Sculptor Anselm Kiefer once asserted that ‘art is difficult…
it is not entertainment.
There are only a few people who can say something about art - it is very restricted.’
Hi, I’m Hamish Black and this is Writing On Games.
Indeed, there exists an intrinsic elitism in the world of art - one might argue that
the best art is an acquired taste.
Art should challenge us, should encourage us to think outside of our comfort zones.
It is often brutal, and brutally honest.
When one thinks of such ‘brutality’ in art, one might consider, for example, Penderecki’s
fifty-two-string onslaught of ‘Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima’ or Peter Brotzmann’s
‘Machine Gun’.
One might think of the disturbing imagery of Goya, or the literary deconstruction of
consciousness found in works like Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ or Gray’s ‘1982, Janine’.
These artistic works are some of the most compelling in their respective fields, but
they could hardly be considered ‘fun’ - in fact, most, if not all truly great works
of art are oppressive.
They and their creators thrive on showing people their insignificance.
One might define entertainment as something designed to heighten the viewer’s sense
of importance by existing solely for them - art, on the other hand, exists whether or
not you want to experience it.
If you do, it certainly won’t be on your own terms.
So what of artistic games?
The debate as to whether games are art or not, in 2015, has been settled, right?
Obviously we know that games can be art now – surely we as an industry have learned
that we no longer need to ‘prove ourselves’ to people involved in literature or film or
whatever, and the argument that what games 'have’ in comparison to other artistic media
(as if they’re in fucking competition with each other or something) is that they are
interactive and can really make you feel like you’re there, man!
No dumb book or film can do that for you man!
You just have to live it!
Obviously that argument is reductive at best, and entirely moot at worst.
Let’s give the people spouting this the benefit of the doubt, though, and examine
that idea further – the idea that the ‘interactivity’ of games is what makes them ‘better’ than
books or film.
Surely the interactivity alone is not what makes games artistic – typing numbers into
a phone keypad is technically ‘interacting’ with a piece of hardware, but you wouldn’t
go calling that an artform.
Certainly, also, there exists a difference between what we might consider to be ‘art’
games and ‘entertainment’ games (Call Of Duty, FIFA, etc.) – there is nothing
wrong with being placed in either category obviously, but what would the difference between
these types of games be?
If we examine something like Call Of Duty, for instance, we see something akin to an
action movie – the player is placed in the role of the hero, the only person that can
save the world, and the game frames itself around this idea.
The player is very much at the centre of the experience and all the set pieces that happen
around them.
Surely, then, the opposite (that being quote-unquote ‘artistic’ games) could be defined as
the ones which, arguably, take the player out of the experience?
As stated before, one of the key components of true art is that it exists whether or not
one wishes to experience it – if we look at a game like Dark Souls, for instance, that
is invariably true.
That entire game is framed around the idea of absolutely crushing the player’s role
in the events of the game down to the most miniscule of elements.
The world the player is dropped into is undoubtedly massive, and as you are reminded by the Crestfallen
Warrior after beating the tutorial, ‘you are not the first’.
This world has existed prior to the player’s experiences in it, and as exemplified by the
way the enemies trudge back to their positions after cutting you down time and time again,
it will continue to exist long after you leave it.
This toys with the idea of player agency in a number of ways.
In one way, as discussed in my video on Her Story (click the link to watch it), it forces
the player to come to their own conclusions as to what is happening around them as the
inhabitants of this world have seen this too many times before to have the energy to explain
it to you.
This both contributes to an overall sense of dread spreading throughout the world (every
NPC seems resigned to their fate in a truly oppressive way) and the idea that any conclusion
the player pieces together themselves is going to mean more to them than if the same conclusion
is dictated to them by the game.
Ultimately, the narrative of Dark Souls revolves around telling the player as little as possible,
resigning them to the fact that effectively there is no ‘end game’, no large objective
that can be achieved by you and only you that will save the world.
Victory in Dark Souls is moment-to-moment, with every corner turned, and every corner
survived, feeling at once wholly satisfying, yet immeasurably tense as you realise every
step you take is a step closer to inevitable death.
This acts in stark contrast to the player-as-core experience that games like Call of Duty provide
(apologies if it seems like I’m unnecessarily ragging on COD, I really have little against
that franchise).
Ultimately, what makes Dark Souls artistic where games like Call of Duty are not, is
the way in which Dark Souls takes away this agency from the player.
No longer are you the only one who can save the world, no longer do you tower above your
enemies.
Every enemy follows the same rules as you, and as previously stated, as a result every
victory feels substantial as you have used skills that the game has taught you in order
to overcome an obstacle.
Simply placing the player at the centre of the game’s universe effectively goes against
the idea that merely interacting with something is what makes a game artistic.
As exemplified by Dark Souls, what makes the experience truly meaningful is the idea that
the player is not at the centre of this universe, that the player cannot truly change things,
that the player’s agency is greatly reduced.
The oppressive nature of the world and the way in which the game makes the player feel
small falls in line with the ideas presented in the works of art listed in the opening
of this piece.
It is challenging both mechanically and narratively, and this is what makes Dark Souls, to me anyway,
stand out as an example of games as art.
The same rings true when one examines other games typically considered to be ‘artistic’.
Look at a game like Spec Ops: The Line – a game that met with mixed reviews and sales,
but ended up as one of the most mindblowing pieces of art I have ever experienced.
This game acts as analogous to COD in a lot of very deliberate ways, as ultimately this
is the kind of experience Spec Ops is pointedly criticising.
It paints a truly harrowing picture of war, one which shows the true human cost of the
endeavour, in a way that no other game has come close to matching at this point.
How does it do this?
It almost does it in the opposite way that Dark Souls does, but essentially it messes
with the idea that the player is at the centre of everything in this universe.
Unlike Dark Souls, Spec Ops wants you to fucking know that you are the one carrying out these
atrocities.
It begins by luring the player into a false sense of security – wiping out waves of
soldiers as if they were just meaningless clusters of pixels, an obstacle to be overcome.
This initially tricks the player into thinking that this is simply another go at the military
shooter genre – something which many companies aped given the success of Call of Duty and
Battlefield.
In games like these, however, the player is always told that they are justified in their
actions – the enemies they are killing are threatening the American way of life and therefore
they must be defeated.
Even in the rare case that the player character is being fed misinformation by their commanding
officers, this is often used as a trite plot twist, and the player is still in the role
of saving the world, just chasing a different target.
In any case, the player is responsible for bringing the bad guys to justice and is celebrated
for doing so.
As one plays through Spec Ops, however, the character (and the player) is constantly trying
to justify their actions through the thought that they’re acting for the greater good,
that like in any other military shooter, these people need your help.
As the player begins to realise, however, that the majority of people they are gunning
down are actually American soldiers, and that as time goes on it is shown that the player
character might not be entirely in control of his own mind, it begins a process of recalibration
in the player’s head.
Arguably this peaks with the absolutely horrifying white phosphorous scene (something which I
will not go into the details of, but is something you truly have to experience in order to feel
the impact of it), where the player, believing they are acting in the greatest good, is reminded
in the starkest possible terms that they are not infallible and that even player characters,
people that games have trained players to believe are without fault, can and do make
mistakes.
The player has no control over the outcome of these situations, as they progress deeper
and deeper into a storm-ravaged Dubai, trying to hold onto any glimpse of hope that they
might still be doing the right thing.
The real kicker though?
At the conclusion of the game the player is reminded that the characters actually completed
their main objective at the very start of the game, and absolutely everything that transpired
after that was entirely unnecessary, and entirely the player’s doing.
This idea is hammered home by the fact that the lead writer of the game, Walt Williams,
has revealed that an ‘unofficial’ ending of the game is the one where the player cannot
take anymore and stops playing.
The fact that arguably this is the only ending in which the player has any real agency is
kind of astonishing in its audacity.
And it is precisely this audacity, this willingness to mess with convention and to toy with modes
that become the norm within any given artform, that make something truly ‘artistic’.
Whilst many people argue that their interactivity is enough to make games art, what we learn
by examining the examples of Dark Souls and Spec Ops: The Line is that arguably what separates
truly artistic games from games that are mere entertainment is the way in which they take
that key component of games (the interactivity) and turn that idea on its head in order to
make a point.
Player agency is indeed key to creating a compelling experience, but that doesn’t
necessarily mean that the player has to be catered to in every single way.
Think if books or films were made in the same way (and they often are) – the result is
commodified, appeal-to-all mush that attempts to please everybody, but ends up leaving a
meaningful impact on almost nobody.
It is the people that take the most risks, the ones that are not afraid to toy with the
very foundations of what people look for in a game, that are the true artists of this
medium.
That concludes the third episode of Writing On Games – I sincerely hope you enjoyed
it.
Hopefully this didn’t come across as too snooty or whatever, like I say I have little
against games like COD and in no way am I saying that every game has to be striving
for this kind of grand artistic statement.
Hell, if one is willing to stick to their guns with regards to creating fun experiences
that attempt to please everyone in a world which tells them to do otherwise, that person
is a fucking artist too.
With that said, I’d like to offer my condolences to the family and friends of Satoru Iwata
who died very recently.
I haven’t always been the biggest fan of Nintendo’s products, but Iwata as a person
always seemed incredibly genuine, intelligent and kind in a world where videogame executives
have become so homogenous and so focused on the bottom line.
Iwata was not afraid to make choices that would potentially alienate shareholders if
it meant that the player would receive the fun experience he so wanted them to have.
He had a hell of a sense of humour about himself as well, which is something that seems so
alien in today’s videogame industry.
Truly he was universally loved within the industry and responsible for some of the most
influential and important games ever to be released, and the world is undoubtedly poorer
now that he is gone.
Rest in peace, dude.
See you next time.