Technology

Are Game Developers Stunted Adolescents?

Oh, goodness. Chris, you really waited to drop the bomb until the very end.

Reading that Hecker speech makes me so depressed. It is important to remember that the speech was given before the International Game Developers Association, which is a bit like talking at Slamdance or before a gathering of Dischord Records alumni. There’s a strong us-against-the-world vibe here (I, too, have only read summaries) that the comedy troupe Mega64 lovingly lampoons.

Hecker’s argument against cultural penetration is interesting, because the release of Modern Warfare 2 made me feel like part of a larger group for the first time in a while. When Michael Jackson died, Jody Rosen wrote, “Weeping for Michael, we are also mourning the musical monoculture—the passing of a time when we could imagine that the whole country, the whole planet, was listening to the same song.” As film, television, and music move out of their star-power periods, it feels like a video-game monoculture is on the ascent.

Nevertheless, I still think it’s hard to get a sense of who plays games. Part of this is a taxonomy problem—the term gamer connotes a certain type of adolescent, a definition that doesn’t come close to capturing reality. There are 50 million BlackBerry owners, and many of them play BrickBreaker. With the introduction of the iPhone, Android, and browser and Facebook games, the argument for games as “mainstream” needs to go beyond retail sales numbers.

Hecker also made reference to journalist Heather Chaplin’s rant at last year’s Game Developers Conference about the industry being populated by “stunted adolescents.” I was on that panel with Chaplin and I agree with a lot of what she said. There is still a woeful lack of diversity in video games. Hispanics are basically invisible, and women are still the exception. Everyone should read USC professor Dmitri Williams’ virtual census. It’s appalling.

But I think she muddles “fiction” and “story,” that slippery distinction Chris alluded to earlier. If you think of games like we think of movie genres then, yes, Chaplin is correct. The industry has a childish over-reliance on elves, space marines, and zombies. But we need to make the distinction between what games are about and and what they do.

I agree with Chaplin and Hecker about the narrow, narrative scope of many games. But when Hecker says that he didn’t see much “there” in a game like Left 4 Dead, it makes me wonder about our expectations. Are we looking for a nuanced dissection of the apocalyptic South, something pulled from the mouth of Faulkner, or should a game be trying to achieve something different? I spent hundreds of hours playing Super Smash Brothers with my college roommates. I would argue that what emerged between us was as engrossing and meaningful to our budding friendships as any of the intellectual conversations we engaged in.

I recently had a discussion about video games with a couple named Fred and Thessaly. While Fred and I extolled the virtues of games like Left 4 Dead 2, Thessaly interjected that she only liked games like Rock Band. L4D2 didn’t appeal to her “because it’s scary and about zombies.” While that’s descriptively correct, I tried to argue that, despite its horror setting, the Left 4 Dead franchise is a lot like Rock Band. Both games are about cooperation, coordination, and execution. Still, how could I blame her for thinking that a game about killing the undead is anything but juvenilia? Nongamers judge games based on the box art, and it’s hard to see how their judgments are going to change if the subject matter of best-selling titles doesn’t.

One of the medium’s biggest is to train its players how to dissect what games are beyond their marketing. In New York magazine this month, Emily Nussbaum delivered a wonderful treatise on the rise of high-quality television over the last decade. In large part, the David Chases of the world were building on a common vocabulary that TV viewers already understood. They were familiar with television’s tropes and nuances, and hence, they were ready to consume something as spectacular as the The Sopranos. Chris, when you say that that video games aren’t on par with film or literature (a claim I can’t adequately rebut given the space), I’d ask: Is the problem with the product or with us?

However, Chris, I’m glad you invoked Mad Men as an exemplar of television programming. One of the keys to the show’s success is the work of Dan Bishop, the production designer responsible for the show’s evocative look and feel. In 2009, I noticed the same attention to detail in games. There’s the fascist imperialism of the buildings in Halo 3: ODST, the Southern Gothic facades of Left 4 Dead 2, and the French classical architecture in The Saboteur. (And, of course, the blasé suburban setting of Northern Virginia in MW2.) If we don’t come to terms on anything else, let’s agree that the games of 2009 looked terrific.

On the subject of sports games—and to invoke television again—where is the Friday Night Lights of gaming? My wife loves FNL but has a lukewarm interest in the actual sport. Sports video games strike me as an arena ripe for development. Will EA turn the new Tiger Woods PGA Tour game into an emotional, introspective drama about the golfer’s struggle to keep his marriage together?

You know, one big step toward cultural relevance could start right here at Slate. Readers will notice that video games are not given italics or quotes the way that books or film are. When I was at the Journal, the style guide dictated something similar. The reason is that video games, when they first appeared, were dubbed pieces of software like Microsoft Windows or Adobe Photoshop. Implicitly, that style decision limits games’ aesthetic capabilities in the minds of the audience. As Hecker paraphrased from Nietzsche, “the way your language works makes you think in certain ways, and you have to try really hard to think another way.” Perhaps when I see you all next year at Gaming Club, a small but necessary font change will be afoot.

Adios!
Jamin

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