Conflict of Interest takes a look at theory, ethics, and practice in video game journalism and the gaming industry as a whole. Because that's what the kids want.
What happens when you combine one part personal narrative, two parts theoretical criticism, and an immeasurable amount of try-too-hard wistfulness, and apply it to an analysis (deconstruction?) of a video game convention? Well, IGN decided to find out. Besides getting an article entirely devoid of substance, you are also left with hours of entertainment as you ponder exactly for whom the article was written.
Some might say that You Died: The Rights and Wrongs in Video Game Death is an article in which formic
mimicry trumps, and ultimately nudges out, fundamental concerns like
"having a thesis."
What struck me, however, was Mario’s
startled face, his sudden shock and pain, upon slamming into a
Goomba. He paused, tumbled through the air, and fell into oblivion.
Gone forever, his mission for a princess’ love cut tragically
shor... no wait, he’s okay. Somehow he returns to the world of the
living. And so the cycle continues.
This is normal for us. And it gets weirder.
When the police gun down Niko Bellic in the streets of Liberty
City, he should probably stay down. Yet he, too, rises. This
miraculous ability was not Mario’s alone, but one shared by all
digital denizens.
The problem with this deconstruction of the death convention in
video games is that it is not a deconstruction. Instead of
explaining what binary structures underlie the assumptions that lead
us to accept video game death as normal, we are left with something
more akin to "What's the deal with airline food?"
The deal with video game death is that it is a trope, and pointing
out that it exists in an article and saying that it's weird is to not
say anything at all.
Now, Clements suggests that video game death is strange because it
implies "continuous resurrection." But does it? In his
view, the "weirdness" of video game death lies in the way
it breaks conventional narrative structure as a necessity of gaming's
interactional nature. There are two points to consider:
1) Video game death can exist without a narrative.
2) Narrative structure in video games is not unbroken, even though
it is linear.
Let's leave the first point for now. The second point states what
everyone except Mr. Clements already knows: When the player dies in a
video game, this is not a part of the story. The point at which the
game resets marks the point at which the narrative resets, and the
narrative only continues when the player successfully navigates the
game.
But wait, there's more! Although Clements fails to explain why he
believes his conception of video game narratives is correct in spite
of how weird it apparently is, he makes the following leap:
With death so prevalent in video games you may wonder how any game
with fail states (i.e. death) can challenge a player without breaking
the realism of the fictional world. It’s possible, and many games
do have ways to threaten players with the possibility of loss without
killing off the star.
The Prince of
Persia remake from 2008 took a clever approach to this issue by
eliminating the need for repeated deaths altogether. Instead, the
mysterious and magical Elika saves the hero with every mistake we as
players make, preventing his untimely demise in a flash of light.
Does this game mechanic do anything to take the player out of the
game less? Of course not, because straying outside of the mise en
scene is not something that removes gamers from the narrative in the
first place. Clements is merely confusing video games with movies.
Whether Prince of Persia's mechanic exists or does not exist, the
narrative is broken and reset in the same way it would have been.
Incorporating the reality of player control into the narrative
actually highlights the interactional nature of video games more so
than ignoring it altogether. It expands the narrative to incorporate
all player mistakes, but in a way that does not actually affect the story.
Space Invaders does not have a story. When the little ship dies,
the player can wonder whether he is playing as a different
ship, or if the original ship got repaired, or if some supernatural force is at play. But the player can also assume none of these, and
simply understand that within the rules established by the game, a
quarter equals a certain number of chances to play as a little ship.
This is to say that games that incorporate death into their narrative, like games that
remove life bars and on-screen stats, do not do so because these
qualities have an objective impact on a game's immersiveness; they do
so because the developer's intention is for the game to appear to be
more like a movie in its narrative and visual qualities. By making the assumption that a common device and structure in video games is somehow weird and jarring, Clements is implying that non-interactional narratives are inherently superior. Movies can be
immersive, but they are not the sole guardians and keepers of
immersive entertainment. What these design choices reek of is
self-loathing. In their attempt to emulate cinema, these games
create apologies for their own medium. Likewise, movies such as The
Amazing Spider-Man that contain first-person camera shots and
fetishized CGI, showing off computer-generated qualities like badges of pride, apologize for their medium and attempt to lure viewers
in with the false promise of interactional, action-packed moments
from a video game.
Ultimately, the blurring of conventions across media serves the
higher purpose of creating one great, mass-marketed entertainment
blob, in which movies and video games look the same, sound the same,
and interact with players and viewers the same. Why? Because this
guarantees profits and limits, focuses, and deadens the palettes and
expectations of consumers. Are you seeing the new Transformers movie
or playing the new Gears of War game? It doesn't matter!
You see, these are the assumptions underlying Clements' article,
and that's how you perform a deconstruction.
I don't know why I'm commenting on a nine-month old article from someone who no longer blogs here, except that I had to look it up to link in today's post and the last bit about Gears of War made me laugh, as I recently tried to play Gears of War 2. I would say the most arresting element of that game's design is the lack of impact the player has on the world. I can never figure out if I killed an enemy or even shot him at all, because the eighteen teammates that surround me at all times are all firing at the same targets, playing the game for me.
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