Analytical Otaku

Pewdiepie and Tobuscus are two awesome people. They make money playing video games, for crying out loud! It doesn’t get much cooler than that. Yet for some reason, many of their fans don’t think the internet is big enough for both of them. They claim one is better than the other. This is the internet, so stupidity isn’t shocking. What is shocking is what we can learn by studying these primitive tribes of fans. Or re-learn, as the case may be. Some chump named Erik Erikson noticed this decades ago.

The short story: human beings enjoy excluding others. It’s built into our systems. Still have a shred of faith in humanity left? Read on, and allow me to destroy it for you.

Humans go through several stages of psychological development. One of the most painful (or most hilarious, if you are an outside observer) stages comes in adolescence: Identity vs. Role Confusion. Once kids hit the magic of puberty, they realize that the real world can be a scary place. They also realize they are worthless chumps who can’t hope to make it on their own. So what do they do? They form primitive packs (I believe the cool kids call them cliques).

 However, it isn’t enough just to be in a pack. The way our amazing human brain works is that we define ourselves with negative assertions almost as much as positive assertions. So it isn’t “I like rock music,” but “I do not like dubstep. Therefore, I am not like the people who enjoy dubstep.” And so now not only do they hate dubstep, they hate everything associated with the people who like dubstep.

Enter a new generation of youngsters: ones who don’t have social skills and never go outside. They can’t form real-life packs, so what do they do? They form packs based around internet celebrities. So we can’t all join hands and sing a rousing Ole dole doff/ I can swing my sword melody. Nooooooooo. Instead, we have to argue in the comments about who’s better.

So there you have it. A scientific explanation for why people are annoying. And the next time you see a little Pewd/Toby war going on, you can just smile to yourself, knowing that the whiners are still psychologically immature adolescents desperately vying for a place in a world that doesn’t want them. I’m sure glad I’m nothing like them < /hypocrisy>.

Did you like this post? Then please check out some of my other articles.

Ultimate Nerd Test: A very extensive test to see just how nerdy you are.

The Rhetoric of Video Games: A series of articles where I talk in depth about video game design and how it impacts the player.

Abridgers Wanted: A post talking about abridged series and what the heck happened to them.

Last time we talked about how video game objectives can influence how much a player values something. The careful designer can set up an objective that forces the player to temporarily adopt a value-set that is not their own.

 Speaking of forcing their values on players, Every Day the Same Dream is an indie game with a bleak outlook on life. The player is stuck in a vicious cycle of waking up, getting dressed, and going to work. The only way to “beat” the game is to go against the system. The player must accomplish five tasks. They are given no instruction on what they are supposed to do, but must figure it out for themselves by going against the flow. For example, one of the tasks involves going to work in their underwear and being fired by the boss. Another task involves the player throwing themselves off the roof of the building where they work. The goal of the game is to break out of the everyday routine and have players think for themselves. The player is forced to “fight the man,” regardless of their current job satisfaction. And because being a free-thinking douche is the only way to win the game, the game advances an anti-establishment doctrine.

What’s more, the way players accomplish this goal is rhetorical. Players are rewarded for suicide in the sense that it helps them progress in the game. The sparse bits of dialogue in the game don’t mention the main character dissatisfaction or frustration. The game never tells you that it wants you to refuse labor and become an individual. It doesn’t have to. Simply by making that a goal, the game illustrates its argument to the player. If you sit down at your desk and work like a good little drone, then the cycle repeats ad infinitum. But by throwing social norms to the wind, players are rewarded with advancement. It’s positive-reinforcement for rebellion.

Portal also preaches an anti-establishment rhetoric. In the beginning of the game, you are in a lab undergoing a battery of dangerous tests (for science!). An anonymous voice instructs and encourages you over the intercom. Players are given little context for what they are doing and who they are working for. Even though they’re kept in the dark, the only way to move forward is by completing the tests. The players have no choice but to abide by the rules of an unknown force.

As the game progresses, the disembodied voice shows signs of impairment and malfunction. Still the only option is to continue through the tests. Things change when the computer running the tests tries to dump the player into the furnace. The tables are turned, and now the only way to survive is to rebel and find a way to shut down the malicious computer running the facility. In this way, the players are both literally and figuratively encouraged to bring down the system.

Portal puts gamers in a situation where they have to blindly follow the voice of authority. Then the game takes that authority and makes it insane and unreliable. Players are forced to rely on themselves, not an anonymous authority. The game is a sort of pro-solidarity/ anti-authority science-fest.

Visit the main video game rhetoric directory here.

View Part 1 of video games and goals.

View Part 3 of video games and goals.

Check back in a few days for the next part in the series!

Welcome back to the rhetoric of video games! For these next couple of posts, we will explore how goals influence gamers. If you missed the first couple of posts, make sure to check them out.

What makes video games “games” is that they have goals. Without a goal, then it is just an interactive piece of software. Of course, some games have really loose goals, like Tetris wanting you to stack a bunch of boxes. Others have very specific goals, like defeating an evil sorcerer or escaping a testing facility. 

No matter how lightly the game takes its primary objective, the goals still have rhetorical effect. By designating something as a goal, a game implies that it has worth. For example, if the goal of the game is to “save the princess,” then that implies that the princess is valuable enough to go through the effort of saving. “By stating a rule that defines a winning scenario, the simauthor is claiming that these goals are preferable to their opposite.”¹ So the player will see the end goal as the right thing, and the opposite conditions, or losing, as something that is bad. When properly applied, goals and the methods to achieve those goals can motivate the player and convince them that something is worth their time.

The setting of Final Fantasy VII is a run down, dilapidated world. Big business has exhausted natural resources, and the whole planet is on a downward spiral to disaster. Despite this, the goal of the game is to save the world. This implies that the world, no matter how run-down and used-up it is, is still something worth fighting for. 

Many games force players into the role of a messiah, combating evil in an attempt to restore balance. However, “evil” can be anything the developer wants it to be. If the developer makes the enemy a bunch of cartoonish pigs, the player has to fight them to win. It doesn’t matter how the player personally feels; while ‘they are playing a game, gamers operate under the logic of the programmer. The designer’s goals become theirs.

1.     1.  Frasca, Gonzalo. "Simulation versus Narrative: Introduction to Ludology." The Video Game Theory Reader. Ed. Mark J.P. Wolf and Ed. Bernard Perron. New York: Routledge, 2003. Print.

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     Visit the main video game rhetoric directory here

     Learn more about goals and their influence on players here
  
      Learn how perspective affects games here

   

Last time we talked about how perspective influences the player’s relationship with the main character. This time, let’s look at how view point changes how the player feels about other characters in the game. Let’s talk about god.

 

Okay, god perspective (I had you worried for a second, didn't I?). God-perspective is a top-down view used in simulation and strategy games. The player views things from high up and far away, as if they were a spiteful god. Oftentimes they act like one, too. See, the god-perspective puts a lot of distance between the player and the miniscule figures onscreen. It allows the player to observe humanity impartially. It also allows them to be an enormous jerk. No game demonstrates this better than The Sims.

In The Sims, while the player does create and control characters, none of the individual characters are integral to the game. The player can delete and create new characters at any time. This, combined with the looking-down-from-heaven view, makes the Sims dispensable. The player is free to do whatever the heck they want without feeling responsible. While the ambiguous goal of the game is to earn money and build a merchandise-filled house, many players choose to make their Sim’s life miserable. In an online chatboard, players brainstormed fun things they could do with their Sims. Responses ranged from “make a huge family and kill them all and make a new family move in ... in the same house” to “refuse to use the bathroom” to even “Make your Sim cheat on their husband/wife and see how long it takes them to get caught.”¹ Players feel no guilt about what they force the Sims to do, because the remote perspective reduces the Sims to mere playthings.

Likewise, in the strategy game Civilization, the player is a ruler of a country, and the goal is to build the best empire (or as an albino mouse might put it, try to take over the world). This involves sending troops to war. When the player is at war, their forces are referred to as “units.” Their soldiers and people are not given an identity or any individuality. There is no reward for keeping them alive, other than the fact that they can be reused as more cannon fodder. Once again, the top-down perspective gives the player a sense of being above the action, both literally and figuratively. Because of this, the player is detached from the struggles of the NPCs.

Contrast this with Valkyria Chronicles, a war game that uses the same perspective. At the beginning of every turn, the player views a map showing the position of their soldiers and the opposing forces on the field. However, when the player selects a soldier to move, the game switches to 3^rd person perspective, and the player controls that unit directly. Not surprisingly, the soldiers all have an individual identity, complete with a unique character model, names, and even personal likes and dislikes that influence the way they perform in battle. By knowing the strengths and weaknesses of their soldiers on an individual basis, the player can use them more efficiently. This play style reinforces the plot, which is also heavily character driven.

The Pokemon series uses a similar technique to spotlight the fantastical freaks of the franchise. Every new “generation” of games has a new, silent protagonist. This protagonist never speaks or shows any personality. Again, the top-down perspective of the games detaches the player from the onscreen character, making the human avatar seem disposable and unimportant. When a Pokemon battle starts, the perspective switches. Suddenly the player views the battlefield from ground level, from a perspective that may or may not be the player character. When Pokemon are sent out to battle, the player views them up close and personal. You could argue that this is to better show off the violence, but the joke’s on you because Pokemon is about as non-violent as animal fighting gets.  Instead, this makes the player more likely to care about their Pokemon, whom they see first-hand fail and succeed, than the player character, whom they see only from a distant view. 

Last post we talked about how viewpoint influences how responsible players feel for their actions. Viewpoint also changes how the player feels about a character. For example, Ultimate Spiderman shows two perspectives. The player alternately controls Spiderman and Venom. Because the player also controls Venom, he cannot be the antagonist. Unlike other mediums, where a villain can share a large portion of screen time and parts of the story can be told from their perspective, in video games the player sees their avatar as an extension of themselves, and thus as a protagonist. Most players don’t mind doing villainous deeds for shits and giggles, but there is a difference between villainy and being the villain..

This framing gives the story more emotional depth. When the final battle comes and it’s time for Spiderman to beat Venom, it’s not clear who the player should root for. Yeah, Venom’s a sick abomination who would eat your Granny, but he is also an extension of the player. Players want to succeed in games, so when they controlled Venom their goal was to help him achieve whatever the heck he wanted. Then they are put in a position where one side has to lose. This creates a bittersweet victory.

The same thing happens in Fire Emblem: Radiant Dawn. By allowing the character to control both sides of a war, the player cannot see either side as a villain. What’s more, much of your time in the game is spent trying to keep your troops from dying. Once a character dies they are gone for good, so you will spend many a battle resetting over and over. And then you are put in a fight against yourself, where the goal is to defeat your other team. All of a sudden all that frustration spent keeping characters alive is fruitless. Kind of like war itself. This dynamic allows the designers to build a compelling picture of war as a two-sided issue where neither faction thinks they are wrong.

Perspective can also serve as a cosmetic tool. In games like World of Warcraft, where the primary goal is raising and developing a character, the game uses 3^rd person perspective. Players are drawn to these games because they want a chance to create an alternate persona. The character that the player designs is a “’vacuum into which [their] identity and awareness are pulled,’” allowing them to step out of their real-world self.¹ If you want to be some sort of ninja cat person, you be that ninja cat person. Because so much emphasis is placed on creating a new identity through a fictional character, being able to see the character is paramount. Also, the 3^rd person perspective allows the players to see their avatar within a fantasy realm.

Skyrim, on the other hand, allows players to switch between 1^st and 3^rd person perspectives. In an online forum, players discussed what viewpoints they preferred. While opinions differed, several players remarked that they used 1^st person perspective for battle and 3^rd person perspective for exploration. While part of this is due to the interface, where 1^st person is better-suited to combat, part of it is also because of the rhetorical effects of the perspectives. As one commenter put it, he enjoys a “mix of both for me. I like combat in first person, but I do a lot of exploration in third. It's nice to be able to see your character and the changes new gear makes, and the models/animations look much better than I expected they would.”² Players like to experience the triumphs of combat in 1^st person, but when it comes to building a character and exploring a world, 3^rd person is better-suited.

World exploration is integral to many platforming games, because part of the joy comes from discovering new and imaginative worlds. Psychonauts is a platformer that takes place within the mindscapes of other people. The worlds are as colorful and varied as the characters, and much of the joy comes from seeing the onscreen character interact with the environment. For example, in one level the player is in the subconscious of a giant mutated fish who just so happens to be terrified of people. This manifests as the player-character being a towering colossus rampaging through a surprisingly sophisticated cityscape. The player is suddenly a Godzilla-esque force in a field of buildings that collapse when you stomp on them and denizens that running shrieking from your approach. While this set-up would still be hilarious in 1^st person, the ability to see the panorama of destruction the player causes adds to the enjoyment.

Katamari Damacy also allows the player to destroy parts of the environment by combining them into an ever-growing ball. Allowing the player to see the stripped-bare land behind them gives them a satisfaction in knowing that they have the power to change the way the land looks. It also allows them to see the citizens fleeing in panic. You leave a wake of destruction and desolation, like a colorful avenging angel. The 3^rd person perspective allows players to see the effects of their actions on the environment, which is why it is useful for platforming games and other genres where the focus is on exploration.

But wait! We're not done exploring the joys of perspective yet. Join us next time for an exploration of being a dick in The Sims.

Part 1 of perspective here.

Part 3 of perspective is here.

Main directory of video game rhetoric here.

1.                  Wolf, Mark J.P.. "Abstraction in the Video Game." The Video Game Theory Reader. Ed. Mark J.P. Wolf and Ed. Bernard Perron. New York: Routledge, 2003. Print.

2.                  "Skyrim: 1st or 3rd person?." 12 Nov 2011. N.p., Online Posting to Gaming Outsiders. Web. 28 Mar. 2012. 

Video games are pretty awesome. That is self-evident. However, why are video games so cool? It’s because video games are a powerful, interactive medium. They engage players in ways that books or movies can only jealously dream about. Because it is interactive, video games employ a different kind of rhetoric than other entertainment. This rhetoric is the why. Over these next few posts, I am going to explore how video games engage players. So come with me, and together we can explore exactly what makes video games so darn awesome.


There are so many areas of rhetoric in video games, it would be TL;DR central if I crammed them into one post. Different topics are in different posts for your reading convenience. Click on whatever topic looks interesting!

Perspective
Sharing Sight: The use of perspective controls the degree of separation the player has from onscreen events. 

Seeing is believing: Perspective influences how emotionally attached a player will feel to the character, depending on whether or not they view them as an extension of themselves. 

Looking Down from Heaven: An explanation of why torturing Sims is both fun and rhetorically effective.

Goals/Objectives
Winning Terms: What do the goals of a game say about the beliefs of the creators?

Your Objective is Anarchy: Learn how questioning authority and free-thinking can be built into the medium using goals.

Madness in the Method: The developers betray a lot about their own belief system in the way they program their game. 

In video games, the perspective, or view point, is one of the biggest determining factors in play style. It’s crazy to think that something as simple as where the camera is placed could change a game, but it’s true. The way the player sees the game changes how personal events are. Used effectively, view point can make the difference between a compelling drama and an uninteresting conflict.

The two most common perspectives are 1^st person, in which the player sees directly out of their controlled character, and 3^rd person, in which the camera is placed behind a character. Many competitive shooters, such as Call of Duty and Halo, use a 1^st person perspective, hence the label “first-person shooter” (FPS). This view is preferable when the game focuses on precision aiming, because the player can aim directly without an avatar’s body getting in the way.

Perspective determines how the audience relates to the story and the main character. In a 1^st person game, players rarely see the character they are controlling. The player can “transfer [themselves] into the video game character, experience the intensity of the challenge, and achieve the sense of mastery and exhilaration of success.”¹ This allows the player to feel like they are directly responsible for the victories and achievements in the game. Call of Duty is widely liked for its competitive aspect. Players compete online against one another, trying to outgun and outlast their fellow players. Part of its massive success and popularity might be due to the perspective. The players cannot see their own avatar, thus there is one less constant reminder that they are playing a video game. 1^st person perspective allows the player to feel like they are the ones responsible for victory instead of the character they control.

Another popular FPS, Halo, goes so far as to have the character be both faceless (constantly wearing a helmet) and voiceless. Because the character has no distinct personality of its own, players can project themselves into the game. So it’s not the story of how Master Chief saves the world, it’s the story of how you save the world. The player becomes Master Chief. So when they make it through a particularly grueling level, they know it’s the result of their skill as a player and not because of Master Chief.

Sometimes developers may want to limit the amount of responsibility a player feels. In Sucker Punch’s Infamous, the game takes a 3^rd person approach. Even though a majority of the combat relies on aiming, the game does not go into 1^st person perspective. Instead, the camera zooms in to Cole, just above the shoulder so that players can aim accurately. Infamous also has a lot of platforming elements, and being able to navigate the environment is a must, so the 3^rd person camera helps players see their position relative to other objects around them.

However, the 3^rd person perspective also has the side-effect of providing a constant reminder to the player that they are not physically in the game. Because the main character is always on the screen, there is distance between him and the player. Infamous’s main draw comes from its morality system, where players can choose between “good” and “evil” alignments determined by their actions. “Evil” actions take the form of injuring innocent bystanders, killing police officers and basically being a giant douche. By distancing the player from the character, the player is also distanced from their actions. This allows the player a greater sense of moral freedom, because they do not feel directly responsible for the acts they commit. If they decide it would be funny to blow up a car with a bunch of snotty kids in it, well, it’s not them doing it, it’s Cole.

 1.     DeMaria, Rusel. Reset: Changing the Way We Look at Video Games. San Francisco: Berret-Koehler Publishers, Inc., 2007.Print.