Monthly Archives: January 2012

Game Jam entry: Eternal Guardian

My group’s entry for the 2012 Game Jam was called Eternal Guardian. It can be found on the Game Jam’s website. It was made with PyGame, so it works on any platform that supports PyGame: Windows, Mac, Linux and most Unices.

The theme this year was the Ouroboros, the serpent that bites its tail. We made a game on the theme of sustainability and renewal. A Mayan city in peril is granted the help of the snake god from the incoming peril. But protecting the city is not as straightforward as it seems.

As this was made for the Global Game Jam, the whole game, art included, was made in less than 48 hours. Programming was done by Daniel Langdon, Andrew Sweet and me. Daniel was great at solving what turned out to be very tricky math problems. Andrew as our local PyGame expert. I took care of the sound. And all the art was done by Jame Threefoot.

When will all the classics come?

Last Friday, Extra Credits team members James Portnow and Daniel Floyd did a Q and A with some of their fans. I happened to catch the end of it. One of the points that James Portnow made was how the great classics of games had not been made yet. I am quoting from memory here as, at the time of writing, a recording on the talk has not been put on line yet. I think the question was where in the history of game we were. Everyone seems to agree that we’re at the very beginning of huge things to come. I cannot honestly deny that I share that impression. But Portnow went further and said (if I remember correctly) that the game equivalent (and he meant equivalent as in role in history, I think, not in content) of The Odyssey or of Hamlet or Dante’s work had not been made yet. I don’t remember clearly which tiles he quoted. At some point he mentioned a nineteenth century title and pointed out that there was a huge gap between The Odyssey and that title. This is, obviously, true.

Still, there is one aspect that he seemed to have ignored. Classics were not always classics. Joyce and Proust were never popular writers. Neither was Descartes for that matter. But many authors that we now consider classics and force reluctant children to read while they’d rather be watching TV, going to the movies or (how shameful!) be playing video games were precisely considered the popular entertainment of their time. Two names come to mind in this category: Shakespeare and Dickens. As a French person, I’d like include Corneille in the list, and maybe even Molière. Balzac certainly fits the description. Idle children in the nineteenth century, instead of doing something productive, used to read Dickens or Balzac, or some other pointless, easy and potentially immoral readings. Now these are assigned as schoolwork.

The Far Side: Hopeful ParentsI’m not sure we can be certain that games that were made as early as the eighties or maybe the seventies will not fit that description some day. But it would be unwise to categorically assume otherwise.

Treasure Your Medium: Agatha Christie and Game Design

Spoilers ahead. Sorry.

I love Agatha Christie. I mean I don’t just really like her work, I LOVE what she does and how she does it. I don’t love all of her works, but when she does it right, she’s among the best the world has ever know.

There are many reasons why Agatha Christie was so good at what she did. But, as far as I could tell, one of the main reasons is that she treasured her medium. She did not write play-like books, or movie-like plays or novel-like plays. When she was working with a medium she took the best she could out of it. Others do this as well, but the topic of Agatha Christie’s novels make her efforts more visible than many others’.

Let me illustrate with a few examples. First of all, Appointment With Death. This is a famous novel of hers, adapted into a wonderful film, very faithful to the book. At the end, Poirot reveals that the murderer is (shock!) the last person anyone suspected. In both the novel and in the film it’s based on, Poirot explains in detail his reasoning and how and why he gets to his inevitable solution.

The first play Agatha Christie worked on was Alibi, based on what is arguably her masterpiece, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. She was not satisfied at all with that play and proceeded to write her own stage adaptations from then on. For Appointment With Death, she realized that Poirot’s monologues and complex deductions were fascinated to her fans in the novel, but would be tedious to wach on stage: it would then be little more than people standing still while one of them was talking. So not only did she change the solution to the mystery (hint: the only even less likely suspect in the play) but she removed Poirot altogether. In the play, some of the remaining characters, a pair of romantically entangled young people in particular, figure the solution out by talking to each other and comparing views on the events. This is a dynamic, dramatic, visually and psychologically compelling way of presenting the solution, a way that is perfectly suited to the stage. A way that embraces the medium.

Why then did the story of the novel work on film? Films are in many ways closer to novels than to stage plays. Not in every way, of course, but certainly in way that matter here: they can punctuate long speeches with flashbacks (murder mysteries often do that) or with reaction shots. They can emphasize how dramatic a specific part of the speech is with close-ups or camera movements. Plays don’t have these tools. They have other advantages, but none of them would have allowed Agatha Christie to make Poirot’s monolgues enjoyable on stage. So she accepted the limitations of her medium.

Another work by Agatha Christie that stars a young couple as the detective character is one of my all-time favorites: Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?. In that novel, at the very beginning, our young hero, Bobby, finds in the middle of a golf course (brace yourself) a dead body! In a panic, he searches the body and pulls out of a pocket a photograph of a woman. He finds her rather plain. Later on, there is a police examination and Bobby’s co-hero, Frankie, also gets to see the photograph that was in the dead body’s pocket. But she finds the woman in it beautiful. When the two of them try to figure out what is going on in this complicated story, they actually go so far as to argue over that detail. Frankie goes so far as to accuse Bobby of being too choosy when it came to women, an acccusation that Bobby has to take seriously given the tangled nature of his relationship with Frankie. Much later, it turns out that there were two photographs in the pocket. Bobby saw one and that same one got removed from the body before the police got to it. Frankie saw the other. The nature of the narrative text allowed Agatha Christie to describe both photograph in the same language while sounding specific but in fact being vague enough that her reader did not suspect that she was describing two distinct items.

Returning to the stage, Agatha Christie’s stage masterpiece is certainly The Mousetrap, the longest-running play in the world. In it, the main murder takes place on stage in front of everyone. The audience is in front of the whole thing without any visual obstacle between them and the very crime they’re a witness to, but not only can’t they communicate any of it to the characters, the stage is set in such a way that what the audience does see is no real help at all as who did it. The trick is so simple that I won’t ruin it by revealing it here, but it would not work on film, radio or in a novel: The Mousetrap is made for the stage only and only works on the stage.

As for Agatha Christie’s overall masterpiece, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, which has been adapted in movies, TV series, plays and comic books, it too uses its medium to the fullest. Most adaptations try to work around how Ms. Christie takes advantage of the narrated word, but often only attempt to do so in vain. It may work, but it cannot feel as smooth as with simple narration.

Agatha Christie did not just accept her medium but she treasured it. When she set herself up to write a play, she did not try to make it “cinematic” or “like an epic novel,” she made a play that would give her audience an experience that only a play can give. And she was right to do so.

When it comes to games and interactive media, for me, the master of that skill was and still is Ron Gilbert. The way he uses dialog trees creates humor that could not exist in any other way. The two games I enjoyed the most in the recent months, Portal and Braid do similar things. Would Portal, even just its story, work nearly as well in another medium? One trick that works in Portal — whether it is intentional or not — is that, unlike in film, in games we are really usually guided by pre-recorded voices. In that way, the way we are introduced to GLaDOS is perfectly believable. This would not be the case in a film: we would expect a film to polish everything Aperture’s AI says. At the beginning of Portal, the game, we may know that the audio problems of the GLaDOS AI are placed there by Valve, but we are ready to believe that, even within the story, they are just events triggered by Chell’s actions because, well, that’s how games work. The sort of metastory or metastructure that comes out of finding out that GLaDOS scrambles her own messages with static comes as a surprise in the game in a way that would not make sense in the same way in any other medium. Furthermore, this revelation is meaningful in the game: it’s an essential part of how we progressively learn the true nature of GLaDOS, but also, in part, the true nature of what Portal itself is.

If Agatha Christie knew how to accept the limitations of her media and to embrace what made them special, there is no reason why we should not do the same. We may be filmmakers and writers and musicians but when we’re making games, we’re making games and that’s the essence of what we’re doing, just not a cast made after the fact, or an afterthought, but, I repeat, the essence of what we must do.