When I first considered the prospect of entering the debate of videogames as art I fully believed I would be punching far above my weight as a journalist. Jack, I told myself, this requires a cultured and well educated mind. A topic so complicated surely requires an equally complicated professional, a complete advocate who has savoured both sides of the argument and has more experience than just an insight into the mind of a gamer. However then another thought game to me; what if the answer was so simple that even an idiot like me could give it?
Almost seven years ago Rodger Ebert, a name synonymous with the word critic, entered the gaming industry’s attention when he wrote that videogames are inherently inferior to literature and film. It was a simple, if not damning, summation from a man who apparently knows best. Yet its safe to say Ebert’s Chicago Sun column got the internet stirring and it wasn’t long before a reader rose to challenge him on his stance, demanding an explanation. This was his response;
Ebert’s response was taken negatively, despite publicist’s claims that Ebert was open and acceptive of videogames. Nonetheless the backlash was venomous, and it was five years before Ebert dared to weigh into the argument again. I could go on, but I would then be limiting the scope of this article to the opinion of one man who will eventually, like us all, will not matter in the grand scheme of things. Yet if you really wish you read more into it you can find Ebert’s second, and most recent direct, entry into the saga here.
Instead we’ll shift your attention to what Ebert was actually responding to; a presentation given by thatgamingcompany‘s co-founder and celebrated game designer Kellee Santiago. She argued that games, already, represent a primitive form of art undergoing a gradual evolution much like film did in the early 20th century, citing George Melies’ A Voyage to the Moon as an example of early film. So what is it that a game needs to be considered artistic? In today’s gaming world the cost of having an artistic game meant having a fantastic narrative that only begrudgingly allowed you to take part as opposed to narrative being injected only for the sake of driving a game forward.
There is, however, a middle ground with a more subtle method of narrative: the environment driven narratives. These differentiate from their peers as their protagonists can have little to no dialogue and instead the game uses its environment as a way of telling the story. Kellee Santiago’s latest creation, Journey, is probably the best and most recent example of this method of narrative. Your character never speaks a word, but the runes you transverse through your odyssey speaks volumes. Echoing the story of a long lost civilisation, pushed to the cusp of extinction by its own ignorance. While only a decent film’s length in lifespan, Journey’s plot never pales in comparison to film I’ve seen so far in 2012. Pushing the question that games can be just as, if not more than, emotional and moving than more mainstay mediums of art.
Yet it wasn’t so much the game itself that struck me as artistic so much as the aftermath where I found myself yearning to have a conversation about it with anybody who had the attention span, or obligation to listen. Sorry Jade. So with that in mind I have a question; is it the look of a game that strikes us as artistic or the overall experience we take away from it? Certainly different games have represented different perspectives of this argument in the past, but isn’t it the purpose of those over priced gallery decorations we call art to provoke a question in the viewer? To raise emotion, provoke questions and motivate us to look beyond the boundaries of what we can see around us so we can see what isn’t happening in plain sight?
Take Bioshock for an example; it would have gamers walking through a dystopia, seeking answers we have no guarantees of findings while powerless to question our only motivator; a man hidden behind a radio. Its inspiration derives from objectivism, the idea that all reality is objective and external to the human mind. Meaning life is but a series of goals, and it is not us who sets them but external influence. When finished with the game, and had my revenge on Fontaine for his shite attempt at the Irish accent, I was still left with the harrowing final words of Andrew Ryan still raking my brain long after the credits rolled. A man chooses, a slave obeys. If that doesn’t provoke an internal monologue, I don’t know what will.
The to the contrary, when I was confronted with the image of Edvard Munch’s The Scream I was left perturbed; struggling to see the message behind the paint. I saw a scream, a blaze of colours and what looked like nature in aggressive posture. I’m sure I missed the meaning of that fateful visit to the exhibition, curse you GCSE Art, but the Munch’s work as stuck with me some five years later. Although I’ve yet had the urge to raise it in conversation and as I write this this has been the first time I’ve thought about it since. Although if I’m completely honest I’m more interested in recalling the name of the red head who worked in the gift shop, yeah sorry I have that kind of mind.
Regardless by then no being, sentient or otherwise, will be asking if video games were ever classed as art. It wont be because the world has come to a complete agreement on it, however. No, imagine instead how the next generation will approach gaming with us as the parents, the politicians and the pundits. Imagine us confronting the topic of video games, rather than the fossils currently pushing the bills. No, in the end people will have just stopped caring and the world will just become content with what they have without seeking to share it as part of a larger medium. Until the end of the world eventually comes that is, just saying.
