An Introduction to ‘The Great Games’ Project, or, Stop Saying We Don’t Have Any Videogame Masterpieces

THE

GREAT

GAMES

I’ve been meaning to do this for a while – make a list of some of the greatest, most important games ever made. Sure, it’s hardly an original idea, but I think it’s got its value. The idea came back into my head recently when I read this article from 2008 by Simon Parkin. It’s a really nice piece of writing, and it talks about the kind of situation that a lot of us are all too familiar with, but part of it frustrated me: “Who are we kidding? There’s not one Schindler’s List amongst our eight thousand Pearl Harbours. We’ve nothing of worth. Even if we do have something to say to the world, I’m not sure we’ve come close to articulating yet.” 

I know that was probably intended merely as a fleeting, despairing thought rather than a real, serious representation of the author’s views, but it’s a thought that’s expressed time and time again, either explicitly or implicitly, when we talk about games. And that’s annoying. Games are frustrating. They’re juvenile. They’ve got nothing to say and maybe one day they’ll grow up and become a respectable artistic medium.

Sometimes it’s almost impossible not to fall back on this kind of thinking. Like when you’re face to face with the amoral, cut-throat jingoism of Call of Duty: Black Ops, or Visceral Games’ Dante’s Inferno – a timeless allegory of life, evil, and sin condensed into ten hours of hack-and-slash culminating in a boss fight against the devil (where I spent half the fight thinking ‘Am I going mental or did they put a giant, flaccid cock on the devil’s character model?’). And people, including many games critics, are often extremely dismissive of games as a medium. The story is pretty good for a game. The problem with this is that it seems this dismissiveness is so strong, and often so automatic at this point, that we sometimes ignore the medium’s great achievements. The great games.

I’m extremely critical about the state of the medium. And I think it’s important to be critical about the things that we suck at. But it’s also important to remember the successes – the moments that make you unselfconsciously think fuck yes, videogames.

And that’s what this project is for. I want us to stop dismissing games all the time. I want us to be able to say “x is a great game” without feeling a little embarrassed. I want us to stop feeling like we should be comparing games to other mediums and finding them somehow wanting, childish, or pointless. I want us to be able to say “the dialogue is extremely well-written”, or “the characters are well-realised” without mentally adding “for a videogame” even though we really think the dialogue is extremely well-written, or the characters extremely well-realised. I want us to get rid of the worry that maybe Tetris is a bit of a waste of time and that we should be getting some fresh air, or reading War and Peace, or learning Latin.

And I think that’ll only come if we can step back and talk enthusiastically about the great things this medium can do. It might not do great things as often as we’d like, or as often as it perhaps should, but when it does it’s our job to point that out, celebrate it, and maybe be a little bit smug about how much better our medium is than all those other bullshit, worthless, waste-of-time ones.

So welcome to The Great Games, I guess. It’s a place where I can write about some of the games that I think are really special. Games that I think stand up and that we should be able to show as defining examples of the medium to people who don’t play games. And if they don’t like them or they don’t get them then we shouldn’t be embarrassed, just as someone who loves films doesn’t feel their skin crawl when someone watches Blade Runner in silence before getting up, announcing “Well, that was a piece of shit”, and leaving the room. 

These are the great games. Sorry, The Great Games.

I may never actually get around to posting about any.

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The Kickstarter Craze: Peter Molyneux and the Industry Veteran

I’m not sure if it’s fair to say ‘backlash’, but there’s certainly something negative in the air right now when people talk about Kickstarter. When Double Fine launched their wildly successful Double Fine Adventure, making a million dollars in just under 24 hours, Kickstarter became something really significant in the world of videogames. Many people talked about it like it was the saviour of gaming – not only as a place where interesting, non-mainstream games could become reality, but a way to finally remove the influence of publishers and marketing dollars. I gave more of a moderate, though still optimistic opinion, and while I still hold to it, it’s hard to argue that things haven’t changed.

At the very least public opinion has started to shift away from this kind of unfettered optimism. With a slew of new high-profile projects from established industry veterans, each asking for significant sums of money, people are starting to ask questions. Many are even arguing that these projects are transforming Kickstarter from a haven for niche, unknown projects and making it into something far more sinister and commercial.

It’s undoubtedly true that more and more industrys veterans are looking to Kickstarter as a way to fund their (relatively) financially ambitious games. For instance, Peter Molyneux has recently gone rogue and started 22cans, a small independent studio that’s currently trying to raise £450,000 for Project Godus, a spiritual successor to Molyneux’s Populous. And David Braben’s studio Frontier Developments is asking for £1,250,000 to fund Elite: Dangerous, a sequel to 1984’s revolutionary space game Elite. Many people are concerned that these games will draw attention away from the smaller, unknown projects found on Kickstarter and siphon all the benefits of crowd-funding towards those who are already successful.

It’s claimed in many of these cases is that people like Molyneux don’t actually need Kickstarter in the first place, since they could secure publisher funding for their games. I think this is a massive oversimplification of the issue, and in many cases I think it’s simply untrue, but it’s not really the point we should be concerned about. Say Molyneux definitely doesn’t need Kickstarter to get his project off the ground. That doesn’t necessarily mean that he shouldn’t use it. The real issue here is whether or not this influx of big, high-profile projects from Molyneux, Braben, and others is threatening the smaller, more  unknown projects. And while many people seem happy to state outright that this is indeed the case, no one’s actually brought any evidence to support that argument.

In fact, all the evidence we have seems to indicate that these big, multi-million dollar projects are doing nothing but good for other Kickstarter projects. As Tim Schafer says, the wild success of Double Fine Adventure meant that the number of pledges for other Kickstarter projects went up. And that stands to reason: (1) Double Fine’s project served to introduce many, many new people to the site for the first time , meaning the pool of possible backers for projects expanded, and (2) Even if you’re already aware of the site, the act of backing a high-profile campaign on Kickstarter serves to get you onto the site once again, increasing the chance that you’ll go for a wander and stumble across something new and cool.

Ever since Double Fine’s breakthrough Kickstarter success the number of videogame Kickstarter projects, large and small, has gone up enormously. And there just isn’t any evidence that this is changing now that more and more big projects from industry veterans are emerging. My instinct is that these mammoths will continue to be a benign force towards smaller projects, as they’ll serve to continue pointing people back to the site, either for the first time or for a return visit. But we don’t really have a great deal of evidence to say either way, so it’s probably best not to make too many sweeping statements right now. All we know is that we have no real evidence to support the alarmist view that Kickstarter is changing for the worse, and we have some good evidence to support the view that we should welcome this influx of big names and big projects onto the platform, as we stand to gain so much more from them than a remake of Elite, and a re-imagining of long-dead Populous. These projects might indirectly give us countless small new, imaginative, weird games, the likes of which would never have seen the light of day before all these new eyes were pointed towards the Kickstarter platform.

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Fantasy, Mythology, and the Far-reaching Hand of Tolkien

I’ve been thinking a lot about fantasy worlds lately. This started off when Obsidian’s Project Eternity was announced, kickstarted, and funded within a few days. I thought a bunch about the world they were making. Then I played Dishonored and marvelled at the world built within that game’s margins. It got me thinking about how, for a field that revolves around wholly imagined universes, fantasy games are surprisingly conservative.

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Concept art for Project Eternity

It all comes down to Tolkien.* Or at least a great deal of it does. His Middle Earth mythology has likely had more influence than anything else on 20th and 21st Century fantasy writing, both in and out of videogames. And while this isn’t in itself a bad thing (Tolkien did a lot of things really well, after all), it’s kind of hard to argue that it hasn’t done something to limit the collective imagination of fantasy writers.

Time and time again you see people falling back on the concepts that Tolkien sketched out – Orcs, Elves, Dwarfs, and Trolls, each race filling roughly the same roles that they served in Middle Earth (the noble, haughty Elves, the bearded, subterranean dwarfs, the always chaotic evil Orcs and Trolls and Goblins). Sometimes you’ll see writers doing something to subvert genre expectations (The dwarfs live in trees! The elves are racist freedom fighters!), and often you’ll also see a hell of a lot of the writer’s own ideas come through, but I can think of surprisingly few games that completely throw away the template that Tolkien laid down.

John Howe’s illustration of the dragon Smaug, from The Hobbit

But what’s wrong with that – it’s a perfectly good template, so why not use it? Well, because it fails to capture the reasons why Tolkien’s world is so impressive in the first place. Tolkien didn’t pull Middle Earth purely from his own imagination – he drew upon hundreds of years of culture, especially early Germanic and Anglo Saxon literature and mythology, when crafting his world and populating it with people and stories. That’s one of the main reasons Middle Earth feels so rich. So when a writer draws their inspiration primarily from Tolkien’s writing they’re drawing inspiration from only one source, when what made that source great in the first place was that it drew from so many other things. As a result the worlds they craft rarely match the richness of Middle Earth, and rarely show any kind of understanding of the Germanic and Anglo-Saxon influences that Tolkien drew upon. Rather than imaginative new worlds, they tend to feel like little more than pale imitations of Middle Earth.

When I call for more original invention in fantasy writing I’m not saying ‘make everything up yourself without any outside inspirations’ because that’s simply not, and never has been how imagination works. Just as almost no technological inventions are created in a vacuum, almost no story, whether fantasy or not, is born in a vacuum. Every legend and myth and fantasy story has its influences. So what I’m saying is: ‘Tolkien isn’t enough. Find other things, preferably lots of them, from which to draw inspiration. And then do interesting things with them.’

An illustration of Beowulf battling Grendel

But even when people abandon Tolkien, there’s still a heavy reliance in fantasy writing on Norse and Anglo-Saxon mythology. That’s understandable, because of the influence they’ve had on the English speaking world (again, as someone who only speaks English, i’m aware that everything I’m saying here might just not apply to non-English fantasy traditions). And I’d rather have games that draw direct from these sources than from Tolkien’s distillation of them. But while it’s perfectly legitimate to create a fantasy world that’s heavily inspired by Norse mythology, it’s disappointing that so few people are trying something different.

Why are so few people abandoning the ‘Anglo-Saxon as seen by Tolkien’ and the ‘Norse mythology’ approaches and searching further afield? Why can I count the number of games that draw their inspiration from Slavic mythology on one hand? Why nothing revolving around West African creation myths? Why is it always Tolkien, or at best Tolkien’s bibliography? There’s so much fertile ground to explore, but by and large we’re willing to stick to what we know.

There is so much human history and mythology that we haven’t explored in fantasy writing that it’s frankly kind of surprising. But fantasy games continue to dwell endlessly on Tolkien, or at best the same things that directly inspired Tolkien: Dragon Age: Origins, Oblivion, and so on. High Elves, stocky Dwarfs, rolling, pastoral English landscapes, and so on. And while Oblivion builds up its own history, mythology, and metaphysical truths, it’s still set in rolling English hills filled with goblins and elves and enchanted swords. And Skyrim, the follow-up that I hoped would learn the lessons of Oblivion’s failings, clung so close to Norse mythology that it lost even more of the mystery, the unknown, and the downright weird.

A shot from The Edler Scrolls III: Morrowind

And those are my main drive for exploring fantasy worlds: the unknown, the mystery, and the downright weird. That’s something that I think fantasy, alongside science fiction, does better than anything else. My favourite fantasy worlds are the ones that draw their inspiration from further afield. Some of them, like The Elder Scrolls III’s ‘Morrowind’, incorporate elves and dwarves in a fairly Tolkienesque way. Many of them are far from what you’d call ‘weird’. But they all, without exception, gave me that sense of wonder and discovery that most fantasy games never even come close to. And they do this because they largely reject the well trodden path of pure Anglo-Saxon, Tolkienesque mythology and introduce the player to something they’ve never seen before.

Dishonored’s shamanistic, rune-carving whalers being ground underfoot by a ruthlessly industrialising but slowly dying empire. The city of Dunwall – racked by plague, political instability, and a fear of the cosmic horror lurking out in the night. Morrowind’s tent-dwelling nomads, disease-ridden storms, cities carved out of the husks of colossal dead insects. Demon’s Soul’s haunting dead towers and fetid valleys where people dump their stillborn and infant dead. These places weren’t born ex nihilo in the minds of their creators – they incorporated ideas in just the same way that Oblivion and Dragon Age: Origins did, only they did so from previously unvisited places, or in more risky, inventive ways.

Instead of simply relying on the template we’ve used so many times before they created a new one, or else they warped and changed an existing one in radical ways. And so they gave us something special. These places gripped you and showed you a place unlike any other. And to me that’s what’s so wonderful about fantasy writing in all media – it allows you to be a visitor to unknown, impossible worlds. So when we fall back again and again on the same narrow idea of what fantasy is, when writers invent and imagine only within the confines of a universal, well-explored template, we start to lose something of that sense of wonder.

An illustration from Dishonored

* It occurred to me in a conversation with my girlfriend that this is a problem that isn’t really seen in Japanese fantasy games, or at least not to the same extent. Whatever you think of them, it’s hard to argue that they’re limited in the same way as western fantasy games. Perhaps this is because no one person has dominated 20th century fantasy writing in Japan in the same way Tolkien does in English-speaking countries. Perhaps the same is pretty much true for fantasy writing in other, non-English speaking cultures.

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