“I fucking hate video games”
…is a sentence I’ve heard countless times since the start of my academic
endeavours. We, game scholars, aren’t too fond of the medium apparently.
Whether you find yourself in the game lab working on yet another
assignment, or sharing one of those rare moments of human connection
with your peers, dreading the demise of your soon-to-be post-degree life: “I
fucking hate video games” is an expression that will naturally find its place
within any conversation, oftentimes delivered with an ironic undertone and a
palpable bitterness. Expressing the devastating truth that any residual form
of affection for the medium has vanished into thin air.
For several months now, I have observed and, naturally, spewed that very
sentence regardless of my alcohol consumption. A curious phenomenon,
more specifically for those of us who left behind homeland, jobs, significant
others, and to this day still soldier through the harsh life that comes with an
expatriate status. All of this, only to end up hating the very thing we felt so
inexorably passionate about.
I vividly remember editing my motivation letter to ITU. 8000 characters,
carefully compressed in an unreadable font size to bypass the maximum
amount of pages – A piece of writing that essentially was a declaration of love to
Golden Sun and Paper Mario: The Thousand Years Door. Note that I rarely
feel compelled to write invigorating essays about the things I enjoy – “cool :)” is the
most meaningful answer I automatically send back to any text coming from
my love interests. To perform such a perfect 180 degree spin on the
Maslow’s hierarchy feels… uncanny to say the least. Something that should
probably have its own speedrun category or something.
So, “Why”? There’s a plethora of reasons really.
Some of us rightfully fuel their disgust through the ever-growing presence of
venture capitalism within the industry, as AAA companies keep releasing
iterations of the same depthless and unimaginative “next generation
experiences”, along with their day 1 patch of 100gb. And god forbid mentioning
the millions of dollars pouring daily into the bank account of executives whose
approach to “gameplay first” takes the form of paywalls and monthly subscription.
Others might simply play too much, hyperventilating from the frustration of accumulated loss in League of Legends’ solo queue.
I obviously fall into both categories. And trust me, I could easily vomit a few thousand characters about microtransaction and the top lane gaps. But the one culprit I want to discuss in this article is a more obscure, and perhaps more taboo antagonist.
I want to talk about the institution where truth, research and objective
definitions are graciously gifted to our functioning society. The institution where,
daily, the most pedantic discussions and arguments are generated by some
of the most intellectual beings one may find here on planet Earth, namely:
Academia.
There is an inevitable shift of perspective when one goes from active player
to broke student. The first checkpoint in your game hatred journey often
starts with the introduction of game studies – or more specifically, when the
realisation that you left everything behind to read endless amounts of research
papers just to justify that “people have emotions when playing games”
cements it. What I really mean with the title-sentence then, is
something along the lines of “I fucking hate video games studies”.
I started my game development journey at 17, with nothing but a couple of
rigid bodies, a score counter, and not a single clue of what a screen space
was. Design patterns and diegetic elements would mean little to jack shit,
nor would they make sense with the architecture of Unity 4.0 and the
amount of brain cells of my teenage self. How much fun I could generate
with 1 collider bouncing from one side of the screen to another (in javascript,
mind you) was my only concern.
10 years later I find myself having to engage in untenable discourses,
criticising the questionable semiotics of my favourite FPSs. Debating whether
or not a 5 second cinematic containing anachronic details could be
the source of disproportionate ludonarrative dissonance. Recognizing that
the game industry comes with its own set of concerns for user retention and
accessibility, whether you aim to target the European or American market.
Implementing telemetry to identify in-game levels that might potentially be
too easy, and therefore discourage the use of micro-transactions. Something
that, despite all artistic and design intent, might have a severe impact on
your user conversion rate and other KPIs.
You start talking about “engagement”, because saying the forbidden f*n
word seems as sinful as getting some when one aims to create interactive
entertainment. You learn to juggle these endless terminologies, wondering
whether your future is about making games, looking forward to your tea time
on Sunday with other PhD students, or preparing for a life where inflating
your CEO’s dividends is some sort of art you should pridefully display on
your LinkedIn profile.
It’s fair to say that you might (rather, will) experience a massive burnout by
swimming day and night in a cesspool of academic nonsense. “Being aware
of what you’re doing” seems not only more important than actually doing the
thing, but also supposedly demands entire months of critical thinking, head
buried in intended learning outcomes and self-evident theories that were
never relevant to your inner child. Things that are, paradoxically, not about
playing nor making the fucking games mind you, but to reflect on the
existing corpus of monolithic figures and their rigid, unshakeable
foundations.
This is because being a game scholar doesn’t require direct nor practical
engagement with the medium. Techies do that, and let’s be honest here:
we’re clearly better than the average engineer who still googles “how to
singleton C#”. Mostly, it demands one to passively observe the results of capable hands, only to engage in imaginary tugs of war where the sheer force of reason
and referencing make for an impressive display of brainpower. In short – it’s about how much intellectual jerking off one can engage in, without ever delivering anything concrete.
Because Academia, through its punitive qualities, is desperately trying to make games smarter. To promote smart people making smart choices with smart
concepts and smart design patterns, building smart business models and
smart planning, worshipping smart deconstructed meta-narratives that break
the 4th, the 5th – hell – make it the 6th wall, only for the sake of justifying its
own school of thoughts.
My sincere and honest question is “Who is this helping? Apart from itself?”
Or better yet, “Is this helping anyone to make better games?”
My unfortunate conclusion on the matter is obviously biassed: let’s keep
philosophy where it belongs. In all fairness, I am most definitely not made for
research, nor am I willing to grieve the loss of the many hours I spent looking
through endless google scholar queries (I hardly move on beyond the
bargaining stage). But I am also sincerely convinced that games are not
meant to be studied this way. If your paper cannot be explained nor bring
more joy to a 10 year old living his best life on Fortnite, what have you
achieved exactly? Was this extra layer of rationalisation required to begin
with?
Yet, I know that a not-totally-dead part of my being loves* games. And if you
felt the sudden urge to write “literally me” in some imaginary comment
section when reading the article’s title, I will playfully refer you to the eternal
question plaguing our field of expertise. Answering “What is a game ?” is a complete waste of time. It is however a powerful tool when framed as a reflexive exercise, pursued with the intent to understand oneself deeper, rather than building on obsolete intellectual
monuments. Forget Huizinga and friends for a minute – What is it that makes you feel in this medium? Is it its systems and mechanics? Its sound and
visuals? Its way to tell stories? Its intimate dialogue with the player? Its
power to build communities? Its depth? Its capacity to speak to the human
spirit? To provide a sense of escape? Of mastery?
To those who might feel somewhat betrayed by the expectation of any
meaningful creative pursuit within this field, please do not despair. Many of
us believe in the purity of games as pieces of art, statements and/or forms of
personal expression. A vision ultimately incompatible with the academic and
industrial proposition. Being able to express an intent, an idea, a story or an
emotion should be a central part of your learning experiences and
personal goals if you wish to. What I beg of you is to explore this on your own terms, and create artefacts that bring your personal game definition to the world. Anything else is a
stale copy of someone else’s vision, or whatever kind of abstract agenda is
being pushed through by our god-blessed institution.
And in case you think this is some romantic perspective, then please, let us
agree on not discussing this topic together – at least from now on until my
future caffeine-driven cardiac arrest.
*: Will not elaborate further unless solicited directly through personal inquiry.
