of whirring doohickeys and bright blinking lights, painting myself as woefully behind the media curve probably won’t help much in coloring my views as unbiased.
But here we go.
On the way to work earlier today, I was listening to a podcast from Creative Screenwriting Magazine. This consisted of a Q&A session at this past year’s ComiCon with film heavyweights Peter Jackson and James Cameron. Some of the answers given were quite fascinating (even when many of the questions were not, as is the nature of Q&As), and I encourage all of you to seek it out and give it a listen. A few bits in particular struck me as particularly interesting.
The subject of balancing mind-blowing tech with narrative concerns and character development came up more than once, and both Jackson and Cameron dutifully produced the safe answer: all the bells and whistles in the world can’t save a boring story or flat characters. This notion was greeted by smatterings of applause and cheers. While I agree with the core of the directors’ answer, it undercuts a larger issue.
The geeks won.
This was supposed to be a good thing, and often-times, it can be. Cameron has certainly produced his share of timeless geek masterpieces (Aliens, the Terminator franchise, and some would argue, Avatar), and other unabashed nerds have had great commercial and critical success with adaptations of properties beloved by pasty white single guys everywhere (Raimi with Spiderman, and Rodriguez with Sin City…Jon Favreau’s geekiness has yet to be verified to my knowledge, but Iron Man seems to indicate that he has some affinity for the comics world). Still, the rising success of the nerd may spell doom for a certain kind of film-making: that being, deep, story-driven worlds with lively characters.
The problem with handing the reins over to the AV kids rears its head when the proverbial bullies leave the classroom. To clarify: Avatar seems strangely reminiscent of Lucas-syndrome: a chief operating with unchecked power. Aliens and the Terminator series stand up as massive achievements, not only for the enduring resonance with audiences but for becoming classics against somewhat substantive odds. Much like Lucas’ prequels, the so-called “40 miles of bad road” cut of Cameron’s sci-fi, space-action caper displays the director’s need for a sounding board and creative checks and balances: the damn thing just drags on forever (this isn’t a perfect analogy, seeing as the director’s cut of Aliens is miles better than any of the insultingly awful prequels that dare not speak their names).
Jackson’s career follows a similar trajectory: his labor-of-love films Meet the Feebles and Dead Alive are both hilariously inventive cult classics. His take on the Lord of the Rings trilogy yielded one highly watchable fantasy epic and two mostly boring timesinks. I may be the only person on the planet who actually enjoyed King Kong, but it also fell into the category of mindless spectacle.
Avatar really stands as the shining example of what happens when you let a techno-junkie’s fantasies run wild: a stunningly beautiful and immersive visual experience that communicates nothing but a well-worn noble savage story and some exciting set-pieces. With a more-than-likely best picture victory fast approaching and the title of “most successful box office of all time” firmly in hand, Cameron has carte blanche in Hollywood. In a depressed economy, it’s a truly depressing thought for those of us wishing for more than thrills and chills.
Despite Jackson and Cameron’s protest to the contrary, the tech-nerds really only care about playing with their toys, and showing them off for others. An almost laughable moment came in the podcast when, immediately following a token “story is all-important” quip from Jackson, an answer to a follow-up question found the director gushing like a giddy school-boy about the new King Kong ride he was developing for Universal Studios. After hearing him tick off all the technical firsts and milestones passed and spectacular effects that would be thrust upon park visitors, one couldn’t help but wonder if there were really that much of a difference between the man’s ideal theme park ride and ideal film experience.
The potential upside of all this, however, is a renaissance of true independent film-making. With all the money in Hollywood headed towards safe and proven moneymaking models (or so the prevailing wisdom goes), middling “indie-wood” (those films that claim the charm and spark of indie films yet always seem to star superstars and cost over $50 million to make) may be on the way out. The wildfire success of the wonderfully dull Paranormal Activity has everything to do with this, and hopefully the new independent arm opened by Paramount will yield films that are both profitable AND interesting.
It’s almost too much to hope for.
I’ve been trying to narrow down my love of genre-films lately, and have been doing some mental tinkering, trying to pin down some top 10 lists in relevant categories. A humble submission, with possibly more genres to follow:
1. Die Hard
2. Terminator 2: Judgement Day
3. Point Break
4. Robocop
5. The Rock
6. Hard Boiled
7. Heat
8. The Dark Knight
9. The Matrix
10. Training Day
Yeah, I know my definition of “action film” is kind of loose, but it’s my blog so shaddup. Actual decent layout, more genres, and other musings to come soon.
—J
…but my daily routine of:
1.Wake up at 7am
2. Go to work
3. Come home from work
4. Go to the gym
5. Come home
6. Eat Dinner
7. Go to bed
…has started to get repetitive, so I’m going to throw up a blog to entertain myself. Because it’s ALL ABOUT ME! IT’S MY BLARTY (blog-party) AND I’LL CRY IF I WANT TO!!!
Not sure what’s going to be up here, but if you’re interested, it’ll probably include:
1. Happenings in and around Los Angeles, CA (where I’m living)
2. Ditto Austin, TX (the greatest city in the world)
3. Movies (being an aspiring screenwriter/movie fanatic this is only natural)
4. Food
5. Politics (not too likely, but possible)
6. Random shit I think is interesting/funny (because, once again, IT’S ALL ABOUT ME)
So concludes my first post. I’m too lazy to properly format this page/make it look nice, so you get stuck with this for now. Probably for a long while. I’m pretty lazy.
—J
