Tag Archives: arcade games

The Joystick is Broken

27 Sep

It’s usually pretty easy to tell when criticism against video games is being levied by an older generation that’s largely unfamiliar with them. For one thing, criticism against video games is almost always issued by a member of an older generation with limited personal experience. For another thing, that criticism is often way off the mark: accusations that video games foster isolationist and anti-social behaviors, declarations that their pixel arrangements are devoid of substance and story and their challenges facile and repetitive. Many gamers today play online, and have good friends in every corner of the globe. While they may not see these people regularly (or ever), they are in constant contact via various communication devices and networks. The games they play are these massive, virtual reality affairs that have more depth and scope than your average film trilogy, tales which beg multiple viewings because the outcome is different every time. No matter how many times I watch Return of the Jedi, those fucking Ewoks are still there. If it was a video game, I’d happily mow them down with some overpowered, unlimited ammo-having machine gun on at least one playthrough.

Video games have had a socializing effect since their early installations at pizza parlors, bars and arcades, where people would crowd around a blinking, noisy machine and watch a stellar performance or a spectacular failure. This would carry over to the ascension of home video game consoles in the 1980s (well, ascension, then plummet, then ascension again) when families would pile into their living rooms and cheer on each member of the clan as they manipulated flickering sprites on the television screen, excitedly waiting their turns to do the same. At least, that’s how the advertising looked. In the history of my family, we had two video game consoles: the Odyssey 2 and the Nintendo Entertainment System. Both of these systems my brother and I had to procure ourselves due to our parents’ disinterest, and neither of these consoles were hooked up to the living room television set. I played hours of Super Mario Bros. 2 and Super Contra alone in my bedroom, Misfits blaring on the stereo, thinking about everything else in the universe except for the actual task I was performing. That was my personal experience, though I do recall actually knowing families that played video games together at least a few, initial times. It’s worth mentioning that my brother and I got along okay while playing Nintendo together, some of the few friendly moments in what was an otherwise antagonistic relationship.

Most of the early arcade games were two-player games, which meant that player one got to play the game for a while, until he died and forfeited the joystick temporarily to player two. Interestingly, the first video game, Pong, was a co-op game, but we wouldn’t see this kind of partnered playing again for many years. My earliest memory of a really good co-op video game is Gauntlet, a four-player dungeon crawler where you could be a warrior, an elf, a wizard, and a valkyrie (if you wanted to be a chick for some reason). You’d roam around mazes, shooting hordes of ghosts and orcs and whatever-the-fuck else while the game boomed helpful advice in a baritone voice: “Don’t shoot the food!” or “Warrior, your life force is running out,” or the most ominous, “Shots don’t hurt the other players…yet.” There were other arcade games, notably fighting games like Super Street Fighter II where two people could play on the same video screen, but co-op game play really hit its stride on home consoles, beginning with the Atari 2600 and continuing all the way to the present age of console sorcery and magic.

Playing games with your friends is a tradition dating back to, well, the advent of games, I’d say. Video game accomplishments are nothing without the validation of a neutral party, and in fact the achievement can only be measured against the venue in which it was committed and the audience that bore witness. Playing games simultaneously with friends leads to a competitive camaraderie, producing a shared experience that is viscerally as exciting as sitting on the same couch with someone and watching television, maybe while one helps the other crochet or something. Detractors are right in saying that playing video games is an exclusionary act, it summarily excludes people who don’t understand or give a shit about video games. Among gamers, however, it can create lasting bonds, never more so than today when people play games online with innumerable other players around the world. I’ll delve into that a little more deeply in part two of this essay, which will come out before you’re old enough to start telling your own kids to turn down those goddamned video games you like so goddamned much.

A Whole Lotta Video, Not a Lot of Game

24 Mar

Last year, a lot was made of Roger Ebert’s statement that video games can never be art. This raised the ire of many gamers who rushed to defend their medium with offerings of their favorite video game titles. I wonder how many of those gamers are artists, or art historians, or otherwise give a shit about the world of accepted, mainstream art. I took Ebert’s comments to have been made by a person who, watching their familiar world become relegated to a musty corner in favor of newer digital media, railed against something that he barely understood. But the angry gamers who attempted to change Ebert’s mind wound up looking more ridiculous. When an older person tells you to “turn down that racket,” you tell them to mind their business and turn it up another notch. You don’t sit them down and detail the inherently good qualities of whatever misogynistic, violent noise you happen to be pumping.

My introduction to video games happened when I was about six years old. My brother was lectured by my parents for about an hour as punishment for hanging out and playing Pac-Man for too long. I guess my brother probably issued a defiant, and therefore meaningless concession, then trudged up the creaky, wooden stairs to our shared bedroom in the attic. I had been listening in on his conversation with my parents, and when he walked in the room I asked my brother what Pac-Man was. He scoffed and said I was a fucking idiot if I didn’t know what Pac-Man was.

And a fucking idiot I was, because it seemed like every day after that, Pac-Man became more and more a part of my life. And not just Pac-Man, but Centipede, Donkey Kong, Arkanoid, and Defender. At the time, I thought I was only noticing these games and their merchandise because I had become aware of their existence, like how you can learn a new word and then it seems like you hear it on every news broadcast and while casually chatting with friends. Looking back, I see that my learning about video games happened on the cusp of an arcade game explosion that would dominate the U.S. through much of the 1980s. One day, there was nothing to do at the pizza place but eat pizza. The next, you could crowd into the tiny parlor with a dozen like-minded youths and pump quarters into Dig Dug. Which, incidentally, left precious little money for pizza.

I was never crazy about video games, but I certainly played the shit out of some. Arcade games began falling out of favor as I reached pubescence (though they would see a short resurgence thanks to Street Fighter II) but that coincided neatly with the introduction of the Nintendo Entertainment System, the first video game system that was undeniably awesome. I saved one-hundred and twenty dollars of my own money to purchase a NES from the Consumers electronics store in the Rockbottom shopping mall on Northern Boulevard. One of my brother’s friends worked there, and I made a deal with him to purchase stolen games for significantly less than retail value. I bought other video game systems along the way, but frankly none were as emotionally rewarding as the first.

I try to keep abreast of current video games because, whether they’re art or not, video games are certainly a major force in media. Since media is within my sphere of interest, so are these games. It’s not a chore because I am routinely astounded by the depth and scope of the technology pushing this industry. Where we once had to use our imaginations to picture Link from The Legend of Zelda wearing a green tunic, today you can practically feel a breeze caress Link’s ass as his finely-woven tunic flaps in high-definition wind. Games used to take a couple of hours to beat, now you can log in eighty and a hundred hours just wandering around some meticulously-rendered battlefield, popping your gun blithely at whatever enters your field of vision or specifically targeting enemy players’ internal organs. It is truly mind-boggling, and I suspect that certain esteemed elders’ words on video games are a reflection of how boggled their minds are when considering them. Many films are beloved because we can project ourselves into a character as portrayed by an actor. Video games take that to the next step where we become the actor.

Which is, I think, where we can cease considering many of these video games to be “games” at all. Pac-Man is a game where you run around mazes of increasing difficulty, chomping pellets and racking up as many points as possible. The next person to play, if they’ve put their quarter up at the edge of the screen, will implicitly try to beat the highest score. The game is one of repetition, requiring the player make many mistakes (at the cost of about ten cents an error) until they figure out the best patterns. A lot of games today are just stories with set conclusions where the player makes a series of decisions in order to eventually arrive at one of them. You can never actually lose these games, you keep on playing and playing until you get past the difficult parts and advance the story to a new act. Right now, I am playing a game called Fallout 3, which is a massive, open-ended game where you can interact with practically every person and every thing you come across. Most of my game play thus far has consisted of me having long, text-based conversations with computer characters, and choosing between three or five dialogue options in hopes that I don’t come off like an asshole. I have enough trouble with real world personal interactions, I don’t want to start getting anxious about whether a fictional super mutant likes my hat or not.

I am not prepared to say whether video games are art, or if they ever will be art, or if they ever were art. That kind of a question seems so loaded that there can be no right or wrong answer. But it does occur to me that a lot of the actual playing part of video games has been excised from some of the most heady and popular titles. These games guide the player along a series of pre-set routes, reaching one or more inevitable conclusions which are effected depending on a sequence of pressed buttons. Playing these specific games is an almost passive experience, the only aim being to wait out the game until you reach the story’s conclusion. However, movies still have the edge on video games because when watching a movie, your hands are free for snacking or masturbation.

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