1589: The Digital Future

I was a bit surprised to read this piece from GamesRadar today. For those of you who can’t be bothered to click the link, it’s a piece decrying the fact that 73% of UK-based console gamers still exclusively buy boxed copies of games on disc, without ever purchasing any digital download titles. The article then goes on to pontificate as to how this can be “fixed”.

My immediate response was “why does this need to be fixed”?

The piece does make some good points. Digital distribution cuts down on a considerable number of overheads and organisational considerations when compared with physical distribution — particularly on console platforms, where the platform holders still have very tight control over what can and cannot be released and sold in a box. Digital distribution allows smaller developers to release games to the public without having to worry about these overheads and organisational consideration — or even working with a publisher in some cases. It is ideally suited to the indie movement, in other words, though the article appears to espouse a philosophy of “all digital, all the time” being the way forward for interactive entertainment.

I’m not resistant to the idea of digitally distributed titles being available. The vast majority of my PC game collection is digital, and in fact I threw out a whole bunch of physical PC games when we moved this time — largely because they were old copies of games that no longer run on modern systems, and in most cases there are downloadable modernised versions that will happily run on newer hardware and operating systems. Similarly, if the only way to acquire a particular game on console or handheld is to download it, I will happily hand over my money and download it.

Here’s the thing the article is missing, though: some people are collectors. I consider myself a collector of games, and I display my shelf of PC, PS1, PS2, PS3, Xbox 360, GameCube, Wii, Wii U, PSP, Vita, DS and 3DS games with a great deal of pride. I like being able to look at that shelf, think “oh, I used to enjoy that game”, pull it down, pop it into a console and be playing it again a moment later. With the increasing speed of broadband these days — particularly if you’re lucky enough to have fibre-optic like us — it doesn’t take very long to download an older game, but there’s still something very pleasant about seeing that box art, holding the box in your hands and putting the disc into the device. And for newer games — particularly with the excruciatingly slow speeds the PS3 downloads from PSN — I’d much rather just put in a disc and play than wait for 10GB or more to download.

The other consideration, of course, is that console online stores are closed ecosystems that theoretically could close down at any time, denying you access to content you’ve purchased a license to. Note: purchased a license to, not purchased. That license can be revoked at any time, meaning that there’s always the risk that, having deleted a game to make space on your hard drive at some point in the past, you might not be able to get it back ever again at some point in the future. This issue is hopefully a way off for now, but it will become a problem in a few years, I imagine.

The newer consoles, the Xbox One and the PlayStation 4, have another problem, and that is the size of the downloads for newer games. Many new “next-gen” games are weighing in at 40 or 50 GB each, and with both consoles only coming with a 500GB hard drive as standard, that’s only ten games you can have installed before you have to start deleting things. Granted, most gamers will probably only have one or two games on the go at once, but then there’s that old concern again: what if, for some reason, you’re suddenly no longer able to download something you paid £40 for? That sucks, and it does happen, even well before the whole store closes — recently, Europe saw the removal of Persona 4 Arena from the PlayStation 3’s PSN without explanation.

Ultimately what is needed in this regard is not someone slamming down a gavel and saying “The Digital Future begins now!” — what is needed is the acknowledgement that consumers like choice. Collectors like myself who value games as cultural artifacts to be displayed with as much pride as books should continue to have the opportunity to add to their collection, while those who prefer to declutter and have their digital entertainment on tap — or who perhaps see games as a more “disposable” form of entertainment — should also have the opportunity to enjoy their games without acquiring things to find a home for in their house. Small developers should continue to have the opportunity to release their games as digital-only releases, with the most successful ones — see titles like Journey and its ilk — eventually making it to a physical release if the demand is there.

In other words, so far as I can see, pretty much the ideal situation is what we’ve got now. So why is that a problem that needs “fixing”?

1110: The Collector

Reading this post from Matt Mason earlier made me think somewhat about my own game buying and playing habits and how they have evolved over time. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m becoming something of a “collector”, particularly when it comes to more obscure games that almost inevitably become hard to find if you don’t snag them immediately upon release.

This doesn’t mean that I pay over the odds to get “Collector’s Editions” of games, though, because I tend to think that for the most part those are a waste of time — or perhaps it’s just that I’ve never really had a Collector’s Edition for a game that I felt particularly passionately about. Had I known how much I was going to love Hyperdimension Neptunia mk2, for example, I might have seriously considered spending a bit more and picking up the swanky limited edition that came with a soundtrack CD, an art book and some playing cards. (Yeah, I know the cards are a bit lame, but I love soundtrack CDs.)

More often than not, though, the super-expensive limited edition versions are for games I have no interest in, like Call of Duty, Assassin’s Creed and Skyrim. For sure, these limited editions are often cool, but there’s only so many gigantic statuettes that you can scatter around your house before people start asking questions. (Particularly if one of those statuettes is a gory female torso… but let’s not open that can of worms again.)

I’m actually fine with this, though, because I’ve been tending to find that the games I’m most interested in playing are the ones that maintain their value the best — simply because they’re often not put out in particularly large quantities and thus often become quite hard to find after a little while. As such, I’ve come to accept that taking a chance on a new game like this often involves an outlay of at least £20 and may, in a few isolated cases, require payment of a price considerably inflated from what it would have cost when the game was first released. (I ordered a copy of Fire Emblem for Gamecube recently, for example… I’m pretty sure that’s not what it cost when it first came out.) The fact that I’ve had to hunt for these games and occasionally pay a bit more for them than something of an equivalent age that had a wider release makes them feel somehow more “valuable”, and makes me feel like my growing collection is something that I can be proud of. I know they’re “just” games, but they represent a hobby that I truly love and which inspires me to do other things.

What this “collector’s” attitude has meant in practical terms is that I’m now much more inclined to pick up interesting-sounding titles as soon as I become aware of them, rather than when I know I have time for them. This inevitably leads to an ever-growing backlog, of course, but it also means that I have things to look forward to. It’s also an approach which works for my personal circumstances at present. In other words, I don’t spend a lot of money on other “vices” — I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t buy DVDs (with the exception of anime that can’t be found for streaming online), I don’t tend to travel a lot and, by the end of this month, I won’t have any car expenses either (apart from any contributions I make to help Andie out with hers). This means that I tend to have a fair bit of disposable income that I don’t feel guilty about splurging on my collection, and still have plenty left over for living expenses and to do nice things for Andie.

I like having physical things that I collect. My bulging Steam library also counts as part of my collection, but somehow that big list of games inevitably acquired for a couple of quid during a holiday sale isn’t quite as satisfying as seeing that big shelf full of cases. Downloadable games feel more “disposable” somehow, like they won’t last; I often find myself worrying what will happen to all these games when, say, Steam or PSN or Xbox Live don’t exist any more. How will future generations be able to play awesome stuff like Flower, or Journey, or any of the other titles which everyone raves about now but which are only available via download? (I got around this issue with some of the visual novels I own by burning a copy to disc and printing my own inlay for the DVD case. Sad? Perhaps. But it means I can add them to my shelf with some degree of pride.)

The unfortunate side-effect of collecting physical things, of course, is that you have to find space for all of them, and if you get into full-on “hoarding” mode, where you don’t want to trade anything in, ever, then you need more and more space as time goes on. I’ve currently still got a few shelves free on the other bookcase, but it’s starting to get a little bit tight… and then what? Creative packing time.

If you’re curious, here’s my game shelf as it stands right now. (The fairy lights were Andie’s idea, but they are pretty sweet.) If you click to embiggen and zoom in on the image, you might even be able to see individual titles of at least some of the games. I haven’t played all of these, not by a long shot, but they each — even the array of PS2 SingStar titles — represent something with genuine meaning to me. And that’s pretty neat to think about.

#oneaday Day 915: No, I Haven’t Seen [Insert Movie Name Here]

I haven’t seen The Dark Knight Rises yet. I’m probably not going to. I also didn’t see that new Spider-Man movie, The Avengers or any of the other films that people have been going apeshit over in recent months. (And, it has to be said, being extremely tiresome about. So you enjoyed The Avengers? Great. I don’t need to be kept up to date on how many times you’ve seen it. Also, quit retweeting your friends’ Foursquare checkins of when they go to see it. No-one cares.) (Sorry. Apparently I am grumpy tonight. Disregard all of that. A bit.)

I just can’t “do” movies. It’s not through a lack of attention span — I can happily sit and play a game, read a book or dick around on the Internet for hours and hours and hours — but I just find it impossible to sit down and watch a movie any more. There’s always a lingering sensation at the back of my mind that I’d rather spend two hours doing something — anything — else.

Actually, that’s true of watching movies at home. I sold most of my DVDs to Music Magpie a while back and I haven’t missed them since. I have a Netflix account on which I haven’t watched any movies (though I have more than got my money’s worth from all the TV shows on there). The idea of watching a movie at home is just… no. I don’t want to do it.

Going to the cinema is a marginally more appealing prospect because of all the associated “other stuff” that goes with it. Comfy seats, a nice dark room with a big screen and impressive sound system, a bucket of popcorn which looks like it will last forever (but inevitably only lasts until the end of the trailers) and an opportunity to Do Something With Your Friends. (Of course, that Something is sitting in a darkened room, in silence, in a straight line so it is impossible to talk to each other, so you might as well be there by yourself.)

But then at the cinema you have to deal with shite you don’t have to put up with at home. The scrotes who sit behind you and jiggle your seat with their feet. People who can’t eat quietly. People who won’t shut up. People who won’t put their bastard mobile phone away for five seconds. (I hate these people on planes, too.) People who think everything that isn’t funny is absolutely, massively, hilariously funny and turn a serious scene into some sort of farce with a laugh track.

None of these things represent specific reasons that I don’t want to watch movies. I simply… don’t want to watch them. I am fine with this. As such, if you ask me “have you seen [insert movie name here] yet?” the answer will almost definitely be “no.” You can also drop the “yet” because I’m probably not going to see it at all. So there.

I am grumpy. Now I am going to bed.

BALLS.