Hello and welcome to Writing on Games.
With E3 feeling like a bit of a damp squib this year, I decided to do my usual and chance
a media pass to the next best thing—Gamescom, held much closer to home in Cologne, Germany.
While its wildly (and I mean wildly) increased attendance numbers compared to E3 presented
a lot of similar problems to those I detailed in my video on that show last year (namely
that I don’t know how it’s a good deal to pay for the privilege of being told the
lines for games are full), Gamescom’s much-needed inclusion of a media-only day allowed me to
see and play way more interesting things than I had the opportunity to in LA, and honestly
made me question why, outside of the amount of time that E3 has been around, Gamescom
isn’t viewed more widely as the bigger event in the gaming calendar.
People might still be getting their hands on maybe one or two games a day, but the sheer,
unexpected grandeur of it all combined with far lower ticket prices and extended running
hours in relation to E3 meant that there was at least a palpable party atmosphere in the
endless ocean of bodies at Germany’s show compared to LA’s constant underlying sense
of stress and option paralysis; the vibe that E3’s identity as an industry event is somehow
sullied by the presence of the public is something you just don’t get here, represented perfectly
in the fervour with which Germans will react to a guy dressed as a cow throwing out copies
of Farming Simulator 2017.
Having attended both shows, E3 now feels like an event designed to report on the industry;
Gamescom as experienced by the public feels like a means of celebrating it.
That said, as I stood at many points on the media day reflecting on how the hell I, with
my daft YouTube channel, were now viewed as press, the show proved more interesting
as an observation into the ever-evolving workings of the industry rather than the (decidedly fantastic)
games I got my hands on—how the definition of media has morphed over the years, what
that means for how companies present their wares at conventions like these, and the dumbos
like me absorbing it all.
It all spawned from an odd anxiety I began to notice upon killing time in Activision’s
business area, where my Black Ops 4 appointment was held, that would permeate my expecrience
of the show as a whole.
As I found from my limited experience in similar situations going to appointments at last year’s
E3, skipping the lines to be looked after by PR, being a “guest” of the company
in that kind of environment is something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
There’s something really uneasy about it.
You, as someone merely writing about these daft games you’re seeing, are in amongst
the big business dogs securing those deals; bringing to mind nothing if not Al Pacino
or Alec Baldwin from Glengarry Glen Ross, rather forcefully affecting some kind of playful relationship
with the out-of-place game developers; themselves trying to assert some level of business-like
dominance that clearly doesn’t come naturally to them.
They’ve finally made it to a point of relative importance, while their deer-in-headlights
faces suggest they’d rather be anywhere else.
And from a critic’s perspective, there’s something about asking for a drink from the
bar and expectantly reaching into your wallet only to be greeted with a confused look from
the server as if to say “of course this is free, don't you know that?” When out of nowhere the same suit-and-tie
dude clicks his fingers and demands a round for him and his so-called buddies.
It’s a side of the industry that you always kind of imagine is there, but one that’s
no less weird to see play out in the flesh.
It might sound silly but you kind of have to have your wits about you—these people
are trying to give you the best experience possible, to provide the friendliest face
they can to get you on side, to get you writing the nicest words, giving them the biggest
percentage of your game they can get.
It’s a machine, and as a critic of some description, you’ve got to do your best to distance yourself from
that.
And honestly, as we went to our behind-closed-doors Cyberpunk 2077 demo, some similar thoughts
ran through my mind.
CD Projekt Red’s approach to unveiling its upcoming title has been as beneficial to its
ridiculous hype train as much as it has arguably had the potential to derail it.
On the one hand, the media whirlwind they’ve created feels like a throwback to a time before
democratised video production; one in which the old hierarchy still stands—that whatever
the hell qualifies as “media” nowadays is more important than “the plebs,” and
it does so by subverting the notion that companies can just market directly towards their consumers
now.
It’s a seemingly archaic approach, but one that’s gotten people talking about this
mysterious thing in a way that you haven’t really seen since the days of print journalism—the
relevance of which was joked about by the dude walking us through our live demo as he
knowingly glanced at some newspapers; “don’t worry journalists, everything’s OK in our
future” ringing violently against the dystopic hellscape they’d crafted.
On the other hand, its mystery has led a lot of people to believe that this is some new
type of game they’re developing; that this will revolutionise the way we think of the
medium.
As we came out of the demo, one of my prevailing thoughts was that “they should probably
show this soon, lest theories on what this game actually is reach No Man’s Sky levels.”
Of course there's very little danger of that. The game looks incredible, of course it does.
It also looks like Deus Ex meets GTA—perhaps one of the best possible versions of that
mixture I could have possibly envisioned, but it’s just that.
It's fairly easily defined.
Part of me, perhaps cynically, began to think the sheer amount of hype garnered around Cyberpunk
was evidenced by the area we were led into prior to the presentation; it might have been
built to look like the game’s own dingy streets, graffiti might have said playful
things like “fuck DRM,” they may put on a friendlier face, but functionally it served
exactly the same purpose as Activision’s sterile business suite—the drinks were still
free.
People took a million selfies with their quote-unquote “personal invitations.”
As we were led in we were each given a massive figure of the woman from the first demo that
the people surrounding us were ooing and ahhing over.
Again, a throwback to when swag was a thing at these conventions.
You’re made to feel special—you’re specifically given preferential treatment to those that
paid to be there but crucially, you’re given access; something the majority of journos
haven’t seen for a long time, and something the new guard of so-called influencers have
maybe never had.
It’s made to feel important because it’s so hush-hush and, as a result of you getting
to see it, you’re made to feel important.
You build it up in your head—if they’re being this secretive about it when so many
other companies are showing everything about their games a million years in advance, this
must be something truly special, right?
And don’t get me wrong, you’ve seen the footage now—it looks amazing.
I legitimately can’t wait to play it.
It’s just that nothing about the way it was presented to us made me feel any less
weird about saying that as a critic.
Let me put it this way: when everyone else was fawning over their new statues, thanking
the team for the amazing treatment they were receiving, all I could think was “thanks
for giving me some daft thing I now need to carry around the show floor like a total
prick.
Also, how the hell am I going to get this bulky thing home?”
The person I was with ended up giving theirs away for free.
It’s unnecessary when the game looks this good.
Overall it was remarkable how at Gamescom, despite the improvements over E3 in terms
of allowing goons like me to get our quote-unquote “work” done by playing more of the games
on a media-only day, I came away with a lot of the same anxieties I felt as I came away
from last year’s show in LA.
What had I really done to deserve this objectively better treatment, especially seeing as I wasn’t
paying to be there?
What is there really for the public at these conventions besides the atmosphere of being
in a place so celebratory of the medium?
How do I fit into whatever the hell “media” is defined as now?
I feel I need to reiterate this, because I'm coming off as weirdly negative here—the games were great. Sekiro is shaping up to be my
favourite Souls-type game, Spiderman was neat and Kingdom Hearts seems very solidly
made if absolutely inscrutable.
It’s just that, as amazing an opportunity as it was to be at the conference whose trajectory
seems pointed directly upwards (breaking records every year), as good as the games were and
as genuinely excited as I am for people to get their hands on them, perhaps the feeling
that lingered the most was that, between the business areas and swag and friendly faces,
as media evolves and the people within it attend more of these shows in the future,
there’s as much to be wary of as there is to look forward to.
So I hope you enjoyed my video on my experience at Gamescom.
Unlike E3 last year, the games I played were legitimately interesting enough that I may
actually make another video on them or write something up for the Patreon, but I didn’t
want this video to be half an hour so I thought I’d spare you for now.
As always this show is made possible by your unbelievably generous pledges over on Patreon.
If like the videos and feel like you have the means, maybe check it out—every pledge
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Special thanks go to Mark B Writing, Rob, Michael Wolf, Artjom Vitsjuk, Tales Of Tayls,
Timothy Jones, Laserpferd, Cole Mendell, Spike Jones, TheNamlessGuy, Chris Wright, Dr Motorcycle,
Ham Migas, Travis Bennett, Zach Casserly, Samuel Pickens, Tom Nash, Shardfire, Filip
Lange, Ana Pimentel, Jessie Rine, Brandon Robinson, Justins Holderness, Nico Bleackley,
Christian Konemann, Cameltraffic, Nicolas Ross and Charlie Yang.
And with that, I’m Hamish and this has been Writing on Games.
Thank you very much for watching and I’ll see you next time.