1165: Endless Infinite Discussion

Around this time of year in 2011, one Mr Tom Ohle, a fine upstanding gentleman at the forefront of promoting games you might not have heard of quite so much as the games you have heard of a lot, wrote this post, named The Case of the Great Game Nobody Saw.

Lest you’re too lazy to follow the link, allow me to summarise: Tom works in PR for video games. The titles his company Evolve PR has represented over the years include things like CD Projekt Red’s The Witcher series, the deep strategy games of Paradox Interactive, TimeGate Studios’ Section 8 series, the Anomaly series and numerous others. As all good PR people should, Tom believes in the games he’s paid to promote — some more than others. Sometimes games come along that are genuinely excellent — games that, in Tom’s words, are “magical, revolutionary, disruptive or otherwise worthy of consumers’ awareness” — and, as you’d expect, Tom and co. would very much like to see these titles succeed, and they do their utmost to try and convince various outlets that these games are worthy of coverage and promotion. When these games don’t get the coverage they deserve — either because of “bigger” games monopolising the front page or simply through being rejected outright — it’s enormously disheartening, not only for Tom and co. but also for the makers of these games.

“At its core, this is an issue that pervades entertainment and consumerism as a whole,” writes Tom. “People stick with brands they know. Everyone craps all over themselves (myself included) when a new Rockstar game is announced. That’s fine; they make great games. But in an industry that so often complains about derivative sequels, soulless big-budget productions and a lack of risk-taking, isn’t it about time we started focusing on quality? Shouldn’t those companies looking to push the boundaries of the medium begin to reap the rewards? If things keep going the way they are, we’ll never shed the $60 price point, we’ll get sequels to major franchises every year, and we’ll all keep complaining and wishing things were different.”

Almost two whole years have passed since Tom wrote that post, and I don’t think things have improved at all since then. If anything, I think they’ve got worse. For all Polygon’s posturing about reinventing games journalism and for all Kotaku’s posting of random bullshit only tangentially related to games, we’re still in a situation where an alien visiting the games industry would believe there were only a few interesting games released every year, and that they’re often entries in the same series. Call of Duty. Battlefield. Assassin’s Creed. And so on.

Most recently, I’ve been becoming somewhat frustrated with Bioshock Infinite. I have no doubt whatsoever that it’s a fantastic game, and everything I’ve heard seems to indicate that it is, in the words of a friend of mine, “intelligent Hollywood… a ‘The Matrix of gaming'” and that is, on the whole, a good thing. We need creators like Ken Levine in the mainstream of the industry to push things forward and prove that there’s a market for intelligent experiences as well as Mildly-Racist Brown Michael Bay Manshoot #327. I am glad that Bioshock Infinite exists, that it is apparently living up to the hype and that, I imagine, it is probably selling quite well as a result of all that hype.

What I’m less thrilled about is the fact that it’s not really solving the problem Tom was talking about in his post. Bioshock Infinite may be “intelligent Hollywood”, but it’s still Hollywood. It’s still a single game from a high-profile creator monopolising press coverage and social media, completely dwarfing smaller-scale experiences that — shhh — might actually be more interesting. Do we need videos explaining “why you should play Bioshock Infinite on Hard mode”, articles about its ending, articles about why Ken Levine doesn’t believe in Utopias, articles about how to edit the INI files, tips articles, articles about why having it spoiled didn’t matter, articles about… have I made my point yet? This is a disproportionately large amount of coverage for one game — one very good game, admittedly, and one which has a lot of expectations to live up to, yes, but still just one game, and one game that people were already very much aware of in the run-up to its release. I’m already absolutely fucking sick of hearing about it, and the more I hear about it, the smaller the already-miniscule chance I will ever play it becomes — a phenomenon I discussed in this post.

The standard response to this is, of course, that this is what the greater audience is hungry for. Millions of people are going to buy, play and love Bioshock Infinite, and they should be catered to, as those millions of people are probably also going to want to read lots of things about Bioshock Infinite.

However, here’s my (slightly selfish) question. What about me? What about people like me? What about all of the people out there — I’m sure I’m not the only one in the world — who didn’t really like the first Bioshock all that much (I played System Shock 2 almost immediately beforehand, which just made the fact that Bioshock wasn’t System Shock 3 all the more painful and frustrating) and consequently are not all that interested in this new one? What about the people who are more interested in other types of games? Don’t we deserve some quality and wide-ranging coverage of the things that we’re interested in? (Where’s my “Tips for playing Hyperdimension Neptunia Victory“ post, hmmm?) We have fan communities and enthusiast blogs, sure, but where’s our high-profile professional outlet covering this stuff that’s a bit off the well-worn path? (Besides Games Are Evil, of course, which I’m not going to pretend is anywhere near as big as I would love it to be!)

The gaming medium has grown up enormously in the last few years. With constantly improving software and hardware technology providing more and more flexibility for interactive artists to realise their digital dreams, and the rise of the indie space and Kickstarter allowing game makers to break free of the shackles of corporate culture, we’re most definitely undergoing the “Cambrian explosion of possibilities” that SimCity, The Sims and Spore creator Will Wright talked about back in 2008. It’s a great time to be someone who enjoys playing games.

But the games press has not evolved alongside the medium as a whole. The medium as a whole is now, as I’ve said numerous times in the past, far too broad for one outlet to be able to do justice to all of. And yet pretty much all of the big outlets choose to focus on the same part of this massively diverse medium. It’s the part with the biggest audience, the biggest budgets and the biggest amount of money involved in it, yes, but it’s still just one part of a whole. Read the news pages of one big site and you’ve read them all. Read the reviews section of one site and you’ve read them all. The sheer volume of things on display at events like PAX East and GDC help a little, but more often than not you still just hear about the same things from slightly different perspectives. Or you hear about Battlefield 4.

Why haven’t we got to a stage where big outlets can feel confident enough to distinguish themselves from one another yet? Don’t give me a reason to stick with one outlet, give me a reason to read all of them because of their completely different content. (Right now, I don’t read any of them with any degree of loyalty, because very few of them provide coverage of the sort of thing I’m interested in any more!)

It’s massively frustrating, and I don’t even work in PR. I can bang my drum all I like about the types of game I’m interested in and want to experience more of… but is anyone really listening?

1102: The Golden Age of Magazines

I really love re-reading old games and tech magazines, particularly those from the ’80s and ’90s. There’s a rather wonderful sense of innocence about the monsters that video games and Internet culture would become, and an even more pleasant feeling of knowing that an article was written to be a lot more “permanent” than the somewhat disposable writing for websites we have today. I’m not saying that writing is inherently worse today, of course — on the whole I think it’s a lot better for the most part — but that the sheer volume of it these days makes it more and more difficult to build up a portfolio of specific pieces you’re really proud of rather than stuff that’s just been churned out for the daily grind.

Taking video games magazines specifically, I particularly enjoy the completely different approach to games criticism seen in the mid- to late ’90s. Because reviews came out on a magazine’s street date rather than under the carefully-timed embargo of a PR department, you could generally feel pretty secure that the writers in question had spent a healthy proportion of the preceding month with the game, and that you knew they would have explored it inside out in most cases rather than rushing through. Consequently, we got a lot of reviews that were more like multi-page features, filled with big images, annotated screenshots, quotes from the developer and all manner of other things. Sometimes you even got reviews in a completely different format — PC Zone magazine, which I was loyal to initially because I liked it and later because my brother became the big boss man over there (also I wrote a number of articles for it), liked to experiment with short-form quick reviews for budget or crap games, and also held regular “Supertests”, in which they took a variety of different games in the same genre (often flight sims of various descriptions) and compared them directly to each other to determine which one was “best”.

You know what the absolute best thing was, though? No comments sections. I must confess that when reading a 1998 copy of PC Zone on the toilet the other day, I instinctively found myself glancing at the end of a somewhat contentious article (written by none other than Charlie Brooker, who used to be a regular for Zone, believe it or not) to see the ranty comments. I had already flipped the pages to the end of the piece before I realised I was holding a magazine in my hands, and that its content was static and non-interactive. It was probably for the best; Brooker’s article was a candid exploration of “why girls don’t like games” which was very, very amusing, very, very irreverent and would not have got within a mile of today’s Misogyny Police before being torn to shreds — despite the fact that it had a wealth of valid points and was clearly intended to take the piss out of anyone who believed that games were solely “boys’ toys”. But I digress. The point was, there was no opportunity to respond immediately to an article and belch forth the first opinionated effluvia that came into your head; if you wanted to respond, you had to damn well write a letter (or, later — much later — an email) and hope it got published in the following issue. PC Zone engaged in what is surely one of the first acts of trolling their comments sections on a number of occasions, tasking Brooker with responding to the most offensive, rude and generally disrespectful messages on a special “Sick Notes” page. Hilarity inevitably ensued, usually at the expense of the person who had written in.

I kind of feel like there was a lot more character about the old magazines in general. I read PC Zone primarily because I enjoyed the writers’ work and knew their tastes and senses of humour; I knew that David McCandless was obsessed with Doom and Quake (particularly multiplayer); I knew that Chris Anderson loved X-Com; I knew that you could count on Brooker for an irreverent, hilarious article — his Fade to Black preview written entirely as a short story about “Monsieur Conrad ‘Art” in Franglais was a particularly memorable example.

Different magazines had their own distinctive personalities, too — I contributed walkthroughs and tips books to the Official UK Nintendo Magazine for a while and was obliged to write using a particularly loathsome house style that effectively required me to write like a chav. Lots of “ya”s and “yer”s, and Mario was perpetually referred to as “Mazza”. It was a magazine primarily aimed at children, of course, so this style was understandable, of course — looking back on it, though, it’s more than a little cringeworthy.

I sort of miss magazines, then — I know they’re still around and all that, but the magic just isn’t there any more when you can get access to high-quality writing for free at your fingertips thanks to the Internet. That’s sort of sad, really; while you can take an iPad into the toilet with you and browse your favourite sites, it’s still not quite the same as having a proper magazine to leaf through at your leisure.

#oneaday Day 823: Information Diet

Know what I hate? Chavs. Know what else? Teaching. Know what else? We could be here a while. I’ll tell you. Press embargoes.

I get why they happen, obviously — publishers and their PR people want to ensure that coverage of something is coordinated nicely so that everyone gets suitably whipped up into a frenzy all at the same time. But there’s an unfortunate side-effect if you happen to, say, follow a bunch of different video games outlets at the time a major announcement happens: everyone bellows the same fucking thing at the exact same fucking time.

It’s happening more and more nowadays, too. The most notable examples that stick in my head in recent memory are Assassin’s Creed III and Borderlands 2, both titles that I have a passing interest in but find myself becoming curiously resistant to the more and more I get battered in the face with the same information from slightly different angles.

I think, on the whole, this is the “problem” I have been having with mainstream gaming overall. There’s too much information out there — too much coverage, too many “behind the scenes” videos, too many “exclusive” interviews, too many press releases announcing a single screenshot (yes, that is a real thing I received today and I have no shame in naming Square Enix as the perpetrator). After a while, you become completely saturated with information about a product and subsequently have absolutely no inclination to want to touch it, ever. This was a big part of why I didn’t want to play Mass Effect 3, for example — EA’s appalling behaviour was just the straw that broke the camel’s back, really.

I feel for my friends who work in games PR for “B-tier” games, too. It’s hard enough to get a title like, say, Risen 2 noticed at the best of times but when you’re competing with everyone beating themselves into an orgasmic and/or angry frenzy over Mass Effect 3, there’s little hope for your title outside of groups of people like me who have forsaken the mainstream in favour of enjoying less heavily marketed titles.

Conversely, the games I have been playing and enjoying are the ones where information has been trickling out slowly, usually straight from the developers mouths without dribbling through the PR sieve. Take the “Operation Rainfall” RPGs Xenoblade Chronicles, The Last Story and Pandora’s Tower (which I’m currently playing), for example — these received very little in the way of press attention despite being fantastic games. The aforementioned Operation Rainfall, a grassroots campaign to get these three excellent games localised and released in Europe and the US, received plenty of press, but information on the games themselves was conspicuously absent. As a result, I was able to go into all three of them pretty much blind and have a fantastic experience in the process — a big part of what made all of them great is the sense of discovery inherent in all of them. That just doesn’t happen if you’ve been smothered in information for the six months leading up to the game’s release.

As a result of all this, I’ve come to a decision, and if you’re feeling the same way as me, I recommend you follow it too.

Cut back. Cut out the crap. If you follow a buttload of games journalists and outlets on Twitter, unfollow them. If you want some gaming news, pick one outlet and keep it on your follow list, but chances are if you follow lots of gaming fans, someone will retweet the news as it happens anyway. Otherwise, go seek out the news when it’s convenient for you. Check the sites when you feel like it. Subscribe to their RSS feeds. Use Google Currents or Flipboard to receive information in an easily-digestible format. Receive information on your terms, not that of a carefully-crafted PR campaign.

This doesn’t have to apply just to games — it can apply to pretty much anything that suffers from the problems described above. Film, TV, celebrity news, business, tech… anything, really.

I’m going to give this a try. It will doubtless initially feel somewhat weird to not see some familiar faces and logos in my Twitter timeline, but I have a strange feeling that I’ll be a lot happier, less frustrated and less cynical as a result. Check back with me in a week or two and we’ll see.

(If you’re one of the people I do happen to unfollow, it’s nothing personal. You just might want to consider getting separate professional and personal accounts!)