In understanding games as a theoretical construct, it’s always useful to start by analysing their basic patterns. For those who can look beyond the medium itself and unearth the fundamental game within, it’s not surprising to know that some core gameplay elements really haven’t changed for the last few thousand years. Chess has a history dating back almost 1,500 years to around 600 A.D. For context, that’s roughly when Mohammed fled Mecca, and still around 200 years before Iceland was discovered by the Vikings.
Games are old. More after the jump.
With this kind of history behind them, one inevitably questions whether it’s still possible to create such a thing as an “original game”. And, more specifically, an original computer game. That’s an interesting question. A very interesting question.
The most naïve among us would immediately start trying to create a taxonomy of different games in the belief that by examining what’s available, we can determine what’s possible. By comparing the two, we can identify whether any undiscovered genres exist.
They’d possibly start out with the following:
- first-person shooters, such as Quake and Unreal Tournament;
- real-time strategy games, such as Warhammer: Dawn of War and Starcraft;
- simulators, such as Microsoft Flight Simulator and Falcon;
- racing games, such as Gran Turismo and Need for Speed;
- and so on.
However, in doing so, we would very rapidly become very confused. Where does Half-Life 2 fit? First-person shooter games, or adventure / puzzle games? Maybe a new category incorporating both?
And are Space Invaders and Wolfenstein 3D in the same category? Both involve freedom of movement in the allowed dimensions and shooting enemies who are attacking you. Or are they simply different because one takes place in one dimension of freedom, while the other only uses two?
If they do fall into two different categories, does Doom 2 fit into the same category as Quake or Wolfenstein 3D? While Wolfenstein 3D used a three dimensional perspective, it only allowed freedom of movement in two dimensions.
And, where do games such as The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion or Zelda: Twilight Princess fit? What started as a logical process of taxonomical classification quickly degenerates into a highly frustrating exercise. By trying to identify new genres by examining existing ones, we end up on a Sisyphean task, as every time we divide games into genres, we simply create more genres.
Clearly, we must have to move into a more abstract space and identify the higher-level patterns in order to understand what makes a game.
The less naïve among us would nod knowingly and point to games like Katamari Damacy, Wii Sports, and World of Warcraft as examples of recent games that offer new gameplay experieces. If new games have been released recently that are novel, logic suggests that there are very likely additional novel games yet to be released. Each offered very different gameplay experiences, namely (respectively):
- novel gameplay mechanics;
- novel human-machine interface mechanics; and
- novel online interaction mechanics.
However, are these the game itself, or the elements that create the gameplay experience? If you separate out the mechanics, does the game remain?
Wii Sports would still retain the same rulesets, player numbers, and challenges (timing hits using an analog control structure) irregardless of the interface chose. Unfortunately, we’re back to square one. So, we are forced to step even further back and examine exactly what makes a game.
Not surprisingly, there’s many choices. Craig Lindley, building on Doug Church’s attempts to use formal abstract tools for game design, suggested that a game is:
“… a goal-directed and competitive activity conducted within a framework of agreed rules.”
Similarly, Katie Salen and Eric Zimmerman suggest that a game is:
“… a system in which players engage in artifical conflict, defined by rules, that result in a quantifiable outcome.”
At first glance, this seems quite logical. After all, Chess fits into these definitions, as do Katamari Damacy (competiton against the computer), Wii Sports (competition against others), and World of Warcraft (co-oporation in competition against the computer).
However, where does Nintendogs fit? How about SimCity? Or, more interestingly, The Manhole? While one could argue that the first has competitive elements (such as the dog training competition), the second requires some creative interpretation of “competition” in order for the definition to fit. And, the third has no competitive elements at all, despite still being considered a game.
Clearly, there’s greater depth to a “game” than what’s commonly seen as the normal definition. In fact, we play games from before we can even walk. As babies, we hide our eyes from our mothers and fathers and act surprised when they look at us. As toddlers, we role-play emotions to get a reaction from our parents. And, as pre-teen children, we make up imaginary worlds and tell interactive stories. It’s only as we get older that our commonly held view of what constitutes a “game” gradually changes to almost exclusively encompass the above definition.
Sid Meier, creator of Civilization, moves the other extreme. He suggests that a game is nothing more than:
“… a series of meaningful choices …”
It’s definitely an interesting definition. It covers all the above situations and more, but it seems to lose something when one looks more broadly. After all, we’re presented with many meaningful choices every day, ranging from work-related choices to making choices about a familial funeral. Few would consider the second a very fun game.
So, despite a promising start, we’ve struck out again. There’s clearly something that we’re fundamentally missing here, some element that shifts the game from simply being a competition to something broader.
Something that all the above have in common, debatably even Mr. Meier’s, is the core element of rules. Without rules, the boundaries can’t be drawn, the goals can’t be defined, and the player interaction can’t be controlled. Ernest Adams and Andrew Rollings provide a somewhat broader definition:
” … one or more causally linked series of challenges in a simulated environment.”
The most interesting thing about these definitions (excluding Mr. Meiers’, due to its breadth) is that they betray a hidden bigotry. We tend to focus on the elements closest to us. For modern game developers, that is the game. Or, more specifically, the computer game. Until one steps back and looks at the bigger picture, it can be difficult to see the constraints we impose on our design patterns by the tools we’ve chosen.
If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like nail. When you work with tools built on formal systems, mathematics, and strongly defined boundaries, you end up with a gaming philosophy that mirrors your tools. Modern games tend (and I use that word deliberately, as I believe we’re gradually seeing a trend away from the narrow view that’s developed over the last few decades) to have the following commonalities:
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highly competitive game design;
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strongly defined rulesets;
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clearly defined goal criteria;
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strongly linear game design; and
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since the early 90’s, varying degree of required gaming literacy.
Not surprisingly, these don’t appeal to everyone. If you don’t like competition, tough. If you want freedom of choice or interaction, tough. In very recent times, if you’ve never played a game before and don’t know that games include such elements as hidden areas, that crates hide health, and that power-ups are all around if you know where to look?
Tough.
Clearly though, games are broader than this. Some of the games we play as children definitely meet these requirements, but what of our imaginary friends? Where does “playing house” fit in?
And, if games do exist that don’t fit into those categories, what does that imply for computer game development?
More in a few days.