This is a piece I wrote for my video game class as a journal entry. I’m not sure it’s structurally sound, or really makes a valid point, but, hey, why not post it here? I did write it, after all, and it is about video games.

Few things bother me more than the “genrefication” of literature in any media — be it film, or novels, or theatre, or even in less typically narratological forms like music and visual art. The application and blind aspiration to fulfill genre (and even, at times, subvert it) is at best pointless and at worst offensive. Thankfully, most other media have managed to cut out a place where “genre” is secondary. Video games, however, have not caught up to the level of genre-eschewing sophistication that its older siblings have.

There are three things in particular I would like to talk about in relation to “genre games”: the dismissal of the thematic in favour of the mechanical in virtually all definitions of game genre, the abstraction of judgment that genre permits, and, finally, video games’ lack of “genre”-as-genre.

Arsenault’s representation of major web publications shows a heavy bias toward a certain type of genre delineation. With the partial exception of MobyGames (whose genres seem, at best, muddled), the others — allgame.com, and gamespot.com — show an understanding of genre only as deep as the mechanics of the games. From these genres, we can tell that the game in question will require more planning or more reflexes; we can tell from what perspective we will be looking at the gameworld; and, we can tell if the game is intended to be played alone or with a group. These, while important elements of a game from a ludological perspective, ignore theme and narrative entirely. Praise for Braid’s bending/subverting of genre does not in any way represent its narrative or thematic work. By speaking of its genre as “platformer” and not, say, “romantic tragedy,” it is easy to ignore that, narratively, the “deconstructive” ending sequence does nothing to actually deconstruct the save-the-princess trope, and, in fact, doubles down on making the female character twice objectified/made a “goal” instead of a character (running from the knight and to Tim / running from Tim and to the knight). What could have been looked at from a narratological perspective and very sharply criticized was judged almost universally as a “ludic” genre piece, where it succeeds — even though it is, otherwise, a sub-young-adult-fiction, Holden-Caulfield-meets-Memento mess.

What is worse is that, when a game fulfills the ludic specifications of a genre but not the typical thematic specifications, it can be judge (unfairly) against those more “typical” games. If SimCity had come out after Starcraft, would it be criticized for representing a city-building sandbox? Would it be panned for having no competitive multiplayer aspect? It is, after all, a strategic game (in fact, I would argue that the layers of strategy outclass those of most RTS games that came after it) and it plays out in real time. But RTS means one very specific thing now: little buildings that make little men that kill other little men faster than another person can make other little killing men. This concept of how representation should inform design is completely backwards.

What I hope video games can do that other forms have successfully done is remove genre classification from mechanics, and, once it has done that, remove “genre games” from the greater set of games. In film, there is “genre film” — Golden Age oaters, or 50’s low-budget sci-fi, or mischief films, or anything-sploitation — but these are, by and large, splinter genres that are only aimed at and enjoyed by genre aficionados. The films that reach critical success are, for the most part, non-”genre.” Last year, Metacritic’s top films included The Social Network, Winter’s Bone, and Black Swan — none easily classified as any “genre” (The Social Network may be considered a “docudrama” but that speaks more to the origin of the film’s narrative than the presentation of the narrative). When looking for fiction in a book store, one usually finds a section dedicated to fantasy and sci-fi, and another dedicated to young-adult fiction, and perhaps a couple more “genre” sections, but they are all dwarfed by the general fiction section. And it’s in this section that you will find some of literature’s most adored and successful works. Even in music, where most critics are stumbling over themselves to coin the term for the next “genre”, it seems that those records with the most crossover appeal are not “country” or “rap” or “electronic” or even “rock” — the records that are most universally acclaimed are the ones that are simply great music.

This change can only occur in video games once we stop classifying them based on how we perceive them (can you imagine if all “first-person” novels were expected to include gunplay and action sequences?!) and classify them on their thematic content. Only then will bending and subverting those genres lead to an exciting new mode of storytelling. For now, we’re just trying to pick the king of B-Games.

Read this to hear more:

Arsenault, J. (2009). Video game genre, evolution and innovation. Eludamos. Journal for Computer Game Culture., 3(2), 149-176.

Listen, I’ll be honest with you here: I didn’t start a blog because I care that you hear my opinion. I care more about your opinion. I know what you’re thinking: “Brilliam, you sure picked a weird format to use if you wanna hear other people’s opinions.” You’re right. but blogs do have comments, so there’s that.

I’ll cut straight to the chase, because you’re a busy person. I am running a poll to define, completely arbitrarily, the best video game ever released on the PS2. It’s with a website I frequent called ILX, but that’s beside the point. The point is GAMES, and LISTS, and POLLS. And GAMES. Did I say GAMES?

Firstly, I implore you: visit this website. There’s a list of nominated games there: this is part of the first step. Only games nominated can be voted for, to avoid vote splitting and confusion and such; however, nominating a game is as easy as commenting on this blog, or commenting on that blog, or emailing me (that’s magacid, by the way, at gmail). Nominations are due by March 14th.

After that, the fun part: BALLOTS. You would send to my email (not by comment, we wanna keep the results SECRET until the end) your list of favourite PS2 games: as few as 1, as many as 15, in order (ties are allowed!). Ideally (but optionally) one would also include small blurbs, frmo one sentence to one paragraph, explaining why it is an awesome game to you. The results would slowly leak out on the previously-mentioned blog, complete with delicious youtube links and pictures and blurbs from other voters (AND YOU!).

If you think your list will suck, FRET NOT. It’s easy and you should send one anyway. A lot of the people contributing are not “gamerzzzz” in the hardcore sense; in fact, our year-end lists often end up with free flash games and iPhone puzzle apps near the top of the list because, well, that’s how we roll.

THE PS2 IS DEAD. LONG LIVE THE PS2.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently, as I’m sure much of the Internet has, about the possibilities that will be in Scribblenauts. It presents an intriguing way of play: your imagination is your biggest obstacle. Thinking of strange ways to beat things will be where the real fun is.

That lead me to something else I have been thinking about a lot recently, as prompted by Angus’s recent article on game morality: creating artificial barriers to overcome.

I’ve seen it in countless other scenarios in games since I found myself staring into the 16-color abyss of a Netscape Navigator window in 1997: beat Final Fantasy with four white mages. Survive a Roguelike with only the items you can forage within the dungeon. Finish Ikaruga without firing a bullet (or, you know, finish it while playing two players simultaneously). Solo Onyxia. Beat Mirror’s Edge without using a gun. Don’t kill anyone in a Metal Gear Solid game. The list goes on, I’m sure.

I, on the other hand, never have the patience or skill to do any of these things; they require qualities (namely, hand-eye co-ordination and/or unemployment) I’m devoid of. However, I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty clever kid (my imagination is at least good enough to imagine that I’m an imaginative person) with a decent grasp on the English language (I know great nouns such as “dirge,” “colugo” and “arthrodesis”), and as such, I see Scribblenauts as a fantastic way to get creative with arbitrary rules.

I know it’s a bit early to start coming up with arbitrary “hard modes” for the game, but it’s been on my mind for a while. As such, I’d like to solicit ideas from my audience!

Here are some of my ideas so far, ranked in ascending order of assumed difficulty:

1. Played-Out Mode: Beat Scribblenauts without summoning zombies. ZOMBIES ARE PLAYED OUT.

2. Acrophobic Pacifist Mode: Beat Scribblenauts without use of height-assisting items or weapons (although, in true Pacifist style, tools which are also weapons can be used for their original tool-like purpose, so a chainsaw can be summoned but only to cut down a tree).

3. Fantasy Mode: Beat Scribblenauts summoning only items that only exist in the realm of fantasy. If a replica has been created of an item, it is okay, but use your discretion: a Bat’leth is okay because it is strictly from the realm of fiction, but a robot may not be, despite its birth in the realm of sci-fi.

4. Alphabet Aerobics Mode: Beat the first “level” (or stage, or starite, or whatever they end up being) using only items that start with A. Beat the next with B. The next with C. You know how the rest of the alphabet goes. Flip back to A, I guess, if there are more than 26, flip back to A, I guess. Have fun on level 24! (For the record, though, Phi-Life Cypher did the ABC thing better only a year later.)

5. Conversationist Mode: Beat Scribblenauts without destroying any of the environment. Summoning animate objects to do the destruction for you is also not permitted.

6. Breath of Life Mode: Beat Scribblenauts summoning only items that are alive upon their summoning. A tree is okay; a wood pole is not.

7. Midas Mode: Beat Scribblenauts summoning only gold-coloured items.

8. Intangible Mode: Beat Scribblenauts summoning only items whose noun is an “intangible.” While they typically become tangible once summoned in the game, words like “dream,” “temptation” or “theorem” are acceptable while “pillow,” “chocolate bar” or “right angle triangle” are not. Homonyms are a cheeky way to get around it, but are not allowed if the word you’re pretending is allowed isn’t a noun. So, no using stalk and saying “but the verb is intangible!”

9. Gadsby Mode: Beat Scribblenauts without using the letter E.

10. Summon Nothing Mode: Beat Scribblenauts summoning only items that rhyme with wolf. Remember that wolf does not rhyme with wolf. They’re the same word no matter what terrible rappers may try to trick you into believing.

11 (yes, THIS LIST GOES TO 11). 43 Mode: Beat Scribblenauts summoning only words that are a part of George W. Bush’s active vocabulary.

And for my second small post that simply links somewhere else, I’d also like to draw your attention to Text Adventure.

Tiff Chow and I are curating what will hopefully be a totally dope and expansive repository of great examples of text in videogames. From unforgettable splash screens to thoughtfully-placed speech bubbles (ooh, that reminds me… Comix Zone), anything where the text makes you sit up and say “I like the way that looks” will be up there, a couple entries at a time.

But, then again, chances are you’ve already seen this at Offworld. Or Destructoid. Or Infovore. Or Waxy. Or Tiff’s blog. Oder Nerdcore. Ou Graphism.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m late to the party on linking to someithng I had a part in making. Still trying to figure out if that’s sad or awesome. If you’re not already, follow us on Tumblr (or make a Tumblr so you can), and we’ll transport you to…

…sorry. Lame joke.

I’m not usually one to play the “link something interesting” game with my blog, but you owe it to yourself to read this. Angus of Tango Lima Delta Romeo has written a very thoughtful piece on the continuing evolution of “morality” as it’s presented in games (his definition of morality, in this case, is doing your best to achieve your goals within a game; so, as such, it is “moral” to kill goombas in Super Mario Bros).

Aside from criticizing the “invisible hand of God” that keeps a fully tabulated and annotated count of how many “good” points and “not so good” MoralityPoints™ you have, he raises interesting ideas as to how one might truly present moral quandaries to a player, and, therefore, add new depth to “playing” and “beating” a scenario.

But the most interesting parts of moral conflict, the ones that separate pulp and genre from literature, are the ones that are ambiguous and dependent on situation. I ran an Unknown Armies (a pen and paper role-playing game) game for some friends awhile ago where everyone played sort of idealized selves and put them through any number of horrible events that have no grounding in life. Players reactions were surprising. People acted out of panic, anger, fear, attachment, all of the things that many simplified moral codes urge us to deny.

Definitely worth a look, if this sort of thing is up your alley.

Over at Every Game Ever the original plan was to write a little piece about every NA-released SNES game in alphabetical order. For about two weeks, I slogged through te games starting with numbers, and the games starting with A. After a while, though, I lost steam, and it sunk into unfinished obscurity. Two years later, my friends Mekki and Brian berated me until I resurrected it, in a new capacity: many writers, each doing one article every week (well, that was the original plan. Some people are two months behind, INCLUDING BRIAN WHO MADE ME START IT AGAIN). The only rules are:

1) 150-450 words, roughly, unless it’s a special case;
2) At least one screenshot;
3) No number scores (6/10, 85%, etc).

It was a good idea, though. I brought it back and started recruiting friends to write for it. It started with myself, Scott, Angus, Brian, and Mekki. From there, it began to flourish. Monday through Friday, we’d bravely wade into the sports-game-infested waters of the SNES catalogue. I had (and still have) an ulterior motive, though: by forcing deadlines and topics, I got some of my most gifted writer friends motivated enough to actually write something. Looking at those previous blogs will show you how long it’s been since they even wrote something of their own accord.

And, despite my own shoddy writing on the site (my own official excuse is twofold: one, my focus is now on badgering people who are late to submit ASAP; and, secondively, I’m experimenting with copying other people’s writing styles or toying with my own on a weekly basis), it’s going fabulously. We’ve since doubled in authorship. Scotty joined the team, bolstering the ever-important “dick jokes” quota required for a modern website; Travis, too, was recruited for another quota: pretentious English Master’s student-style existential pontification. Adam found the site through my blog (I think) and expressed interest, so I hooked him up to help with the load. Alex showed interest, and contributed to the noise with his debut article on Chessmaster– in all-caps. Tiff Chow joined the team to round it out to a nice, even ten.

Since the site gets little traffic, aside from some very weird search engine results (my favorite at the moment is still last week’s “where can a condom get lost in vagina”), so I thought I’d highlight some of my favourite articles from the site over the past few months. I’ve included links that will allow you to read just that author’s works, as it’s a lot more enjoyable to read one author at a time and develop a sense of their style. These are in random order, except for the first two who I recommend above the rest of us (sorry, everyone, but Scott and Travis truly have this thing locked down — step up your game if you wann be at the top of the next roundup in a few months!).

TRAVIS makes you want to read from the get-go. From his review of the diabetes edutainment title, Captain Novolin: Captain Novolin is a brilliant metaphor for the struggle with obesity and diabetes, but also the simple yet unending fight against temptation that we all face as ultimately flawed human beings.

Also check out his Chrono Trigger review. It’s some of the best game-related writing I’ve seen on the Internet. It’s a crime he isn’t writing more about the games and the industry. But there is a difference between your standard unsophisticated video game story, upon which I now smirk from my ivory tower, and something like Chrono Trigger. Chrono Trigger is a fantasy/sci-fi genre epic translated from Japanese, and it wasn’t written by professionals in either language, I’m fairly sure. This is, generally, not a recipe for the most delicious of successes. But it’s something special. It has a rather intricate narrative of time travel and the alteration of the future through your actions; it has characters that, to some extent, come alive. It has a nasty, big-boss villain who you can even convince to come to your side, if you do it right. It has multiple endings and a terrifying final boss that destroys worlds and waits for you at the terminus of every timeline, like a living, breathing dark god of entropy.

SCOTT manages to turn many of his pieces into hilarious little bits of short fiction. From his review of Andre Agassi Tennis: I’m glad these 16-bit graphics don’t allow the detail necessary to see the disappointment on the faces of my family as they sit in the audience and hold back tears of shame and disgust. How did this spastic even find his way to the tennis court? I knew there was something wrong with him…spends his whole day watching Mr. Belvedere re-runs and eating Sun Chips out of a dirty wooden bowl.

Or, check out his write-up of California Games II: I hoped that once the drug testing was done, I’d be banned from the California Games forever. Too many dark memories, scattered fragments riding a wave of victory that took me through the silver-lined gutters of stardom. Once you’ve won a California Game, the ultimate test is detoxing from the heady fallout of athletic recognition. Party people. Opiates fell like candy from the sky into my open mouth and I twitched slightly and pulled the hair of a supermodel. She screamed in outrage, but there were others waiting to take her place.

WILL (that’s me!) misses the simpler times. From Brett Hull Hockey 95:Originally I was going to talk about the weird 3/4 perspective in this game, and the even weirder old guy with greasy hair who POINTS at your coaching resource allocations with his HAND, in effect being a living cursor, but what’s the point? You don’t care about that. I don’t care either. I do, however, care about a bygone era where kids had artifacts other than the ones you see in poorly-encoded Youtube videos.

SCOTTY hates rudders, even though the word sounds sort of dirty. I hate flying games. Flying games are way too complicated and there’s usually no pay off. It’s like trying to sleep with girls that listen to NPR and check Pitchfork every 5 minutes. I just don’t have time to devote to something that won’t end in burgers or orgasms, or if I’m lucky, both, in any order I see fit.

MEKKI gets why Battletoads included two modes. From Battlemaniacs: The game is full of great times for two players. You can select between two modes. In one mode, you can hit your teammate. In the other mode, you can’t it each other. The first is great for trash talking. The second is great for actually making it anywhere in the game.

BRIAN managed to truncate every story ever quite succinctly, with Art of Fighting: (the) Art of Fighting’s plot is simple enough. Ryo’s sister gets kidnapped. Ryo and his friend Antonio Banderas go save her. Along the way you uppercut some dudes. The end.

ANGUS has been MIA for a while (finals tend to do that), but he’s coming back with a vengeance. From his recent article on Beavis and Butthead: It would be a beat-em-up if there was any sort of combat system. It would be a platformer if it had platforms. It would be a puzzle-platformer if it had any puzzles. It plays a little bit like A Boy and His Blob. Except the blob doesn’t do anything. And you can slap it. Repeatedly.

ALEX hasn’t been with us long, but his first review, of Chessmaster, is a lot of fun:
THIS AIN’T YOUR GRANDMA’S CHESS VIDEO GAME, FUCKERS! THIS IS ON SOME REAL, STREET-LEVEL SHIT. TOP OF THE LINE MOTHERFUCKING CHESS GRAPHICS! INSANE MOVES! WHITE KNUCKLE ACTION! THIS IS THE BAD BOYS 2 OF CHESS VIDEO GAMES FOR THE SUPER NINTENDO!

ADAM, as well, is new to the site. He has two reviews up (should be three later today!) and he was lucky enough to start with everyone’s archnemesis: the snackfood tie-in. But maybe I’ve been asking all the wrong questions. Would it sell a pack of Cheetos? Probably it would!
“Screw this, Cheetos are heaps better than this game. Wanna get some Cheetos?”
“HELL YES.”

Please check it out. While they can’t all be hits (I turn beet-red when I think about how bad some of my articles were. My Axelay acrostic poetry stands out as one of the most embarrassingly pathetic jokes I’ve ever commited to a computer), there are gems worth looking to as great pieces on games you (and, usually, the author) have no interest in.

And if you’re interested in writing, let me know. We may add a couple more in a month or so.

I didn’t expect to generate so many comments on my dam-bursting logorrheic last post. Really, I wrote it because it was floating around in my mind, and it was the closest thing to something bloggable that I’ve come up with in a month. As such, I thought I’d spit it out and people might get a little amusement.

Instead, I got a bunch of comments that challenge my position, and that really put my brain into overdrive. I think we fail to challenge people’s opinions far too often on this whole Internet vidyagame blogging sphere thing, and I truly appreciate the feedback. So much so, that I’m writing this response! It might be worth reading the first article before this one or else it may not make sense.

Matthew Gallant was the first to post, and he said:

Of course memory == binary, so that’s another direction you could take.

This is in reference to my use of the word “mems” to replace “videogames.” He’s right, and mems is close to memes, so… bines? I like bines.

From commenter mad, I got this response:

There is history here; see Chiptunes, 8-bit, 16-bit.

Naming it after the memory makes it feel static, like data. Naming it after the processor makes it dynamic, which is what games are typically all about.

Compare also to processes, executables, etc.

I see what you’re trying to do here; but, the only problem I see is that it assumes that a… a mem… (you know what? for the sake of the argument, I’m jsut going to call ithem mems for the rest of this entry) must be dynamic. Why didn’t they name “the film” after the projector? Because to name an artistic medium because of a characteristic you assign to it does a disservice to anything that wishes to use that medium to illustrate the opposite of that characteristic. What if a mem’s purpose was to communicate stasis, or stagnation? The only truly neutral way to name it is to simply name it for what it is on (ie. film, memory/binary)… not what takes it from that form and displays it (as a projector or processor would).

mad adds:

also note:
video games are about graphics
computer games are about numbers
most players don’t care about the other stuff :P

But, they don’t have to be. They can be about whatever the originator wants them to be about.

teh_red_baron says:

And then there’s ‘movies’, or ‘moving pictures’.
I think ‘videogames’ is fine. It’s inextricable. All it takes is exposure for people to respect the medium.
But I still like what you’ve attempted here.

The terms movies/moving pictures, while not perfectly accurate (after all, there are experimental films where the pictures does, in fact, never move), is restrictive but nowhere near as restrictive as forcing every piece of computer-assisted interactive entertainment/art to be a game. While exposure is key, so is changing some of the very language we use to describe the medium. After all, respected games are still games.

Eric J:

in the middle days of Infocom, they decided that the moniker “interactive fiction” was too clunky to go on, and announced a contest to have it renamed.
The contest ended without a winner, nobody was able to come up with anything decent.

I rather fancy the term interactive fiction. What else could explain it better? Plus, it shortens to IF, which is bloody brilliant for so many reasons.

Travis‘s response will need to be broken up, I reckon, if I’m going to respond to it at all properly:

The problem goes beyond nomenclature. The medium of which we speak is largely composed of, yes, games. It is to games that we look when we want to make some kind of critical artistic analysis.

It is indeed largely composed of games, but it doesn’t need to be. I agree: the nomenclature isn’t the only issue, but, it is one that needs to be assessed.

Can a game be art? Is chess an art? What about Puerto Rico? Is good game design an art form – establishing balanced choices and keeping players entertained and stimulated throughout? What about playing a game – is there art in being a mindboggling Street Fighter expert? Does that mean polevaulters and gymnasts are artists too?
There is a philosophical distinction between “design” and “art,” one that only became pronounced after classical times. Building a beautiful chair that is like a minimalistic sculpture is surely art, but building a GOOD chair became delineated from that. Some would suggest that the gap between them is narrowing again.

This skirts the original question, which is, why must the medium only be games? There is interactive scuptural art which is certainly not called a “game”– immediately to mind springs an exhibit where a robot was sweeping a floor. When people approached it, it would sweep more feverishly. By the end of the night (accidentally, I might add), it had managed to etch a design in the buffed concrete underneath it. That’s not the point, though; while the generative art it created is interesting, the point was the interactive structural piece. Why does all computer software need to be a “game,” then? That robot wasn’t a game. Whether the creation of a game is art or not is meaningless — the question is, why must we call any attempt at art within the medium a “game”?

Beyond that, should “video games” remain in the arena of gaming, or should there be attempts to move beyond entertainment to a more artistic realm? As you say, most art is not “fun” in the same sense of the rest of its medium. I have fun reading a good entertaining story, but when I read Joyce or Faulkner it’s not “fun.” It’s satisfying, it’s engaging, it’s fulfilling, it’s mind-broadening, but not fun.

I think that, as a medium, there’s absolutely no reason that it shouldn’t be explored in pursuit of experiences other than fun. I can’t justify that; it’s an opinion. I don’t think humanity would be where it is now had film or literature simply stayed in the realm of fun, though.

But how else can people be motivated to engage in something so interactive? How else can their interest be gained, especially in terms of a medium so deeply embedded in our minds as a game? The video game is so closely tied to the engine of industry, and so young, that I don’t foresee it breaking away from being fun – usually mindless, shallow fun – for profit. Of course, film and books and music are massively profit-based as well. There exists still a strong current of “art” film and “literature,” at least, which is driven by artistic needs and desires rather than entertainment = money.

There exists a similar current within gamemaking. It’s a lot smaller, and much more stunted, but in time, it will be a force, given the current trajectory.

I really don’t foresee the imminent success of a game that isn’t “fun” to play, but on the other hand we are seeing some now – the one where you play a grandmother walking through a cemetery, and all you do is walk and wait to potentially die, for example. Probably not “successful” but it has been published and received news stories from various major websites.

Exactly. It moves away from gameness, but is still called a game. Wherefore?

mad again:

Games of poker, chess, football, war, the heart…. with money, pride, life or love on the line, all games contain anticipation, drama, conflict, hope, tragedy, catharsis. There’s always a context, a history; there are colorful characters, their developments and revelations. To win or lose is simple and pure; but it provides a reason, and a meaning to everything that surrounds it.
Games aren’t supposed to be fun because they are fun, but because that’s what can sell to people who just want to have… fun! Trying to distance oneself from games not because of what they are but how they’re sold is kind of meh…
..‘Game’ is the perfect word though. My argument is that the only reason it seems like an improper term is because the markets, media and even academia, have co-opted the term to suite their needs. To rebel against the word ‘game’ because of how they use it, is to implicitly buy into their worldview.

The question isn’t, though, what defines a game: the question is, why must “game” define so much? It’s as much a misnomer as when someone calls commissioned urban aerosol art (yeah, I just called it that) “graffiti.” It misses the point. Furthermore, I’m not sure the word game is being misused. Sure, there are dozens of entries in the dictionary for “game,” but to me, it means something that’s meant to challenge in a way that can be defeated. Art can’t be defeated; it does challenge, but that’s a different definition of the word “challenge.” You can interpret a piece of art; you cannot master a piece of art, though. I want this medium to have the opportunity to be interpreted without being mastered.

Ben Abraham writes:

I think that “video game” (or videogame if, like me, you prefer) comes close to describing what they’re usually “put on”, since they’re usually on some sort of video screen.
I also think that the conventions around memory say that something is stored “in memory” rather than on memory derails your argument a bit.
What’s wrong with ‘Computer Games’? That *is* what they are played/put on, after all – some kind of computer. In fact, ‘computer games’ used to be my defacto term for video games before I picked up that convention.

Whether it’s in or on, memory is the place it is put to be worked on, distributed, and consumed. But, the point is twofold– not only is “video” outdated, but “games” is as well, in my opinion.

And, finally, Tellurian writes:

There’s the constantly ongoing bitchfight between consoleros and PCgamers wether you’re talking computer- OR videogames, since one term supposedly doesn’t fit the other’s contents.
Going in the “Movie” direction, the term “Interactive” could be coined there, since that IS the common element of these.
“Yesterday I watched a movie and played some online interactives.”
Yeah still sounds a bit like a 70s sci-fi version of today.

Interactives is indeed another possibility. Originally I was going to try to work with that term. But, at some point, I decided that I couldn’t derive a punchy, one-syllable name from it. Certainly nothing that could invade the public arena like “games” already has. As far as computer vs. video goes– do people actually argue about this? I call it whichever comes to my mind first, generally.

The point is, basically, that I have a problem with calling the entire form “games” when the medium has potential to be more than games. Calling it games means that people are not only less likely to make non-”games” due to the name, but people are also less likely to accept those non-”games” for not being fun, even if they have something else to offer.

I’ve seen the argument online, I’ve had it in person, and it repeats in my dreams: the term videogames (or video games, whatever) needs to be replaced. Games are supposed to be fun, but the interactive computer-assisted medium can’t be an art form if it HAS to be fun. Last autumn I saw an original Kiki Smith piece, and I didn’t have fun. Once I read King Lear. It wasn’t fun (despite what the mainstream media says, I, the video game player, did not derive pleasure from such things as an old man having his eyes gouged out), but I liked it. Watching Loves of a Blonde wasn’t fun, either. But it was worth it.

I had a conversation with Matthew Gallant recently about the term “video games” and how it’s useless and paints the entire medium into a corner. I mean, clearly the video part needs to go. There are entirely auditory games. I heard about an XNA one recently where you have to sue your speakers to evade a monster of some sort. He brought up “interactive art” or “interactive entertainment” but who’d say something like that? I think at a certain point we decided that, since it’s software, and it’s art, why not software art?

The thing about software art is that it works insofar that you might refer to filmmaking as “the cinematic art.” Or, you know, when you’re in school and you have to study “language arts.” That’s not what we need, though. We need a good, solid noun.

So, I decided to do a little research: where did other media get their everyday names from?

BOOK: From Old English bōc { Proto-Germanic *boks, probably related to *bōk- (“beech”) (perhaps originally used to make writing-tablets). Cognate with Dutch boek, German Buch, Swedish bok. Compare beech. — Wiktionary

Right, so the book is probably named after that which they were originally put on. That makes sense, right?

MUSIC: Now, hold up a minute. Music isn’t the product that you have. You have singles, or albums, or MP3s or whatever, right? Let’s look at album, here. From Latin album (“blank white writing tablet”) { albus (“white”). That’s Wiktionary again. So, it seems like the musical album was informed by the more traditional book-like album, which is a word for what it’s on. Again. I am seeing a trend here.

FILM: A film is on film. I never call it a movie anyway. It sounds like a kid’s word. Besides, film supports my argument.

Books, albums, and film are references to what they’re on. What’s a “videogame” or “video game” or “piece of interactive entertainment/art” or “software art” on? Well, probably a number of things, potentially. A punchcard. A USB key. A GD-ROM. A hard drive. A website.

Thing is, it’s always on memory.

So what if we called them “mems?” It’s short, catchy, doesn’t pigeonhole itself by explaining only one facet of itself, and refers to the one thing it needs to exist: the memory upon which it is imprinted.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t think this is going to happen. I just needed to put a cease fire on the war going on between my blog and the massive writer’s block in my head. I banged this out in… well, by the time I finish this paragraph, 20 minutes. I needed to make sure my blog still works. Or I can still press buttons on a keyboard. Or something.

So, yeah. MEMS. It’s the new slang. Someone tell Michael Abbott, Ian Bogost, N’Gai Croal, and Geoff Keighley to start saying it– they’ve got the blog, academic, enthusiast media and mainstream media pretty much locked down. Those four are like the Voltron of changing our lexicon. I implore you, gents: MEMS.

Brickbreaker is an Breakout clone for the Blackberry. It ships for free on all phones, I think. It came with my Blackberry Pearl. I can’t imagine there’s any reason for it to be there, other than the fact that it proves to you that your game can run games (and, therefore, you should buy games).

It could’ve used a few more QA runs. Its physics are dodgy. I assume you know a thing or two about Breakout clones, if you’re reading this; if not, try this for about 30 seconds and i’m sure you’ll know what I mean. You get a paddle, and a ball, and a bunch of bricks that the ball breaks, and you have to break them all. It’s Pong Vs. A Wall. It’s ubiquitous.

There are good Breakout clones out there, to be sure: the DS title “Nervous Brickdown” played around with the formula a lot, to pretty good results. Arkanoid is an arcade classic. I’ve not played Arkanoid for the DS, let alone with the custom paddle controller, but I bet it’s fantastic. Brickbreaker on the Blackberry is mediocre when compared to the vast multitude of clones out there. Its entire existence is designed to waste a bit of time here and there and make you consider buying more games on your phone.

And yet, I play it — hardcore.

I can think of few other games with a more broken physics set. Balls will bounce at weird angles and go through walls and the paddle will completely miss balls it shouldn’t miss at times. The controls aren’t exactly good, either: the trackball on a Blackberry Pearl isn’t exactly the most high-quality device (more on that later). Maybe, though, it’s that it’s on my phone, and I don’t look like a total dork staring at it on the metro, but I end up playing it a lot. Far more than my DS, anyway. I have a couple other games for my Pearl, though. A friend of mine worked for a place where he could get me a few for free, but nothing touches Brickbreaker as far as play goes. It’s so lightweight that it boots immediately and requires virtually no battery, and you can pause it at any time.

What I love about Brickbreaker is… I can’t believe I’m saying this… the depth. I am absolutely convinced that a lot of the depth is accidental (to be fair, I am convinced a vast majority of quality in games is accidental, over the history of video games), but it’s there nonetheless. The powerups are as bland as cornmeal, but open the game to interesting permutations. Multi makes many balls, but they shoot in four upward directions from the main ball the second you get it. This means waiting a split second might mean the difference between uselessness and quick finishing. Gun allows you to blow up any brick in one shot, even the “unbreakable ones.” This means you can break some levels by popping holes into boxes with only one rather inaccessible hole in them. One powerup flips your controls, offering no bonus other than the usual 50 points coming with a powerup– making it poison to a new player, and free points to a veteran.

The longer you play, the faster the ball moves until you lose a life. If you aren’t directing every shot with precision (as much as the nonsensical physics will afford, at least), the puzzle starts dropping towards you, applying even more pressure. There are levels I am convinced are unbeatable if you let it drop all of the way, so it often makes sense to drop a life that these points like some sort of ablative armor. Throw a steak to the hungry wolves outside to spare your life-meat.

Once you beat the 34th level, you loop back to the first stage. It took me months to realize this, because some of the levels leading up are so brutally difficult to the learning player. Once you loop back to 1, though, you think “boy, I can just play infinitely!” However, the puzzles start dropping from shot ONE in this playthrough.

My high score when I started writing this was 28000 points. Since, it became 32780. I made it to level 31 of the second playthough. Sadly, I’ll probably never beat this score, because Pearl’s trackball has a pretty poor lifetime. Mine sticks intermittently, now, and I lose dozens of lives because it decides to crap out mid-move.

Hey, Internet. Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve written anything; I got laid off, and was unemployed, and went home to Ottawa for a week, where I had precious little web time, then started a new job back in Montreal. In spite of this I spent a lot of time thinking about a few things that’ll hopefully become articles in the near future.

I, and many others, hate the state of review scores. 1UP was probably the best because it was completely arbitrary and subjective, and it wore that on its sleeve. They write their gut reactions, which I really appreciate. It’s not about graphics and sound and gameplay as completely stupid separate categories coming into a terribly useless aggregate. Many other sites and publications have taken this sort of review to heart, but I still think there’s something to the idea of breaking down the score and building your ultimate reaction from the sum of its parts.

To do this, I’ve invented a crackpot four-point review rubric. I can’t say I thought about it that much; actually, while on the brink of sleep it came to mind and I texted the idea to my friend Angus and promptly fell asleep. And forgot about it. I may have already been unconscious. Hey, don’t let that discount the idea though: at least one person thinks the lucid space between regular consciousness and batshit insanity is where the best ideas come from. I just use sleep because LSD is kinda illegal. I’ve given these four categories adorable disorder-based names that poke fun at things gamers are accused of having. Feel free to change them to less potentially offensive names if you’re interested.

THE SYSTEM

ADD x/5

The ADD measure is indicative of how immediately engaging the game is at all (or at least many) times. There are a lot of games I can think of that I simply didn’t like as much as others due to this. A great example would be Fable II; there were far too many times where I found myself bored just because it would take so long for something interesting to happen. What counts as interesting can vary, as can what takes too long; getting from point a to point b might take twice as long in one game, but if the journey is intriguing enough, it doesn’t matter. Now, don’t get me wrong: a game can definitely have parts that are tedious and still get a five. The question is, how often is the tedium broken up? How much of the game’s time does it dominate? Is the tedium rewarding? When it comes to Fable II, the answers to these questions were simply unsatisfactory.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, I’ll use a game like N+ to illustrate my point. You go into your Xbox 360′s Game Library. You select N+. Once the game goes through its two (very quick, as these things go) company logo interstitials. A bad-ass BZHOOOOO sound happens and the menu drops in. You pick the menu, you pick a level, and you’re in the middle of the action. It takes less time to get into the action than it takes most disc titles to spin up. The difficulty ranges from enjoyably casual-yet-challenging to downright diabolical, but it stays fun as hell.

OCD x/5

If you are poring over GameFAQs looking for more information you already have the ability to beat, you’re probably playing a game with a 5/5 OCD score. This is a meter of a game’s technical immersion. Droves of games come to mind as high scorers: Street Fighter II and III, Super Mario Kart games, Final Fantasy Tactics, Tetris, earlier Armored Core games… I could go on. The ability to get lost in the intricacies of a game’s play and the urge to do so mean an easy high score, but it doesn’t need to be complex– sometimes it just simply has to be incredibly satisfying. There are certainly amazing games out there that wouldn’t score well in this respect; for example, while playing Ico, I found it technically somewhat tedious and unfulfilling but I continued because I liked everything else so much. But, as such, I could hardly call it a “perfect” game, and it’d be punished in this category.

Escapism x/5

If OCD relays the game’s technical immersion, escapism relays its emotional immersion. How much are you affected by the story, the characters, the world? If it’s something you want to get lost in, and every time you play you forget about your bills and your shitty job and you just want to marry the main squeeze and you wonder what happens in the world once the game ends, it’s a high scorer. Final Fantasy Tactics somehow achieved this. For me, Vice City did not achieve this at all; once I was done playing it, I didn’t think about it again– let alone feel any urge to visit it again. If it made you cry, it’s probably a 5/5. If you tried to skip as many cutscenes as were possible, it was probably closer to a one. There’s not much more to say about this.

Histrionics x/5

This is almost certainly the most controversial of the four categories, but I’ll try to justify it.  Basically, this is a marker of how relevant the game is or should be. Many games will get 5/5 before I even play them: Grand Theft Auto 4 and Braid would start with a minimum of five in this category simply because they’re something anyone who talks about games needs to play. They could have both been humongous pieces of garbage (which, thankfully, they weren’t), but they deserve to be played and talked about due to that hype. However, this is also a category where games that deserve that kind of conversation are highly rated; the “overlooked” gems like Team Ico’s releases that innovate and create fantastic new worlds are pretty important in their own way. Games that are far from perfect but invent a new mechanic that future games will exploit to become amazing are also high scorers in this category. I’m looking at you, Assassin’s Creed.

Some people would argue that a game’s hype should have no bearing on its score (and I don’t mean to sound like I care about material things, LIKE MY SOCIAL STATSSSSS), but here are three reasons I believe this is a valid category:

1. It means that you can easily justify not attaching it to the other categories, and get a more pure review score.
2. It’s honest. I mean, if GTA4 has an all-time Metacritic rating of 98, how can you say that it doesn’t factor into the score already? It’s not like it’s the best game of the decade like that MC rating would imply.
3. If you disagree with the hype, you can easily change this score in your head to something else and get what you consider a more “realistic” review score.

—

Each is marked on a scale of one to five. One is deplorable, three is honorable, and five is spectacular. The final percentile score is (a-1) * 6.25+ (b-1) * 6.25+ (c-1) * 6.25 + (d-1) * 6.25. Or, more simply, each score adds either 0%, 6.25%, 12.50%, 18.75% or 25% to the final score. The worst score is 0%, the best is 100%, and the exact middle is 50%. However, I would very occasionally consider giving a game a rating higher than 5/5 in a category; if it sets an utterly mind-blowing new standard in any of these departments (at least, for me), I’d give it a six. I would’ve given Football Manager 2008 an OCD 6/5, for example, because it dominated my life for months last year with its intricacies. I’d also give World of Warcraft a 6/5 in histrionics or escapism, because it was such an utterly new experience for me: for a year, I had dozens of best friends all over the US and Canada. Needless to say, a 6/5 would be incredibly rare. Like, possibly less-than-once-a-year rare.

However, on top of all of this, I’d still give a game an entirely separate score: it’s a three-point scale. One is “don’t bother,” two is “play it if you have the time and the money to do so and nothing better is available,” and three is “make this a priority.” A scale like that is just as important, if you ask me. Even if Ico scored low in one category and not perfect in others, it’s still a solid 3 in this entirely other system. You just need to give it a spin.

Anyway, that’s the system. I’m toying with the idea of using this rubric for all future reviews of games I write. What do you think?