Gaming Journalists Declare That “Gamers Are Over,” But They Are the Ones Becoming Obsolete

(It’s worth it for the last sentence.)

There are a couple angles to this assault on the gamer identity. The first has been floating around a while, but the second is new and more vehement. I’ll try to address each in turn.

You see, I am myself a gamer.

The concept of gamer has become obsolete

First, there is the notion that as gaming matures the need to differentiate the “gamer” from the rest of the populace will dwindle. This is clearly expressed in the work of Ian Bogost (sorry, Ian):

When we acknowledge videogames as a medium, the notion of a monolithic games industry, which creates a few kinds of games for a few kinds of players, stops making any sense. As does the idea of a demographic category called “gamers”€ who are the ones who play these games.

The issue I take with this is that “gamer” is something more than its base denotation of “one who plays games.” As Ian has himself said, “The problem with this ‘women are the majority of gamers’ line the press loves is that most women (rightly) want nothing to do with being ‘gamers.’”

So if a gamer is not just anyone who plays games, what is it? This turns out to be actually very simple: a gamer, I submit, is simply a gaming enthusiast. That’s all.

Do we need such a category? Well, we seem to draw the “enthusiast” distinction in many other areas of life. For example, there is no living man or woman who fails to eat on a fairly regular basis. Yet we would not consider every living man and woman a “foodie.” We have come up with the term “foodie” to describe those who do not merely eat, but display a refined and enthusiastic interest in their food. (And we’ve had similar terms, such as “gourmand,” for much longer.)

So the term “gamer” is not, in my book, terribly complicated nor especially redundant. And it’s certainly not derogatory, so long as you believe games can be worthwhile.

The concept of gamer describes a reprehensible segment of society

That brings me to the second, more current criticism: that “gamer” remains a useful category, but only because the body it delineates is one which ought to be singled out for censure.

This argument seems to have been first advanced by Leigh Alexander in her piece, ‘Gamers’ don’t have to be your audience. ‘Gamers’ are over:

[I]t’s not even culture. It’s buying things, spackling over memes and in-jokes repeatedly, and it’s getting mad on the internet…These obtuse sh**slingers, these wailing hyper-consumers, these childish internet-arguers – they are not my audience. They don’t have to be yours. There is no ‘side’ to be on, there is no ‘debate’ to be had.
There is what’s past and there is what’s now.

This distinction – between reactionary gamers clinging to a dead past and progressive… non-gamers who still enjoy games, I suppose, working toward a new future – appears again in a subsequent piece Alexander writes for Time magazine:

As video games unshackle from old constraints, traditional fans double down on keeping the treehouse sacrosanct.

(This is, by the way, the sort of “with us or against us”/“right side of history” triumphalist rhetoric that makes one devilishly hard to have a conversation with.)

What did gamers do to invite such vitriol? This is where some will accuse me of burying the lede, although anyone who’s followed this debate knew the lede already: certain game developers and critics have been taking tremendous heat for working to advance their causes within the games industry.

I don’t condone any of it. I’m especially distressed at the effect which this hostility seems to be having on games writer Jenn Frank. Anita Sarkeesian, who must have a skin of adamantium by now, is providing a useful critical counterpoint and ought to be allowed the space to continue doing so.

But a total conflation of “gamers” with the vocal mob will not withstand scrutiny. Some gamers are on the offensive; others are rallying to the affected. To ignore this fact would be to stoop to a level of broad-brush rhetoric no more sensible than the personal slurs which we decry.

As a gamer, I present the following principles for consideration:

1. Gamers should be free to advance their worldviews, even if those views are unpopular. That’s as true for feminism as for Christianity, or for Marixsm.
2. Gamers should be as free to advance their worldviews through game criticism as through the medium of games itself.

On the other hand, we need to make more careful distinctions. The gamer is not dying, nor does the gamer need snuffing out. On the contrary, I expect the gamer will only thrive. I love gamers. I’m proud to be one myself.

I floated the idea on Twitter and gauged the interest level. There seemed to be some, so I packed my copy of Dominion — counting on other gamers to flesh out the supply.

We were going to need the help, because once a time and place were set (June 13th, 8:30 in Bil Moorhead’s luxurious hotel suite), word spread. At its height, Game Night saw over 25 attendees — not a massive party by WWDC standards, but certainly bigger than any social event I’ve organized. Dominion supports only four players. This could have been bad.

Fortunately, a number of guests showed up with games in tow. Ash Ponders brought Backgammon and Katrina Montgomery (who stomped over everyone in Dominion). Michael Fey showed up with Munchkin, which kept the bulk of the guests entertained. And Don Synstelien provided Cosmic Encounter, perhaps the only “true” board game featured that night. Big thanks to everyone who helped out — Game Night would have landed with a thud if not for you.

Will there be a WWDC Game Night 2013? Possibly. If you made it to WWDC 2012 you know how incredibly difficult tickets are becoming to get. There’s no guarantee I’ll make it back next year. But if I do, I’ll be bringing one game or another.

Dominion in progress. Katrina, on the right, was the winner by a mile.

Munchkin was able to entertain a small crowd.

Cosmic Encounter is a good game for making friends… and enemies.

Whether or not Nintendo CEO Satoru Iwata ever referred to Apple as “the enemy of the future,” the sentiment is sound — casual gaming, so recently the key to Nintendo’s “blue ocean” strategy, is increasingly an iOS affair. And having all but abandoned the “hardcore” gaming market this past generation, Nintendo is left with very little room to maneuver.

As I see it, Nintendo has three options; and none of them easy. The first and, I believe, worst solution is to abandon hardware and transition to becoming a software-only company. It’s true that gaming properties like Mario, Zelda, Donkey Kong, Metroid and Pokémon are probably Nintendo’s best assets and could sustain a substantial game company. But without the hardware platforms along for the ride, I doubt software alone could fuel the Nintendo we know today. That way lies diminishment, and should be regarded as a last resort. Sega serves as a strong warning against this approach.¹

The second, slightly better plan is to confront the Xbox head-on. In fact, Nintendo has hinted it may be looking to do so with the beefed-up graphics capabilities of the Wii U. But graphics are a technology problem which is relatively straightforward to solve. Nintendo’s real handicaps against Microsoft are cultural: Nintendo does not value developer relations or online connectivity and Microsoft does. Core gamers want expansive third-party libraries and dead-simple online multiplayer; and Nintendo has a long track record of failing badly at providing either with its platforms.

The third option open to Nintendo is the most interesting and the riskiest: go after Apple on its own turf. Create a true, standalone tablet device that takes advantage of Nintendo’s strengths. Such a device — call it the “Nintendo iDS” for fun — would certainly require a world-class browser and support for the usual mobile standbys (like text messaging). But unlike the iPad, the iDS would feature integrated buttons and analog circle pads to make even the most “core” of gaming experiences possible.

It may sound crazy, but it’s not so far from what Amazon is attempting with the Kindle Fire. And Nintendo has a few tricks up its sleeve. As with the 3DS, it could design the iDS with a 3D screen and slider. (I’m not big on 3D in general, but if it makes sense anywhere it’s on a gaming platform.) Games could be temporarily shared with non-owners for multiplayer matches, as Nintendo already allows on its handhelds. But more than anything else, the iDS’ big feature would be one-tap access to both classic and brand-new titles in the Mario, Zelda and other franchises.

Do I think Nintendo will actually try to produce such a device? No. Nor do I expect them to get over their cultural handicaps or transform into a software-only developer. Nintendo will stick to its console hardware guns as long as it can; and it has the cash to be stubborn for quite some time. But the gaming industry is changing dramatically. Sooner or later, Nintendo will have to change too.

I think it’s a pretty good discussion. Go have a listen.

Nintendo is a company that likes to play it safe. It favors proven, affordable technology over the cutting edge; it returns to its core franchises frequently and only once in a while gambles on a completely new IP. Even its riskiest product in recent history — the Wii — was born out of sheer market necessity more than anything, and is a fairly conservative machine once you get past the motion controller.

Nintendo’s Metroid: Other M, on the other hand, is relatively risky. It’s a game with a strong story focus from a company that usually eschews plot. It’s a combat-focused Metroid game. It’s a game that switches between third- and first-person perspectives on the fly. It’s a modern 3D game that relies on a 24-year-old control scheme. Project M, the collaboration behind Other M and headed by series co-creator Yoshio Sakamoto, seems determined to confound expectations in just about every respect.

These have been more or less written into law by the franchise’s two high-water marks — 1994’s Super Metroid, directed by Sakamoto and generally considered one of the best games of all time; and Metroid Prime, released in 2002 by Austin’s own Retro Studios to its own fair share of critical acclaim. Super Metroid and Metroid Prime bookend the franchise conceptually — the wholly 2D and the wholly 3D. Between them they form a set of strict “Metroid standards” which Other M must meet.

Yet in spite of the developers’ many surprising design decisions, Other M turns out to be a sort of a hybrid of those two predecessors. In basic traversal and controls Other M feels like Super Metroid fleshed out into the third dimension; while at the same time the game draws on Metroid Prime for its first-person elements, morph ball segments and environmental puzzles. (The plot and setting rely more heavily on another Metroid title, Metroid Fusion.)

Where Other M outdoes every previous entry in the series is in its combat, which once mastered produces impressive results. Other M complicates the Metroid stand-bys — charged shots and missiles — with two new mechanics: a “sense move” dodge maneuver and a context-sensitive finishing move called “overblast.” Standard combat goes something like this: charge up your arm cannon while waiting for your opponent to make his move. Dodge that attack at the last second, then fire back with a fully charged shot. Repeat until the enemy becomes vulnerable to an overblast, then jump on its head or run under its belly and deliver the finishing move. There’s a rhythm to the ideal Other M combat scenario that doesn’t manifest itself until one has spent multiple hours with the title. It’s showy to be sure; but it’s also fun — and mastery of it is required before tackling the game’s unlockable (and aptly named) Hard Mode.

That’s not to suggest Normal Mode is a cake walk. I died plenty in my two runthroughs, and the game expects you to know your abilities well by the end. (The Speed Boost upgrade sees heavy use, as does the related “shinespark” powered jump function.) Contrary to what some have claimed, spamming the sense move does not render one invincible — rhythm and timing matter. This emphasis on combat for its own sake is a departure for the series, but a welcome one. In my experience, it makes for a highly replayable Metroid experience. Even after you’ve solved all the puzzles, combat remains a rewarding challenge.

On those subsequent playthroughs I tended to skip most of the cutscenes (the minus button does the trick here) — though not all, as there are some wonderful moments in Other M. In fact the story exceeded my expectations. For Nintendo’s first foray into game storytelling, the production values on display are a very nice surprise. The writing and voice acting are solid, and Jessica Martin in particular gets Samus exactly right. Martin’s Samus is aloof, almost robotic (as you might expect from a loner who practically lives in a cyborg suit) but can also be desperately vulnerable when the plot calls for it. Nicely done, Ms. Martin.

For some gamers, however, those moments of vulnerability seem completely out of character for the famous bounty hunter. The detractors and I will simply have to agree to disagree on this point. I felt the character of Samus was eminently believable throughout, in both her strongest and her weakest moments. Based on what we learn of the relationship between the two, it’s not surprising to me that Samus would want to disable her more powerful suit functions to keep Adam Malkovich, her former superior, happy.

Besides, leaving it to Adam to authorize each upgrade “at the last minute” makes for some wonderfully dramatic moments. Yes, there is a great sense of accomplishment that comes with receiving the Varia Suit or Space Jump only after defeating a major enemy. But there’s a different sense of excitement that comes with pulling out that trump card just when you need it most. In my view, neither is the “right” approach for the Metroid series; they’re just different — and both are entertaining.

One of the fascinating aspects of Other M’s story is how certain plot details are left as an exercise for the reader. There’s a traitor on Adam’s team, and by the end you’ll have been given enough clues to deduce who it is — but the game never actually comes out and tells you who. I had to play the game through a second time before it became obvious. Similarly, the question of who finally does him in only becomes clear once the whole story is in view.

Another surprise: some of the story’s themes are quite “adult,” and not in the juvenile sense of the term usually applied to games. For example, there are two mother-daughter relationships that form key parts of the plot. Both end in tragedy, but one leads to redemption while the other seems doomed from the start. The question of how these relationships come to such different ends could fuel at least a couple college theses.

This sense of Other M as a “Metroid for grown-ups” comes through in other ways. The soundtrack is largely devoid of the kind of catchy tunes that formed the backbeat of Super Metroid (though some do return and I think I may even have heard a tune from the original Metroid at one point). In place of these highly-listenable tracks is an understated, often eerie assortment of semi-industrial tones and sound effects that would seem right at home in a theatrical sci-fi thriller. Metroid games are often about atmosphere, and thanks in no small part to the score there were a couple parts of Other M that had me thinking twice about proceeding. Like so much about Other M, it’s important to give the music a chance. It’s very carefully crafted, allows the equally excellent sound design to shine through, and always suits the current environment.

For all the changes, though, there is plenty about Other M that remains thoroughly “Metroid.” The criss-crossing, backtracking level design that defines the series always boggles my mind — how does anyone design a game like this? — and Other M is no exception. The developers managed to prevent the world from becoming as “siloed” (literally, even) as Metroid Fusion while still keeping the player on the right track. At the same time the game provides a number of those “there’s nowhere to go” apparent dead-ends that you’d expect from a Metroid game. Eventually you’ll be guided back to old ground and given the chance to use your upgrades to find some previously-missed items and pathways before the game finally unfolds into an open-world free-for-all and leaves you to locate all 100% of the hidden extras. It’s truly baffling how one game can balance all of these angles so well, and I’d submit Other M pulls this balance off better than any other title in the series.

I could go on for many more paragraphs like this (I haven’t even touched on the graphics, which are some of the best on Wii); but after over 20 hours spent with the game I’ll leave you with this: The other day I was watching my nine-year-old son play Super Metroid on the Virtual Console. As much as I love that game, and as many times as I’ve played through it, following Samus as she navigated the caverns of Brinstar didn’t make me want to revisit Super Metroid. It made me want to play more Metroid: Other M.

I’ve enjoyed the game tremendously. The puzzles aren’t all equally inspired, the controls can be fidgety — but the feeling of semi-omnipotence that comes with accessing the game’s vast dictionary more than makes up for these shortcomings. The only thing the game really lacks — as suggested to me by Ian Bogost — is a system of ethics.

Some puzzles do enforce conditions that resemble ethical restrictions. There’s a “heist” level featuring security guards whom you are not permitted to eliminate. But for the most part, Scribblenauts’ ethics are decidedly situational. In general you are allowed to wound, even kill, the most innocent of non-player characters (NPCs) without suffering any in-game penalty.

That’s not meant to be a criticism. The game is juggling quite a few balls as it is. But I’ve found that I have the most fun with Scribblenauts when I deliberately impose ethical restrictions on myself: Don’t attack human characters. Only use weapons in self-defense. Disarm or incapacitate rather than kill.

It occurred to me that it really wouldn’t be that hard to build an overarching ethical system into a future Scribblenauts sequel. So here’s my proposal for a morality mechanic in 5th Cell’s next big hit… Scribblenauts: For Great Justice.

The Justice Meter: In addition to the Budget Meter, which fills as you add objects to the level, For Great Justice would feature a Justice Meter. At the start of a level, the Justice Meter would be filled to 100%. Performing unjust acts, or allowing unjust acts to be perpetrated, would drain the meter. If the Justice Meter drops to nothing, you fail the level.

Events that would drain the Justice Meter: Killing a human NPC would instantly drain the Justice meter. Attacking a human NPC would drain it, but at a less drastic rate. Allowing two NPCs to hurt each other would also drain it, but less drastically still. Killing or attacking animal NPCs would drain the meter, but at a less drastic rate compared to the respective human NPC events. Allowing two animal NPCs to hurt each other would have, I think, no effect on the meter. Circle of life and all.

Special events: In addition, 5th Cell could design levels with specialized justice effects. You might need to find a way to stop a rich man stealing from an impoverished person — the Justice Meter draining all the while. Or a construction crew could be in the process of demolishing an orphanage and it’s up to you to disable their equipment. Loggers might need to be stopped from destroying a forest.

Personally I’d love to play a Scribblenauts sequel with these features. Games are largely about succeeding within a set of restrictions — so why not ethical ones?

Then rumors started swirling, and were confirmed by the comic’s authors, that the comic was true — Jeff Gerstmann, editor-in-chief and 11-year veteran of the gaming site GameSpot, had been axed for panning the game Kane & Lynch, an Eidos Interactive title that was being heavily advertised on the GameSpot site at the time.

Naturally, Eidos weren’t pleased that the site they had poured thousands of dollars into was pooh-poohing their product. But what happened next sent a shockwave through gaming journalism.

C|Net, the owners of GameSpot, shattered the wall between editorialism and marketing and unceremoniously dumped Gerstmann for the “tone” of his review.

Multiple industry insiders have come forward to confirm these events, and I’ll leave the Googling to those who want more proof. Valleywag offers an account of the debacle from another, supposed GameSpot editor (note: strong language); and it certainly has the ring of truth about it.

So what can gamers do about this, if they value integrity in gaming journalism? First, obviously, you can boycott Kane & Lynch. That shouldn’t be hard, as the game is seriously flawed. But on top of that, you can boycott those responsible for the mess — C|Net and all the sites they own:

gamespot.com
gamefaqs.com
metacritic.com
gamerankings.com
cnet.com
news.com

I realize this may seem like a tempest in a teapot to those who don’t pay much attention to gaming. But there’s a larger issue at play here — specifically, Do journalists answer to their readers or to their advertisers? In most every other industry — movies, for example — this question has been satisfactorily answered. (Think a movie reviewer would be let go for giving Fantastic Four a less-than-glowing assessment?) It needs to be answered definitively here too.

The game holds up well, 17 years later. ActRaiser is remembered in no small part for Yuzo Koshiro’s symphonic score (a fully-orchestrated version was made available on CD, but it’s a rare find), and the aural portion has lost none of its luster. Graphically the game looks slightly dated, but only because of its somewhat choppy animation. The art direction and use of color (lots of simultaneous contrast in the creature designs) still impress.

It’s hard to imagine any major publisher greenlighting a game today that combines two so totally different modes; and it has to be said that ActRaiser’s action mode isn’t the most compelling example of its genre. (Super Castlevania IV, released on the SNES a year later, showed how deep action games on the new system could be.) Control of the character is a bit labored, and there are really only three moves at the player’s disposal: slash, kneel and slash, and jump and slash. Still, the sequences are fun enough and provide a good excuse to listen to Koshiro’s compositions.

However, what finally sells these segments is that they actually have some meaning. In ActRaiser you are a deity working to restore a ruined world. To even have a chance at creating a peaceful civilization, you’re required to eliminate the monsters that plague the land. So as you slice your way through these creatures, you’re not just clearing a level; you’re cleansing the world. It’s remarkably satisfying from that perspective.

Still, it can be argued that the simulation, town-building mode is ActRaiser’s real backbone; and these portions continue to impress with their solid gameplay. The townspeople will build and (apparently) reproduce on their own, but they require your divine intervention to clear the land of obstacles, protect them from wandering monsters, and give them a little urban planning guidance. Occasionally some crisis will arise requiring particular attention. Some even require the player to transport the fruits or inventions of one village to another — a nice touch. While ActRaiser’s simulation segments are much more linear than, say, a game of SimCity, they keep the player constantly engaged.

Having played ActRaiser again on the Virtual Console, I can’t help but long for a sequel. However, it’d have to be a true sequel — not the action-only diversion ActRaiser 2. I’d love to see a current-day release with deeper action (perhaps borrowing heavily from God of War) and an even more intricate simulation mode. Clearing obstacles and transporting items between towns was a good start; what about making use of the town’s particular resources or the possibility of managing political relations between villages? Could towns declare war on each other? Would the player be forced to involve himself (via the action mode) in settling these conflicts? The dual-mode design makes for many interesting scenario possibilities. For now, though, I’ll just content myself with this strange and wonderful classic.

Shine on, little naked cherub. Shine on.