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Archivio Autori: Gabriele Ferri

There are no universal interfaces: how asymmetrical roles and asymmetrical controllers can increase access diversity

Posted on 21 Marzo 2019 by Gabriele Ferri
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Mathew Dalgleish (University of Wolverhampton)

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Abstract

Many people with a disability play games despite difficulties in relation to access or quality of experience. Better access is needed, but there has been limited industry interest. For players with motor impairments the focus has been on the controller. Numerous solutions have been developed by third parties, but all are likely unsuitable for at least some users and there remains space for radically alternative angles. Informed by my experiences as a disabled gamer, concepts of affordance and control dimensionality are used to discuss the accessibility implications of controller design from the Magnavox Odyssey to the present. Notions of incidental body-controller fit and precarious accessibility are outlined. I subsequently draw on Lévy’s theory of collective intelligence and example games Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes and Artemis Spaceship Bridge Commander to develop a model that uses asymmetrical roles and diverse input to fit individual abilities and thereby expand participation.

Keywords: disability, controllers, asymmetrical roles, motor impairment, control dimensionality.

 

Introduction

The barriers faced by people with disabilities are often considered in terms of two theoretical models: the medical model and the social model. The medical model of disability locates disability in the mind or body of the individual “patient” and emphasises linear restoration to “normality” (Gough, 2005). This was contested (UPIAS, 1976, pp. 3-4; Locker, 1983, p. 90) and there followed a shift to a social model of disability that posited that people are disabled by the attitudes of society (Shakespeare, 2016). If arguably outdated (Owens, 2014), the social model remains widely adopted.

Under the social model, suitably designed technologies are seen to enable people with disabilities to fulfil their desires to socialise, work, learn and play (Arrigo, 2005; Cobb et al., 2002; Hasselbring & Glaser, 2000); potentially improving independence (Jewell & Atkin, 2013) and quality of life (Arrigo, 2005). As video games have increased in popularity (Statista, 2017), there has been great interest in how video games might benefit players generally (Jackson et al., 2012; Posso, 2016) and people with disabilities specifically. For example, Jiménez, Pulina and Lanfranchi (2015) review how video games can improve the cognitive abilities of players with intellectual disabilities. Elsewhere, Rowland et al. (2016) study how active video games can help improve the fitness of players with lower-limb impairments. There are numerous other examples, but enjoyment remains the main motivation for many players.

The number of players with a disability is significant: there are 215 million players in the US alone and more than 32 million state that they have a disability (Statista, 2018; The Economist, 2017). While many players with disabilities find the types of games they can play limited (Flynn & Lange, 2010; Dolinar & Fels, 2014), there are many other people with disabilities who have been unable to participate at all (Flynn & Lange, 2010). Organisations such as AbleGamers and SpecialEffect strive to improve access, but resources are finite (SpecialEffect, n.d.).

With this background, this paper will now discuss some of the ways that disability and motor impairment specifically can impact participation, including relevant personal experience. Attention will be paid to the often-precarious nature of access given the rapid evolution of video game controllers. Existing work will be critically reviewed, and a new accessibility model developed around asymmetric roles and controllers. This addresses some of the limitations of existing solutions and provides plentiful possibilities for future work.

 

Impairment and the interaction loop

Disabilities and experiences of disability are inherently extremely diverse, but Bierre et al. (2005) propose that four broad types of impairment commonly impact video game players:

  • Visual impairment
  • Auditory impairment
  • Motor impairment
  • Cognitive impairment

By contrast, Yuan, Folmer and Harris (2011) focus on the effects of impairment, stating that difficulties typically relate to:

  • ability to receive feedback
  • ability to determine in-game responses
  • ability to provide input using conventional input devices

These can be positioned within a classic human-machine interaction loop (Fig. 1). In short, the user provides control input; the system processes the input and produces an output. This output is passed back to the user at the interface. The user perceives the system output, processes it, and provides further input (Bongers, 2000).

 

Figure 1. The human-machine interaction loop (Bongers, 2000).

 

For reasons that will shortly be apparent, this article will focus on motor impairment and restricted mobility, and the ability to provide input.

While traditional video games are considered sedentary (Lu et al., 2016), they make considerable demands of players in terms of eye-hand and bimanual coordination, dexterity of response and stamina in the hands. These demands meet the abilities of the player at the interface or, more specifically, at the controller. Players with motor impairments can be limited in the type or amount of input they can provide (Yuan, Folmer & Harris, 2011) and standard controllers can therefore be a particular barrier to participation.

 

Affordance and control dimensionality

Two concepts can help us to consider the interaction possibilities of video game controllers and the interaction demands made of players: affordance and control dimensionality (CD). Donald Norman (1988, p. 9) used the term affordance to refer to the actions made possible by an object’s physical form and properties. However, the intangible properties of software limited its tenability and the concept was revised to emphasise a distinction between “real” and “perceived” affordances: actions that are actually possible and actions that users perceive to be possible (Norman, 1999).

A more recent concept and specific to a video game context, CD is a measure of the degree of complexity inherent in a system as a result of its interaction demands and possibilities (Mustaquim & Nyström, 2014). There are two steps (Swain, 2008, pp. 135-138), the first being to assess the primary movement scheme:

  • One dimension of movement (left-right) CD = 1
  • Two dimensions of movement (left-right, up-down) CD = 2
  • Three dimensions of movement (left-right, up-down, in-out) CD = 3

A second step adds additional CDs for each secondary dimension of control:

  • For each additional movement dimension: strafe back-forth, accelerate-brake, rewind or fast-forward time, etc. (typically use two buttons) = 1
  • For each embedded action: jump, attack, rotate, etc (typically use one button) = 0.5

In isolation, controllers do not have any inherent CD as this is co-dependent on the particular game design, but they do have a (maximum) potential CD.

 

Evolution of the controller

As the affordances (i.e. action possibilities) of controllers have generally increased, so too have their complexity and interaction demands. To this end, the table below (Table 1) shows how the potential CD of a representative selection of controllers has evolved over time.

Name Year Directional Control Type Dimensions of Movement Buttons Total CD
Magnavox Odyssey 1972 Two Knobs 2 x 1 0 2
Atari Computer System 1977 Joystick 2 1 2.5
Nintendo Entertainment System 1983 D-pad 2 4 4
Sega Master System 1985 D-pad 2 2 3
Sega Mega Drive 1989 D-Pad 2 4 4
Super Nintendo Entertainment System 1990 D-Pad 2 6 5
Sony PlayStation (initial controller) 1994 D-Pad 2 10 7
Nintendo 64 1 1996 Analogue thumbstick 2 14 9
Sony PlayStation DualShock controller 1997 Dual analogue thumbsticks 2 x 2 17 12.5
Microsoft Xbox 2001 Dual analogue thumbsticks 2 x 2 16 12
Nintendo Wii Remote and Nunchuck 2006 One analogue thumbstick and one 3-D accelerometer per controller (2 x 2) + (2 x 3) 13 16.5
Microsoft Kinect 2009 Various Various Various –
Sony PlayStation 4 2013 Dual analogue thumbsticks 2 x 2 17 12.5
Nintendo Switch Pro Controller 2017 Dual analogue thumbsticks 2 x 2 14 11
Nintendo Switch Joy Con 2017 One analogue thumbstick and one 3-D accelerometer per side (2 x 2) + (2 x 3) 14 17

Table 1: CD of a Representative Selection of Video Game Controllers (1972-2017)

At this point it is pertinent to note that some kinds of interface resist classification. Firstly, the potential CDs of interfaces such as the Microsoft Kinect and integrated multitouch interface/platforms such as smartphones and tablets are highly variable and primarily defined by how they are used in the context of individual games: the player can be presented with simple, one-button gameplay or more complex, multi-dimensional interaction. Second, some interfaces feature secondary sensors. For instance, the Kinect features a microphone array, while smartphones and tablets typically contain a microphone, plus a 3-D accelerometer and/or gyroscope. These can be used to replace or supplement more conventional controls but are employed in selected games only. Thirdly, there are new types of interface whose affordances are not yet well understood. For instance, brain-computer interfaces (BCIs) are only starting to edge into the mainstream (Ahn, Lee, Choi & Jun, 2014).

Nevertheless, particularly relevant to players with motor impairments is the broad correlation between increased potential CD and increased action possibilities, and heavier interaction demands. Not all games use all of the potential CD, but newfound action possibilities are typically soon exploited by game designers; at the cost of increased interaction demands and complexity.

The first controllers were very simple (low CD). The Magnavox Odyssey controller (CD = 2) had one knob for vertical movement and a second for horizontal movement. There were no buttons. The included titles Table Tennis and Ski used only the vertical knob and horizontal knob respectively. These limited affordances resulted in modest interaction demands: ideal for a population only recently introduced to video games.

The Atari Computer System joystick (CD = 2.5) allowed movement in four directions and featured one action button only, but comparatively more sophisticated affordances evolved. For instance, Asteroids enabled the player ship to independently rotate left or right, thrust forward and fire. However, these action possibilities meant that players also needed to coordinate more than one simultaneous action.

The Nintendo Entertainment System controller (CD = 4) replaced the joystick with a four-way directional pad (D-Pad). It also featured two action buttons and two secondary buttons (Diskin, 2004). The D-pad required smaller movements than the Atari joystick and so games designers could demand players provide more nimble and precise input. Additional buttons afforded more varied player actions; at the cost of increased interaction complexity. For example, Punch-Out!! made use of the A and B buttons plus D-pad to punch left and right, but also the Start button to throw an uppercut (u.a., 2017). Similarly, Double Dragon II: The Revenge used a two-button combination to deliver a jump kick (Nintendo, 1990).

A decade on, the small analogue joysticks of the Nintendo 64 (CD = 9) and Sony DualShock (CD = 12.5) controllers had relegated the D-pad to secondary functions only. The twin joysticks of the DualShock (Plunkett, 2011) fell neatly under the thumbs and enabled movement and viewpoint to be decoupled. Running in one direction while aiming in another has become a canonical feature of first-person shooter titles (McMahan, Bowman, Zielinski and Brady, 2012), but poses a significant increase in interaction complexity: the player must not only coordinate two simultaneously 2-D inputs, but also provide input that is proportional and precise, at the same time as operating multiple buttons.

 

Incidental fit and the precariousness of access

If increased CD can produce (or be the result of) extended affordance, an inadvertent consequence of resultantly increased interaction demands is that players with motor impairments like Microsoft employee Solomon Romney can be abruptly excluded. Born without fingers on his left hand, Romney readily adapted to the simple controls of 1980s arcade machines (Stuart, 2018) and played for over a decade. However, the expanded affordances of the PlayStation controller eventually led to unmeetable demands related to extensive use of “chaining” together sequences of button combinations (Stuart, 2018).

My own experiences are similar. Born with transverse hemimelia and bilateral fibular hemimelia, I have no left arm below the elbow except for a thumb-like protuberance on the elbow, and extensive lower limb deformity. Despite this unpromising physicality, I received a NES for my fifth birthday. With no predetermined concept of how to play, I intuitively rested the controller on the floor, then used my left foot to manipulate the D-pad and right hand to operate the buttons. I had no sense that this was unusual.

Over time I moved from the NES to the SNES, to the Sega Dreamcast and finally on to PlayStations 1 to 4. The evolution of the controller prompted my interactions to slowly develop into the comparatively more conventional style I use today (Fig. 2). The flexibility and open-endedness of these interfaces arguably facilitated this serendipitous fit: the controller did not prescribe exactly how it must be used but could instead (inadvertently) support varied bodily affordances and interaction styles.

 

Figure 2. The current interaction style of the author: left thumb at elbow joint operates left analogue stick and D-Pad, right hand operates right analogue stick and all buttons.

 

If such instances of incidental fit between unconventional bodily affordances and standard controllers are rarely mentioned in a video game context, there are antecedents elsewhere, notably in music; another domain that requires complex real-time control. Examples include pianist Paul Wittgenstein and guitarist Django Reinhardt (Dalgleish, 2014).

There is nonetheless a fundamental difference between the two domains: traditional musical instruments have evolved extremely slowly (Fletcher & Rossing, 1991: v-vi), but video games and their controllers have evolved very rapidly (Bhardwaj, 2017): relatively suddenly, players can find interaction demands unmeetable. Like Romney (Stuart, 2018), my own exclusion came unexpectedly. It related to the shift from handheld to gestural controllers. The innovative Wii remote was unproblematic in itself; the problem lay in that most games required concurrent use of a Nunchuck (second controller). While more conventional controllers can be held – if not necessarily operated – by one hand, this combination assumed that the player could both hold and operate one controller in each hand: a seemingly inconsequential difference that essentially precluded my participation.

The success of the Wii inspired related approaches. Most notably, Microsoft developed the Kinect; a camera and infrared-based motion controller for the Xbox 360 that promised whole body interaction without a physical controller (Zhang, 2012). However, it soon became apparent that the Kinect could not map its skeleton model onto my body: I had to return to using a more conventional controller only. The irony is that Nintendo and Microsoft intended these systems to broaden participation (Ulicsak, Wright & Crammer, 2009; Chen, Li, Ngo & Sun, 2011). Instead, their narrow and inflexible schemes of allowable interactions effectively disempowered one subset of possible users in order to empower another.

 

Related work: adapted controllers and new designs

Examples similar to the above have rarely been considered in prior literature. Instead, efforts to increase the accessibility of video games for players with motor impairments have tended to focus on three aspects:

  • Remapping of controls in software
  • Hardware modifications to standard controllers
  • Development of new/alternative controllers

Remapping refers to the ability of software to flexibly redistribute controls in order to suit particular player abilities and preferences. Game Accessibility Guidelines state that: “Many people […] benefit greatly from being able to move essential controls into positions that they are able to reach more easily” (Game Accessibility, u.d.). For instance, professional Street Fighter player BrolyLegs (Street Fighter, 2016) remaps controls in order to play using his face. If the ability to remap controls is implemented, a range of different mappings can be quickly tested, at little or no cost. However, remapping alone may be insufficient for some needs and is rarely implemented on consoles (Game Accessibility, u.d.).

Modifications to standard controllers have been aided by the spread of Maker culture. They vary considerably in their complexity. At one end of a continuum are modest changes to controls to make them easier to grip or press. For instance, Caleb Kraft has presented a relatively simple, modular design for 3-D printed joystick that can broadly increase controller accessibility (Kraft, 2015a), as well as modified thumbstick buttons for a player with muscular dystrophy (Kraft, 2014). Other modifications are more complex. For example, the Single Handed Gaming Controllers for Accessibility Use project by Ben Heck (u.d.) extensively modifies standard controllers to enable one-handed operation.

While modifications to standard controllers can be useful for some players they have some limitations. For instance, they can be difficult to produce in larger numbers. As Caleb Kraft (2015b) comments: “The biggest issue that I run into is time. I simply can’t keep up with the requests.” Another issue for adapted controllers is that they can be difficult to sell as they are usually informal (and relatively untested) modifications of a commercial device (Iacopetti, Fanucci, Roncella, Giusti & Scebba, 2008).

With the Nintendo Hands Free controller for the NES a rare exception (Plunkett, 2009), the main manufacturers have shown limited interest in accessible controllers. Instead, new, accessibility-focussed controller designs have typically come from third parties. Quadstick (u.d.) have produced three controllers aimed at quadriplegic players and featuring combinations of spatial, pressure and “sip/puff” sensors, and head-operated joysticks. At the other end of the body, Gyorgy Levay and team developed the Game Enhancing Augmented Reality controller; a padded device operated by the feet (Cragg, 2016).

More flexible, modular approaches have been proposed by Iacopetti et al. (2008) and, most recently, Microsoft. The Microsoft Adaptive Controller is informed by its earlier Xbox Elite controller: a professional esports controller adopted by some players with limited mobility (Stark & Sarkar, 2018). The Adaptive Controller is not aimed at a specific disability but provides a flexible hub for additional input devices (Microsoft, 2018; Englard, 2018). Released in late 2018, its customisability has the potential to meet the needs of disparate players, without the sometimes-prohibitive costs of bespoke production.

Entirely new classes of controls continue to emerge, and some have been applied to a video game accessibility context. For instance, Brain-Computer Interfaces (BCI) emerged in the early 1970s (Vidal, 1973), but more refined, widely available and lower cost designs have appeared only in the last decade. As BCIs – primarily using electroencephalographic signals – have become more readily available, they have been used as video game controllers (Ahn, Lee, Choi & Jun, 2014). Researchers have also started to explore the potential of BCIs for disabled gamers (Maby et al., 2012), but they remain nascent and beyond further coverage in this paper.

 

Asymmetrical roles and asymmetrical controllers

This article has identified numerous ideas and developments around controllers and accessibility. All are likely imperfect to at least some people and universal accessibility is probably unachievable (Barlet & Spohn, 2012; Vanderheiden & Henry, 2003). As such, alongside additional considerations such as cost, the need for setup help and hard-to-predict individual preferences, it is surely fruitful to continue to explore multiple directions.

While attempts to make games more accessible to players with motor impairments have focussed on controllers and mappings, game mechanics have also been considered. For example, Barlet and Spohn (2012) discuss the power of adaptive difficulty. More generally, the social mechanics of multiplayer games have been deliberated (Quandt & Kröger, 2013; Siitonen, 2007), but standard controllers are usually assumed. There also remains scant consideration of how multiplayer experiences can inform controller design; or how they might inform the interface for motor impaired players.

A rare exception is a user-selectable Xbox One feature called Copilot. This links two controllers so that they can be used as one, in order to provide assistance as needed (Englard, 2018). The Copilot model can be criticised on at least three grounds. First, the pilot-co-pilot relationship has an inbuilt power dynamic; the pilot player is beholden to a “better” player for help. Second, all other aspects of the game remain identical to the single player version: the potentials of multiple players are not explored. Third, social isolation is an issue for many people with disabilities (Scope, 2017), but Copilot allows for cooperation in-person only; it does not exploit the social potentials of the internet.

A less restrictive basis is provided by Pierre Lévy (1997, p.13) and the notion of collective intelligence: “a form of universally distributed intelligence, constantly enhanced, coordinated in real time, and resulting in the effective mobilization of skills.” Proposed at a more utopian time for the internet, collective intelligence posits a shift from human-machine interaction to collaborative human-human interactions. Particularly relevant for its implicit embrace of diversity is the assertion that: “No one knows everything, everyone knows something, all knowledge resides in humanity” (Lévy, 1997, p.13); a notion reinforced by the statement: “Before we can mobilize skills, we have to identify them. And to do so, we have to recognize them in all their diversity” (Lévy, 1997, p.13).

Lévy (1997) already intends “intelligence” to refer to a duality; not only the construction of ideas but also the construction of people (i.e. society) (p. 10). Perhaps it can be extended further still, to account for how brain-centric views of cognition have been increasingly challenged by embodiment: the notion that the body is needed for intelligence (Pfeifer & Bongard, 2007, xvii). Related, Paul Dourish (2001) has proposed embodiment as a foundation for human-machine interaction. If this shift can be accepted, it is possible to reframe Lévy’s statement to conceive a model of interaction whereby no-one can do everything, but everyone can do something.

An example of this kind of asymmetric collaborative play in a musical context is Harmony Space: a multi-user system created by Simon Holland (1993) that enables collaborative roles to be split in numerous ways. For instance, non-traditional roles such as steering the root note, changes to key, chord size and inversions, can be distributed across one or more players. Many pieces of music require only two or three roles, but interplay can still deliver rich sequences. A more recent version of Harmony Space (Bouwer, Holland & Dalgleish, 2013) also expands the variety of controller types that can be used, from dance mats to MIDI foot pedals. This added flexibility enables players to choose the most appropriate controller for their selected role and abilities.

There are also examples of video games that make use of asymmetrical roles. For instance, Gandolfi (2018) explores how players use asymmetrical roles to develop cooperative and computational thinking in the online multiplayer games Overwatch, For Honor and Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six: Siege. However, these are not aimed at players with a disability and the expectation is for all players to use a similar controller.

More useful in an accessibility context are Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes (KTNE) and Artemis Spaceship Bridge Commander (ASBC). KTNE features one player as the Defuser and one or more other players as Experts. The Defuser must diffuse a bomb before time runs out but must be guided by the Experts. The Experts have access to the instructions but cannot see or interact with the bomb directly. Controller options for the Defuser include keyboard and mouse, touchscreen and gamepads, and the Experts and Defuser communicate verbally, in person or online. A number of design decisions help to increase the game’s accessibility. First, players are able to select from two roles that are equally vital but highly asymmetric in their interaction demands. Second, the Defuser role supports several different input devices, and these may further increase the diversity of compatible bodily affordances. Third, a “free play” mode enables the countdown timer to be adjusted; useful if a player requires extended time to provide input.

ASBC requires multiple (ideally six) players, and at least one Microsoft Windows computer. The six available roles are highly asymmetric in the skills and abilities they require for players to succeed (Justin, 2013). While the Captain must use a Windows machine, mobile devices can be used for the other roles if desired. Regardless of the devices used, inter-player voice communication is the primary way to coordinate complex ship operations.

A strength of both titles is that while roles are highly asymmetrical, fundamental principles such as reward, goals, challenge and meaningful play (Barrett, Swain, Gatzidis & Mecheraoui, 2016) are maintained. While ASBC is more restrictive in some respects than KTNE, its more extensive roles also allow for more extended differentiation in role requirements and interaction demands. That all but the player in the Captain role can choose from mobile, laptop or desktop platforms enables players to use a wide variety of devices and to customise interaction to suit individual requirements.

The “asymmetrical roles and asymmetrical controllers” (ARAC) model exhibited by KTNE and ASBC is still to be formally tested in the context of games and disability. Indeed, there are few if any documented cases of informal use. Nevertheless, the asymmetrical roles and asymmetrical controllers can be seen to oppose the notion of “parallel game universes” developed by Grammenos, Savidis and Stephanidis (2009). This aims to create subspaces of differential difficulty in order for both players with and without impairments to play cooperatively or against each other in a way that provides equivalency of difficulty (Grammenos et al., 2009). However, in order to achieve a balance, the player with impairments is provided with a simplified and arguably lesser version of the “full” experience.

Rather than segregate players with disabilities by placing them in exclusive sub-sections that provide “cut-down” versions of the canonical experience in an attempt to manage challenge and difficulty, the ARAC model has all players – impaired or otherwise – play in the same space. Players also all engage in the same tasks (there are no simplified iterations) but do so from different perspectives. More specifically, players can adopt different roles and input modalities that best suit their individual abilities. For instance, players with motor impairments might use voice input to direct the actions of other players or use physical input devices in non-real-time (i.e. less temporally-critical) roles.

 

Conclusions and future work

This paper has outlined the evolving nature of developments around video games and accessibility, highlighted some current limitations, and outlined the ARAC model as a potential solution to some of these issues. A particular problem for any accessibility model is a persistent lack of adoption, seemingly as a result of apathy on the part of industry. This apathy is likely at least partly financially motivated in that, despite the apparent size of the market, prior developments have tended to be one-offs: bespoke adaptations or entirely bespoke designs for individual players. These are usually relatively costly and require specialised expertise to develop but have few of the economies of large-scale production and limited mainstream potential. The ARAC model has promise in this respect: rather than craft one-off controllers to adapt titles that would ordinarily be inaccessible, ARAC improves accessibility by making diversity of roles and input a fundamental tenet of game design.

From an accessibility perspective, it is important that a wide variety of input devices are supported so that players can try out and mix-and-match different combinations until individually optimised solutions are found. Moreover, asymmetrical roles inherently imply the use of a range of input devices: different roles have different affordances and interaction demands, that in turn imply particular types of input. Although controllers are often treated as generically interchangeable, KTNE already demonstrates how matching of game mechanics and input modalities can produce gameplay that is original and accessible.

It is important to note that this does not necessarily mean simple or simplistic gameplay. Although, as in Harmony Space (Holland, 1993), individual roles may have modest interaction demands (i.e. low CD), heterogeneous but well-coordinated combinations of players can adeptly complete very complex tasks: as is also the case with complex problems in the real-world (Kirschner, Paas, Kirschner and Janssen (2011)).

If roles can already be seen to suggest some types of controller over others, matches between controllers and unconventional bodily affordances remain poorly understood. For instance, if simpler (low CD) controllers can allow for more flexibility of use and may therefore accommodate diverse users, it is not yet clear how to predict matches between bodies and controllers new or old, bespoke or mass-produced. Thus, trial and error remain a necessity for most motor impaired players and disabled players more broadly. As such, there is still much to be done. Pertinent future directions include:

  • Identification of additional games that have the potential to be case studies, and to study their player-game relationships longitudinally and preferably in-the-wild so that issues can be understood in situ.
  • Exploration of particular aspects within the broader ARAC model to enable more certainty in implementation and leading to guidelines for game designers and the design of new games. For instance:
    • development of a framework for assessing the likely fit between (old and new) controllers and diverse user needs;
    • examination of how to best match player roles to a variety of interfaces.
  • Development of interfaces that reflect how the effects of disability can change over time (even day to day) and adjust their response accordingly (i.e. adaptive interfaces).
  • Education of games industry staff, particularly those with strategic responsibilities, in order to increase awareness of accessibility issues. This may be crucial if accessibility is to be “designed in” to games from the outset of their development.

 

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A/V Material

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Ludography

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Author’s Info:

Mathew Dalgleish

University of Wolverhampton

m.dalgleish2@wlv.ac.uk

Categoria: 7/2018 Journal

WaTa Fight! How situated multiplayer competitive gaming can facilitate the inclusion of low vision and blind players

Posted on 21 Marzo 2019 by Gabriele Ferri
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Luca Imbriani (School of Design, Politecnico di Milano), Ilaria Mariani (ImagisLab, Department of Design, Politecnico di Milano), Maresa Bertolo (ImagisLab, Department of Design, Politecnico di Milano)

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Abstract

This paper explores the need for a competitive game for sighted and blind players alike, its effectiveness in fighting prejudices and how it can contribute and facilitate the inclusion of people with visual disability, when played by heterogeneous groups of players. The first part presents the state of the art about competitive games for blind and low vision users. Focusing on the typologies of games already on the market, and on the apparent lack of fast-paced multiplayer games, it shows a current space for research and development. Then, we present WaTa Fight!, a competitive casual party game that can be used by sighted and blind players alike, outlining its development, from its concept to its design and testing – conducted via focus groups and survey. Finally, we discuss the results obtained in terms of the game’s effectiveness in addressing the visual impairment topic and in fostering integration.

Keywords: Visual impairment, Inclusion, Competition, Party game, Mobile game.

 

Introduction. The market and a promising empty spot

In between the 19th and 20th century, the queen Carmen-Sylva of Romania aimed to create a town for blind people only. The queen thought this proposal would improve the life of those who are blind, as she identified this condition with the inability of living a complete life in the society (Alliegro, 1991, p. 13).

Such a line of thought was by no means an exception. For example, in 1865 the newly born Kingdom of Italy, with the article 340 of the Civil Code, placed blind and deaf citizens under the legal guardianship of tutors, aggravating their condition of deprivation. Today, most of the States’ legislation in the matter of disability recognizes the importance of the integration of individuals with special needs in the society (Mangiatordi, 2017, pp. 19-20; p. 45; Istat, 2013), but a significant part of the media still uses old tropes to depict disability, often including damaging stereotypes as many pop media portray blind and low vision people as incapable of behaving normally (Barnes, 1992). The cartoon series Mr. Magoo is a well-known, evident example of such tendency: in each episode the old man reveals himself incapable of understanding any dangerous situation he faces, prevailing out of pure luck. This stereotype, done for comedic effects, is so damaging for the blind and low vision communities that they protested upon the theatrical release of the live action Mr. Magoo movie in 1997 (Maurer, 1997).

The problem with the media depiction of disability is often related to its exclusiveness: the person with disability is represented as different from the supposed normality and hence detached from the society (Barnes, 1992, p.19). In order to expose the socio-cultural bias and truly integrate individuals with disability into our society, it is necessary to fight prejudices by creating heterogeneous communities and reducing those social barriers to their everyday activities (d’Allonzo, 2008, pp. 52-61).

Among the various media, games also dealt with individuals with special needs and their issues in such areas as single- to multi-player, from audio games to board games and video games. The interest of the community in this subject has expanded over the years, as more researchers investigate different forms of gaming and playing. On the one side the academy shows specific interest towards education and learning (Gandolfi et al., 2016); on the other, the community of practice (especially indie companies) designs games that place non-impaired people into someone else’ shoes (Blind Arena Tournament, 2017; Perception, 2017; Footsteps, 2016; Blindfield, 2016).

As the games for the social change field of practice and literature demonstrate, games can be a way to inform and persuade the general public in a cause (Bogost, 2007; Kaufman & Flanagan, 2015; Bertolo & Mariani, 2014; Mariani, 2016). So far, except for a few examples, games for social change tend to rarely be competitive, but rather individual. This limits interaction and exchange with other players. Challenging such trend, the attention has been drawn on competitive online games as sources of thrilling interaction and deep engagement.

Indeed, community creation and bonding are key components of successful competitive online games as in those actions are often sensationalized to widen the community with an audience of spectators (Hamari & Sjöblom, 2017; Gandolfi, 2016; Cheung & Huang, 2011). Therefore, competitive gaming may be a way to fight the prejudices about the inability of blind and low vision people, helping the process of integration.

In this scenario, mobile gaming accounts as one of the most promising frontiers and flourishing branches of the game market (of which it represents about 50%), confirming a double-digit growth since the launch of the first smartphone in 2007 (Newzoo, 2018). The worldwide distribution of mobile devices, their extensive and growing accessibility (affordable prices, user-friendly interface, and a good usability in general), alongside with the improvement of the communication infrastructures, and the abundance of titles in the app stores platforms nurtured a healthy and promising environment.

Surfing between game studies and design research, this article investigates how a game can address the issue of blindness or impaired vision through a game aimed at fostering social inclusion and comprehension. From the analysis of games for blind and low-vision players on digital devices, the article describes the design process of a competitive audio game prototype, including the tests for evaluating its usability, playability, and effectiveness in helping the integration of people who are blind or have low-vision. WaTa Fight! is the outcome of a MSc thesis conducted at Politecnico di Milano, School and Department of Design, and it belongs to a broader research addressing the topic of social change in general, and social inclusion and communitarian comprehension more specifically, held in ImagisLab research group by Maresa Bertolo, Ilaria Mariani, and students. As other thesis researches developed in ImagisLab, the work presented here has been structured as (1) a phase of literature review and case studies analysis; (2) a design phase of the prototype conducted as an iterative process; and (3) testing with end-users, enquiring the game both as an interactive product and a communicative system able to deploy meaning through its gameplay.

 

Competitive games for blind and low vision players

The decision to develop a competitive game depends on the market analysis. As related pieces of information could not be found in literature, the research methodically examines the titles collected in the Audiogames.net database aiming at a better understanding of the genres of audio games in use. Among the several online databases and repositories of games suitable for blind players, Audiogames.net stands for being cross-platform, presenting titles for PC and mobile devices alike, and unlike most of the other similar services, for being independent of any development company. Moreover, Audiogames.net offers an indexation of the titles that facilitates the market analysis process. In the initial research phase, each game category in the archive has been listed, ruminating on the size of the group and the attributes of the content. To further represent the site content and nurture the analysis process, the games have been grouped into specific clusters that classify the experience offered by the audio games listed (fig. 1).

A line of reasoning that is transversal to the clusters identified, the games on Audiogames.net resulted to be mostly narrative and slow paced, often shaped as online multiplayer text-based games, in the fashion of Multi-User Dungeons. Further diving into the analysis, it emerged that the repository does not include any case of competitive, multiplayer, fast-paced, audio-based game; such vacuum emerged as a potential space for design. Therefore, it has been conceived as a game concept that adheres to the identified needs and fills a design space with interesting untapped possibilities. To maximize mutual exchange and encourage socialization, it has been designed as a party game: quick to play, with easy-to-grasp rules, based on soft skills such as agility and concentration, and with a special focus on the interaction between players. In addition, it has been conceived “for players”, regardless of their ability to see.

 

Figure 1. The 648 games on audiogames.net categorized into clusters.

 

Wata Fight! An inclusive competitive party game

Targeting individuals who are both sighted and visually impaired dictates special requirements. On the ground of the competitive audio-based game WaTa Fight! there is the study of video games and games directed to the general public as well as of interfaces for users who are visually impaired. Considering the aforementioned reasons for conceiving a casual party gaming with competitive elements, the main sources of inspirations were the series of Nintendo party games 123 Switch (2017). These mini-games characterized by short matches focus on the speed and precision of the participant’s movements, with almost no use of graphics. Considering the market, the target(s) and the intent of soliciting integration and dialogue, the game and its gameplay do not pivot around visual elements. In the game, players must perform actions faster or more precisely than their opponents to gain points. Moreover, the narrative itself relies on a strong metaphor that subtly enhances the game meaning, without stressing its topic (Kaufman & Flanagan, 2015; Mariani, 2016).

 

Figure 2. WaTa Fight! in action

Narrative and gameplay

WaTa Fight! is a competitive casual game where players are Ninjas that battle for glory in a Great Martial Art Tournament. As Ninjas hiding ability is legendary, no one can see them. In a match, two players face each other by tapping on a smartphone screen faster than the opponent in order to perform an attack. To fight, each player uses a smartphone in landscape position, held between the hands, with the screen facing the opponent, equalizing a player with and without visual disability.

On the smartphone screen, there are only two large buttons, named Wa and Ta respectively (fig. 2). The two Ninjas fight by pressing them to attack the opponent with a Wa or a Ta move, or even both to perform a WaTa attack: a powerful move combining the two base ones. According to the command pressed, the smartphone shouts the ongoing attack, giving the opponent the possibility to parry by quickly tapping the same attack on her/his smartphone.

 

Figure 3. Wa and Ta buttons on the screen.

 

According to the fictional world of reference, Ninjas are epic fighters, and as such, they can be wounded only in the Honor. Players start with 3 Honor Points. Each successful attack performed steals 2 Honor Points to the opponent; however, the opponent may parry, blocking the attack effect and stealing back 1 Honor Point. The match ends after a set time, and the winner is the contestant with the highest Honor score.

As only two players participate in each match, other people are encouraged to spectate the action, even disturbing the players’ actions with their voices. To this end, it is also possible, but optional, to connect the game to a computer screen or a smart TV to visualize a leaderboard displaying the current game statuses.

 

Towards a “comfortable” interface

Focusing on the visual and interactive aspects, the game touch-based interface required several sessions of reflections and field experimentation. It was loosely inspired by BrailleTouch 2 (Frey, Southern & Romero, 2011), a mobile texting application for blind and low-vision users. Developed by a team from Georgia Tech, this Braille-like texting app uses a six-button wireframe on a landscape positioned smartphone to simulate the structure of the Braille writing system and support visually impaired people to easily type on a screen, without even looking at it.

The game prototype was originally conceived with an eight-button interface, with 4 buttons on each side of the screen. However, still in the early concept phase, the studies in literature (Frey, Southern & Romero, 2011) led to the reduction of the number of buttons – initially from 8 to 6, as in the case study mentioned above. However, timely early tests with end-users called for a further simplification of the structure. Blind and low-vision persons proficient in Braille, as well as sighted persons participated to a set of very early tests consisting of tapping on the screen to complete some series, interacting with a different amount of buttons. Testers were asked to interact with two interfaces: the first had 4 buttons, the second had 6. The results were key in terms of design, defining how many buttons players were able to “comfortably manage” in the meanwhile, as well as their degree of feeling at their ease in using the button-based interface. All the players tested the four-button version without experiencing awkwardness or discomfort. On the other hand, all players but one stated that they felt “uncomfortable” in managing six buttons, being reluctant even to try such wireframe version of the interface, envisioning the interaction as distressful and unpleasant. The six-button interface was perceived as complex and also “scary” by some of the playtesters that asserted that the mere request made them feel distressed. Based on this feedback and subsequent analysis, the first and current playable prototype of the game uses only two buttons, one for each side of the device (fig. 2). The decision was due to the typology of game (party game) and to the time necessary to get adjusted to four potential combinations and their feedback. The analysis took into consideration that individuals with low-vision or who are blind cannot take a look at an explanation screen, but rather have to hear the voice tutorial. In essence, explaining how to use 4 buttons plus their combinations requires a certain amount of time, and significant attention for memorizing the sequences and their meaning. Because WaTa Fight! is a party game directed toward a casual audience, a fast learning curve is optimal and an audio-based learning process is more methodical and slow (Rashtian in Nasar & Evans-Cowley, 2007, p. 45).

 

Testing with end users. Research methodology

Since its early prototype phase, the game was tested in its effectiveness as a communication system with social aims as well as in its playability both in terms of user experience (UX) and user interface (UI), considering its peculiar, mixed audience.

 

Structure of the enquiry

To understand and assess the effectiveness of the directions and the conceptualization of the game, independently of their ability or disability to see, players have been qualitatively investigated employing a set of specifically designed tools (Mariani, 2016):

  • observed through a real-time rapid ethnography (Millen, 2000);
  • recorded for an in-depth follow-up analysis of UX and UI;
  • asked to fill a visual analog scale (VAS) questionnaires3. Because of the players, it has been shaped as regular questions with the scale printed on paper for sighted playtesters, or as speak-aloud questions with tactile scales for the sight-impaired ones;
  • and later involved in focus groups with semi-structured questions to further unpack specific topics of relevance.

The playtests, held in three sessions, involved a total amount of 14 players (m: 6; f: 8), of which 9 individuals were sighted, and 6 players were legally blind. In this phase the involvement of blind and low-vision end-users was pivotal to verify the usability and playability of the game in primis (as explained above), but also its ability to trigger social integration among the players, independently of their visual ability. To ensure an optimal experience and the inclusion of the final audience, the focus groups were organized with and supported by the Unione Italiana Ciechi e Ipovedenti (the Italian Blind and Low Vision Association) of Novara. The field tests occurred from May to June 2018, as shown in fig. 3. Each playtest and the focus groups have been recorded and shot to capture the full event, aiming at a follow-up in-depth analysis; in parallel, the researcher in charge of the observation conducted rapid ethnographies.

 

Figure 4. A visualization of the three playtests made stating the number of participants, their gender, sight condition and the tools used at the encounter.

The first version of the game has been playtested on May 2018 and involved 5 attendants, all males and legally blind, from 20 to 45 years old. Because of the nature and timing of this investigation that occurred in the very early stage of the design phase, this playtest mainly consisted into a field experimentation about players’ ability to press different number of buttons and interact with them through time. As a result, this first playtest, as described above, resulted to be more a usability study than a real analysis on the game effectiveness in prompting social integration. As suggested in the literature (Mariani, 2016, p. 79) each playtest was followed by a questionnaire and then a focus group (with semi-structured questions), whose tone was kept conversational and relaxed in order to stimulate the participants to express themselves freely, encouraging the discussion potentially beneficial for the research.

 

Sections of the questionnaire

The questionnaire consists of a series of VAS evaluating the experience on specific topics. The questions are arranged in the following sections:

  • user profiling;
  • analysis of the perceived feelings;
  • significant traits of the game;
  • particular aspects of the experience.

Apart from the profiling set, each question is meant to assess the effectiveness of the game in pursuing design goals, both in terms of UX and UI.

 

Topics of the focus group

A set of questions of the focus group is tailored to investigate the interaction with the interface, the feelings aroused under stressful conditions (fast-pace matches), and the resulting state of mind, considering the presence of several players on site with different visual ability. To sum up, the questions cover:

  • competition and the experience of general pleasurability;
  • social interactions (with players as well as with non players observing the game and interacting with those who play);
  • possible emergent experiences.

Then, further questions regard and expand the following topics, which provide detailed knowledge about specific aspects of the game:

  • the game duration;
  • the possibility of playing again with friends;
  • the experience as a spectator during other players’ matches.

The game duration is linked to the functioning of the game flow and the difficulty curve, or the experience fun factor, as the time perception of a player changes in accordance to its immersion in the game activities (Rockholz, 2014). The possibility to play the game with friends allows to better comprehend the quality of the experience and possible feelings of empowerment. Finally, the last point analyzes the experience from the perspective of the game spectator, namely of the one who observes the player, rather than the player itself, and the game communication possibilities of such users.

 

Results

This paragraph outlines the results coming from the questionnaires and the focus groups conducted during three sessions of playtesting 4. The first playtest was made with six legally blind participants. Among them, only one had some video-game experience, while most of the participants had at least occasionally played board games with the help of sighted friends – most notably Taboo, Clue, and Monopoly. Significantly, none of the participants declared any interest in playing with the smartphone in their everyday life, but they all stated to have good computer skills and to be interested in technology. That said, the first field experimentation was conducted with a wireframe interface, mainly serving as a usability test, aiming at understanding the players’ attitude towards the game, as well as their mood and feelings. Despite the still prototypal phase, the data defined the number of buttons players felt comfortable handling at the same time, and suggested a good level of emotive participation. The game length was perceived differently by those who won and those who lost; appropriate amount of time was perceived by winning players, and too short was perceived by the losing ones. However, speaking of pleasurability, the game was unanimously perceived as enjoyable and pleasant: rules were considered as easy to understand and remember, and the gameplay provided entertainment and recreation. These results confirmed what observed via ethnography, regarding the general mood and feeling.

Game Master: Would you like someone else to try the game?

P: YES [in unison]

F: YES [in unison]

G: YES [in unison]

F: [continuing] Yes, … honestly, I would make some of my sighted friends try it…[thinking aloud]

G: …To beat them up [completing the other one sentence]

The answer provided by F was a sort of thinking aloud process that underlined the desire to share the experience with someone else. However, what seems key is the fact of being allowed to play with a sighted person, without disadvantages of any sort. On the opposite, as stressed by G, who kind of completed F’s thought, this game almost becomes a way to “beat them up”. As if the fact of being visually impaired, for once, is giving an advantage, rather than being a handicap or a limitation. In these terms, WaTa Fight! turned out to facilitate interaction and social gatherings, overcoming the frequent issue due to visual disability. That is because to be good at this game is not important to be able to see, but to have reflexes, memory, and readiness.

Then, the participants of the focus groups claimed they also enjoyed the experience as game spectators. a data that seems in line with what was observed. However, spectators’ attitude and behaviour varied depending of the composition of the group. The spectatorship of a match with a mixed audience turned out more aggressive and “present” than that involving only non sight-impaired players. The playtest with just legally blind players saw the participants stand in silence, listening to the game audio in order to better understand the match status, whispering each other the score after each move: blind spectators cannot see the score, and therefore their observation is more centered around memory efforts. Playtests with mixed audiences were more effective in facilitating interaction and, above all, integration – that is further nurtured by the fact of going through a shared, meaningful, hands-on experience. It is also worth adding that the level of participation and interaction has varied according to the character, disposition and charisma of the players involved, and in consequence to the atmosphere that has been created. This serves to underline how the nature of the personalities involved has strongly influenced the perception of the game, in terms of experience.

The second and third playtest encounters were held in June and July 2018. One involved sighted participants only (n: 3 m and 4 f; age range: 22-32), the other mixed legally blind (n: 3 m; age range: 25-32) and sighted ones (n: 2 f; age range: 26-28). All but one considered themselves expert gamers, and 3 out of 5 affirmed to have at least some information about visual impairment. The two sighted playtesters evaluated the experience as positive and pleasurable. The only exception was a participant who won all the matches, and defined the game “too easy” – it has to be said that the player was highly coordinated and fast.

The game narrative and the tone of voice, in general, were unanimously considered fitting to the project goals. Choosing the fictional world of Ninjas contributed in terms of meaning making: the game activities gained indeed meaning because of the narrative context within they were set. As a matter of fact, screaming attacks as Wa and Ta and WaTa was not perceived as awkward or embarrassing. In parallel, also the game aesthetic has been appreciated and commented as a further trigger for enjoying the game, stimulating more playful interactions.

In parallel, remarkable information emerged as regarding the topic of sociability, showing encouraging results from both sighted and blind playtesters: all the participants stated that the game nurtured sociality, helping them to release some inhibitions in bonding with each other. However, the direct observation of the matches of the last playtest with 7, mixed participants (n: 3 m; 4 f) revealed that the sighted attendants were more active than the visually impaired counterpart, and prone to actively distract the opponents. Most of the participants attempted to disturb the game tickling and poking the other players to make them fail. When asked, the playtesters explained such behavior as resulting from a general discomfort using sound-based disturb attempt: the touch sense was therefore considered the more effective in the task.

Covering the game ability to convey meanings and nurture mutual comprehension, and hence its effectiveness as a communication system able to facilitate the integration of visually impaired people, WaTa Fight! seems promising. 16 playtesters on 18 stated they felt a general sense of openness towards the topic of integration after the game experience.

 

Conclusions and future developments

Nonetheless, the game is still in a prototype stage, with only the core gameplay implemented. A more complete product is needed in order to to proceed with the experimentation and in order to determine a complete idea of the full possibilities offered by the game. However, it is still possible to take stock from what we observed up to date. Even in a prototypal state and with a small test sample, the results are encouraging.

First of all, the information collected during the observation, as the general understanding of technology, the dynamics generated, and the basic gaming experience of the participants reinforced the initial idea of choosing a situated party game for mobile devices.

Data from the focus groups and the survey indicates that the participants have shown signs of openness and sympathy toward the theme and the other group members. The most effective and satisfying results were collected when the game was played by both blind and sighted players. In particular, the reaction of blind players is meaningful. They showed a clear interest in playing the game again, especially with sighted opponents, underlining the game high potentialities for facilitating inclusion and integration of people with vision impairment in groups of sighted individuals. Matter of factly, the game resulted an effective means for stimulating experiences that turned into constructive discussion and comprehension. It prompted players and spectators to talk about disabilities because of the constraints it imposed on the in-game actions through their mechanics and aesthetics. Games can use procedurality (Bogost, 2007; Sicart, 2011; Mariani, 2016), mechanics and also a fictional world to simulate disabilities, giving players an understanding of the difficulties encountered by a segment of the population.

The results are consistent with what corroborated by both literature (Gandolfi et al., 2016) and field research that suggest that games can be of help explaining disability. They are especially aligned with the social approach promoted by the WHO that sees the disability as a quality of the interaction between people with special needs and an environment that restrains them in pursuing personal goals (WHO, 2011). This game shifts attention from the commonly primary sense, sight, becoming easy or difficult independently of the ability to see, but relying only on coordination. Consequently, and for obvious reasons, it is not suitable for certain types of motor disabilities, on which however we have not carried out any test.

Then, because of the target, a key element is that the game should be available on an easy-to-use platform, using a user-friendly interface able to smooth as much as possible the interactions and lessen the visual imbalances among players.

 

Acknowledgements

We would like to express deep gratitude to Giuseppe Laganà and the Unione Ciechi e Ipovedenti of Novara, for their support and patience in helping with the game testing. Our grateful thanks are also extended to Francesco Venco for his guidance in making the game infrastructure and for his useful critiques during research work. We are very grateful to Gianluca Poma for the support.  We thank Vittorio Silini for giving his voice to the game prototype, the sound designer Marius Arcioni for the music of the project, and the video maker Giulia Emma Nocerino for her help in documenting the playtests.

 

References

Alliegro, M. (2016). L’educazione dei ciechi. Storia, concetti, metodi. Ronciglione: Armando.

Barnes, C. (1992). Disabling imagery and the media: An exploration of the principles for media representations of disabled people. London: BCODP.

Bertolo, M., & Mariani, I. (2014). Game design. Gioco e giocare tra teoria e progetto. Milan: Pearson.

Bogost, I. (2007). Persuasive Games: The Expressive Power of Videogames, Cambridge/London: MIT Press.

Cheung, G., & Huang, J. (2011, May). Starcraft from the stands: Understanding the game spectator. In Proceedings of the SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (pp. 763-772). ACM.

D’Alonzo, L. (2008). L’Integrazione del disabile. Radici e prospettive educative. Brescia: La Scuola.

Frey, B., Southern, C., & Romero, M. (2011). Brailletouch: mobile texting for the visually impaired. International Conference on Universal Access in Human-Computer Interaction (pp. 19-25). Berlin, Heidelberg: Springer.

Gandolfi, E., Ferdig, R. E., Bedesem, P., & Lu, C. C. (Eds) (2016). Mobile learning and Special Education. ID&A Interaction Design & Architecture(S), 28.

Gandolfi, E. (2016). To watch or to play, it is in the game: The game culture on Twitch.tv among performers, plays and audiences. Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds, 8(1), 63-82.

Hamari, J., & Sjöblom, M. (2017). What is eSports and why do people watch it? Internet research, 27(2), 211-232.

Istat (2013). Anno scolastico 2012-2013. Integrazione degli alunni con disabilità nelle scuole primarie di secondarie di primo grado statali e non statali. Retrieved from: https://www.istat.it/it/archivio/107277

Kaufman, G., & Flanagan, M. (2015). A psychologically “embedded” approach to designing games for prosocial causes. Cyberpsychology: Journal of Psychosocial Research on Cyberspace, 9(3). Retrieved from: https://cyberpsychology.eu/article/view/4343

Mangiatordi, A. (2017). Didattica senza barriere. Universal design, tecnologie e risorse sostenibili. Pisa: Edizioni ETS. Retrieved from http://www.edizioniets.com/Priv_File_Libro/3244.pdf

Mariani, I. (2016). Meaningful Negative Experiences within Games for Social Change (Doctoral dissertation, Politecnico di Milano, Milan). Retrieved from http://hdl.handle.net/10589/117855

Maurer, M. (1997). Of Mr. Magoo, Disney, and the National Federation of the Blind. Retrieved from: https://nfb.org/Images/nfb/Publications/bm/bm98/bm980202.htm

Millen, D. R. (2000). Rapid ethnography: time deepening strategies for HCI field research. In DIS ’00 Proceedings of the 3rd conference on Designing interactive systems: processes, practices, methods, and techniques, (pp. 280-286). ACM.

Nasar, J., & Evans-Cowley, J. (2007). Universal Design And Visitability. Columbus: The John Glenn School of Public Affairs. Retrieved from https://archive.org/details/universaldesignv00nasa

Newzoo (2018, 03 30). Mobile Revenues Account for More Than 50% of the Global Games Market as It Reaches $137.9 Billion in 2018. Retrieved from https://newzoo.com/insights/articles/global-games-market-reaches-137-9-billion-in-2018-mobile-games-take-half

Parlamento del Regno D’Italia (1865). Codice Civile Libro I/ Delle persone, Titolo X: Della maggiore età, della interdizione e della inabilitazione (Artt. 323-342).

Rockholz, W. (2014, 04 18). 10 Insightful Playtest Questions [Web log message]. Retrieved from https://www.gamasutra.com/blogs/WesleyRockholz/20140418/215819/10_Insightful_Playtest_Questions.php

Sicart, M. (2011). Against procedurality. Game Studies, 11(3), 209. Retrived from http://gamestudies.org/1103/articles/sicart_ap

WHO (2011), World Report on Disabilities 2011, WHO Library Cataloguing-in-publication Data. Retrieved from: http://www.who.int/disabilities/world_report/2011/report.pdf

 

Ludography

123 Swich, Nintendo, Japan, 2017

Blind Arena Tournament, Rising PIxel, Italy, 2017

Blindfield, SIlent Panda, A. Oostdijk, W. McMain, V. Andreasen, M. Klaus, Erbridge, UK, 2016

Footsteps, Minitrope, Germany, 2016

Perception, The Deep End Games, USA, 2017

 

Author’s Info:

Luca Imbriani
School of Design, Politecnico of Milan
iohimbro@gmail.com

 

Ilaria Mariani
ImagisLab, Department of Design, Politecnico of Milan
ilaria1.mariani@polimi.it

 

Maresa Bertolo
ImagisLab, Department of Design, Politecnico of Milan
maresa.bertolo@polimi.it

Categoria: 7/2018 Journal

Digital Games for Special Needs; Special Needs for Digital Games

Posted on 21 Marzo 2019 by Gabriele Ferri
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Enrico Gandolfi (Kent State University), Kaybeth Calabria (Franciscan University of Steubenville), Richard E. Ferdig (Kent State University)

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There are two disparate ways to describe the relationship between digital games and special needs (i.e., physical, cognitive and even socio-cultural conditions than require specific interventions in everyday life routines, learning activities, and general accessibility). On one hand, it can be argued that the sector is becoming more inclusive. For instance, assistive technologies are gaining a foothold in the game industry with innovative hardware (e.g., the Microsoft Adaptive Controller), focused efforts of researchers and practitioners (e.g., the IGDA game accessibility interest group or the Games For Health conferences), increased customization interfaces and input systems (e.g., those offered in the games Overwatch or Uncharted 4), and focused funding initiatives (e.g., AbleGamers Charity and Special Effect).Conversely, one could also argue that the concerns of individuals with special needs represent an overlooked area. For example, toxicity and disruptive behaviors across game audiences (e.g., “Gamergate” see Mortesen, 2016) represent additional sources of biases, games are not accessible to all players, and the literature about special needs and gaming is scarce (with the notable exceptions of Carr, 2014; Champlin, 2014; Ledder, 2015). Additional research is required to respond to these opposing perspective as well as to further impact policy and practice. There are least four reasons to justify such a claim.

 

  1. Video games are at the forefront of technological adoption (Duggan, 2015). Given their ubiquity, they are ideal testing grounds for problematizing current interactive affordances and patterns and developing new and more inclusive solutions.
  2. Video games and interactive media shape society and culture (Ferdig, 2018). They convey representations, ideologies, biases, and viewpoints. Gamers and game developers take a stand that is not as neutral as it may appear at first glance (Gandolfi & Ferdig, 2018). Shedding light on how the medium deals with the issues faced by individuals with special needs becomes crucial for understanding and perhaps changing social perspectives (from reiterating stereotypes to suggesting alternative perspectives).
  3. The combination of technical and cultural perspectives can effectively support two leading approaches to individuals with special needs – i.e., the social model (Bickenbacha, Chatterji, Badley, & Üstünet al., 1999) and the cultural lens (Wolbring, 2008; Campbell, 2009). The former refers to efforts aimed at making society more inclusive (equal possibilities, no barriers), while the latter addresses prejudices and constructed ideas of normality and abnormality. By combining these two foci, analyzing digital entertainment may become an ideal battleground for reflecting on disability and difference while promoting the development of proactive initiatives.
  4. Videogames can potentially support special education and learners with disabilities, from improving physical and social skills to facilitating communication and self-organization (e.g., Saridaki, Gouscos, & Meimaris, 2016).

 

The goal of this special issue is to provide insights and guidelines for realizing and responding to this potential. The five articles collected address several aspects of the interplay between digital games and individuals with special needs. Aside from their topical differences, these contributions seem to share an underlying value given to the inclusion of individuals with disabilities in the world of gamers. The authors also collectively recognize the fact that games should be created with affordances that allow for universal access.
In his article on inclusive interfaces, Dalgliesh effectively expresses this viewpoint: “notions of incidental body-controller fit and precarious accessibility are outlined to develop a model that uses asymmetrical roles and diverse input to fit individual abilities and thereby expand participation”. Dalgliesh also recognizes the dignity of the human person in creating games where individuals can participate as equals; no one wants to be the unequal partner who is helped along in a childish manner. Dalgleish argues:

 

While roles are highly asymmetrical, fundamental principles such as reward, goals, challenge and meaningful play … are maintained… Rather than segregate impaired players by placing them in exclusive sub-sections that provide “cut-down” versions of the canonical experience in an attempt to manage challenge and difficulty, the ARAC model has all players – impaired or otherwise – play in the same space.

 

This is especially relevant in online and shared play, where social interactions and exchanges are relevant and support the whole gaming experience. Imbriani and colleagues claim that “community creation and bonding are key components of successful competitive online games as in those actions are often sensationalized to widen the community with an audience of spectators”. According to Schrier, a “learning community can help to encourage connections among disparate groups, as well as encourage a sense of belonging and inclusion in a game community, which may contribute to empathy, perspective-taking, learning, and positive exposure to others’ backgrounds and cultures, and greater self-efficacy and social support….games that support intergroup cooperation may reduce bias, particularly in multiplayer games online”.
Accessibility issues remain a priority to address, and four articles directly deal with this topic from different angles and perspectives. Plothe advocates that the construction of games should begin with the idea of universal design, thus limiting the retrofitting of games. Dalgleish’s article is characterized by an emphasis on game controllers as a bearer of inclusions/exclusion for players with disabilities. Vercellone, Shelestak, Dhaher and Clements uncover how haptic technology may make a difference in providing more inclusive interactive experiences. Imbriani, Mariani, and Bertolo focus on how inclusive game mechanics can entail a shared ground between sighted and players who are visually impaired. The authors seem to share the belief that accessibility-related developments can positively impact cultural, empathic, and learning outcomes.
Indeed, the intrinsic work of creating virtual realities in game-like environments could have the potential for increasing awareness of negative bias and improving social interactions and mutual understanding. This opportunity emerges in all the five articles, most notably in Schrier’s article:

Some games may help to immerse people into virtual worlds and new roles and identities […], which may encourage consideration of others’ experiences, feelings, and perspectives […] . Games may help people express and experiment with their own identities and others’ identities […], and may enable people to communicate and interact with people from other cultures, with other types of needs, and with different types of experiences.”

This collection draws from different disciplines (e.g., educational technology, computer science, games studies, design, and biology). As such, the articles provide a variegated array of implications, spanning pedagogical strategies, game design suggestions, and technical insights. Such a wide scope is fundamental for addressing the interplay between video games and special needs in its entire complexity and richness.
In addition to the research presented in this special issue, there are four next steps to continue to support work in this area.

 

  1. Game analyses often emphasize representation and aesthetics (e.g., Carr, 2014; Lynch et al., 2016). This refers to the interactive component of the medium, from rules to heuristics; these features are not neutral but rather they can communicate specific biases and schemes (Gandolfi & Sciannamblo, 2018). There is also value in exploring ludic mechanics and media environments. This would include studies of online platforms like Twitch.tv, Steam, and Reddit, where gaming communities gather and debate. For instance, Twitch.tv is strongly supporting streamers with special needs in collaboration with the association AbleGamers, but it has been the stage of toxic behaviours against players who are disabled (see the case of Adam “Lo0p” Bahriz, a legally blind and deaf streamer who was bullied by his own game mates during a live match of Counter Strike: GO) (Jackson, 2017).
  2. Aside from some exceptions (e.g., see https://spedapps.kent.edu/ for mobile games and the article by Vercellone et al. in this special issue), the study of video games for special education is nascent. More research is needed that specifically spans different disabilities, genres, and pedagogies. Mainstream games should be investigated targeting their instructional potential and affordances, which can be relevant due to their popularity.
  3. Researchers in this special issue studied digital gaming and its ability to foster empathy and perspective-taking (see Imbriani et al.; Schrier). Research should capitalize on this work to further explore affective, emotional, and cultural outcomes related to special needs.
  4. Technology companies and scholars should partner in research and development efforts to further explore assistive technologies for gaming. Despite some early efforts and contributions by authors in this special issue, the field is lacking accessible software and hardware.

 

We conclude this special issue by thanking the contributing authors as well as the reviewers who spent significant time during the review process providing suggestions and insights. Finally, we are very grateful to the associate editors of GAME, who have supported this special issue and its cause since the beginning.

 

References

Bickenbacha, J. E., Chatterji, S., Badley, E. M., & Üstün, T.B. (1999). Models of disablement, universalism and the international classification of impairments, disabilities and handicaps. Social Science & Medicine, 48(9), 1173-1187.

Campbell, F. K. (2009). Contours of Ableism: The Production of Disability and Abledness. Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan.

Carr, D. (2014). Ability, Disability and Dead Space. GameStudies, 14(2). Retrieved from http://gamestudies.org/1402/articles/carr

Champlin, A. (2014). Playing with Feelings: Porn, Emotion, and Disability in Katawa Shoujo. Well Played, 3(2), 63-81.

Duggan, M. (2015). Gaming and Gamers. Pew Research Center: Internet. Science & Tech. Retrieved December, 3, 2018.

Ferdig, R.E. (2018). Society, Culture, and Technology: Ten Lessons For Educators, Developers, And Digital Scientists. Pittsburgh, PA: ETC Press.

Gandolfi, E., & Ferdig, R.E. (2018). Scratching the coding surface: tackling algorithms for inclusion and learning. International Journal of Information and Learning Technology, 35(5), 368-378.

Gandolfi, E., & Sciannamblo, M. (2018). Unfolding female quiet in wargames: gender bias in Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain from representation to gameplay. Feminist Media Studies, 1-17.

Jackson, G. (2017). Disabled Streamer Receives Hundreds In Donations After Bullies Kick Him From Match. Kotaku. Retrieved from https://kotaku.com/disabled-streamer-receives-hundreds-in-donations-after-1794507360

Ledder, S. (2015). “Evolve today!”: Human Enhancement Technologies in the BioShock universe. In L. Cuddy (Ed.), BioShock and Philosophy (pp. 150-160). Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell.

Lynch, T., Tompkins, J. E., van Driel, I. I., & Fritz, N. (2016). Sexy, Strong, and Secondary: A Content Analysis of Female Characters in Video Games across 31 Years. Journal of Communication, 66(4), 564–584.

Mortensen, T. E. (2016). Anger, Fear, and Games: The Long Event of# GamerGate. Games and
Culture, 13(8), 787-806.

Saridaki, M., Gouscos. D., & Meimaris, M. G. (2009). Digital Games-Based Learning for Students with Intellectual Disability. In T. Connolly, M. Stansfield, & L. Boyle (Eds.) Games-Based Learning Advancements for Multi-Sensory Human Computer Interfaces: Techniques and Effective Practices (pp. 304-325). Hershey, PA: IGI Global.

Wolfbring, G. (2008). The politics of ableism. Development, 51, 252-258.

Authors’ Info

Enrico Gandolfi
egandol1@kent.edu
Research Center for Educational Technology, Kent State University

 

Kaybeth Calabria
kcalabria@franciscan.edu
Franciscan University of Steubenville

 

Richard E. Ferdig
rferdig@kent.edu
Research Center for Educational Technology, Kent State University

 

Categoria: 7/2018 Journal

G|A|M|E Issue 7, 2018 – Digital Games for Special Needs; Special Needs for Digital Games

Posted on 21 Marzo 2019 by Gabriele Ferri
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Issue 7, 2018 – Digital Games for Special Needs; Special Needs for Digital Games

Edited by E. Gandolfi, K. Calabria, R.E. Ferdig

 

Summary

Vol. 1 – Journal (peer-reviewed)

Index
vol. 1, 2017 – Journal (peer-reviewed)

  • E. Gandolfi, K. Calabria, R.E. Ferdig – Introduction
  • M. Dalgleish – There are no universal interfaces: how asymmetrical roles and asymmetrical controllers can increase access diversity
  • L. Imbriani, I. Mariani, M. Bertolo – WaTa Fight! How situated multiplayer competitive gaming can facilitate the inclusion of low vision and blind players
  • T. Plothe – The Whose View of Hue?: Disability adaptability for color blindness in the digital game Hue
  • K. Schrier – Reducing Bias Through Gaming
  • B. Vercellone, J. Shelestak, Y. Dhaher, R. Clements – Haptic Interfaces for Individuals with Visual Impairments
Categoria: 7/2018 Journal

G|A|M|E Issue 6, 2017 – Hear the Music, Play the Game

Posted on 21 Gennaio 2018 by Gabriele Ferri
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Issue 6, 2017 – Hear the Music, Play the Game
Music and Game Design: Interplays and Perspectives

Edited by H. C. Rietveld & M. B. Carbone

 

Cover Art: Extase – a music game designed by R. Herbulot; programmed by P. Dublanchet; graphics by M. Rho; head design by P. Ulrich; music by P. Eidel & A. Devos and the Bulgarian Voices, courtesy Virgin Musique; interactive music by S. Picq; Virgin Loisirs, France 1991.

 

Summary

Vol. 1 – Journal (peer-reviewed)

  • H. C. Rietveld & M. B. Carbone – Introduction: Towards a Polyphonic Approach to Games and Music Studies
  • R. Gallagher – “All the Other Players Want to Look at My Pad”: Grime, Gaming, and Digital Identity
  • J. Newman – Driving the SID Chip: Assembly Language, Composition, and Sound Design for the C64
  • K. B. McAlpine – The Sound of 1-bit: Technical Constraint and Musical Creativity on the 48k Sinclair ZX Spectrum 
  • F. Peñate Domínguez – “Heute gehört uns die Galaxie” Music and Historical Credibility in Wolfenstein: The New Order’s Nazi Dystopia.

 

Vol. 2 – Critical notes (non-peer reviewed)

Playlist:

  • K. Collins – Desert Island Diskettes: A Journey through Video Game Sound History

Articles:

  • Z. Hulme – Killing-off the Crossfade: Achieving Seamless Transitions with Imbricate Audio
  • T. Langhorst –The Sound of a Serve Toss: An Informational View on the Gameworld Interface as Sonic Interface Design.

Book Reviews:

  • M. Austin – Tim Summers (2016). Understanding Video Game Music. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press – Reviewed by M. Austin.
  • H. C. Rietveld – M. Kamp, T. Summers & M. Sweeney (Eds) (2016). Ludomusicology: Approaches to Video Game Music. Bristol CT and Sheffield: Equinox Publishing; & M. Austin (Ed) (2016), Music Video Games: Performance, Politics and Play, London and New York: Bloomsbury.

Interview:

  • An interview with Mark Sweeney: The Ludomusicology Research Group.
Categoria: 6/2017 Journal

Illusion Master: Extending Self-Presence and Challenging Immersion in and through Digital Games

Posted on 30 Ottobre 2016 by Gabriele Ferri
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The videogame discussed in this essay is freely available here.

Abstract
This paper provides an extension of the definition of the concept of self-presence (named Objective self-presence) in digital games, and in doing so, challenges the traditional concepts of immersion and presence / self-presence in games. The design process of the submitted game Illusion Master is used as a case study to show how the related concepts of presence and immersion can be addressed in a different manner in and through digital games. It is argued that self-presence need not necessarily involve a situation where players feel as if their virtual self is their actual self. In games studies, this definition of presence is very much linked to the concept of immersion, which looks at how a player is surrounded by an immersive new reality. In this paper, it is argued that self-presence can also manifest itself through a double-consciousness where a player is both engrossed in the game, while remaining conscious of him/herself as a human being engaging with a game outside the game world.

Keywords
Objective self-presence, presence, self-presence, immersion, illusion, flow

Introduction to paper & Illusion Master
The aim of this paper is to support, and elaborate on the intentions behind the designed game artifact Illusion Master. The game, along with this corresponding paper, aim to challenge the definitions of the related concepts of unconscious illusion, presence / self-presence, and immersion in the players’ experience of digital games, proposing instead that when players are deeply involved in a game, they always remain aware of themselves as players outside the game, irrespective of their level of immersion within the game. The game, which was created before this issue’s call for papers and originally meant for exhibition purposes in a contemporary art space, was originally designed as a standalone playable reflexive artefact on the mentioned concepts in game studies. For this reason, I suggest that readers do not read further than this introduction if they haven’t yet played the game.
The intentions of the designed game are not made explicit through any form of information screen in the game’s menu system. Instead, the experience is meant to be elicited through conventional gameplay and ludic conventions. Indeed, the game is designed in a way that remains playable (and possibly enjoyable) if players do not grasp the academic intentions of the artefact. It is for this reason that this paper aims to not only elaborate on the intentions, but also provide an academic grounding, as well as informally relate these intentions vis-a-vis the design of the game.
The paper will be split in two sections. The first section will look at the related theories of presence / self-presence, immersion, and unconscious illusion in digital games. These will then be challenged particularly vis-à-vis the double-consciousness model introduced by Katie Salen & Eric Zimmermann in Rules of Play (2003), as well as Daniel Vella’s player-figure relation model (2014). Building upon these two theories, the paper will then propose an extension of the concept of self-presence, entitled objective self-presence.
The second section of the paper will provide a general introduction to the submitted game Illusion Master, briefly discussing its main plot and features in relation to the concepts outlined in the first section. This will act as a springboard to an informal analysis of the design decisions taken in the game vis-a-vis the intentions outlined.

Presence / Self-Presence, Immersion and Illusion
Presence
The concept of the feeling of presence vis–à–vis virtual technologies has been widely discussed over a number of years (see e.g. Minsky, 1980; Steuer, 1992; Biocca, 1997; Lombard & Ditton, 1997; Wirth et al., 2003; Lee, 2004), and more recently, applied to digital games (see e.g. McMahan, 2003; Tamborini & Bowman, 2010; Tamborini & Skalski, 2006; Weibel & Wissmath, 2011). Most of these studies, albeit being related in concept, hail from different fields.
However, following the footsteps of Lombard and Ditton, (1997) many researchers seem to be in general agreement that, in somewhat limited terms, a perception of non-mediation lies at the centre of presence inducing experiences, including digital games. (Biocca, 1997; Tamborini & Bowman, 2010) This refers to a state where while playing a game, the player is also likely to not be aware of the game medium while playing. This has also been referred to as immediacy in Bolter & Grusin’s (1999) seminal book Remediation. Indeed, when elaborating on the state of presence in digital games, Tamborini and Bowman (2010) start by vaguely defining presence as the perception of non-mediation, which make the term not only applicable towards experiences with virtual technologies, but any mediated experiences. Lee (2004) also tentatively defines the term as a “psychological state in which the virtuality of experience is unnoticed” (p. 32), thus once again highlighting the fact that the medium becomes invisible to the user.
At the heart of this non-mediation, which seems to be an integral aspect of the conceptualization of presence, one can also make solid links to other concepts that have also been analyzed as part of the broader study of presence. These include immersion (eg. Biocca & Delaney, 1995; Palmer, 1995), and self-presence (Lee, 2004; Tamborini & Bowman, 2010), which along with the concept of illusion (Grau, 2003) are being challenged in this paper and through the design of the submitted artefact Illusion Master.

Self-presence
Apart from the feeling of non-mediation mentioned earlier, various approaches to the theory of presence seem to imply an additional separate virtual subject when playing a game, which is one of the main points that differentiates presence from self-presence. To elaborate on this and give some examples, Steuer (1992) defines presence as “the extent to which one feels present in the mediated environment, rather than the immediate physical environment”, (p. 76) referring to a feeling of being there, and also linking it with the feeling of immersion and involvement in a virtual environment. In relation to digital games, self-presence accounts for this separate virtual subject and is simply defined as the way players feel as if their virtual self is their actual self (Lee, 2004; Tamborini & Bowman, 2010). As a sidenote, Yee & Bailenson (2007) show how players also take on different characteristics in the way they interact with others in a game depending on the attractiveness of their avatar, thus emphasizing how much even the physical looks of the virtual self has an impact on the behaviour of the player.
Biocca (1997) was the first to define the particular term self-presence (as opposed to presence) and identified three bodies: The actual body of the user interacting with the virtual environment, the virtual body which acts as the virtual representation of the actual body, and the body schema, defined in this case as ‘the user’s mental or internal representation of his or her own body’ (Biocca, 1999, n.p.) affected by the type of virtual representation. The differentiation between presence and self-presence here is crucial given that in Illusion Master, players take control of a virtual body, i.e. the playable magician.

Immersion & Flow
Immersion as a broad concept has been applied to various media experiences, including film, television and games. It has also been explained in relation to the concepts of presence, flow, and non-mediation (see e.g. Lombard & Ditton, 1997; Wirth et al., 2007; Murray, 1997). This can all be very well linked with the term suspension of disbelief, introduced by Samuel Taylor Coleridge in 1817. Referring mostly to written texts at the time, he states that if a writer is able to fill the work with “human interest and a semblance of truth”, a reader would suspend the disbelief of the fictional work, and instead embrace it (Coleridge, 2009, p. 239). Indeed, this concept has also been applied to games, particularly by Janet Murray (1997) who also focuses on the concept of immersion in the experience of digital games.
The ability to escape from real life, as well as the ability for a game to immerse its players seem to remain key characteristics in the design of popular games today. In fact, even Coleridge’s concept of suspension of disbelief is discussed in relation to the goal of game design ‘because games often deal with fantasy and exaggeration and require that players to some degree “buy into” the fantasy to support engagement and immersion’ (Dickey, 2015, p. 48). Similarly, in her seminal book Hamlet on the Holodeck, Janet Murray (1997) directly equates the feeling of being transported into a virtual environment with the experience of immersion. Murray describes immersion as “the experience of being transported to an elaborately simulated place” (p. 98). She compares this feeling to “the feeling of being submerged in water where we are surrounded by a completely other reality…that takes over all of our attention, our whole perceptual apparatus.” The idea of transportation implies that while immersed in a game, players’ consciousness is transported from the actual world, to the game world. This is highly criticized by Salen & Zimmermann through the double-consciousness model which we are going to look at briefly.
Similar to presence, the feeling of immersion has been approached in a variety of ways over the years. Lack of authenticity in a game story for instance has been seen as an aspect which hinders both immersion and presence (Rigby & Ryan, 2011). Brown & Cairns (2004) focus on the concept of immersion by conducting experiments and interviewing gamers. They break down the feeling of immersion into three: engagement, engrossment and total immersion, which they equated with a feeling of presence. In their study, they establish how immersion is not a static experience and also mention how the controls must be ‘invisible’ (a clear link to the experience of non-mediation) for total immersion to take place.
What’s striking about Brown and Cairns’s study is that they draw parallels between immersion and the concept of flow (Csikszentmihályi, 1990). Flow represents the feeling of immersion in any activity that also involves a high level of enjoyment and fulfilment (Chen, 2007), and was originally described as “the state in which individuals are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter” (Csikszentmihályi, 1990).  In this state also known as the zone, players are immersed and highly involved with full focus in the activities presented in the game. Similar to immersion, this is a fragile state which can easily be broken. The study on immersion in games by Jennett et al (2008) also draw parallels between immersion and flow. They state that “like immersion, when in the flow state people become so absorbed in their activities that irrelevant thoughts and perceptions are screened out” (p. 6).
Indeed, the boundaries between immersion and flow are at times very unclear given there are various definitions which are at times conflicting. For instance, Nacke & Lindley (2008) relate immersion with complex and exploratory virtual environments, a narrative context, a variety of models and textures, as well as dynamic lighting. In contrast, they state that flow is “concentrated on the sequence, pace and difficulty of challenges, [rather] than on environmental settings”.
It is of course not the aim of this paper to exhaust the possible differences and similarities between flow and immersion. However, one of the shared characteristics (apart from the feeling of non-mediation mentioned in relation to both presence and immersion) is the loss of self-awareness and being cut off from reality. (Brown & Cairns, 2004) It is this loss of self-awareness that the paper and game seek to challenge. Before that is done however, we must look at the concept of illusion.

Illusion
The subject of illusion shares a lot of similarities with the mentioned subject of immersion, which Illusion Master wilfully attempts to challenge. It makes sense to refer to the concept of illusion here given that it not only has clear links with immersion, but the game itself tackles this subject as a fitting metaphor for both immersion and presence.
According to Oliver Grau, author of Virtual Art: From Illusion to Immersion (2003), immersion is characterized “by diminishing critical distance to what is shown and increasing emotional involvement in what is happening”. (p. 13) Grau continues to show how “a constant characteristic of the principle of immersion is to conceal the appearance of the actual illusion medium…The medium becomes invisible”. (p. 340) This is already very much in line with the previously mentioned definition of immersion by Janet Murray, who compared the feeling with that of being completely submerged in water “that takes over all of our attention, our whole perceptual apparatus”. (p. 98)
The definitions of immersion proposed by both Grau and Murray thus also move very much hand in hand with presence, described earlier as a feeling where the virtuality of experience remains unnoticed (Lee, 2004).
According to Grau, two forms of illusion can be described: conscious illusion and unconscious illusion. Conscious illusion happens when a reader feels she is seeing what is being represented in the virtual work. If we use an example with Illusion Master, players see that they are playing as a magician, running along rooftops shooting ghosts. Thus when illusion is conscious, players know that there is no magician beyond the projected image.
The second form of illusion mentioned is unconscious illusion, and this is directly equated with immersion according to Grau. During unconscious illusion, the medium itself becomes invisible, and thus immediate to the player. In the case of games, this could happen when players are totally captivated by the virtual environment, so much so that it becomes something they are totally unaware of as players outside this virtual environment. Grau states that when illusion becomes unconscious, users become immersed in that particular environment. In this situation of unconscious illusion, players are thus immersed and self-present in the virtual environment.
The shift from unconscious to conscious illusion is the intention behind Illusion Master and arguably acts as a way for players to reflect on their relationship with the medium and on broader concepts such as immersion and self-presence.
The next section of this paper will demonstrate how the design decisions taken in Illusion Master are meant to challenge the related concepts of immersion and presence by pushing players to become objectively self-present. This is an extension to the generally understood definition of self-presence which will now be discussed.

Challenging immersion and presence
The feeling of presence that is currently being referred to requires the virtuality of experience to remain unnoticed (Lee, 2004). It seems however problematic to limit or define the feeling of self-presence in this manner for a number of reasons.
Both concepts of presence and immersion as mentioned so far do not seem to factor in the doubling effect that may be at play when gaming. While playing a game, a player is arguably still very much aware of himself in front of a screen. The player is what enables the avatar in the game object (the virtual self) to take actions which ultimately cause a change to the game object. While the analysis of the blurry relationship between the player outside the game and the virtual self lies beyond the scope of this paper, it is nonetheless important to highlight how their relationship cannot simply be considered vis-à-vis characteristics such as non-mediation, immersion, and transportation.
Presence and immersion in general as concepts becomes particularly more problematic when considered vis-à-vis the double-consciousness model, introduced by Salen & Zimmermann in their book Rules of Play (2003). Double-consciousness can be defined as a situation wherein the players are “well aware of the artificiality of the play situation” (2003, p. 451). In being aware of this artificiality, it can be argued that players are thus also aware of themselves playing, lending to the idea of double-consciousness which was already referred to in phenomenology by Eugene Fink in 1968 where he used the phrase double existence. Both these terms describe an inherent situation to any form of play where “while playing, man retains a knowledge of his double existence, however greatly reduced this knowledge may be” (Fink, 1968, p. 23).
Salen & Zimmermann attack what they deem as the immersive fallacy in gaming which they define as “the idea that the pleasure of a media experience lies in its ability to sensually transport the participant into an illusory, simulated reality,” (p. 450) Indeed, unlike the feelings of presence or immersion, this model negates the idea that a player is transported into another environment, instead looking at the relation between the player and the character in the game.
It is also worth noting here Gordon Calleja’s (2011) concept of incorporation, which he defines as “the absorption of a virtual environment into consciousness, yielding a sense of habitation, which is supported by the systemically upheld embodiment of the player in a single location, as represented by the avatar” (p. 169). Described in such a way, the concept might seem or sound similar to the concept of immersion. However, it is not unidirectional like immersion is, i.e. it does not discuss the transportation of the player into a game world without taking into consideration the player’s involvement with the game.
To further add to these perspectives, Vella’s player-figure relation model (2014) analyses a phenomenological duality in play, which looks at how players can relate to the playable figure in a subjective or objective manner. In the subjective mode of relation, the player feels she inhabits what Vella refers to as a ludic-subject position and identifies with the game avatar as “I”. This is not to say that the player would feel she is the character within the game, but rather that the player feels her subjectivity stands in the game. This is the feeling typically associated with presence and immersion, mentioned earlier. Conversely, in an objective mode of relation, the playable figure “becomes itself present to the player as an object of perception” (p. 3). To summarize, “the distinction is one of playing the figure [subjective] versus playing with the figure [objective]” (p. 3).

Objective self-presence: Extending the concept of presence
While acknowledging that players might feel as if their virtual self is their actual self when playing a game, or that players might be transported into a simulated place that immerses them by taking over all their attention, this view of presence and immersion has been shown to be quite limiting.
In this paper, and through the ludic conventions in Illusion Master, it is argued that the definition of self-presence (or presence in general) can be extended. The term objective self-presence in the experience of digital games is being proposed as a state in which players become reflectively conscious 5
This objective self-presence proposed in this paper is in many ways similar to the objective mode of relation (Vella, 2014) mentioned earlier where the playable figure “becomes itself present to the player as an object of perception”. However, I argue that in the feeling of objective self-presence, it is not simply the playable figure which may become the object of perception to the player, but also the game technology as a whole. In this sense, while acknowledging that players most of the time do not necessarily focus on the mediatory technology (such as a computer or a game console), or the avatar as a separate subject from themselves (as is the case with the subjective mode of relation) when playing a game, I argue that players may still become aware of the virtual experience of digital games. Based on the more widely understood concept of presence, what is being proposed here equates to a situation where one might conclude that the player is no longer present or immersed in the game environment. Conversely, I argue that instead of viewing this as a situation where players are no longer present, objective-self-presence describes a further layer of presence where the player becomes reflectively conscious of her involvement with the game technology.
There are also clear similarities between the proposed objective-self-presence and the double-consciousness model (Salen & Zimmermann, 2003). Double-consciousness however seems to describe an inherent, and thus constant situation in play. What is being proposed here however is that while players, as Fink stated, “retain a knowledge of their double existence” (1968, p. 23), they might not constantly be reflectively conscious of the fact that they are human entities outside the game. In other words, players have the potential to become aware of the artificiality of the play situation at all times, rather than being constantly aware of this phenomenon during gameplay.
The next section of the paper will analyse the submitted game artefact Illusion Master in relation to the proposed concept of objective self-presence.
Illusion Master: Summary & Informal analysis of design
Game summary
Illusion Master is a short casual 2D platformer which lets the player take on the role of an unnamed magician who has his magic chest stolen by a mysterious entity. In this stolen chest lies the ultimate power of illusion which the magician needs for that night’s performance. Unable to do his performance without his magic tricks, he embarks on a dangerous quest on the theatre rooftop to retrieve his magic chest, only to find various ghosts along the way which he needs to shoot using his wand to keep progressing and level up.
After three minutes shooting ghosts and jumping on the rooftops, the magician mysteriously ends up in his own theatre facing two bosses. Once the first boss is killed, a bigger version of what seems to be an evil clone of the same magician appears and claims to hold this power of illusion. However, shooting the evil clone as generally expected from traditional games will all be in vain. Players can only win if they step out of the ‘immersion’ created by the same game and become aware of themselves as players outside the game environment interacting with a game object. Only by doing so will they retrieve back the power of illusion that was stolen from the magician at the beginning of the game. Only when they do so and stop playing will they win, as they would have become aware of the ‘illusion’ of play. In other words, the boss in the game loses all the power when the player realizes she holds this power instead, thus also realizing she is ‘objectively present’ as a player outside the game.
Once the players manage to beat the magician, the magic chest appears at the centre of the screen. Once opened, this reveals the source of the ultimate power of illusion – an image of the actual player playing the game. Illusion Master ends there.

Objective self-Presence vis-a-vis Illusion Master
In the initial prototypes of the game, it was resulting difficult to find a way to get players to realize how Illusion Master was really about an extension of the subject of self-presence. This was more so because the state of objective self-presence proposed had to be conveyed through gameplay, and not in any other form of explanation.
How could a player achieve the proposed state of self-presence? The way we ultimately attempted to do this was through making the game as immersive as possible and then quickly breaking this same immersion that allegedly get players present (in the traditional definition) in a game. It is argued that a player could more easily feel objectively self-present as proposed in this paper by being pulled away from immersion first.
In the coming sections, the paper will look at the design elements which aim to create immersion, and then later on break it in the game. Before this is done however, I’d like to situate Illusion Master among other games that also deliberately make the player aware she is playing a game such as the Metal Gear Solid series (1998), The Stanley Parable (2013), and Atum (2012). What stands out in Illusion Master, I would argue as both writer and game designer, is that the intentions of making the player aware she is playing a game are meant as a direct challenge to the game concepts of immersion, presence and unconscious illusion, rather than being merely features of the games. Furthermore, as will be seen later on, the player has to realize himself that she has to stop playing the game to win.

Designing an immersive Illusion Master
As a short experience, Illusion Master was created to be as immersive as possible. This is attempted in a number of ways through the design of the game.
Genre and aesthetics. The choice behind the genre and aesthetics of the game are not coincidental. When designing Illusion Master, it was a design decision to give the game a retro and colourful look in terms of genre & aesthetics. Indeed, the aesthetics chosen for Illusion Master are inspired by the fun & colourful classic 8-bit and 16-bit platformer games emanating from the Super Nintendo and Sega Genesis years during the late 80s to mid-90s. This aesthetic could appeal to both children, but more importantly to people in their late 20s and early 30s who would more likely have more fond memories of these games.
The iconic retro game elements used in Illusion Master included not only the visuals, but also the sound effects, and the chiptune music used. Other iconographic elements are present throughout, such as the menu graphic, which pays homage to the character pose in the menu of Sonic the Hedgehog (1991), the death traps on the rooftops, as well as the death animation of the magician character. The controls of the game, which will be mentioned later, were also designed keeping in mind the simple controls generally associated with traditional platformers.
Having said all this, it was also the intention to make the game seem contemporary. Initially, 8-bit graphics were going to be used in the game, but this idea was later scrapped to make the visual assets look more contemporary, and instead seem like tribute was being paid. Also, despite the fact that the main level of the game ends after 3 minutes, we wanted to use conventions which are common in endless runner games, which have been very popular as casual games on mobile devices (Schick, 2013).
Casual game elements. Illusion Master was designed with the intention to be a casual game experience. Casual games according to Jesper Juul (2010) are generally easier to play, pleasant, short, appeal to a wider audience, and involve positive fictions. It was the intention to incorporate as much of these elements in the game design as possible, and in doing so, make the game more appealing and immersive to a wider audience from the onset. For instance, children are targeted as possible players of the game, despite the fact that they might not understand the conceptual intention of the game. Indeed they could still find it enjoyable and relate the experience to the magician character.
The game was designed as a short experience, in which the player could reach the end state in between 5-10 minutes. Furthermore, once the player reaches the end state and the contents of the magic chest are revealed, the core concept of the game would also be uncovered. In this sense, the game is meant to be played once, and not designed with replayability in mind.
As the game is meant to be played once, the intention is to make the game even more appealing and immediately immersive. The general look of the game was designed with positive fictions in mind. This is reflected in the colour palette used throughout. Apart from the colours used, the overall tone of Illusion Master also remained positive, while keeping the conflict of the character intact at all times. Both the magician character as well as the enemies were designed to be as cute as possible. Both the ghosts and the bosses were made to seem menacing, albeit in a fun way.
The casual elements in Illusion Master are also reflected in the relatively easy game controls designed for the game. Since the game is designed to be played only once, it was highly crucial that the game was simple enough to grasp. In this respect, the game was designed in a way so that the player would only need to worry about three controls – two fire keys, and a jump key. The simple controls of the game meant that anyone from any age could more easily get into the game, without having to spend too much time getting used to the controls. More on the game controls will be discussed later.
Of course, the simplicity of the controls does not necessarily reflect the difficulty of the game. Balancing difficulty according to different players’ capabilities, as well as providing adequate feedback were other crucial issues that could affect the immersion created through the game.
The flow zone and immersion. When designing the game we wanted it to be both relatively easy to play and grasp, but also provide enough of a challenge to keep players interested. The challenge in the design was in finding the right balance so that it could appeal to both experienced and non-experienced gamers.
The idea of finding the right balance in the game was inspired by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s concept of flow.
According to the theory of flow, in order for players to enter this state of flow, players should experience three elements. Firstly, they should find that the game has a clear direction and goals. In the case of the Illusion Master, players know that they are trying to retrieve the stolen magic chest. They are also prompted to be curious as to what the mysterious power of illusion is. Secondly, the game needs to provide adequate feedback to the players, which we tried incorporating in the game through various feedback mechanisms. These include the sounds used when the player makes a good or a bad choice.
Another aspect of feedback included in the game was the character’s levelling up system, which was included at later stages in the design of the game to act as an extrinsic motivator for players to keep improving their performance. The 5-level system thus also aims to keep players immersed in the game. Every time the player manages to kill a ghost, the character gets a point. Five points would allow the player to level up. On the other hand, players would go down 5 points, hence one level, every time they are hit, pushing the player to avoid making mistakes. Of course the levelling system works in tandem with the difficulty of the game.
Finally, a progress bar at the top right of the screen acts as a reminder to show how far the players have managed to progress in the roof top, also creating anticipation as to what would happen once the end of the progress bar is reached.
The third and final requirement of flow is the balance of difficulty mentioned at the beginning of this section, which works in tandem with the level the player would be in at the time.  This was one of the hardest issues to tackle. According to the theory, an activity can only keep one immersed if it provides the person with a challenge that is not too hard, but also not too easy. If players find a game too difficult, they might feel too anxious, and as a result stop being immersed in the game. Similarly, players could also stop being immersed if they get bored as a result of the game being too easy.
The design of Illusion Master attempts to keep players of varying skills in the flow zone by adapting the level of difficulty based on the players’ performance. In the main rooftop section of the game, the more the player manages to kill ghosts without making mistakes, the faster the ghosts run towards the player. If a player makes a mistake, the character level goes down, but the ghosts slow down as well, giving the player more time to concentrate.
In the initial prototypes of the game, it was shown how despite the different speeds of the ghosts, tested players were still finding the game quite easy. To counteract this, two different coloured ghosts were created, which corresponded to two different shooting keys on the keyboard. In this sense, players now had to focus on not only keeping up with the ghosts, but also keeping in mind which keys to press.

Breaking Immersion & becoming objectively self-present
Once the game manages to get the player immersed, the next step was to create a situation where the same immersion could be broken in a way that made sense with the context of the game story. One of the toughest challenges was to think of a story that could easily allow and justify this breaking of immersion to occur. The character of a magician seemed to be a good choice given his traditional role involves immersing his audiences in the illusion of magic.
For the duration of a magic performance, audiences are likely to stop seeing magic as manipulative tricks, and instead get immersed in the illusion that what they see is actual magic. Arguably, and in a similar fashion, players are likely to play a good game and immerse themselves in it, possibly also forgetting they would be playing a game. A strong parallel thus existed between the magician and a game, as well as a link between magic show audiences and players.
During the gameplay of Illusion Master, the player is however put in a conflicting situation. She plays as both a member of the audience, as well as the magician whose job is to immerse his audiences with his magic tricks.
In this sense, the magician in the game is trying to retrieve his power to immerse his audiences, while the player, in helping the magician, is also trying to regain this power of illusion. Since the player is the one that is ultimately controlling the magician, then it also seems to be logical to deduct that the power of illusion (or the power of immersion) also lies in the player who decides to engage with the game in the first place.
The ability for the player to break immersion appears at the end state of the game, when the player magician faces an evil clone of himself. It is subtly implied in the game dialogue that this evil magician is empowered by the player magician’s shooting. Indeed, the player will never be in a situation to win if she keeps shooting the evil magician. If players decide to keep doing this, as is generally expected from traditional platformers, they would only be giving the evil magician / game the power of illusion that the player magician is desperately trying to retrieve.
It is worth pointing out here that illusion was chosen as the subject to be challenged rather than directly tackling immersion and self-presence. The reason for this is that the former feels very much appropriate within the game context. Indeed, it does make more sense to show how a magician character in the game has lost his power of illusion, rather than his power of immersion.
Designing a way for players to realize they needed to stop playing without making it seem like a game requirement proved rather trivial. Indeed, if at any point, the player were to follow any specific instruction by the game to stop playing, then the player would have arguably still been immersed when taking the decision. Instead, the player had to realize on her own.
Should the player realize she needs to stop playing to win, the evil magician finally dies and the stolen magic chest finally appears. I would like to focus briefly on this final boss fight in the game. Should the player keep interacting by shooting the evil magician, then she is perpetuating her immersion within the game. The player’s immersion in the game is ultimately what the evil magician requires in order for him to remain alive and hold on to the power of illusion. Thus, the reason the final evil magician dies when the player deliberately stops playing is that he realizes he no longer has the power to immerse the player. Thus at this stage, the power of illusion is finally handed to the player. Furthermore he is shown to have identical features to the protagonist as a hint to the player that the evil magician, who at that stage holds the power of illusion, is actually the same as the player who really holds this power without realizing it.
Once the player beats the final magician, the player is no longer in control of the magician in the game, who walks towards the magic chest on his own. It is this crucial moment that shows that the power of illusion ultimately belongs to the player, who initially decided to embark on this journey with the magician in the first place.
It is thus the player who could all along decide whether to be immersed or not in the game. This phenomenon is experienced through the player becoming objectively self-present, i.e. when she becomes reflectively conscious of the fact that she needs to reconfigure the way she relates with the avatar and interacts with the game device.

Conclusion
The aim of this paper was to propose a further layer of the feeling of self-presence in games, as well as to challenge the concept of immersion associated with it. Illusion Master was used as a case study to analyse the proposed extension of the definition of self-presence through a game, which arguably attempts to make the player aware of herself playing the game, as well as her relationship with the game medium.
The proposed feeling of objective self-presence, as well as the challenging of the concept of immersion contrasts with the characteristics of the same concepts as popularly understood in games studies. I ultimately hope that this discussion will open up new avenues for the study and analysis of presence in digital games, as well as add to the current definition of self- presence.

Review excerpts
Click here to read excerpts from the reviewing process.

References
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Author Contacts
Josef Florian Micallef – jmic0002@um.edu.mt

Categoria: 5/2016 Journal | Tags: Josef Florian Micallef (University of Malta)

n.5/2016 Games on Games. Game design as critical reflexive practice

Posted on 29 Giugno 2015 by Gabriele Ferri
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In its fifth issue, G|A|M|E invites the submission of analyses and reflections about the possibility (or lack thereof) of creating playable critiques of video games and of game culture at large. With this topic, G|A|M|E aims at exploring the feasibility of a playable game criticism – a meta-level in which playing, designing and critiquing overlap. The meta-representation of ludic elements in games has been tacitly addressed in the past by mainstream and indie titles alike. In this vein, we might point at DLC Quest (GoingLoud, 2011), a piece providing a satire of downloadable contents in games, GameDev Story (Kairosoft, 2010) a management game simulating a game development studio, up to Linear RPG (Houlden, 2009) an indie title subverting the typical narrative and game mechanics of role-playing video games.

A number of design disciplines are looking at practices such as DIY, ‘making’ and ‘hacking’ as alternative ways to produce knowledge. For example, Matt Ratto famously defined ‘critical making’ as a way of “[using] material forms of engagement with technologies to supplement and extend critical reflection” (2012), reuniting conceptual and physical explorations (DiSalvo, 2009). Bogost (2012) dubs ‘carpentry’ the practice of designing and producing objects that ask philosophical questions or, more broadly, materially coalesce critical thought. In other words, critical making challenges researchers not only to theorize but, most importantly, to make as a way to produce critical concepts. It is clear that not every act of making is per se critical, but some of them offer the chance to theorize and to communicate concepts from a different perspective. Following the growing interest in similar research practices, we raise the following questions: could the practice of game making be adopted as a meta-reflection? Can game design supplement and extend theorizing in the field of game studies? Since the DiGRA 2013 Conference, we have seized the opportunity to name ‘games on games‘ (GOG) these still understudied but quite promising artifacts (Caruso et al., 2013). We have tentatively proposed to call ‘games on games’ those pieces that not only represent the way games are designed, made, played and sold but that also critically reflect upon the same topics. Recognizing this definition as preliminary, we offer it as a starting point, whose discussion and critique is urgent.

To facilitate the discussion, we might further unpack our preliminary definition of GOG by pointing at standalone games, digital or otherwise, that set aside simple entertainment to pursue other critical objectives, such as:

  • Describing or commenting on videoludic genres or sub-genres, highlighting their qualities, weaknesses and recurring features.
  • Critiquing a specific game, expressing an original point of view through interactive and procedural dynamics.
  • Elaborating on some aspects or peculiarities of gaming practices.
  • Describing the interaction between computer games and society, or describing – either critically or satirically – how computer games are perceived and represented in social discourses.
  • Theorizing on the general characteristics of play, or on those specific to computer games or to a particular genre.
  • Presenting and exemplifying theoretical models to describe and understand gaming practices.
  • Representing the historical evolution of videoludic media through interactive dynamics.
  • Parodying a game, a genre or a series.

As we invite contributions from game scholars and game designers, we offer this list – certainly not exhaustive – of provocations to discuss:

  • What are the defining characteristics of GOGs? Which are the exemplar pieces of this genre? Can we attempt to generalize their most important characteristics? What are their limits and their argumentative, rhetoric and persuasive potentialities? Would it be possible to produce game analyses that need to be played, instead of read? Are Games on Games able to highlight some elements of play practices more effectively than written texts? Can they make visible some characteristics of ludic practices that could otherwise remain undervalued or even invisible?
  • This kind of meta-pieces already existed in other media: what is the relationship between GOGs and their precursors? After all, we have similar excellent examples in the fields of cinema and comics: from Woody Allen’s The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) to Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics (1993), we could identify a long and successful tradition of crafting theoretical and critical discourses about a medium adopting the affordances and constraints of the medium itself. By tracing the evolution of the historical precursors of GOGs, could we envision and orient their future developments?
  • What are the epistemological bases for GOGs? Which is their contribution to the understanding of games, of game culture and game design? Are GOGs a form of academic inquiry, of Research through Design (Zimmerman et al., 2007)? Are they artistic practices of meta-reflection, or are they just inventive gimmicks played by publishers and developers to carve a new niche for their products? How can they be situated in relation to other qualitative and quantitative approaches to the study of games? Who produces GOGs today, and who will do so in the future: critics, designers, indie developers, hackers, ordinary players? Will we witness the rise of a new form of game research?
  • How can we situate GOGs in the academic world, in relation to more traditional analyses expressed in linear media? Could GOGs explain elements of play practices more effectively than written words and audiovisual media? Could GOGs complement more traditional ways of analyzing games and game cultures? Will the rise of GOGs bring changes in the way we teach game design and criticism, moving the didactic practice further away from textbooks, towards ad-hoc interactive experiences? And, more broadly and more provocatively: have we reached a point in which written language is not sufficient anymore and we need to turn to procedural media to express our analyses?
  • Which theoretical contributions could GOGs offer to designers and researchers? What are the lessons that the design community can learn through GOGs? And what is their role to the academic debate? Could our comprehension of game culture be better and more situated if we stop debating and focus instead on making games on it? How could GOGs participate to the heated discussions on crucial topics in game culture (e.g. gender roles and their representation, diversity and inclusion, violence, intellectual property…)?

Acknowledging that the field of the Games on Games project is almost unexplored, G|A|M|E opens this call to test its potentialities and to map its boundaries. Coherently with our theme, we invite the submission of both written essays and actual, playable Games on Games that elaborate on the practices and cultures of computer gaming (playing, designing, developing…) using procedural media. Following Bogost’s and Ratto’s ideas of critical making and carpentry, the playable submissions should aim principally at being self-reflective experiments to explore the affordances and potentialities of procedural creativity.

Those who wish to contribute written essays will have to submit a 500-words abstract by October 20th, 2015 (updated deadline). Those who wish to propose a playable GOG will have to send a 500-words executive brief, possibly with screenshots, diagrams and/or a playable demo, by October 20th, 2015 (updated deadline). Submissions must be sent at editors@gamejournal.it

Notification of acceptance, for essays and games: November 5th, 2015.

All accepted authors will be asked to submit the full paper and/or full game by March 10th, 2016 (updated deadline).  Those submitting a game will also need to produce an author’s statement/critical introduction to their piece (about 3000 characters).

The 5th issue of G|A|M|E is expected to be published in Spring 2016.

Special instructions for game developers

It is possible to submit games that have already been published elsewhere, provided that they are freely playable (NOTE: written essays, instead, must be completely original). Participating game developers certify that they are the principal creators of the work they submit and that they have every legal right to do so. Each participant retains ownership rights, and grants G|A|M|E the right to publicize the submitted games and link to them.

There are no limitations to the tools and the technologies adopted. Each developer will be responsible for hosting his/her own product on a website of his/her choice that will be linked to G|A|M|E. Web portals such as Kongregate.com or Newgrounds.com are admissible. Even non-digital games such as boardgames or tabletop RPGs are allowed, provided that the author distributes all the necessary material for playing the game (e.g. cards, tokens and instructions in PDF format, or similar). If executable files are distributed, we strongly suggest that they are cross-platform compatible.

Submitted works must be playable without requiring users to buy additional material, licenses, etc. Submitted works cannot be “trial versions”, “shareware”, or feature “in-app purchases”.

The editors

Giovanni Caruso, Riccardo Fassone, Gabriele Ferri, Stefano Gualeni, Mauro Salvador

Categoria: cfp-ENG

n.5/2016 Games on Games. Il game design come pratica riflessiva critica

Posted on 29 Giugno 2015 by Gabriele Ferri
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Nel suo quinto numero, G|A|M|E invita alla presentazione di analisi e riflessioni sulla possibilità (o sull’eventuale impossibilità) di creare critiche giocabili riguardanti il videogioco o la cultura ludica in generale. Con questo tema, G|A|M|E si propone di esplorare la fattibilità di un playable game criticism – un meta-livello in cui si sovrappongono pratiche di gioco, progettazione e studio critico. La meta-rappresentazione degli elementi ludici all’interno di altri giochi è stata tacitamente affrontata in passato sia da prodotti mainstream che indie. Tra gli esempi più rappresentativi, ricordiamo per esempo DLC Quest (GoingLoud, 2011) che costruisce una satira dei contenuti aggiuntivi scaricabili, GameDev Story (Kairosoft, 2010) un gioco gestionale che simula un game development studio, e Linear RPG (Houlden, 2009) un titolo indie che sovverte le meccaniche narrative e ludiche tipiche degli RPG.

Numerosi studi sul design hanno recentemente considerato pratiche come il DIY, making e hacking come approcci epistemologici alternativi. Per esempio, Matt Ratto propone il critical making come un modo di “sfruttare un approccio materiale e concreto alla tecnologia al fine di estendere una riflessione critica” (2012), affiancando valutazioni concettuali con altre più fisiche ed embodied (DiSalvo, 2009). Bogost (2012) chiama carpentry la progettazione e la produzione di oggetti fisici o digitali che pongono domande filosofiche. Più in generale, la pratica della carpentry fornisce un substrato materiale a un pensiero critico. In altre parole, carpentry e critical making ci sfidano non solo a teorizzare ma, soprattutto, a creare per produrre concetti critici. È chiaro che non tutte le pratiche creative sono di per sé critiche, ma alcune di esse offrono interessanti possibilità per teorizzare e comunicare idee da una prospettiva diversa. Facendo riferimento al crescente interesse per questo tipo di ricerca, proponiamo le seguenti domande: il gioco può essere un’occasione per una meta-riflessione? Il game design può integrare ed estendere riflessioni teoriche nel campo dei game studies? In occasione di DiGRA 2013, abbiamo chiamato games on games (GOG) questi esempi promettenti ma ancora scarsamente studiati (Caruso et al., 2013). Preliminarmente, abbiamo proposto di chiamare games on games i sistemi giocabili che 1) mettono in scena la progettazione, la realizzazione, il gameplay e la vendita di altri videogiochi e 2) suggeriscono riflessioni critiche su questi temi. Riconoscendo come questa definizione sia ancora preliminare, la presentiamo semplicemente come un punto di partenza da discutere, criticare e approfondire.

Sollecitiamo quindi l’invio di contributi e riflessioni che problematizzino ulteriormente la definizione iniziale di GOG, considerando per esempio giochi digitali o tradizionali con obiettivi ( oltre che di semplice intrattenimento) critici e meta-riflessivi, tra cui:

  • Descrivere o commentare generi e sottogeneri videoludici, evidenziandone le principali caratteristiche e punti deboli.
  • Criticare un gioco specifico, esprimendo un punto di vista originale attraverso dinamiche interattive e procedurali.
  • Indagare aspetti o peculiarità di specifiche pratiche ludiche.
  • Descrivere criticamente o satiricamente il rapporto tra gioco e società, oppure i modi in cui i videogiochi sono comunemente percepiti e rappresentati nella vita di tutti i giorni.
  • Proporre contributi teorici sulle caratteristiche generali della ludicità, oppure su quelle più specifiche dei videogiochi, o di un genere in particolare.
  • Presentare e dimostrare praticamente modelli teorici che descrivano e rendano comprensibili le pratiche di gioco.
  • Rappresentare l’evoluzione storica del medium videoludico attraverso meccaniche interattive.
  • Costruire una parodia di un gioco, di un genere o di una serie.

Nell’invitare contributi da parte di ricercatori e game designer, proponiamo questa lista – certamente non esaustiva – di temi da discutere:

  • Quali sono le caratteristiche fondamentali dei GOG? Quali sono i titoli più rappresentativi di questo genere? Si possono generalizzare le loro caratteristiche più importanti? Quali sono i loro limiti e le loro potenzialità argomentative, retoriche e persuasive? È possibile produrre analisi di giochi elettronici che non vadano lette ma giocate? Possono i GOG evidenziare alcuni elementi delle pratiche di gioco in modo più efficace dei testi scritti? Possono rendere visibili caratteristiche ludiche altrimenti sottovalutate o addirittura invisibili?
  • Meta-testi simili esistono anche in altri media: quali sono i rapporti tra i GOG e i loro precursori? Troviamo esempi analoghi nel cinema e nei fumetti: si potrebbe identificare una tendenza affermata che produce discorsi teorici e critici a proposito di un medium adottando le affordance e i vincoli del medium stesso, da La Rosa Purpurea del Cairo (1985) di Woody Allen a Understanding Comics di Scott McCloud (1993). Tracciando l’evoluzione dei precursori storici dei GOG, sarebbe possibile immaginare e indirizzare i loro sviluppi futuri?
  • Quali sono le basi epistemologiche dei GOG? Qual è il loro contributo alla comprensione dei giochi, della cultura ludica e al game design? I GOG sono una forma di ricerca accademica, oppure sono una pratica di Research through Design (Zimmerman et al., 2007)? Sono pratiche artistiche meta-riflessive, oppure sono solo un espediente creativo messo in atto da sviluppatori ed editori per ritagliarsi una nuova nicchia di mercato? Dove si collocano i GOG rispetto ad altri approcci qualitativi e quantitativi nello studio dei giochi? Chi produce GOG oggi, e chi potrebbe farlo in futuro: critici, designer, sviluppatori indie, hacker, giocatori comuni? Studiando i GOG, stiamo assistendo alla nascita di un nuovo tipo di ricerca ludica?
  • Come possiamo collocare i GOG nell’ambito accademico, in relazione ad altre analisi più tradizionali? I GOG spiegano le pratiche di gioco in modo più efficace di testi scritti e media audiovisivi? Come si potrebbero integrare con analisi più tradizionali? La diffusione dei GOG cambierà i modi di insegnare game design e critica videoludica, spostando la didattica lontano dai libri di testo verso esperienze interattive ad hoc? Ancora più provocatoriamente: abbiamo raggiunto un punto in cui i testi scritti non sono più sufficienti e in cui è necessario rivolgersi ai sistemi procedurali per esprimere efficacemente un’analisi?
  • Quali sono i contributi teorici offerti dai GOG a designer e ricercatori? Quali sono le lezioni che la comunità dei game designer può imparare da questo genere? E qual è il loro ruolo all’interno del dibattito accademico? La nostra comprensione delle culture ludiche potrebbe essere migliore e più puntuale se smettessimo di parlarne e ci concentrassimo sul produrre videogiochi? I GOG potrebbero contribuire ai dibattiti sugli argomenti chiave della cultura ludica (ad esempio: ruoli di genere e loro rappresentazione, diversità e inclusione, violenza, proprietà intellettuale…)?

Riconoscendo che il campo dei GOG è quasi inesplorato, G|A|M|E lancia questa call for paper per testarne le potenzialità e per tracciare una mappa dei suoi confini. Coerentemente col tema dei GOG, si incoraggia l’invio sia di saggi scritti, sia di game on games che affrontino le pratiche e le culture del computer gaming (gioco, progettazione, sviluppo…) utilizzando supporti procedurali. Facendo riferimento ai concetti di carpentry e critical making elaborati da Bogost e Ratto, i contributi giocabili dovrebbero proporre esperimenti meta-riflessivi che esplorino le affordance e le potenzialità della creatività procedurale.

Chi desiderasse inviare un saggio scritto, dovrà prima presentare un abstract di 500 parole entro il 20 ottobre (nuova deadline). Chi invece desiderasse proporre un GOG giocabile dovrà inviare un executive dossier di 500 parole, possibilmente accompagnato da screenshot, diagrammi e/o una demo giocabile, sempre entro il 20 ottobre (nuova deadline). Tutte le comunicazioni vanno inviate all’indirizzo editors@gamejournal.it

Notifica di accettazione, per saggi e giochi: 5 Novembre 2015.

I paper completi e i giochi accettati dovranno essere inviati alla redazione entro il 10 marzo 2016 (nuova deadline). Gli autori di giochi dovranno inoltre allegare un’introduzione critica al proprio lavoro (circa 3.000 battute).

Il numero 5 di G|A|M|E sarà pubblicato nella primavera 2016

Istruzioni per gli sviluppatori di giochi

Sono ammessi giochi già pubblicati, purché giocabili gratuitamente. L’introduzione critica, invece, dovrà essere inedita. Gli sviluppatori che intendono partecipare al numero dovranno attestare di essere I principali creatori dell’opera e accertarsi di avere il diritto legale di presentarla. Ogni autore mantiene la proprietà e i diritti sul proprio lavoro, ma garantisce a G|A|M|E il diritto di pubblicizzare le opere inviate tramite link.

Non vi sono limitazioni riguardanti gli strumenti e tecnologie adottati. Ogni sviluppatore è responsabile dell’hosting del proprio lavoro su un sito al quale G|A|M|E creerà un link. Sono ammissibili portali come Kongregate.com o Newgrounds.com. Sono inoltre ammissibili giochi non digitali (giochi da tavolo, giochi di ruolo, ecc.), a patto che l’autore condivida gratuitamente il materiale necessario per giocare (carte, pedine, istruzioni in PDF, ecc.). Se l’autore volesse distribuire dei file eseguibili, la redazione suggerisce di accertarsi della loro compatibilità con diverse piattaforme.

I lavori presentati devono essere giocabili senza l’acquisto di altri prodotti o licenze. I lavori presentati non possono avvalersi di licenze come “trial version” o “shareware” o contenere acquisti “in-app”.

I curatori

Giovanni Caruso, Riccardo Fassone, Gabriele Ferri, Stefano Gualeni, Mauro Salvador

Categoria: cfp-ITA

Videogiochi e subcultures. Giocare alla periferia dell’industria di massa

Posted on 19 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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Special issue, curated by Marco Benoit Carbone (University College London) and Paolo Ruffino (Goldsmiths, University of London)

Ormai difficili da identificare con un unico tipo di pubblico, i videogiochi rappresentano oggi una grande varietà di testi e pratiche, dotati di caratteristiche tecnologiche, estetiche e culturali eterogenee. Il videogioco è un medium stratificato, multiforme e complesso, che coinvolge pubblici molto diversi: da quello maschile a quello femminile, da quello di giocatori casual a quello degli appassionati hardcore, dai bambini agli adulti. I modelli di produzione e consumo dei videogiochi variano inoltre a seconda che essi abbiano luogo in aree geografiche diverse, come l’Asia, l’Europa, gli Stati Uniti o l’Australia, mettendo in evidenza modelli di ricezione e interpretazione molto diversi a seconda dei loro pubblici e delle relazioni che intrattengono con altri media.

Eppure, per quanto risulti difficile o limitante offrire una definizione univoca dei gamer, viene ancora a mancare un articolato dibattito intorno alla possibilità che i videogiochi possano essere davvero l’espressione di specificità culturali, , le quali dovrebbero essere la funzione di istanze produttive, sociologiche e autoriali relative ai loro contesti e ai luoghi di origine. Molti videogiochi sono in effetti dei prodotti transnazionali, simili tra loro in molte caratteristiche fondamentali, e apparentemente privi di una marcata riconoscibilità in termini di identità socio-geografiche o culturali. Questo porta a domandarsi se i videogiochi possano essere effettivamente dei portatori di contenuti “locali”, volti o meno a destinatari “globali”.

Da questo punto di vista il medium videoludico è in larga misura il prodotto un’industria globale che propone standard altamente omogenei. Questo aspetto sembrerebbe inerire anche alle caratteristiche estetiche e alle forme narrative dei prodotti. Se, infatti, il processo storico del videogioco lo ha portato a diventare un medium “pervasivo”, le cui icone e i cui ricorsi estetici punteggiano la cultura di massa al pari delle arti visive, è vero anche che il numero sempre crescente dei suoi sostenitori va di pari passo con la costruzione di modelli estetici largamente riconoscibili e con diffusi stereotipi visivi e mediatici del gioco e del giocatore (siano essi adulatori o denigratori).

Questi aspetti presentano delle implicazioni sul piano ideologico e politico. In concomitanza con l’ascesa della video game culture, si attesta anche quella del videogioco cosiddetto indipendente. A descriverlo sono una serie di emergenti formazioni discorsive, che hanno come soggetti diverse frange di creatori e consumatori di videogiochi; secondo queste narrative, gli independent games dimostrano che il medium videoludico può rappresentare una forma di espressione individuale o di precise istanze culturali. Secondo alcuni, il videogioco darebbe vita persino a forme di aggregazione e cooperazione volte a risolvere cause di rilevanza sociale.

Queste letture coincidono in parte con una visione ottimistica ed entusiastica delle possibilità di resistenza ideologica e sociale che si presume i videogiochi possano offrire rispetto ai modelli culturali, politici ed economici dominanti. Tuttavia, non è ancora stato indicato quali forme di connivenza, sovversione o deviazione possano o debbano effettivamente emergere dall’utilizzo del medium; né è stato considerato in maniera approfondita in che misura il potenziale “sovversivo” del videogioco “indipendente” possa finire con il ricadere nelle stesse meccaniche di produzione del sistema da cui esso tenterebbe di allontanarsi.

Questo numero di GAME si propone di dibattere questi temi concentrandosi sui pubblici, sulle diverse pratiche e sulle possibili ideologie operanti nel medium, all’interno dei più ampi contesti sociali ed economici in cui i videogiochi vengono realizzati e utilizzati. GAME incoraggia ricercatori e studiosi a esaminare queste forme di espressione attraverso uno sguardo volto a mapparne le specificità socioculturali, o ad analizzare le relazioni tra l’industria di massa (o “mainstream”) e quella di nicchia (o “subculturale”), problematizzando al contempo lo stesso assunto che porterebbe a definire i gamer nei termini di una o più subculture.

Considerata la complessità dell’argomento e la pluralità di ambiti a cui esso può rimandare, l’invito di GAME si rivolge non solo agli studiosi ma anche ad artisti, game designer, hacker, giornalisti e giocatori, aprendo alla possibilità di valutare testimonianze, articoli e contributi creativi accanto ai saggi.

**Ulteriori ipotesi di ricerca possono includere, ma non si esauriscono con, le seguenti domande:
– È possibile, o lo è mai stato, concepire i gamer alla stregua di una subculture? E in che senso?
– È possibile applicare al contesto videoludico la dibattuta contrapposizione tra mainstream e subculture e le ricadute teoriche che essa implica nelle scienze sociali?
– È possibile dimostrare che la pratica del gaming, dapprima marginale, sia divenuta di massa in uno specifico momento o contesto?
– In che modo si sviluppa e articola questa idea non tanto nell’ambito della ricerca, quanto in quello giornalistico e della critica popolare (si consideri l’opposizione tra hardcore e casual gamer)?
– Esistono corrispondenze tra determinati temi, tipi o generi videoludici e le rispettive frange di videogiocatori che ne sarebbero il pubblico modello?
– Come viene implementata o supportata, al livello della produzione e del marketing, la corrispondenza tra i testi e le diverse fasce di consumatori?
– È possibile riscontrare nei videogiochi degli aspetti controversi di cui i giochi stessi possono essere portatori, o che essi possono tematizzare ed esporre (per esempio: razzismo, colonialismo, sessismo, occidentalismi, o altri temi e discorsi che risultino in altri modi “normativi” o ideologici)?
– È possibile pervenire a un riconoscimento di dignità estetica del videogioco senza scadere in discorsi “apocalittici” o “redentori” (“i videogiochi sono il male” / “i videogiochi sono il bene”)?
– Che tipo di sovrapposizioni si creano tra il consumo di videogiochi e quello di altri media dal punto di vista dei diversi pubblici che li utilizzano?
– È più facile o appropriato definire i videogiochi facendo ricorso alla loro “logica interna” o ai loro aspetti figurativi ed estetici?

Keywords
game art; indie games; online communities; arcades; age; sex; race; gender: minorities; hacking; modding; homebrew; abandonware; consumer culture; culture jamming; mainstream; subculture; underground; trans-nationality; resistance

Abstract deadline: 26th April
Notification of acceptance: 10th May

All accepted abstracts will be expected to submit a full paper by the 19th of July
We expect to release this special issue in Autumn 2013
Proposals and questions to
subcultures@gamejournal.it

Categoria: cfp-ITA, Specials

n. 3/2014 – Video game subcultures. Playing at the periphery of mainstream culture

Posted on 19 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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Peer-Reviewed Monograph – out Autumn 2013
Edited by Marco Benoit Carbone and Paolo Ruffino

===  EXTENDED DEADLINE for abstracts submission: 5th May ===

Call for papers:

Hardly identifiable with a unique audience, video games are an ever growing variety of texts and practices, with diverse technological, aesthetic, and cultural features. They form a complex, protean, and stratified medium, involving different kinds of audiences. They are addressed to the male and female markets alike, propose forms of family entertainment, welcome casual gamers as well as ‘hardcore’ players, and are equivalently sold to children, teenagers and over-35s. Furthermore, their reception in different countries and regions (Asia, Europe, USA, Australia) highlights very different uses and segmentations in relation to audiences and other media.

However, even as “gamers” are increasingly hard to define in stratified and multi-faceted markets, it is not clear whether or not the production of games actually articulates an equally nuanced series of relations between “local” content and “global” recipients. This posits a question regarding the possibility of games to actually entail cultural specificity in regard to their authors and their place of origin, as most of them are transnational titles that apparently replicate similar game mechanics, regardless of their countries and agents of production.

From this standpoint, the medium of the video game is largely supported by global industries, proposing over-arching cultural standards for aesthetics and narratives.
The overall historical processes have shaped a pervasive yet apparently homogenized medium, whose symbols and references today are part of a larger visual and pop culture, embraced and celebrated by escalating numbers of supporters.

These aspects have implications on the ideological and political level. As video game culture is becoming pervasive and influential on a global scale, game creators and audiences have also been producing narratives of “independence”. Games are allegedly emerging as a medium for personal expression or collective engagement for addressing social causes. However, despite these claims that the medium may be actually a new and burgeoning vessel for works of social resistance, it has rarely been questioned exactly which forms of connivance, subversion, or deviation might, could or should emerge from games, or whether these practices would remain entrenched in the systems that produce them.

This issue of G|A|M|E aims to investigate the above issues relating to the audiences, the different practices, and the possible ideologies at work in this medium, in the contexts of the economic systems in which games are made and consumed. Not only G|A|M|E encourages scholars to look at these forms of cultural productions by mapping their possible socio-cultural specificities or categorizing their relations to the “mainstream” industry, but it also encourages to raise questions about the very possibility of defining gamers as one or more subcultures.

Considering the complexity of this topic and the uncountable forms of experiences which could belong to it, G|A|M|E invites game scholars and practitioners alike. This Call accepts contributions in the form of papers, but short texts and visual examples are also welcome. We will consider proposals from game scholars as well as artists, game designers, hackers, journalists, players.

**Further research questions might include, but are not limited to:
– Have gamers as a subculture ever existed, and in which ways?
– Does the controversial opposition between “mainstream” and “subculture” hold any value for the medium of the video game?
– Is it possible to claim or demonstrate that video gaming has gone mainstream at some point in some context?
– How has this very idea been developed inside the journalistic and critical video game culture (e.g., as “hardcore” vs. “casual” games and gamers?)
– Is there any particular correspondence between types/genres/themes and particular (gaming) subcultures?
– How does the industrial process of making and marketing games address to different clusters of consumers?
– Is it possible to claim recognition for the medium without falling into apocalyptic or redemptive narratives (“all games are bad” / “good”)?
– What kind of overlap is there between the consumption of games and other media in terms of the audiences?
–Are games defined more by their internal logic or from the aesthetic and figurative aspects they carry?

Keywords
game art; indie games; online communities; arcades; age; sex; race; gender: minorities; hacking; modding; homebrew; abandonware; consumer culture; culture jamming; mainstream; subculture; underground; trans-nationality; resistance

=== New deadline for abstracts: 5th May ===
=== Notification of acceptance: 10th May ===

All accepted abstracts will be expected to submit a full paper by the 19th of July
We expect to release this special issue in Autumn 2013
Proposals and questions to
subcultures@gamejournal.it

 

Categoria: cfp-ENG

P. Ortoleva, Dal sesso al gioco. Un’ossessione per il XXI° secolo?

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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In questo pamphlet edito da Espress per la collana “Tazzine di caffé con panna” Ortoleva riprende le fila del discorso avviato ne Il secolo dei media (2008). L’autore riparte dalla liberazione sessuale e dalla diffusione della pornografia della seconda metà del Novecento per giungere a parlare del contemporaneo processo di “ludicizzazione del reale”, un fenomeno che pare investire i media trasversalmente ma che non si presta a letture immediate o autoevidenti, rimanendo legato alla natura processuale e in divenire della pratica ludica. Ortoleva descrive dunque uno spostamento, dal sesso al gioco, come se si trattasse di un ipotetico passaggio di testimone fra le due principali ossessioni sociali dell’occidente: il sesso nel XX° secolo, il gioco nel XXI°, dall’homo eroticus all’homo ludicus.

Se nel 2008 Ortoleva si era concentrato principalmente sul turpiloquio e sulla liberalizzazione della pornografia negli anni settanta del secolo scorso, in questo testo parte da più lontano, dall’inizio del Novecento e dalla pratica psicanalitica di Freud, giungendo fino al decennio scorso, fra svestizione ed elevazione del corpo, ossessioni passate e perversioni contemporanee. Il punto di contatto che segna il passaggio fra sesso e gioco emerge dall’osservazione di un luogo franco, i siti web destinati a generare incontri sessuali, in cui il sociologo francese Lardellier riconosce relazioni di tipo ludico. Il cambiamento in atto è allora quello che va dalla ricerca immediata della gratificazione sessuale, processo che ha ormai saturato sia il reale che il mediale, al corteggiamento ludico che si estende poi alla passione e finanche al matrimonio, “deletteralizzando” l’incontro e rendendolo aperto a una serie di metamessaggi in grado di ampliarne la rosa di significati. Questo processo di ludicizzazione, ben riconoscibile nelle pratiche di ambito sessuale, finisce per estendersi alle pratiche quotidiane in toto, producendo l’evoluzione dell’homo ludens, figura trans-storica e trans-nazionale, in homo ludicus, soggetto “per il quale il gioco si sta facendo stile diffuso e modo di affrontare l’esistenza nel suo insieme”.

Come la ludicizzazione si espliciti nella realtà e nei media, Ortoleva lo descrive nella seconda parte del libro, a partire dal fenomeno social game e dalla pervasività delle pratiche ludiche a esso legate, passando per l’idea di gioco come metafora, modello e applicazione “per simulare situazioni, per distribuire ruoli, per incentivare forme nuove di cooperazione”, fino all’abusata idea di gamification, l’applicazione di presunte dinamiche ludiche a oggetti e pratiche che ludiche non sono. Un processo insomma di sconfinamento del gioco oltre i suoi luoghi deputati che può assumere da un lato le caratteristiche distopiche del degrado sociale (la addiction al gioco d’azzardo per esempio), dall’altro quelle di un progressivo distacco dalle cose “serie” della vita che, considerate sotto il filtro di questa nuova ludicità metacomunicante, assumono contorni meno grigi.

Secondo l’autore dunque il gioco riesce a far convivere una duplice natura: da un lato risorsa culturale ed evolutiva, dall’altro paradosso slegato dalla logica ordinaria, pur essendo in grado di aiutare chi gioca a comprenderla. Questa natura anarchica, dice Ortoleva, è alla base della “nuova ludicità” ed è fondamentale per quel processo di sconfinamento verso la realtà cui stiamo assistendo. L’homo ludicus tuttavia si deve destreggiare fra “regole auto-imposte” e “paradossi insormontabili”, rendendo quantomeno problematico pensare a una società fondata su un a figura di questo tipo.

Ortoleva tratta l’attualissimo tema della ludicizzazione del reale con grande puntualità e riesce a stabilire una testa di ponte per lo studio di un tema per troppo tempo affrontato a livello superficiale attraverso analisi incapaci di riconoscere i processi sociali, mediali e produttivi in grado di raccontare in modo significativo un fenomeno in apparenza autoevidente, ma che si mantiene emergente e strutturalmente sfuggente in quanto declinazione del “gioco”.

–Tutte le immagini appartengono ai rispettivi proprietari e sono usate ai soli fini accademici. –

Categoria: 2/2013 Books, 2/2013 Critical Notes | Tags: Mauro Salvador

Neoludica: (libro) arte e (libro) gioco

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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Il volume Arte e Videogames. Neoludica 2011-1966, Skira, 2011, a cura di Debora Ferrari, e di un gruppo di collaboratori raccolti attorno alla stessa, nasce come catalogo di un’importante mostra dedicata ad arte e videogioco quale evento collaterale della 54ª Biennale di Venezia. Per intendere l’operazione sottintesa al testo, per una volta, bisogna partire dalla fine e non dall’inizio. Ovvero dall’ultimo intervento contenuto nel libro, quello di Jaime D’Alessandro che illustra le estreme difficoltà, superate grazie ad una contingenza istituzionale propizia e ad un incrocio di circostanze favorevoli, in cui nacque la prima mostra europea (ed italiana) di grande respiro dedicata al mondo dei videogiochi, quella Play, il mondo dei videogiochi, che si tenne a Roma presso il Palazzo delle Esposizioni nel 2002. La presenza di giovani curatori (e allestitori/scenografi-architetti) aveva reso quell’esperienza insolita, se non davvero unica nel panorama italiano: grandi budget a disposizione di organizzatori giovani, per temi innovativi e non del tutto riconosciuti dal sistema istituzionale dell’arte. Sebbene in seguito siano nate iniziative meritorie nel campo e l’industria videoludica sia cresciuta, sono dovuti passare dieci anni per potere allestire un evento di altrettanto respiro per sede e disponibilità di risorse proprio Neoludica che riparte dal punto in cui Play si era fermata. Neoludica dapprincipio pare fondarsi su due dichiarazioni di poetica che ne giustificano la genesi: la prima è, come già detto, la continuità con Play nel solco delle grandi mostre-evento, segnalando implicitamente la dignità mantenuta, se non rafforzata, del videogioco ad apparire in manifestazioni di questo tipo e la volontà di confermare il rapporto videogioco-arte come proficuo (qui ancora più esplicitamente che nell’evento romano); la seconda è la possibilità di costruire percorsi differenziati e indicare linee di sviluppo possibili del rapporto videogioco-arte-cultura. Dunque, sebbene la mostra abbia aspirato a divenire un punto di riferimento “generale” e una sintesi dello stato dell’arte dei rapporti fra videogioco e arte stessa, all’interno di essa, e del catalogo che ne riassume gli esiti, sono riconoscibili delle precise scelte curatoriali che si traducono in delle precise selezioni di artisti, opere, temi. Qualche anno fa sarebbe stato il videogioco “in quanto tale” ad apparire nell’esposizione (Play, come anche casi successivi, ad esempio la parigina Museogames : une histoire à rejouer, del 2010), mentre adesso i tempi sono maturi per potersi, invece, occupare dei dettagli interni al videogioco e al gioco, selezionare casi specifici, delle volte anche marginali rispetto alla dimensione mainstream del mezzo.

Se questa interpretazione è corretta possiamo provare a verificare quali siano alcune delle linee tematiche intraprese dal testo, seguendo le diverse ramificazioni dell’evento. La prima è la questione della identità – possibile, impossibile o instabile – “nazionale” del videogioco, ossia l’oggetto dei due saggi gemelli iniziali di Domenica Quaranta e Matteo Bittanti – gli studiosi che con più costanza negli ultimi anni si sono occupati dei rapporti fra arte e videogioco in Italia. Il primo disegna dei brevi profili degli artisti italiani più significativi nel campo in questione, il secondo prova a problematizzare, rispetto ad esso, il concetto di italianità.

Un altro nucleo di interventi è quello dedicato all’homo ludens. Ci si riferisce segnatamente al saggio di Ruggero Eugeni, rivolto al processo di ludicizzazione dei media contemporanei, e quello di Chiara Di Stefano, attento alla fusione fra gioco ed attività sociale, con particolare riferimento al serious gaming.
Un terzo gruppo di saggi è dedicato a memoria, conservazione e obsolescenza del medium (Charans, Mc Manus, Fallica 3).
Un quarto gruppo di analisi, quello centrale negli obiettivi dei curatori, è quello rivolto al rapporto fra arti e videogioco, fortemente propugnato quale strutturale nei saggi di Debora Ferrari ed Elena Di Raddo.

Un ulteriore insieme di interventi, in una specificazione del precedente, si occupa di rapporti fra videogioco e “altre arti”, come la fotografia (Casero), l’architettura (in uno stimolante studio sui concetti di non-luogo e iper-luogo applicati al videogame di Alessandra Coppa), la letteratura – nella specifica declinazione del romanzo picaresco (Nicolini). Vi è un’altra articolazione di questo gruppo in cui si analizzano un’artista o un’opera d’arte, propriamente intesi, che abbiano relazioni con la dimensione ludica (You can’t stop o Metamorfosi neoludiche per Marianna Santoni, quali testi più estesi, oltre a un certo numero di brevi medaglioni dedicati a singole opere e artisti)

Una quinta serie di interventi potrebbe definirsi come l’indagine di alcuni prodotti specifici. Si tratta di analisi dedicate a testi con una spiccata vocazione artistica pur rimanendo “videogiochi” e non opere d’arte ispirate agli stessi (si parla, in particolare, della serie Oddworld e delle realizzazioni dei Tale of Tales).

Una sesta sezione comprende quelli che potremmo definire testimonianze esperienziali (Falica 1, D’Alessandro, Balzerani) o testi-Manifesto, dalla spiccata evocatività, che prevale nettamente sulla vocazione analitica, e, stilisticamente, impregnati di umori che richiamano una funzione poetico-artistica più che descrittiva (Luca Traini)

Quanto qui rappresentato non ripercorre pedissequamente la successione dei saggi così come presentata dai curatori, quanto piuttosto una possibile ricostruzione alternativa. Da questo si può dedurre una delle caratteristiche del testo: l’essere un patchwork di approcci, metodologie, temi. Il numero alto degli interventi (anche in virtù della loro relativa brevità) favorisce possibili aggregazioni libere degli stessi, seguendo un percorso di lettura non necessariamente lineare: si potrebbe intravedere in questa possibile strategia di lettura un principio interno di “ludicizzazione” del testo, solidale all’oggetto indagato. Sebbene poco sopra se ne sia provata una catalogazione, questi stessi interventi, ancora una volta in virtù della loro scioltezza e sintesi, non sono sempre catalogabili come appartenenti ad un genere o uno stile scientifico, piuttosto che cronachistico o testimoniale. Verrebbe deluso, dunque, chi si attendesse un libro che segua i criteri usuali della delle edited collection accademiche, o un catalogo di una mostra che agisca secondo criteri storico-filologici, vagliando possibili, timide, nuove acquisizioni storiche (secondo il “modello Scuderie del Quirinale”per le grandi mostre pop dei pittori di età rinascimentale e moderna). Quanto si ha è piuttosto un libro “d’avanguardia”, schierato e politico in un certo senso (nel suo sostegno alla “artisticità” del mezzo videoludico in continuità con quelle delle arti visive propriamente dette e nel suo essere “ludico” come detto), ma anche un libro “artistico” in sé. Va fatto cenno, infatti, alla, molto accurata e gradevole, veste estetica: carta patinata, come a catalogo si addice, e capitoli introdotti da due pagine vuote, dai colori accesi, sulle quali risalta una scritta, che trapassa dalla prima alla seconda pagina, nella quale è illustrata una delle funzioni che possiamo trovare su un registratore o player video o nei contenuti speciali di un film homevideo o di un videogioco stesso (Rec, Rew, Play, Forw, Extra Content, Bonus). In ogni capitolo la prima pagina di ciascun saggio o introduzione alle immagini viene presentata nello stesso colore con cui vengono proposte le due pagine introduttive del capitolo stesso. Le illustrazioni, a colori, sono molte e di ottima qualità, sia all’interno dei saggi più ampi, con funzione illustrativa o di accompagnamento, che con valore autonomo, in piccole raccolte di immagini di solito riconducibili ad un unico autore, introdotte da una breve nota critica. Questa ultima sezione, assieme a quella dei testi-Manifesto, dunque, conferma quanto accennato in precedenza: di un catalogo di una mostra si tratta e dunque di un “libro d’arte”, ma anche di “libro-arte”, di un libro-gioco, che richiama alla mente qualche stimolante provocazione avanguardistica.

–Tutte le immagini appartengono ai rispettivi proprietari e sono usate ai soli fini accademici. –

Categoria: 2/2013 Books, 2/2013 Critical Notes | Tags: Federico Giordano

T. Mott (a cura di), A. Dresseno (ed. it.), 1001 videogiochi da non perdere

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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1001 videogiochi da non perdere è un ambizioso volume che mira a raccogliere e catalogare alcuni tra i videogiochi più significativi pubblicati dal 1979 al 2010: 1001 giochi selezionati, 1001 schede dettagliate in cui vengono riportati titolo, data di pubblicazione, piattaforma, sviluppatore e genere, sempre corredate da almeno un’immagine esemplificativa, 1001 scelte operate dal curatore del volume, nonché caporedattore di EDGE, Tony Mott. 1001 come numero “simmetrico”, come lo definisce lo stesso Mott nell’introduzione, ma anche come le Mille e una notte, forse: un compendio di universi narrativi in cui immergersi, per parafrasare Andrea Dresseno, autore di una delle due interessanti prefazioni al volume, nonché curatore dell’edizione italiana.

Perché, in fondo, questa enciclopedia ha una doppia funzione: quella di raccogliere e catalogare in maniera oggettiva e puntuale il materiale videoludico di maggior interesse, distribuito dal 1979 a oggi e quella, non meno importante, anche se più “nascosta”, di permettere al lettore di rivivere non solo le storie dei giochi, ma le proprie storie connesse a quei giochi. Il senso di nostalgia e di memoria, di “amarcord” anche, riportato da Peter Molyneaux nella prefazione originale, è infatti lo stesso che ho provato sfogliando le pagine del volume. Se, all’inizio, pensavo di trovarmi davanti a un freddo resoconto di più di trent’anni di videogiochi, ben presto mi sono resa conto che di freddo non c’era niente. E così, sfogliando le pagine di questa enciclopedia, ho riaperto i cassetti della memoria che contenevano giochi dimenticati su cui ho passato ore e giorni e settimane della mia infanzia e della mia adolescenza.

Un “regalo” collaterale non da poco, da parte di un volume sostanzioso (960 pagine) che ha un prezzo comunque accessibile (€35) e che contiene schede complete, ma sintetiche. Oltre ai dati sul singolo gioco, l’autore di ogni scheda propone una breve recensione che serve sia a descrivere il gioco che a contestualizzarlo nel panorama videoludico dell’anno di uscita, o a dettagliarne l’impatto sui titoli successivi. Le informazioni riportate dagli autori (che sono quasi 40 per tutta l’enciclopedia) denotano una profonda conoscenza non solo del gioco in questione, ma anche delle ispirazioni precedenti e delle influenze successive del titolo, le migrazioni tra diverse console, le peculiarità del titolo rispetto ai “cugini” dello stesso genere. In alcuni casi, vengono addirittura segnalate le versioni di giochi retrò attualmente in vendita su piattaforme come Steam, Xbox Live, Wii, PlayStation Network. Ogni videogioco è accompagnato da un’immagine esemplificativa che non è mai la semplice immagine di copertina, bensì uno screen capture del gioco vero e proprio, che ci comunica immediatamente la cifra stilistica, le scelte grafiche e artistiche, nonché il mood del titolo.

La traduzione della versione italiana è estremamente curata: la terminologia specifica è ricca e appropriata, i concetti sono resi in modo fedele e corretto (la scrittura che riguarda il mondo di EDGE, di solito, è di solito articolata e complessa). Grazie alla cura con cui è stato realizzato e tradotto, il volume può essere considerato un versatile supporto sia per videogiocatori nostalgici che vogliono “fare il punto” sul proprio passato videoludico, sia per chi questo passato non l’ha mai conosciuto direttamente, sia per gli accademici che possono aver bisogno di un compendio quasi omni-comprensivo per un riferimento serio e attendibile per ricerche e approfondimenti.

La selezione dei 1001 titoli presentati nel volume potrà sicuramente essere discutibile (e discussa): troppi coin-op, forse, e qualche casa di produzione indipendente che viene completamente trascurata (penso, ad esempio, alla francese Lexis Numérique, che ha prodotto interessanti titoli come In Memoriam ed Experience 112), o ancora serie come Alone in the Dark a cui non viene dato il peso che si meritano. Tuttavia, la discrezionalità della scelta non può squalificare quello che è un lavoro sicuramente approfondito, appassionato e curato e che può, con ogni diritto, essere considerato una pietra miliare nell’editoria videoludica.

–Tutte le immagini appartengono ai rispettivi proprietari e sono usate ai soli fini accademici. –

Categoria: 2/2013 Books, 2/2013 Critical Notes | Tags: Valentina Paggiarin

D. Compagno. Dezmond. Una lettura di Assassin’s Creed 2

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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In questo diciottesimo volume della floridissima collana “Ludologica. Videogames d’autore”, curata da Matteo Bittanti e Gianni Canova per l’editore Unicopli, Compagno propone un’analisi semiotica di Assassin’s Creed 2 gestendo con grande maestria la complessità del metodo scelto. S/Z di Roland Barthes, richiamato anche nella storipiatura del nome del protagonista del gioco – Desmond – nel titolo del libro, non è infatti il più semplice punto di partenza per un analisi che si propone di rendere conto di come funziona il blockbuster di Ubisoft e di individuare “le ragioni per cui ha il senso che ha e non un altro”. Tuttavia utilizzare il metodo di Barthes permette all’autore da un lato di considerare a priori il gioco come a tutti gli effetti un linguaggio e di conseguenza di analizzarlo come tale; dall’altro di ragionare sul videogioco come un medium con numerosi tratti comuni ad altri media, un oggetto insomma studiabile con gli strumenti teorici affinati in altri campi. L’autore del resto, semiologo di professione, non si pone il dubbio sulla leggibilità del videogioco come testo semiotico, prendendo una scelta metodologica chiara e decisa fin dalle prime pagine.

Compagno si propone quindi di rallentare il testo, suddividendolo in lessie (ne elencherà la bellezza di duecento), e di analizzarne con cura ogni passaggio, con particolare attenzione alla struttura narrativa. Nel metodo barthesiano infatti il testo va osservato a fondo in modo da poterne estrapolare ogni possibile significato, tenendo ben presente che l’esempio di massimo interesse è il cosidetto “testo illeggibile” e di conseguenza dotato di un potenziale infinito di senso. I riferimenti trasversali a livello culturale individuati dall’autore sono numerosi e ben argomentati, dalla cultura classica a quella strettamente videoludica, ma è nel capitolo conclusivo che la lettura principale del testo emerge: Assassin’s Creed 2 sarebbe, con buona pace dei game designer di Ubisoft, la perfetta metafora di una seduta psicanalitica, con il lettino dell Animus a fare da supporto e il viaggio nei ricordi dei propri antenati a rappresentare la ricerca nel proprio passato di momenti significativi che si riverberano nel presente. Un viaggio nell’inconscio che porta Desmond a riconoscere e rielaborare il conflitto con i propri genitori e con le figure che ne fanno le veci, scoprendo al contempo la missione che gli è dettata dal diritto di nascita.

Se si vuole trovare un limite all’analisi di Compagno, si potrebbe dire che essa sembra eccessivamente ancorata all’aspetto narrativo del gioco, lasciando ogni considerazione sulle specifiche qualità ludiche del testo a osservazioni estemporanee. Una, la più interessante forse, richiama la presa di posizione semiotica e narratologica dell’autore accennata in apertura: egli distingue due tipologie di interattività, push e pull, con la prima a caratterizzare un gameplay, il cui estremo è il free roaming, in cui è il giocatore a prendere delle decisioni sui percorsi da affrontare e la seconda a descrivere invece un gameplay pre-scriptato, in cui il giocatore semplicemente viaggia sui binari della sceneggiatura del gioco. I videogiochi migliori secondo Compagno sono quelli che riescono a equilibrare queste due fasi senza lasciare il giocatore in balia di sé stesso, privo di un’idea su come continuare, e senza costringerlo all’interno di vincoli troppo rigidi e invalicabili, rendendo l’esperienza di gioco noiosa. Chi sostiene invece una posizione rigidamente ghettizzante per il medium insiste invece sulla sua vocazione esclusivamente pull accettandone inflitrazioni push solo nella forma assoluta del sandbox. Condivisibili o meno, queste posizioni rimandano a un dibatto fra ludologia e narratologia da tempo sopito, ma mai veramente risolto. Dezmond è, per concludere, un testo ben scritto, in grado di far convivere due nature all’apparenza profondamente contraddittorie: da un lato è una lettura specialistica per semiologi; dall’altro è rivolto anche e sopratutto ai profani, grazie a una struttura profondamente modulare e ordinata che isola il linguaggio specifico senza intaccare la scorrevolezza e la solidità di un’interpretazione di Assassin’s Creed 2 a tratti illuminante.

–Tutte le immagini appartengono ai rispettivi proprietari e sono usate ai soli fini accademici. –

Categoria: 2/2013 Books, 2/2013 Critical Notes | Tags: Mauro Salvador

Tra advergame e mappe online: contaminazioni tra Street View e discorso pubblicitario

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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Molti servizi di cartografia online – Google Maps 6, Bing Maps 7, Nokia Maps 8, Yandex Maps 9 e altri ancora – permettono di esplorare alcuni luoghi da un punto di vista quasi in soggettiva, come se l’utente si trovasse effettivamente sul posto. Sistemi di questo tipo creano l’illusione di un ambiente tridimensionale disponendo lungo percorsi lineari molti panorami, ovvero delle visuali a 360° ottenute incollando diverse fotografie.

L’estetica di Google Street View e di prodotti simili fa ormai parte dell’immaginario collettivo dei media digitali. In queste pagine, si descriveranno nello specifico tre advergame 10 che, tra il 2011 e il 2012, hanno preso in prestito lo stilema del panorama pseudo-tridimensionale tipico delle mappe online e l’hanno ulteriormente ri-mediato adattandolo a finalità promozionali e ludiche.

La visuale in prima persona nella cartografia digitale
Google Street View, un servizio integrato in Google Maps e Google Earth, non è stato il primo sito web a permettere di esaminare immagini geografiche quasi in prima persona – ma oggi è senz’altro il più noto e riconoscibile. Street View è stato presentato al pubblico il 25 maggio 2007, prima mostrando le immagini di alcune città degli Stati Uniti ed estendendo poi il servizio ad altre nazioni. Oggi, si può accedere a Street View attraverso Google Maps, Google Earth oppure tramite app dedicate sulle piattaforme mobile.

Street View ottiene un effetto simile alla visione tridimensionale in soggettiva mettendo in sequenza un gran numero di panorami bidimensionali acquisiti con uno strumento apposito – uno speciale apparecchio fotografico dotato di nove obiettivi, di un sensore GPS e di un apparato in grado di misurare la distanza degli oggetti circostanti. Questo macchinario, montato su veicoli che percorrono gli spazi desiderati, può digitalizzare immagini con un campo visivo di trecentosessanta gradi associando coordinate geografiche precise a ciascun set di fotografie scattate. Il sistema sovrappone alle fotografie una linea continua semi-trasparente che indica i percorsi lungo cui l’utente può muoversi; in prossimità di incroci e biforcazioni appaiono più linee per evidenziare le scelte possibili. Gli spazi quasi tridimensionali creati con questo sistema vengono visitati spostandosi lungo percorsi predefiniti e decidendo la direzione del proprio sguardo utilizzando la tastiera o il mouse. In realtà, l’utente di Street View non muove un proprio avatar in un vero continuum tridimensionale ma si limita a passare da un punto discreto all’altro – l’illusione del movimento viene resa in modo ipersemplificato con un effetto di dissolvenza incrociata. All’interno di Google Maps, infine, gli utenti possono attivare la modalità 3D steroscopic, ottenendo una versione stereoscopica che richiede l’uso di occhiali con lenti rosse e ciano.

Si presenteranno nei paragrafi seguenti tre advergame ispirati a Street View e, successivamente, se ne discuteranno alcune caratteristiche ludiche e persuasive.

Mercedes-Benz: Escape the Map
Nel novembre 2011, Mercedes-Benz ha lanciato in Inghilterra la campagna pubblicitaria Escape The Map 11 per promuovere la sua autovettura C63 AMG.

Si è trattato di un progetto multipiattaforma che – a fianco del sito principale escapethemap.com – si è articolato sui social media 12, su affissioni alle fiancate degli autobus londinesi, su banner pubblicitari nella homepage di YouTube e, infine, in una partnership col quotidiano free-press Metro per pubblicare alcuni elementi in realtà aumentata 13.

La parte propriamente ludica di Escape The Map consisteva in un breve videogioco, un filmato interattivo con alcuni punti di biforcazione o arresto della trama in base agli input dell’utente. All’inizio dell’esperienza videoludica, Marie – co-protagonista del gioco – si presenta all’utente spiegando di essere intrappolata nella versione Street View di Hong Kong e di dover fuggire dalla mappa prima il suo viso diventi permanentemente sfocato – come quello di tutti gli “abitanti” di Street View 14. Quindi, l’obiettivo del giocatore è condurla lungo il filmato interattivo verso la via d’uscita dalla mappa virtuale in direzione del mondo reale.

Il livello di difficoltà di Escape The Map è – come di consuetudine per gli advergame attuali – decisamente basso: la sfida proposta al giocatore è minima per essere accessibile al maggior numero di utenti e per massimizzare la portata del messaggio promozionale. Escape the Map è, infatti, sostanzialmente costruito su un’unica clip audiovisiva caratterizzata da pochi punti in cui è richiesta un’interazione – per esempio, scegliere un percorso o un altro oppure digitare un indirizzo stradale in una barra di navigazione. La porzione filmica del gioco si basa su una serie di sequenze soggettive in prima persona, con un montaggio minimo, che mostrano il procedere del giocatore attraverso l’advergame. Rispetto alle piccole dimensioni complessive del gioco, la quantità di effetti speciali digitali impiegata è considerevole – i visual di Escape the Map sono realizzati per richiamare l’estetica di Street View, mostrando all’interno della diegesi puntatori, indicazioni stradali, una search box e altri elementi che di norma apparterebbero all’interfaccia. Sono inoltre presenti altri effetti visivi che simulano le imperfezioni e la bassa risoluzione tipiche del caricamento delle mappe online con una connessione lenta. Infine, la sfocatura dei volti – una caratteristica accidentale inserita da Google in Street View per rispettare le maggiori leggi sulla privacy – diventa parte fondamentale della narrazione di Escape the Map, una sorta di maledizione o di marchio che segna tutti coloro che sono intrappolati nella mappa da troppo tempo.

Unilever: Magnum Pleasure Hunt 2
Magnum Pleasure Hunt 2 – Around the World 15 è un advergame realizzato per promuovere il brand Magnum, una linea di gelati confezionati di proprietà di Unilever, ed è il seguito della campagna promozionale Magnum Pleasure Hunt 16 che, in precedenza, si era distinta per la sua efficacia nel coinvolgere un numero rilevante di giocatori 17.

Come il suo predecessore, Magnum Pleasure Hunt 2 è un’operazione di co-marketing: all’interno del gioco compaiono tanto i brand di Magnum quanto quelli di altri partner – nello specifico Bvlgari, Quiksilver, KLM Royal Dutch Airlines, Hotel Fasano e Bing.

Questo advergame è, in sintesi, un semplice gioco del genere platform in cui il giocatore guida il proprio avatar raccogliendo il maggior numero di power-up marchiati Magnum lungo un percorso che viene rappresentato a volte in due e altre volte in tre dimensioni. L’intreccio narrativo mostra la protagonista del gioco attraversare diversi luoghi, New York, Parigi, Rio de Janeiro; in questo girovagare, i servizi cartografici Bing Maps e Bing Streetside – analoghi a quelli prodotti da Google discussi in precedenza – funzionano come trait d’union tra un livello di gioco e il successivo. Così, le transizioni che adottano le visuali di Bing Maps mettono in relazione luoghi differenti: si vede la protagonista, per esempio, digitare il nome di un negozio in una barra di navigazione apparentemente extradiegetica per teletrasportarsi al suo interno, come se cambiare punto di vista su Bing Streetside corrispondesse a un vero e proprio spostamento fisico all’interno del mondo finzionale del gioco.

State Farm: Chaos in Your Town
Chaos in Your Town 18 non è propriamente un advergame ma uno strumento interattivo e giocoso, messo a disposizione dalla compagnia assicurativa nordamericana State Farm per creare alcuni videoclip personalizzati da condividere sui propri siti di social networking o da inviare agli amici.

Questo prodotto riprende i temi narrativi e visuali che State Farm aveva già esplorato in un precedente spot pubblicitario televisivo intitolato State of Chaos 19 nel quale compaiono due personaggi che commentano, con calma serafica, la distruzione di un quartiere da parte di un robot gigante.

Chaos in Your Town richiede all’utente di inserire nel sistema un indirizzo stradale reale, possibilmente quello della propria abitazione. Se questo si trova in un’area coperta dal servizio di Google Street View, viene generato automaticamente un filmato il cui lo stesso robot distruttore già apparso nello spot televisivo cammina attraverso le strade vicine all’indirizzo inserito per poi andare a disintegrare l’edificio indicato dall’utente. Il filmato così ottenuto può, infine, essere condiviso tramite email o social media.

Da un punto di vista formalmente ludologico, Chaos in Your Town non contiene gli elementi che caratterizzano videogiochi e advergame – in specifico mancano condizioni di vittoria e sconfitta, e l’interattività è ridotta alla semplice immissione di un indirizzo stradale. Si tratta, tuttavia, di un interessante esperimento di un uso creativo delle immagini e dei database di Google per creare un output che potrebbe essere uno dei primissimi esempi di estetica machinima prestata al discorso promozionale.

Sul senso di Street View in questi advergame
Le contaminazioni tra i servizi di mappe online e le pratiche di advergaming si articolano, come si è delineato finora, a diversi livelli. In questi ultimi paragrafi se ne proporrà una descrizione più sistematica partendo dai livelli figurativi e proseguendo verso le componenti contestuali, procedurali e di design.

Tutti e tre gli esempi considerati incorporano nelle proprie componenti visuali – figurative o eidetiche – numerosi elementi tipici di Street View o di servizi simili. Si va da elementi che transitano direttamente dallo spazio diegetico delle mappe online a quello ludico-narrativo dei giochi (per esempio, i volti sfuocati in Escape the Map – uguali dal punto di vista visivo a quelli presenti in Street View ma dal contenuto narrativo assai diverso) fino ad altri che hanno origine nello spazio paratestuale dell’interfaccia e invadono lo spazio ludico/narrativo (per esempio, la protagonista di Pleasure Hunt 2 che allunga la mano verso una search box esterna al proprio riquadro per scrivervi dentro 20, oppure i puntatori giganti che cadono e bloccano la strada in Escape the Map 21).

Dal punto di vista della composizione e del montaggio delle immagini in movimento, soprattutto Pleasure Hunt 2 gioca con la limitazione tecnica che fa sì che, in Street View, i passanti appaiano perennemente immobili, congelati sul posto mentre il punto di vista dell’utente è mobile.

La mobilità dell’avatar, opposta all’immobilità dei passanti, è una caratteristica su cui Pleasure Hunt 2 insiste particolarmente costruendovi attorno sia delle transizioni non interattive (per esempio, la protagonista che ruba un surf a un passante immobile), sia degli elementi di level design.

Dal punto di vista delle competenze enciclopediche e contestuali del giocatore, le immagini mostrate hanno almeno una componente di verosimiglianza: si indicano luoghi reali, e li si visualizza (almeno in un primo momento) nella stessa modalità che si adotterebbe se si accedesse a Google Maps. Tuttavia, i prestiti che i tre advergame traggono dalle immagini di Street View hanno una doppia valenza. Da un lato, alcune delle località selezionate ancorano la pratica videoludica a luoghi specifici con connotazione mitica ed esotica (Parigi, Rio de Janeiro, Hong Kong) che rimandando a narrazioni socialmente condivise sui temi del lusso, del piacere e della lontananza/alterità. Dall’altro, Chaos in Your Town chiede all’utente – già a partire dal titolo – di inserire il proprio indirizzo stradale personale e di ridere riconoscendo delle strade che dovrebbero essere familiari mentre vengono devastate da un robot distruttore. Questi gameplay, in altri termini, ri-mediano e contengono una pratica di secondo livello (utilizzare una mappa online) e, così facendo, mettono in atto una duplice strategia semiotica: nei primi due titoli, è presente un riferimento a luoghi lontani, esotici, evocativi; mentre Chaos in Your Town acquista senso principalmente se l’utente ha modo di riconoscere luoghi a lui familiari.

Inoltre, è interessante considerare la rappresentazione degli spostamenti nello spazio, che in tutti e tre gli advergame descritti avvengono spesso quasi istantaneamente. In altre parole, le narrazioni messe in scena dai tre giochi includono al proprio interno almeno una sorta di teletrasporto. Il robot devastatore di Chaos in Your Town compare dal nulla nel bel mezzo della città da distruggere. La Mercedes di Escape the Map, una volta raggiunta la fine del percorso, lascia Hong Kong attraverso un portale luminoso. Infine, l’esempio più significativo, la protagonista di Pleasure Hunt 2 si sposta all’interno di Parigi in molti modi, tra cui digitando in una search box Bvlgari store e premendo invio per teletrasportarsi al suo interno.

Quello che accade qui è una sorta di contaminazione procedurale, per cui una caratteristica del funzionamento delle mappe online (il feedback immediato alle richieste dell’utente) transita nella rappresentazione dello spostamento, rendendolo istantaneo come la ricerca su Google Maps.

In conclusione, gli esempi trattati in queste pagine sembrano essere discretamente efficaci dal punto di vista di un discorso pubblicitario e persuasivo. Tutti e tre collocano il brand pubblicizzato in una narrazione compiuta, dando una certa libertà d’azione all’utente senza che il marchio sia mai oscurato e collegando l’immagine della marca ad altre componenti significative (il lusso e l’esotico per Magnum, la damigella in pericolo per Mercedes e la distruzione imprevista per State Farm). I tre advergame, inoltre, fanno riferimento a una pratica ben nota all’utente – l’uso di mappe online – per contestualizzare e ancorare il gameplay nella sua esperienza quotidiana. Purtroppo, ciò che invece è deludente per produzioni tecnicamente raffinate è la qualità propriamente ludica: manca una sfida rivolta al giocatore, gli elementi interattivi sono presenti solo per coinvolgere l’utente e non per presentare argomentazioni persuasive. L’effetto a cui si arriva è quello di un buon prodotto virale, da inoltrare agli amici, ma certamente non a una persuasione tramite meccaniche di gioco.

–Tutte le immagini appartengono ai rispettivi proprietari e sono usate ai soli fini accademici. –

Categoria: 2/2013 Critical Notes, 2/2013 Games | Tags: Gabriele Ferri

Union yes? Computer game design, management, and labor relations

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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This interview is excerpted from a series of meetings we conducted with Joshua Peery in 2011 and 2012. Mr. Peery is a game developer and project manager who has worked for Icarus Studios, Aten, Electrotank, and Carbine Studios on titles such as Fallen Earth 22, Imagine Town 23, and Wildstar 24. In this interview, he talks about team management, development crunch time, the possibilities for widespread industry unionization, and more.

Our conversations with Mr. Peery were initiated as part of a broader and multi-institutional project exploring computer game labor and laborers. The principle goal of the project is to reveal the political and interpersonal economies of contemporary game development, economies that are fundamental to the games people play and the cultures that arise from that play. These economies are not yet well understood, however, in large part because of the game industry’s generally secretive nature. Game developers are bound by all manner of legal agreements and directives designed to protect intellectual property and real and potential profits. As a result, game workers typically are not able to share the realities of their jobs except for casually and with each other. Hence our interest in and study of game labor: we want to better understand and disseminate the processes by which play is made into work, and work into play. Indeed, it is only by unpacking the art and craft of game development that scholars can fully illuminate the nature, practice, and implications of computer game play.

While we have interviewed a range of game industry personnel for this project, from product testers and designers to project managers and attorneys, we selected this interview to share because of its timely connection to the broad and multi-industry labor issues currently in play in Europe and the United States. Organized labor power in general is facing a frontal assault on both sides of the Atlantic, with the Eurozone pursuing aggressive austerity measures on pensions and US businesses and politicians working to dismantle collective bargaining. And yet in this interview, the decidedly anti-union Mr. Peery argues that labor unions make particular sense for the game industry. He is deeply critical of industry practice, of its idiosyncrasies and failure to conduct business in ways that are de rigueur in other commercial spheres. This is not the picture painted by the game industry nor the popular press, however, which work hard to hide the work of game development and also cast it as creative play. Mr. Peery’s insights are thus both topical and counterhegemonic, an insider’s perspective and call for action on the state of working at play.

How did you come to develop games for a living?
Well, I came to the games industry in a roundabout way. I was working full time as a construction estimator while finishing my B.A. in English and Film at North Carolina State University. I entered the M.A. program there, and during my second semester an email came across the student listserv from Icarus Studios—the company was looking for writers. I was a long time video and table top/pen and paper gamer, so on a lark I applied. I also thought it would be nice to work for an industry that actually valued what I had been studying in college. I sent in my resume, some writing samples, and a scenario I designed for Mordheim 25, a miniatures skirmish game. The material I sent was a perfect fit for Lead Designer Lee Hammock’s tastes. He was a Mordheim fan, and one of my other pieces was novella set in Glen Cook’s Black Company IP 26, another of Lee’s favorites. As a result, I got a one-on-one interview with Lee, and then later a group interview with the producer, the team I’d be joining, and the person I would be replacing. At the second interview, I brought a war games campaign system I had designed and self-published. Later, I was told that the manual for that system was a large part of me getting hired, which was in November of 2007.

And you were hired as a writer?
The title was never clear, but yes, the position entailed writing, design, implementation, and, since I had a knack for it, world building. This was for Fallen Earth, an MMORPG. After about a year, I was given more responsibility for the game’s content. and eventually I was tasked with writing/designing for two of the six player factions, and writing for two of the NPC factions, one of which was a major one. Being a relatively small team, however, we also had to develop block zone and neutral content.

By the second year, the producer, who had never really looked at my resume, found out that I had been a project manager during my construction years, and I started taking on producer and SCRUM (a project management modality) duties. Lee, who hired me, left for greener pastures, and Icarus began looking to promote from within. The job was eventually split three ways, and I was asked to head up the content team as leader. Three weeks later, right when the Blood Sports expansion was supposed to ship, things went south. Icarus Studios was largely a CEO/owner operator driven LLC, with private investments driving the development of Fallen Earth. The day before the shipment of the Blood Sports discs, the primary investor pulled the funding. Icarus management tried to sell the game but couldn’t. The company was supposed to be a tools firm, and Fallen Earth the showcase. Eventually, Icarus did find a new money source: GamersFirst, which took over APB: All Points Bulletin 27 after the colossal failures surrounding it.

Supposedly, the reason that funding got pulled for Blood Sports was it was the last of several near misses, and perhaps the funder didn’t have any faith left. Also it’s possible that they didn’t like how the money was being used. One issue rumored was that money earmarked for marketing was used for development. Ultimately, I feel that the funder didn’t like the subscription numbers and wanted to liquidate via a sale, which management wasn’t able to pull off. Really it was a combination of economy panic and a burned out investor relationship.

Anyway, as a result of the defunding, everyone on the project was laid off, except the two people above me. Within a few weeks, I was brought back on a contract basis. Money was tight for the firm—it was just barely staying afloat. The contract lasted five weeks, and then the company needed to “juggle” talent. I was switched for an artist and a programmer, and found myself in the unique position of not having the years of experience to match the title I had earned. The bad economy was also finally starting to hit the games industry.

From July until January, I had a lot of interviews and close calls. I was also considering some faculty positions. At that point, two colleagues from Icarus, one who left before the cull and one who was coming off a tour of duty at CCP-Iceland, hired me to be a creative writer on a serious game for high school freshmen. A few weeks after I joined my colleagues, I started getting frantic emails and Facebook messages from Aten asking if I could start immediately on contract. The first messages came in around 11:30pm on New Year’s Eve, I believe. After a series of phone interviews a couple of weeks after I started at Aten, I also began working at Electrotank.

I worked at Aten for about 4 months taking core competencies (STEM – Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) documents from teachers and turning them into scenarios where the students learn and investigate situations and are then tested.

At Electrotank, I was hired to be an Associate Producer on Imagine Town and provide game designer acumen to the Ubisoft content that Electrotank was making/implementing in the game. But by the time I joined Electrotank, the game was almost done in terms of its design. I ultimately didn’t do much design—it was more like supervising day-to-day operations on the project. At the same time, though, I was splitting my time with another project. Electrotank founder, Jobe Makar, wanted to remake one of the games that made the company famous and pots of cash back in the day. So, I designed the leveling system, items, achievements, and got all the “branding” (i.e., world companies, NPCS, etc.) in the can.

Electrotank is largely contract and, with the release of Rinksters 28 and the eminent gold release of Imagine Town, contractors like me were no longer supported by the contract money the company was collecting to develop those titles. Hence, my departure from the company.

Six months more of interviewing and I ended up with offers from Eyes Wide Games, producing TV IP Facebook games, and Carbine Studios to design content on Wildstar.

I took the Carbine Studios offer and began in April 2012.

It sounds as if your career thus far has been fairly dynamic. Is that just luck of the draw, or is it something more systemic?
The game industry is very fluid with regard to labor. In fact, I knew that going in. It’s evolving into something like the film industry. Sometimes I think that the game industry may need unions, and if you knew me, you’d be surprised by that. Something is wrong with the “hire up, crunch time them to death, and fire on launch” stories I see over and over. Development houses should be up front (like film studios), have a transparent schedule, and let people know they are there only for a given project. MMO firms, if marginally successful, can sustain a service style company. But these fly-by-night game development houses are bad news.

How can you tell if a development house is fly-by-night given the extreme transience of the industry in general?
There are certain things I look for: the IP they hold, the money backing the company, and first-hand accounts of people working there.

If the game industry were to have a union (or set of unions), is there an exemplar?
I think film industry model would be good. Game writers could meld into the writers guild, for example. In fact, most game voice actors are unionized already. The real problem with the game industry is the fake crunch times and no warning lay-offs. Fake crunch is a cost cutting measure. You have people on salary, and thus there’s no overtime—it’s all work. The “hey you’re making games for a living” is a tired excuse for abusing labor, especially with the money games are making now. And then there are the disturbed developers who believe that crunch is a hard core honor.

There’s also another problem: a lot of the middle management and leadership in game development are people with zero management or business experience. Their training is on-the-job, but not formal. As a result, a culture of crunch is forming. My team at Icarus, which was well managed with high output designers, would come in on some crunch weekends, but we had nothing to do. We came in because others were behind.

Given your experiences, does crunch affect different members of the development team differently?
Oh there are double standards. I’ve seen salt miners treated better than some programmers. At the same time, artists tend to be treated with kid gloves. I don’t recall ever seeing an artist on crunch—if it wasn’t done, it was cut. I had to ride herd on the gun artist and animators to get the new models into the Blood Sports expansion. I think SCRUM is helping to bring art in games around, though—non-artists were giving artists too much leash.

The thing is, I think the game industry can’t or won’t pay for the highly motivated, most talented artists out there. Those folks go into other fields like film, advertising, television, or corporate branding. Most of the artists I’ve met went to an art trade school, not a design college. Granted, they can be every bit as talented, but perhaps less disciplined.

Have the various roles you have occupied in the industry over the years given you access to investor relations, or are such things kept distinct from the development side?
My sense of investor relations comes mostly second hand, but from those in the know. Coming to the game industry after my first career and being somewhat older, my age peers are the management, and that’s with whom I tend to chew the fat. Investor relations are generally not part of the developer’s every day. We usually only come in contact with that sphere when needed to wow the investors with a tangible, creative part of the game (e.g., demo explanations). That said, I have been approached by investors to work on projects to attract further investment or sell outright. Recently, that’s been the case with the expanding role of Unity 3D as a platform. Sometimes the approach comes with the promise of future compensation (e.g., money, stock options, etc.), but a lot of the time it’s for resume fodder (i.e., games published). Thank goodness for Kongregate (http://www.kongregate.com/).

With Kongregate, a developer creates a game, it is published on the Kongregate site, and then used to solicit funding for further development?
Well, Kongrgate will pay out if a game gets lots of players, but in general it’s like NASCAR: show a fast car—in this case, a good game—and get a sponsor or get hired to work for a better team. At least that’s the theory. I’ve got a colleague who feels that large firms are flooding Kongregate with betas, which squeezes out smaller developers. Three-person teams can’t compete with ten to twenty-person teams, and less attention is paid to smaller games…which are smaller because of time/asset constraints. Plus, the big companies have brand recognition on their side. It’s a professionals versus college game, if you will. And when it comes to the design competitions Kongregate holds, the bigger firms win from pure labor standpoint: more polish, fuller design, more people contributing in same amount of time. Game design is iterative, in my opinion, and the more time and/or people a game gets, the better it can do.

How does management in the game industry differ from the management you did as a construction estimator?
Actually, the management processes are fairly similar: a budget, time frame, different disciplines working in conjunction to develop a single product, and so on. However, in construction, crunch time is paid by the people screwing up. It was a fairly smooth transition for me, other than having to endure what I saw as rookie management mistakes. The thing with the game industry is that those kinds of mistakes are pervasive. Just because you’re the best in a discipline doesn’t mean you can manage others. Electrotank bucked that pitfall: the founder wasn’t the CEO—the CEO was a Wharton MBA with other industry chops. Of the firms I’ve been with, it most reminded me of my other career, i.e., efficient. It would be great if managers in the game industry had at least some book training or management experience. Unfortunately, most game programs in schools today emphasize art or programming. If they could throw in a business or process engineering class, that would be awesome. Now, there are software engineering management programs, but game development is different than software development. It’s not just code—it’s marketing, content, art. Nothing in cold programming is related, in my opinion. With software development, you’re developing a tool to do one thing (e.g., accounting). It’s much more clear cut than working with entertainment software.

Having worked as both a game designer and a project manager, what do you feel are the most important things to understand in each role?
For a manager, it’s important to understand that the development process is going to be a mixture of fluff and crunch, i.e., the technical versus the tangible. Managing art versus content versus scripters is a delicate balance, and it’s important to never promise what can’t be delivered. Never hype an unreleased product, and never ever promise a feature before a game goes live.

For a developer, it’s pretty much the same. SCRUM systems allow for the best case and worse case development cycle. Throw out a wish list of stuff you think you can do, but don’t be afraid to scale back. Be active and play all sorts of games, but play your own game in as close to real conditions as possible…that is, with real players and without cheats or back doors. It’s a way to find out real quick what is and isn’t fun. What looks good on paper or metric (game balance) can be boring as hell.

Given your sense of the industry, have you ever considered hiring your own team and opening a studio?
Working for yourself is the hardest job you’ll have, but the more I experience, the more it becomes attractive. If I were to hire, I would look for a combination of passion and skill, people who are trainable, people who want to make the best product they can. Outsourcing is common, but I don’t know that I’d outsource anything. I wouldn’t want paycheck designers. I’d want a game development society. The work environment is the most important thing for a firm. Management should be the last resort, so-to-speak, with the culture and proper hiring allowing for smooth operation. I would want to get people to commit to clear goals and then be held accountable, plus I would import something from the construction industry: the 90-day clause, signed up front. If you don’t fit in, you get let go.

What is the hiring process like?
Companies are real cautious on hires these days, especially hires that involve relocation. I think they should dispense with relocation packages and instead institute 90-day clauses. This would at least give them a chance to test people out in a less contrived manner. If they pass, then relocate them. And the process itself is much different than it used to be, with design tests and multiple phone interviews. Getting my first design job was simply two face-to-face interviews. There are still face-to-face interviews—eventually—but they’re more or less personality matching meet and greets. I don’t know about other industries, but with games it has gotten to be a real hassle to apply via non-nepotism channels. Part of it’s due to the general state of the economy, and part is due to failed hires. In fact, I’ve got colleague who’s currently interviewing for a slot left by a failed hire.

What are your career goals?
Ideally, I’d like to helm my own design company/project. Failing that, I’d stay in the industry for a while and then use my experience and M.A. to teach game writing and design. Actually, academia was my main course prior to going into games—I was going to school to teach film. My alma mater has a games research initiative chaired by the computer science and design colleges. I’m kind of hoping to convince them that they’re missing the content element of their efforts and that I should be teaching content development and writing for them. The thing is, game writing is unlike other sorts of writing in form, voice, and even measuring reader tolerance for reading it.

Categoria: 2/2013 Critical Notes, 2/2013 Miscellanea | Tags: Judd Ethan Ruggill, Ken S. McAllister

Technology evolution and perspective innovation. 3D and spatial depth today and yesterday

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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The second issue of G|A|M|E investigates 3D technologies and their implications for the video game world. The concept of 3D, in this context, refers to both stereoscopy and, more generally, tridimensional systems of representation that have been dominant in video games since the early 1990s. The contributions to this issue seek to provide a better understanding of the evolution of the technological and technical systems of representation. The articles individuate a time continuity inscribed in these systems, which — using Bolter and Grusin’s influential definition — refashion throughout multiple media. For this reason, G|A|M|E wants to build a parallel reflection between new technologies such as stereoscopic 3D, and established ones such as polygonal 3D.
The merging process between these two technologies is not only evident on an ontological level, where the stereoscopy often works optimally in conjunction with CGI, but also on a taxonomic level, calling for a discussion and clarification of the interplay between the two. In fact, while the history of 3D and stereoscopy is long and varied, the past few years have witnessed an increasing diffusion and commercialisation of stereoscopic devices, from the rise of stereoscopic cinema to the spread of 3D home screens and projectors. As a consequence, the concept of 3D — in relation to film production, distribution and exhibition — currently univocally identifies the phenomenon of stereoscopic vision. On the contrary, this same concept is problematic when applied to the video game medium. For instance, while the definition of 3D in video games historically addresses the shift from bidimensional to tridimensional graphic engines, this term has more recently been adopted in its cinematic acceptation – the one of stereoscopic vision – also in relation to the video game medium.

In a time when 3D presents itself as a problematic and ambiguous conceptual label, G|A|M|E intends to investigate its nature as both tridimensional graphic and stereoscopic vision. In this context, we want to reflect on the idea of tridimensionality, intended not only as the development and implementation of the stereoscopic vision. Instead, we also consider tridimensionality as a regime of representation which has been dominant in video games since the early 1990s, and is hereby reframed within the larger tradition of representation techniques that found its roots in the 15th century with the rise of the Albertian perspective.

We aim to develop this analysis on two layers. The first layer is external to the text and questions the nature of the video game as dispositif: a structure that requires a configuration between the player, the interface and the machine, and also takes into account the roles played by perspective and depth in this process. The second layer is internal and envisions an analysis within the text and its contents, working to critique the development of spatial depth and perspective in video games.

The issue is organised in two main sections. The first section reflects the interdisciplinary nature of this publication, its interest in the exploration of video game artefacts and video game culture in different fields of knowledge, and through a variety of methodological paradigms. Here, we propose a primary research line that focuses on the influence of the medium’s structure (the gaming machines and devices) over the spatial dimension of the text. It is characterised by a technical approach and discusses some key points in relation to the uses of stereoscopic 3D in contemporary video games.

Daniel Pietschmann, Benny Liebold, Georg Valtin and Peter Ohler examine the issue leading of the technical affordability of stereoscopic technologies. The authors discuss the application of cognitive mapping models which provide a functional deployment of depth cues in stereoscopic 3D video games. This operation — together with the implementation of NUIs (natural user interface) — is argued to be able to enhance and improve the UX (user experience) in effective and efficient ways.

Athanasios Petrovits and Alessandro Canossa discuss the paradox of impossible spaces in 3D systems of representation, presenting an account of the mathematical and geometrical implications of tridimensional representation. The article establishes an excursus on the development of perspective in video games, challenging the definition of impossible space in relation to each technology.

In the second section of this issue of G|A|M|E, the specific debate around stereoscopy and its technological application is contextualised within a wider theoretical framework. This second research line examines the aesthetic and structural repercussions in the development of the techniques of spatial representation. We wish to analyse the aesthetic, functional and economic reasons behind the development of new “perspectives” throughout the history of media leading up to video games. Moreover, these essays discuss the evolution of technologies and representational strategies in visual arts, debating their validity and applicability to the video game medium. Here, the authors argue the necessity for a theoretical debate that acknowledges a history of visual perception in order to provide a better understanding of the present and its contemporary forms of expression.

Audrey Larochelle questions the concept of graphical projection as used so far in video game critique, recasting its definition according to the different application of these techniques in the video games: from the establishment of perspective to the distinction between isometric, diametric and trimetric projection, the article operates a taxonomic study of the point of view construction in video games.

Dominic Arsenault and Pierre-Marc Côté investigate the concept of “graphical regime” in order to synthesise the aesthetic and functional aspects that determined the evolution of forms of representation in video games so far. The authors stress the need to surpass the materialistic interpretation of graphic evolution in video games, criticising the notion of “novelty” and its supposed ontological imperative. This discussion is surpassed — in a historical perspective — by a sense of “cementification” of the techniques of representation. The concept of graphical regimes is used to explain the interplay between technology, representation techniques and gameplay. The authors provide an interesting nomenclature for different visual and aesthetic levels of game design, introducing the process of mise-en-image as the concept that ties the representation to the interaction.

Altuğ Işığan elaborates a reflection in the problematic allocation of subject identity in linear perspective according to Lacanian theory. A considered analysis of the relationship between the establishment of subject identity and the access through the means of the perspective intends to surpass the inside/outside duality between the construction of the subject and the space building process through a comprehensive theory of gaze.

In the last feature article of this issue, Zoya Street presents a historical and critical account of game design in Dreamcast’s title Skies of Arcadia. Through a number of interviews with the designers of the game, the author describes the network and interplay between the software house and the production company. This eventually led to experimentation with 3D polygonal graphics, not only for technical reasons — the software house were required to showcase the graphic capacity of the console through the development of new titles –but also in order to achieve new levels of narrative design.

Finally, the last special section, titled Documents, contains two extras that complete this issue by providing alternative perspectives on this subject. Here, we present a research project run at the University of Montréal under the supervision of Dominic Arsenault. The project studies the connections between the technological evolution and the graphic innovations in the video game industry. In the second document, Antonio Catolfi and Enrico Menduni close the issue with some suggestions concerning the fringes of this topic, highlighting the need for historical reflection (on a diachronic level) and the importance of an intermedial dimension (on a synchronic level) of this debate, interpreting the provocative intellectual objective of this second issue of G|A|M|E.

Categoria: 2/2013 Journal | Tags: Editorial Board

Taking space literally: reconceptualizing the effects of stereoscopic representation on user experience

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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Recently, cinemas, home theater systems and game consoles have undergone a rapid evolution towards stereoscopic representation with recipients gradually becoming accustomed to these changes. Stereoscopy techniques in most media present two offset images separately to the left and right eye of the viewer (usually with the help of glasses separating both images) resulting in the perception of three-dimensional depth. In contrast to these mass market techniques, true 3D volumetric displays or holograms that display an image in three full dimensions are relatively uncommon. The visual quality and visual comfort of stereoscopic representation is constantly being improved by the industry. Digital games allow for intense experiences with their possibilities to provide visually authentic, life-like 3D environments and interaction with the game world itself and other players. Since the release of the Nintendo Wii in 2005 and later Sony Move as well as Microsoft Kinect (both 2010), modern console games use motion control in addition to the classic gamepad. Both the use of these natural user interfaces (NUIs) and stereoscopic representation determine the user experience (UX) with the system. The rise in popularity of these technologies has led to high expectations regarding an added value in entertainment, immersion, and excitement—especially of 3D games—as both technologies are employed to enable richer and deeper media experiences. For the commercial success of these technologies, the resulting UX has to be enjoyable and strain-free. Because this is not always the case, we have to understand the factors underlying the UX of stereoscopic entertainment media and natural user interfaces to improve it further.

In this paper, we review the current state of user experience research on stereoscopic games and the theoretical frameworks underlying it. We further argue that previous research primarily concentrated on direct effects of stereoscopic representation without considering interaction processes between input and output modalities. More specifically, UX should only be enriched if games enable users to meaningfully map mental representations of input (NUIs) and output (stereoscopic representation) space. We will show how the concept of mental models can account for both information channels and present implications for game studies and game design.

User Experience and Games
There are many different approaches to the concept and measurement of UX in games (Komulainen, Takatalo, Lehtonen & Nyman, 2008). UX is often defined as an umbrella term for all qualitative experiences a user has while interacting with a given product, and it reaches beyond the more task-oriented term usability (for an overview, see Bernhaupt, 2010 or Krahn, 2012). The ISO definition of UX focuses on a “user’s perception and responses resulting from the use or anticipated use of a product, system, service or game” (ISO FDIS 9241-210:2010, 2010).

Several other concepts are closely related to UX in games. Terms such as immersion (Murray, 1997; McMahan, 2003), flow (Ciskszentmihalyi, 1975), gameplay (Rollings & Adams, 2003), fun and playability are often used to explain UX from a game design point of view (Bernhaupt, Eckschlager, Tscheligi, 2007), and have been used to evaluate UX. Pietschmann (2009) analyzed further concepts of user experience from other fields of research for their application for UX research, such as presence (Biocca, 1997), cognitive absorption (Agarwal & Karahanna, 2000), gameflow (Sweetser & Wyeth, 2005), engagement (Douglas & Hargadon, 2000), and involvement (Witmer & Singer, 1998). A combined analysis revealed a high degree of consilience that suggests a considerable overlap between the concepts. Due to the multifaceted definition and operationalization of UX, the advancement of theory as well as results suffers from a lack of comparability.

The rise of consumer stereoscopic display technologies poses new challenges to the UX research in games as they claim to increase the visual authenticity. One of the main questions in this context is whether this increased visual authenticity in games automatically leads to an enhanced UX—and if so, what mechanisms exactly constitute this enhanced experience. Another challenge is the measurement of stereoscopic UX in video games.

Describing entertainment experiences based on the concept of (tele)presence has a theoretical and empirical background for the use in the research of interactive media (e.g. Tamborini & Skalski, 2006; Ravaja et al., 2006; Bae et al., 2012). Many studies focused on the measurement of presence, and a broad body of research with questionnaires as well as behavioral and psychophysiological measures exists (for an overview, see Baren & Ijsselsteijn, 2004) that can be employed in the research of UX in stereoscopic games.

Effects of Stereoscopic Representation in Different Media
Stereoscopic displays induce a convergence-accommodation conflict in the user because they present images at a fixed focal length (i.e. the distance to the screen) but vary the object convergence to simulate depth. During the fixation of real world objects both convergence and accommodation are closely linked, but the fixed focal length of a stereoscopic display results in a conflict within our visual system. As a result, viewing stereoscopic images can have negative short-term consequences, including difficulty fusing binocular images and therefore reduced binocular performance (Hiruma, Hashimoto & Takeda, 1996;MacKenzie & Watt, 2010). Consequently, a great deal of research focused on negative effects of stereoscopic displays such as visual discomfort or visual fatigue, and suggested how to avoid them (e.g. Häkkinen, Takatalo, Kilpeläinen, Salmimaa & Nyman, 2009; Tam, Speranza, Yano, Shimono & Ono, 2011; for a review see Lambooij, Ijsselsteijn, Fortuin & Heynderickx, 2009; Rajae-Joordens, 2008 and Howarth, 2011).

These negative effects are part of the concept of simulator sickness (SS) which is established in virtual reality research since the early 1980s (e.g. Frank, Kennedy, Kellogg & McCauley, 1983). It is usually measured via the simulator sickness questionnaire (SSQ; Kennedy, Lane, Berbaum & Lilienthal, 1993). Symptoms of SS have also been identified in studies on stereoscopic gaming. For example, Häkkinen, Pölönen, Takatalo & Nyman (2006) found that after stereoscopic representation of a car racing game, eye strain and disorientation symptoms were significantly elevated compared to non-stereoscopic modes of representation.

However, research also focused on positive effects of stereoscopic representation on UX in different media in order to investigate the industry’s claim of enriched UX. Ijsselsteijn, de Ridder, Freeman, Avons & Bowhuis (2001) studied positive and negative aspects in stereoscopic, non-stereoscopic, still, and moving video conditions. In all conditions, a video with a rally car traversing a curved track at high speed was shown to the participants. The results revealed a significant effect of stereoscopic representation on the subjective judgments of presence, but not on vection, involvement, or simulator sickness. However, they concluded that the presence ratings were more affected by image motion than by the stereoscopic effect.

Rajae-Joordens, Langendijk, Wilinski & Heynderickx (2005) reported similar findings: Experienced gamers played the first-person shooter Quake III: Arena in a stereoscopic and a non-stereoscopic condition. The participants reported increased presence and engagement in the stereoscopic condition but no symptoms of simulator sickness. The authors concluded that stereoscopic representation elicited more intense, realistic experiences, a er feeling of presence and thus a richer UX. Additionally, several studies found that stereoscopy enhances the user’s depth perception and eye-hand coordination in real world scenarios (e.g. McMahan, Gorton, Gresock, McConnell & Bowman, 2006).

Stereoscopic Representation Does Not Automatically Enhance User Experience
Contrary to earlier findings, recent studies found that stereoscopic representation in different media does not automatically improve UX. Takatalo, Kawai, Kaistinen, Nyman & Häkkinen (2011) used a hybrid qualitative-quantitative methodology to assess UX in three display conditions (non-stereoscopic, medium stereo separation, high stereo separation) playing the racing game Need for Speed Underground. They found that the medium and not the high separation condition yielded the best experiences. The authors concluded that the discomfort of stereoscopic representation (due to limitions of stereoscopic technology) is tolerable in the medium separation condition but diminishes the UX in the high separation condition.

Another study from Sobieraj, Krämer, Engler & Siebert (2011) compared experiences of 2D and 3D cinema audiences of the same movie regarding entertainment, presence and immersion. Results revealed that the stereoscopic condition did increase neither the entertainment experience nor positive emotions or the feeling of presence or immersion.

Elson, van Looy, Vermeulen & van den Bosch (2012) conducted three experiments to investigate the effects of visual presentation on UX. In the first study participants played a platform game (Sly 2: Band of Thieves) in standard definition, high definition or 3D condition. In the second study they used a more recent action adventure game (Uncharted 3: Drake’s Deception) with the same viewing conditions. In their third study, Elson and colleagues, in collaboration with a game developer, created a game that requires spatial information procession (3D Pong) and employed the same experimental conditions.

In all three studies the results showed no differences in any variables between the conditions; there was no effect of stereoscopic representation on any measure of UX.

Disparities between studies might be explained by differences in the experimental designs. We already indicated that UX has a broad range of possible measures that might also differ significantly in their sensitivity to stereoscopic representation. Additionally, it is not granted that participants in all studies were provided sufficient time to adapt to the mode of presentation. For the latter case, further longitudinal research is required to assess the user’s shifting perception of and thereby adaptation to stereoscopic representation over time. However, the studies reported above indicate that the sole use of stereoscopic representation might not automatically enhance the UX—i.e. the rule of thumb “the more, the better” does not seem to apply here.

Meaningful Relation of Content, Input, and Output
One flaw of research on stereoscopic media is the fact that researchers, due to the notion of an omnibus-effect, often did not focus on the underlying mechanisms, how stereoscopic representation would enrich UX. We argue that the lack of change in UX with stereoscopic representation in previous studies can be explained by the concept of mental interaction models and the related cognitive processes during gameplay. To successfully enrich UX, games have to create a meaningful relation between stereoscopic representation, input modality and the type of task that players have to fulfill. Therefore, we should not consider stereoscopic representation merely as an attribute of games on its own, but as an attribute that is closely tied to other attributes of the medium in which it is implemented.

First, we argue that UX can only be considerably enhanced by stereoscopic representation if users can interact via natural input devices within the same three-dimensional space they visually perceive. The implementation of both technologies facilitates the user’s construction of a mental interaction model by mapping the space of the virtual environment to the real space where the player performs actions. Second, this spatial mapping of input and output modalities should only matter if it is relevant to the task users have to fulfill and the according type of action users perform, respectively.

Mental Models and Their Applications
The concept of mental models originates from cognitive psychology and its precursors (e.g. Craik, 1943; Johnson-Laird, 1983) as a means to explain our understanding of different complex entities that we experience, such as situations, processes, and relations between objects 29. In general, mental models can be regarded as preliminary cognitive schemata that are not yet fully learnt but are under construction. The concept of mental models evolved from the idea that we initially do not fully comprehend perceived entities, but have to construct our understanding through experiences. Therefore, understanding can only be a result of a constant update of a mental model based on new information and the model’s prior state.

The general form of a mental model receives information input from two sources. First, when we construct mental models about a new entity, we do not build models from scratch because we implement existing experiences or knowledge from other domains that we deem helpful (top-down processing). When we see a smashed bottle of water next to a table, we assume that some force caused the bottle to move and that gravity let it fall. We could further assume that our cat was the force that initially caused the mess, because she had done so twice already. We thereby systematically draw from previous knowledge (top-down) in order to reconstruct the event via a mental model. Second, mental models are constructed for a specific entity that deviates from similar entities that we referred to in top-down processing. We therefore look for and implement information from specific events itself (bottom-up processing). The fact that the bottle of water is broken and located on the floor next to a table indicates that a specific event has happened, i.e. the bottle dropped. This information caused top-down processing, which relates the event to other situations, such as when things drop from the kitchen table. However, upon further examination of the scene we realize that our son is standing at the other side of the room, ashamedly looking down. This new information causes a major modification of our model (bottom-up), i.e. the causation of the event is substituted. Because mental models are typically constructed over time according to the information available, other relevant prior knowledge and new information is implemented into the model to improve its effectiveness with the goal to achieve a good model fit. In our example, we might ask why the son smashed the bottle of water—was it bad luck, because he did not pay attention to the table (bottom-up), or did he again argue with his brother resulting in the accident (top-down)? Both bottom-up and top-down processing are at the core of human cognition and are utilized in every situation that involves perception. Accordingly, both types of processing as well as the construction of mental models as higher cognitive instances are automated processes that do not require conscious processing and only through the combination of both types of processing, mental models can gain accuracy over time.

Mental models serve as a tool allowing for interaction within the real world without initially having to fully understand every element—they allow us to model the real world. Once we have an initial model of a given entity, we can make assumptions about possible outcomes of interactions with the entity and test the assumption against the real world outcome. The deviation between predicted and observed outcome serves as an indicator as to whether the mental model suffices or how it can be further improved. This way we can simply simulate our environment with ever-increasing complexity to achieve better understanding. However, mental models are processed in our working memory and are thereby subject to our working memory’s processing capacity. Therefore, complexity reaches its limits when the model requires more mental resources than are available. The model is then no longer efficient as a means to simulate our environment. Consequently, simple models that do not rely on detailed parameters allow us to simulate entities despite our cognitive processing limitation. Thus it is important to keep models simple and reduce their complexity to a necessary number of components that can still be handled by our processing capacity.

Within the context of media reception research, a similar concept has been used by Kintsch & van Dijk (1978) to explain a reader’s understanding of texts. In this case the amount of available information is limited to the aspects that are mentioned in the text. In order to understand an event the user has to rely on prior knowledge to fill the information gaps within the text. Kintsch & van Dijk argued that readers build a proposition network from textual information and preexisting propositions to represent the situation of a text. The concept of mental models was also applied to film studies (Ohler, 1994) in an effort to explain the viewer’s understanding of film narratives, in this case called situation model. As with the case of written texts, movies often do not provide the recipient with all necessary information required to understand events. On the contrary, detective stories often suggest information pieces that recipients implement into their situation model because they deem reasonable, thereby manipulating the recipients understanding of the narrative in order to create suspenseful entertainment experiences (Ohler & Nieding, 1996). Whenever new information becomes available through the detective’s investigation, our model is updated.

Spatial Information in Player-Game Interaction
In our effort to explain effects of stereoscopic representation on UX by a mental interaction model, we first have to define, which information is represented within the model and why the interaction between player and game is an important process for a seemingly mere perceptual phenomenon. Interaction is often described as the fundamental component of the gaming experience (Crawford, 2003; Salen & Zimmermann, 2004; Zimmermann, 2004) that elevates games to a new type of media distinct from books or films. In addition to the narrative that is carried out within the game, we can manipulate the virtual environment to a certain degree in order to advance the narrative 30 by our actions. Through this interaction our perspective on the narrative shifts from an observer to an actor whose actions determine the narratives outcome (Aarseth, 1997).

Interacting with game systems requires at least one channel for each input and output of information. To understand the cognitive prerequisites of interaction models we first have to identify the type of information that is carried within each channel. Second, as we want to understand stereoscopic representation—a spatial phenomenon—we have to identify each channel’s relation to spatial information.

In terms of input, games provide different types of game controllers, such as gamepads, mouse, keyboard, or motion sensitive controllers. The buttons of a controller are generally linked to a specific action in the game. However, for some actions the mapping between controller and game action is mediated by an additional input layer within the GUI. In the latter case, the action is not activated by a specific button on the controller as the button only executes an action that is linked to some GUI element 31. To understand the effects of interaction on UX, we should not utilize a simplified definition of interaction between real world action and in-game consequence. Instead, we should analyze each input layer separately as each input action differs in the way it is related to in-game actions. In terms of output, games use several information channels to convey feedback, i.e. visual, auditory, and haptic information. In this paper we focus on visual feedback and, more precisely, on the effects of stereoscopic versus non-stereoscopic representation on the interaction process and thus on UX.

Each information channel that is used in the interaction process can be classified according to its perceived naturalness compared to the real world on a continuum 32 between arbitrary and natural (see figure 1).

Continuum of perceived naturalness of input and output information channels in games

Arbitrary input information is common in games and often prevents players from having to input a complex series of button-combinations in order to perform an action. Instead of having to swing a sword and block an opponent’s strikes by moving the sword via the gamepad’s analog stick, we are given one button for each action. Despite the increased perceptual naturalness of analog stick movements compared to sword movements by mapping the directionality of movement, this type of input would greatly increase input complexity and thereby the game’s difficulty. Accordingly, arbitrary input facilitates UX by reducing input complexity, so that the player can perform relevant actions without much effort and can focus his attention on more relevant entities (e.g. strategic decisions). Only recently with modern gaming consoles has technology enabled players of mass marketed games to use input devices with greater naturalness that are sensitive to the player’s movement. Although other types of natural input devices have been available before (e.g. steering wheels or microphones), they are only applicable for specific types of action whereas the recent generation of input devices supports a wide range of possible actions.

Nonetheless, input devices such as steering wheels, drum sets or microphones require almost exactly the same movements that are necessary for driving cars, playing drums or singing a song. In this case the motion performed by the player can be transferred directly into the game. However, the more intensely an input device is used for different input actions (e.g. playing tennis or swinging a sword), the more the input information has to be interpreted by the game in order to reach a robust means of interaction.

Because all these movements represent directionality, rotation, acceleration, and speed in a three-dimensional space, this type of input can be regarded as fairly natural according to the degree a game interprets the input information. As a consequence of the increased naturalness of input, players have to focus their attention on the input action itself to a greater degree because they have to coordinate their movements according to the desired consequence in the game. Arbitrary input devices simplify the interaction process by reducing rather complex actions to a single button press. Natural input devices, however, often force the player 33 to perform an action as it should appear in the game. The learning process of an interface is therefore more demanding when we have to learn motoric skills instead of simple button mappings. This sensomotoric experience should result in a very different gameplay experience.

In terms of naturalness of visual output, games usually provide both arbitrary and more natural information. Arbitrary information is used for numerical feedback (e.g. the amount of experience points required to reach the next level) or in the form of symbols that convey relevant game information (e.g. button symbols in quick time events). The degree to which visual output is rendered naturally depends on the respective game: Early game engines were not able to represent game elements realistically. Over the past ten years, however, game engines constantly gained visual fidelity with some games getting close to the visual quality of films. The latter is especially true for games that utilize the first-person perspective, usually allowing free movement and free perspective change. Therefore, visual representation of those games is highly developed in terms of object shape, object movement, texture, and lighting quality, and can be regarded as a highly natural type of representation. Additionally, players gain an impression of the three-dimensional quality of the virtual environment via monocular depth cues, such as object size, perspective, and movement speed while moving around objects. However, they do not fully perceive spatial depth, but utilize monocular depth cues. Only with stereoscopic display technology can players additionally utilize binocular depth cues to perceive actual spatial depth. Games that allow stereoscopic representation can therefore present visual output with a higher visual fidelity than games that merely rely on a three-dimensional virtual game world that is reduced to a two-dimensional representation.

Recent research investigated if this assumed difference in naturalness of output had an effect on UX. The inconclusive results may be a result of at least three circumstances: (1) there is no effect; (2) there are other variables that mediate the effect; or (3) there is no difference in perceived naturalness in the first place. With the help of interaction models, we can explain that prior research might be subject to a combination of (2) and (3): we argue that there is an effect if a given system constructs a meaningful relation between stereoscopic output, natural input and type of task. Therefore, an effect should exist, if a game accounts for a natural type of input and tasks that rely on interaction in a three-dimensional space (2). However, if a game only provides natural input devices and stereoscopic representation, but spatial depth is not relevant to the task a player fulfills, effects of stereoscopic representation should only exist as a short-term sensation due to the new kind of experience. Additionally, it should have no effect in extended gaming sessions, because it is not relevant to the game. In the latter case, other experiences superimpose the impression of spatial depth and stereoscopic representation should be perceived as just as natural as non-stereoscopic representation (3), given that the player is not forced to compare both conditions.

Mental models of interaction and Spatial Mapping
For stereoscopic representation to positively affect UX, the additional information this technology provides, i.e. binocular spatial depth cues, has to be relevant to the gaming experience. Only when spatial depth cues are at the core of the game mechanics can they influence UX in extended gaming sessions. Because interactivity is regarded as the central attribute of digital games, spatial depth cues would have to be relevant to the interaction between player and game. It contains at least two information channels that flow into opposite directions; therefore, not only should display technology present spatial depth cues, but input devices should also be allowed to input spatial depth into the system. However, as spatial depth is not relevant to the gaming experience per se, it should be enforced by the player’s tasks. In this case, processing spatial depth information should considerably determine the player’s success and thereby focus the player’s attention to some extent on spatial depth; it becomes relevant to the way the player interacts with the game.

We argue that whenever players interact with a game for the first time, they construct a mental model of the interaction process because games differ intensely in the way different input actions are linked to specific game events. One might counter that experienced players already possess an elaborated model of how to interact with a game because many games rely on conventional mappings of controller buttons (e.g. analog sticks for movement and perspective control). However, there are still actions that are not subject to conventional controller mapping. Additionally, even if the general functionality of a button is intuitive via its conventionality, the specific outcome as well as the required timing and rhythm of button presses still differ between games. Eventually, players will have to learn basic interaction principles for each game by constructing an interaction model and improve it by game experience. This fact also becomes evident by the tutorial phase that is carried out at the beginning of almost every game, where players learn the basics of game control and game mechanics respectively. In the case of natural input devices, the learning process can become rather difficult, as input action gain complexity because of the required input of motoric action.

Just as other mental models, interaction models are constructed in a combined bottom-up and top-down process, i.e. the model draws from both prior knowledge and experience during gameplay. Experienced players should benefit from interaction models of other games and should therefore learn more quickly during the actual interaction with the game. In addition to controller mappings, interaction models represent at least two other types of information. First, they model the interaction affordances of a game, which can be regarded as a set of possible actions that allow the player to manipulate the game world (e.g. moving boxes or turning on a radio). Accordingly, players do not know initially which interaction affordances are present within the game, but have to identify them throughout the game.

Second, because both input and output modalities convey spatial information, the player faces the problem of multiple spaces with the gaming environment and the living room being separated from each other. The player would have to understand how the space she is physically located in is related to the space she perceives visually. For example, in Wii Sports/Tennis (Nintendo, 2006), both spaces are fairly independent of one another: A forehand swing does not require the player to swing his racket from back to front in an upward movement—the player could also just perform a short movement in any direction. Both spaces are not linked one to another; the only information that is gathered from the controller is the amount of acceleration and the timing of a swing. In this scenario spatial depth cues would not be relevant to the interaction and, therefore, not affect the UX. Spatial depth only becomes important when both spaces are closely linked, a state that we refer to as spatial mapping. In this case, the game environment becomes part of the player’s living room and vice versa, i.e. she is perceptually located within the virtual environment she interacts with, which might be referred to as an intense feeling of spatial presence (e.g. Tamborini & Skalski, 2006). Here, the player’s interaction model would suggest that their movements in the real world space are consistent with movements in the virtual world. The extreme state of spatial mapping is presented by the Holodeck technology in Star Trek: The Next Generation (Berman, 1987-1994). In this fictional VR, each element of the virtual environment can be interacted with directly. But even real VR installations can achieve a similar perceptual phenomenon, where each set of coordinates of the virtual world is mapped to a set of coordinates in the real world. Players can then use natural input to manipulate the object at its actual position. A tennis game could therefore project the ball’s position into the space in which the player is located and track their precise movement to determine whether they hit the ball or not. Of course, this high level of spatial mapping would require the game to track the player’s head and controller position to display the player’s perspective correctly.

Games that provide a high degree of spatial mapping stress the players processing of spatial depth cues as they are relevant to his success and could therefore affect UX quite intensely (see Fig. 2).

Construction of the interaction models and their relation to UX

Arguably, only spatial mapping allows natural input devices to reach their full potential: possible input actions can gain a high degree of complexity due to the high spatial resolution the devices track and the spatial validity of the movements in the virtual space as a consequence of spatial mapping. Consequently, the training procedure for the interaction model for this type of input would increase intensely. However, over time players develop automated motor programs in a similar way they learn gear shifting in driving school. These motor programs can trigger complex motor actions that have been trained repeatedly. Once these motor programs have reached a sufficient precision, the player’s UX can benefit greatly from the increased complexity of input actions Due to the fact that the player’s real actions are responsible for a positive outcome of the game, she experiences a higher degree of perceived self-efficacy (Klimmt & Hartmann, 2006) compared to other games with arbitrary input mappings. Thereby, stereoscopic representation can further improve UX by raising the effectiveness of natural input devices.

Discussion
The rise of new technologies in computer games has always been a mixed blessing, since it always takes a lot of time until the new technology is mastered. Consumers have often been used as test audiences, paying for half-baked products. When 3D graphics first arrived, many games just used it because it was available. But it was not meaningfully implemented into the gameplay and so players did not gain any additional value. A similar observation can be made concerning stereoscopic technology in movies and games for the reasons mentioned above. We argue that with a theoretical understanding and systematic implementation, stereoscopic representation can not only enrich UX, but also deliver new types of entertainment software for the consumer market. To achieve this, the additional information conveyed through stereoscopy (i.e. binocular spatial depth cues) has to be relevant to the tasks users perform within the game. Without implementing spatial information into the game mechanics, stereoscopy will always be just a gimmick without real consequences for UX. Additionally, the mapping of input and output spaces results in a higher degree of self-efficacy of the player and thus can enrich the UX. But in the end, we don’t want to discuss what is and is not fun for some players as the spatial mapping allows for other forms of UX that each player does not necessarily perceive as more fun. One reason we play games is to escape our everyday life and to have adventures we cannot have in real life. A high spatial mapping (e.g. in an action game) can be more work then relaxation for the player and may not be in the interest of particular game design concepts. Game designers should therefore use it wisely to make a good game.

To empirically support our argument of spatial mapping, we first need the adequate software products. As stated above, current games do not fulfill this requirement. To create according games, the designers have to consider constraints of the stereoscopic technology as well as user acceptance. However, it is likely that technological parameters have to be adjusted to the given game mechanics or game tasks. An iterative design approach with exhaustive testing is advisable for designers since the balance between content, interaction possibilities and visualization of the gameplay is expected to be delicate. Since complex inputs might overstrain the user, games should, at least at the beginning, require rather simple interactions to successfully enhance gaming experience through the use of stereoscopic representation. For example, the player’s task could be the manipulation of one moving object at a time. This kind of gameplay would not only help players to gradually get used to the technology, but it would also facilitate behavioral measures as well as the setting up of experiments with easy manipulation of all relevant parameters of the software.

Given the availability of games suitable for research, it is still not simple to measure the crucial variables because they have yet to be identified. General constructs like UX, presence, immersion and others have shown to be too unfocused or overlapping, and may therefore be considered as covariates, if anything. Even though the aforementioned constructs can somehow be related to the experience during gameplay, we think this issue has to be further specified. We argue that players benefit from games that implement stereoscopic technology if they provide a higher degree of entertainment and amusement compared to games with a comparable gameplay in terms of game tasks and interactions. However, there is not yet a standardized method for measuring the entertainment value of a game. We suggest the proven combination of three methods: self-reporting, observation and psychophysiological measurement. Furthermore, other relevant variables and approaches have to be considered that can influence the UX during gameplay. Previous studies did not take into account that players may gradually get used to the stereoscopic technology during repeated exposure. As a consequence, simulator sickness or other negative effects could disappear or at least be reduced by a large amount. This would cause players to become aware of the benefits of the new technology that may be distracting or bothersome upon the first interaction or short-term usage.

– All images belong to their rightful owner. Academic intentions only.- 

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– All images belong to their rightful owner. Academic intentions only.- 

Categoria: 2/2013 Journal | Tags: Benny Liebold (Chemnitz University of Technology), Daniel Pietschmann (Chemnitz University of Technology), Georg Valtin (Chemnitz University of Technology), Peter Ohler (Chemnitz University of Technology)

From M.C. Escher to Mass Effect: impossible spaces and hyper-real worlds in video games. How can hyper-real worlds be designed and interpreted in a 2D, 2.5D and 3D virtual environment and how will this implementation affect the stereoscopic 3D video games of the future?

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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Game developers, even during the early years of game design, have always searched for new and interesting ways of creating more elaborate, immersive and realistic environments for their video games.

Even the MUD’s (multi-user dungeons), designed in the late 1970s, such as Roy Trubshaw’s MUD1, implemented such interesting ways of connecting their rooms as teleportation, paving the way for later developers to design and implement interesting and imaginative environments that border on the fantastic or the Hyper-real, as we will designate these worlds in this article.

The term Hyper-real is used extensively by philosophers, such as Jean Baudrillard and Umberto Eco; they use the term to distinguish reality from a simulation of reality, especially in cases of technologically advanced societies. In Baudrillard’s own words, hyper-reality is a simulation generated “by models of a real without origin or reality” (Baudrillard, 2000, p. 1). In this article, the term “Hyper-real worlds” will be used to describe worlds that are not that much further from what Baudrillard describes. These game worlds, although they have a connection to our reality, architectural structure or geographical coordinates, are definitely un-realistic and without any origin in our world, comprised of fantastic creatures, alien architecture and geometrical and physical impossibilities.

This brings us to the second major topic of discussion for this article: impossible shapes. At this point, we must distinguish between two major categories of impossibilities in video game world design, geometrical/mathematical impossibilities and physical/temporal impossibilities. Even though in the mathematical and physical world, that we live in, space and time co-exist and are interdependent on one another, we have to separate them for the sake of better understanding what is possible and what is not when developing a video game. This separation is dictated by the simple fact that the computer hardware used to design, create and implement these virtual worlds is based on mathematical reasoning and not a physical one. While we will explore, to some extent, the geometrical/mathematical impossibilities in this article, best exemplified by the works of M.C. Escher, Oscar Reutersvärd, Salvador Dalí and Giorgio De Chirico among others, some notes on physical/temporal impossibilities will be given to showcase the possibilities that a developer is offered in order to create a hyper-real virtual world.

Besides exploring how impossible elements can be introduced in 2D, 2.5D and3D game worlds, it is necessary to gain basic knowledge of how the human visual system works in order to better understand the limitations imposed in the design process of game worlds that utilize stereoscopic imagery.

Concluding this article, we will assess what possibilities stereoscopic video games have to offer to potential game developers and the gaming audience and what opportunities these game worlds open up for future technologies that involve video game development.

The Art of the Impossible
Oscar Reutersvärd (1915-2002) is considered to be the father of impossible figures and shapes. During his long career as an artist he created thousands of impossible figures that seemingly break the laws of geometry and space. His most famous shape is the impossible triangle which later became more commonly known as The Penrose Triangle.

Fig. 1 the Penrose Triangle

M.C. Escher (1898 – 1972) is the major follower of Reutersvärd’s artistic perspective. While Reutersvärd dabbled only in designing shapes and objects that transcend the geometrical laws, Escher managed to incorporate these designs into his paintings, creating art–in the process–that transcend the Euclidean laws and also provided the inspiration for later artists and mathematicians–like Roger Penrose and Douglas Hofstadter–to try their own hand in creating impossible figures.

Two painters that could fit into the category of impossible artists are surrealist painters Salvador Dalí (1904-1989) and Giorgio De Chirico (1888-1978). Dalí, as a man with an excessive number of eccentricities, painted the world around him as only a man who claims to remember his birth could. Filled with, mostly, physical and biological impossibilities, his paintings prove to be a challenge for game developers who wish to emulate a world that resembles Dalí’s soft physics.

Where Dalí chose to paint physical and biological impossibilities, De Chirico’s paintings, on the other hand, though they seemed to be more accurate in the depiction of the real world, have nevertheless their own impossible touch. De Chirico chose to paint his own distorted versions of the world around him in the skewed perspectives offered by different fugue points in the same scene, using flawed perspective to prioritize order of perception.

The Human Perception
Visual perception is, perhaps, the most important sense of a human when locomotion and orientation are concerned, since it is not only the sense which enables us to visualize and interpret the world around us but also gives us the largest amount of information to do so. There are some instances when sound and the auditory perception take precedence over the visual system, especially where balance is involved, but the sheer amount of information entered through the visual system makes it the paramount sense when video games are concerned.

Everything about human perception starts with the upright position of the body which enables us to differentiate between front-back and left-right (Tuan, 2001).These positions are extrapolated from the position of the body and they change according to the body’s motion in space. The only axes that are relatively static are the top-bottom axes which would only change in case the body finds itself floating in a zero-gravity environment.

Furthermore, depending on the distance from the observer to the object observed, the distance can be differentiated into 3 categories: close-range (up to 5m from object), intermediate range (between 5m and 20m) and long-range (more than 20m) (Granum and Musaeus in Qvortrup et al., 2002, pp. 118-119).

The third most important factor in human perception is the search for landmarks and/or points of interest. According to Tuan (2001), a human cannot look at a scene in general since our eyes will always look for a place or scene to rest upon. Kevin Lynch also individuated landmarks as a defining element to create memorable spaces. This is done consciously (when we deliberately search for a landmark) or unconsciously (when a feature in the horizon is so compelling that it demands our attention).

There are, of course, many more factors that play a role, either major or minor, in the human perception system. Colors, size of objects observed, shapes, perspective, and object motion are only some of them, and even these factors can all be sub-divided into more elaborate and detailed sub-categories.

The Functions of the Eyes
Anatomically, the part of the brain that controls and is concerned with the reception and interpretation of vision is the visual cortex. This is a very curious function for two reasons.

Firstly, a region that exists on the far back of the brain is responsible for interpreting the visual signals that come from the front of the human head.

Second is the fact that the right cerebral hemisphere of the brain is responsible for the left-hand side of the body, and the left cerebral hemisphere is responsible for the right-hand side. That way, a well-defined map of the left-hand visual field is formed on the right visual cortex and another map is formed of the right-hand visual system on the left visual cortex (Penrose, 2002, pp. 484-485).

Aside from these anatomical details, there are two distinguished features of the eyes that play a prominent role to the way we see and perceive the world around us.

One of these details is that the eye is not the sole organ for perceiving the world around us but only a part of a system that consists of the moving eye, the moving head, the brain and the moving body.

With the above system in mind, we can divide the above into three separate visions: aperture vision, ambient vision and ambulatory vision (Kolstrup in Qvortrup et al., 2002, p. 243).

The above system is utilized and most prominent in FPS (first-person shooter) games such as Counterstrike, where quick avatar (body and head) movements and quick eye movement is necessary in order to rise above other players and survive in this fast-paced PvP (player versus payer) video game.

The second feature, the anisotropy of left and right, is mostly overlooked and people are generally only unconsciously aware of it.

Heinrich Wölfflin, an art historian, pointed out that paintings lose their meaning when they are turned into their mirror images. This happens, he realized, because images are read by the brain from left to right which, in turn, changes the way they are interpreted when inverted (Arnheim, 2004).Notably, even thoughthis is true for cultures with a left-right scansion of written text, it is not universally true for all humans, but mostly for humans in western cultures. Whether this distinction is biological or cultural is not in the scope of this article to analyse.

Mercedes Gaffron, a psychologist, investigated the phenomenon of the left and right anisotropy in the brain further, and related it to the dominance of the left cerebral cortex, which contains the higher brain functions of speech, writing and reading.

This function has been used extensively in video games to a greater or lesser extent. In almost all video games where the avatar of the player is required to stay alive in order to continue playing the game, the most important aspect of the UI (user interface), arbitrarily the health and possibly the resources of the avatar, are almost always placed on the top left of the screen. Consequently, the rest of the UI is placed in key areas depending on their significance to the player and the game mechanics.

Even in notable exceptions to this pattern we see the dominance of the left-side. In Dead Space the entire UI was integrated on the avatar of the player but even in that case we can distinguish the definite dominance of the left side in the way the camera is placed above the right shoulder of the avatar and in the fact that the health of the avatar is placed on his back which, due to camera placement, is on the left side of our visual field.

The Virtual World of 2 Dimensions
In the early days of video game design, developers had only a limited amount of tools to work with. The limitations posed by these tools and the hardware that was called to process the final product allowed for only a minor number of shapes to be developed as part of the video game’s assets.

Despite this fact, the early MUDs (multi-user dungeons), which were actually text-based video games, represented the first interactive virtual worlds that demonstrated and utilized impossible non-Euclidean spaces in their game world. Lacking a visual representation of the in-game virtual world, they nevertheless paved the way for hyper-real, impossible worlds.

Once the technology was developed so as to include a series of moving images in order to demonstrate the virtual world to the player, hyper-real worlds started becoming more and more elaborate in their representation. The most prominent examples of hyper-real and impossible/non-Euclidean worlds are Pac-Man and Asteroids. Interestingly, both games featured the exact same non-Euclidean feature, which was also the one offered in the early MUDs of the ‘70s. This feature enabled the player-controlled avatar (in whatever form) to transcend the space of the designed area of play by exiting from one side of the map and re-appearing on the other side, following only either a designated exit-entrance portal (in the case of Pac-Man) or adhering to the momentum of the avatar’s movement at the point of exit (in the case of Asteroids).

The same teleportation effect was later used in games, such as Eye of The Beholder II: The Legend of Darkmoon, in order to create impossible corridors which were also meant as a puzzle for the player to solve, if they wanted to continue on their quest in the game.

Two-dimensional video games were, in fact, ideal for representing and portraying impossible shapes and non-Euclidean environments. Leaving aside text-based games, which left almost all visual representation of the virtual world to the imagination of the player, early video games that utilized moving image sequences to simulate character/avatar movement had the potential to create the most accurately depicted Escher-like environments.

The key factor that contributed to such a fact is the lack of freedom on the part of the player. Just like in an Escher painting, the player of a two-dimensional virtual world is limited in only a fixed viewpoint of the world: the one offered by the two-dimensional image that is demonstrated to them at any given time. They cannot move in a manner that would transcend this limitation any more than a viewer of an Escher painting can take one of the impossible objects that he designed on his hand and rotate it so as to see it from every possible angle.

Isometric Worlds: The lack of perspective
During the early 1980s, a new method of representing the virtual world came to being with the introduction of isometric or pseudo-3D environments. These games offered a view of the virtual world that had a very close, but not exact, resemblance to how humans perceive the world around them.

While the term isometric has been dominant in describing games that employ a fixed perspective, it is actually one of three axonometric projections used in video games and industrial design. The other two are diametric and trimetric.

The first game to utilize such a viewpoint was Zaxxon, after which many more followed, creating more elaborate and sophisticated worlds that proved to be extremely popular in either isometric or trimetric projections like Populous, Civilization II, Diablo and Fallout.

Even in recent years, there are still games that employ these axonometric projections in their viewpoint as the standard. The more recent examples are StarCraft and Diablo III which both employ a viewpoint that is similar to isometric view although, since it was created and developed in Blizzard’s proprietary 3D engine, there is also some hint of true perspective in the game world.

While isometric view provided a more detailed experience for the players, it still remained an artistic construct since humans never experience their surroundings in isometric view but in perspective. Even so, just like their two-dimensional counterparts, isometric video games provided the unique possibility to represent mathematical impossibilities, as depicted in Reutersvärd’s and Escher’s shapes and paintings. The lack of freedom, on the part of the user-controlled camera, was again the key factor that allowed for such designs to be accurately represented in the game world.

As we will explain later in this article, having a fixed perspective is the only actual way of depicting accurately and approximately the impossible shapes and scenes of Reutersvärd’s and Escher’s paintings.

The 3-dimensional World
With the advent of 3D software came the emergence of true 3D computer graphics in the video game world. The engines which have been designed by various companies as the main developing tools of current-date video games operate in the same way, and follow in the footsteps of the major 3D software in the market.

Both the 3D software and the various game engines operate on meshes, and utilize cameras and lights to give life to the scene.

A mesh is a collection of triangular (or quadrilateral in some cases) contiguous, non-overlapping faces joined together along their edges. A mesh will consist of three basic elements, called faces, edges and vertices. Modeling of these meshes occurs when we use a computer to implement the mathematical construction of an object, by defining points in a 3-dimensional array, which is based in the X, Y and Z axis of geometrical space or otherwise called, a Cartesian coordinates system. Essentially, a mesh is the visual representation of a mathematical theoretical object in a Cartesian coordinate system.

The most basic of these meshes are the Platonic solids, or as they are more commonly called, regular polyhedra. Only five of these meshes can exist in 3-dimensional space and in order of number of faces are: the tetrahedron, the hexahedron (cube), the octahedron, the dodecahedron and the icosahedron. These five are the only meshes in 3-dimensional space that satisfy the very strong restriction of looking exactly the same at every vertex (Banchoff, 1996, p. 91).

Fig. 2 Platonic Solids

Taking the cube as an example and imposing upon it the Cartesian coordinate system, we can see how it is interpreted, mathematically, in the 3-dimensional virtual world.

As we explained before, a mesh is modeled when the computer implements a mathematical construction of the object, by defining points in the Cartesian coordinates system. In the case of the cube, each vertex is defined that way, with a unique set of coordinates that each correspond to a unique location on the X, Y, and Z axes. Therefore, a cube can also be translated as a group of coordinate sets that have the form (X1, Y1, Z1), (X2, Y2, Z2)……(X8, Y8, Z8), with each set describing the exact position of every vertex of the cube in the Cartesian coordinate system.

Once we try to impose the same mathematical principles on the Penrose triangle, we immediately realize what the problem is. Since the Penrose triangle is a mesh, it is correctly identified as having faces, edges and vertices. The problem starts when we try to identify each vertex as a set of coordinates, corresponding to the 3 axes of the Cartesian coordinates system. What we discover is that each vertex of this object cannot be identified by only 3 specific points. Depending on the face (side) that this vertex belongs to, it will need at least 2 sets of coordinates for its mathematical construction, and in all the cases the coordinates of these sets will have at least one value that is not identical with each other. An example is shown in Figure 3 where we see that point x can be interpreted in two different ways, resulting in two different sets of coordinates for the (seemingly) same vertex depending on the viewpoint of the viewer. This means that in order for a Penrose triangle, or any other impossible shape for that matter, to be properly mathematically constructed in a virtual world, it must be done so in a 4-dimensional coordinates system or higher, depending on the object in question. Assuming that such a coordinates system existed, then any impossible object could be translated in the form of (X1, Y1, Z1, V1), (X2, Y2, Z2, V2)……(Xn, Yn, Zn, Vn), with each coordinate corresponding to a specific and unique position in the coordinates system.

The problem then is that a 4-dimensional (or higher) Cartesian coordinate system cannot exist in a 3-dimensional world. The reason for that is that 3D design software is based purely on mathematical and geometrical mechanics and the only way we can visualize objects with more than 3 dimensions is by using imagination and theoretical mathematics, as we will see below.

The best example of this limitation is the process used to create a Hypercube or Tesseract, a term attributed to C.H. Hinton who in the 1880’s wrote an article about the fourth dimension and his own dimensional allegory An Episode in Flatland (Banchoff, 1996, p. 115). This theoretical construct is supposed to depict a 4-dimensional cube in 3-dimensional space, virtual or real.

The logic behind creating such a construct starts with a point in space that has 0 dimensions. If we drag the point along the X dimension, we end up with a line, the first shape with a single dimension. By drawing the line along the Y dimension, we end up with a rectangle, the first shape with 2 dimensions. Drawing the rectangle along the Z dimension, we end up with a cube, an object of 3 dimensions. If we wish to go further than that, the only thing that we can do is drawing each vertex of the cube outwards, thus creating a cube inside a cube. But the truth is that this construct is nothing more than a 3-dimensional cube inside a 3-dimensional cube, not a 4-dimensional cube. A 4-dimensional cube, in a 4-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system, should have all its sides equal and all its angles right, and our construct has at least two sides which are not equal and at least two angles which are not right.

In an attempt to impose a new coordinate plane in the typical Cartesian coordinates system, we find that it is impossible to do so without deviating from the mathematical laws of the system. In three-dimensional space, a Cartesian coordinate system is defined by starting with three number lines intersecting at their common origin (0, 0, 0). On the first axis, the points are labeled as (x, 0, 0), on the second axis the points are labeled as (0, y, 0) and on the third axis the points are labeled as (0, 0, z). Thus, the points of a cube, designed in three-dimensional space, with a side length of 1 unit will be labeled:

(0, 0, 0) (0, 0, 1)
(1, 0, 0) (1, 0, 1)
(1, 1, 0) (1, 1, 1)
(0, 1, 0) (0, 1, 1)

(Banchoff, 1996, pp. 160-161)

Since algebra is practically the same whether we write theorems about one, two, three or four dimensions, we can extrapolate the same method to design a hyper-cube in a four-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system by working backwards.

A hyper-cube will consist of 16 points since it is created by dragging a cube towards a 4th dimension, essentially creating a second cube or a cube inside a cube. In a four-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system the points of a hyper-cube with a side length of 1 unit, will be labeled:

(0, 0, 0, 0) (1, 0, 0, 0) (1, 1, 0, 0) (0, 1, 0, 0)
(0, 0, 1, 0) (1, 0, 1, 0) (1, 1, 1, 0) (0, 1, 1, 0)
(0, 0, 1, 1) (1, 0, 1, 1) (1, 1, 1, 1) (0, 1, 1, 1)
(0, 0, 0, 1) (1, 0, 0, 1) (1, 1, 0,1) (0, 1, 0, 1)

(Banchoff, 1996, p. 162)

Following the information contained in the above table, we arrive at the conclusion that a four-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system should have four number lines intersecting at their common origin (0, 0, 0, 0). The first axis has points labeled as (x, 0, 0, 0), the second axis has points labeled as (0, y, 0, 0), the third axis has points labeled as (0, 0, z, 0), and the fourth axis has points labeled as (0, 0, 0, v). Any point within this Cartesian coordinate system is completely determined by the number quadruple (x, y, z, v). The problem is that any of the infinite lines that intersect the origin (0, 0, 0) of the three-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system, apart from x, y and z, is completely determined by the number triplet (x, y, z) which means that it will never obey the rule of the axis v which must have points labeled (0, 0, 0, v). Since this rule cannot be obeyed, and therefore, such a line cannot be created, a true fourth-dimensional Cartesian coordinate system can exist only in theory.

So, since it is impossible to create a 4-dimensional coordinates system, how can we, then, create impossible shapes, objects and scenes in a virtual world? The short answer, of course, is: we can’t. To find a solution we have to go back and explore the 2D and axonometric relatives of the current video games. There we find the solution for creating an impossible object or scene in a video game using current day technologies: keeping the object or scene in question fixated on a single angle towards the camera. Since all mathematical representations of impossible objects, on a Cartesian coordinate system, rely on being seen from a specific viewpoint, the same trick can be employed when trying to implement such an object into our 3D world. Keeping the object fixated on the correct angle towards the camera/player we keep the illusion of the object intact, for if the player could maneuver around the object, then he would recognize the truth of the object and the illusion would be lost.

Fig. 3 – Tridimensional Penrose Triangle

In this way, we are free to manipulate these objects to any extent so as to make them appear exactly as they were designed by Escher and Reutersvärd.

Stereoscopy, the Road to Virtual Reality
Stereoscopic video games have already appeared back in 1982 with the game Sub-Roc 3D, an arcade game that used a display that delivered different individual images to the player’s eyes. Since then, many video game developers have created stereoscopic video games. Some of the most prominent titles in the video game industry are Duke Nukem 3D, Minecraft, Batman:Arkham City and, more recently, Assassin’s Creed III.

The basic requirement for stereoscopic 3D images is using two cameras to capture left and right eye images. These cameras are positioned in such a way so as to mimic the eye’s stereo vision capability by seeing two different angles of the same scene, with only a slight difference. The human brain then will take those two images and create a sense of depth (Shaw, 2011).

Despite the fact that stereoscopy gives a sense of depth and greatly enhances, in some cases, the 3D experience of the viewer/player, it still must obey and conform to the same rules outlined above concerning the design and implementation of 3D objects in a virtual environment.

Since stereoscopy needs two separate cameras to capture the same scene, impossible objects such as the Penrose Triangle will be even more difficult to depict, due to the fact that even if one of the cameras deviates even a little from the ‘normal’ viewpoint, that allows the object to be seen as impossible, and the illusion of the object is lost.

While stereoscopy is a technique that could provide excellent results for future video games, it will still be unable to represent impossible objects and scenes in a virtual environment.

Even in systems such as the Cave Automatic Virtual Environment (CAVE), which creates the illusion of a seamless virtual space by using projected stereoscopic images from the rear of the interactor, the illusion of an impossible object will be lost should the interactor in the CAVE box be moved to the side or behind, or the viewpoint deviated slightly from the ‘normal’ viewpoint (Nitsche, 2008, p. 211).

Just as axonometry paved the way for current era 3-dimensional environments in video games, by the same token, stereoscopy will pave the way for future virtual reality environments. But even then, impossible objects will still remain impossible, adhering to the absolute rules of geometry and mathematics since, after all, Virtual Space is a world defined by a universe of coordinates (Nitsche, 2008, p. 191).

Conclusions
Over the course of this article, we explored the world of 2D, axonometric, 3D and stereoscopic 3D video games in order to better understand the virtual world in which they exist.

As stated in the introduction of this article, separating the dimensions into geometrical, temporal and physical ones was paramount in order to discuss the possibilities offered in a world that is governed by mathematics, geometry and Cartesian coordinates, rather than biological or physical phenomena.

After examining the possibilities offered by current day technologies and their by-products, it is then safe to assume that impossible objects will not be able to exist in a virtual environment, exactly as they are unable to exist in our real 3-dimensional world.

Four hundred years ago Galileo Galilei, using his telescope, saw moons orbiting Jupiter and now, with modern day telescopes scientists can see and observe the presence of Quasars and distant solar systems that exist billions of light years away. The capacity of mankind to exceed its limitations might, one day, revolutionize our ability to realize the wonderful scenes and objects depicted by Escher’s paintings or Reutersvärd’s “Windows in the Floor.”

References
Arnheim, R. (2004). Art & Visual Perception: A Psychology of the Creative Eye. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

Banchoff, T.F. (1996). Beyond the Third Dimension: Geometry, Computer Graphics and Higher Dimensions. New York, NY: W.H. Freeman & Company.

Baudrillard, J. (2000). Simulacra and Simulation. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press.

Lynch, K. (1960). The Image of the City. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Nitsche, M. (2008). Video Game Spaces: Image, Play and Structure in 3D Worlds. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

Penrose, R. (2002). The Emperor’s New Mind. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Qvortrup, L. (Ed.). (2002). Virtual Space: Spatiality in Virtual Inhabited 3D Worlds. London, Great Britain: Springer-

Shaw, S. (2011, August). The Basics of Shooting Stereoscopic 3D – Part 1. 3droundabout. Retrieved from http://3droundabout.com/.

Tuan, Y.F. (2001). Space and Place: The Perspective of Experience. Minneapolis MN: University of Minnesota Press.

Video Games
Assassins Creed III, Ubisoft Montreal, Canada, 2012

Asteroids, Atari Inc., USA, 1979

Batman: Arkham City, Rocksteady Studios, UK, 2011

Civilization II, MicroProse, USA, 1996

Counterstrike, Valve Corporation, USA, 1999

Dead Space, EA Redwood Shores, USA, 2008

Diablo III, Blizzard Entertainment, USA, 2011

Diablo, Blizzard North, USA, 1996

Duke Nukem 3D, 3D Realms, USA, 1996

Eye of The Beholder II: The Legend of Darkmoon, Westwood Associates, USA, 1991

Fallout, Interplay Entertainment, USA, 1997

Minecraft, Mojang, Swedish, 2009

MUD1, Roy Trubshaw & Richard Bartle, UK, 1978

Pac-Man, Namco, Japan, 1980

Populous, Bullfrog, UK, 1989

StarCraft II, Blizzard Entertainment, USA, 2010

Sub-Roc 3D, Sega, Japan, 1982

Zaxxon, Sega, Japan, 1982

Images
Cover Image (Tesseract). Created by A. Petrovits and A. Canossa

Image 1 (The Penrose Triangle). Created by A. Petrovits and A. Canossa

Image 2 (Regular Polyhedra). Created by A. Petrovits and A. Canossa

Image 3A and 3B (Penrose Triangle Possible 3D Modeling Variations). Retrieved from http://www.cs.technion.ac.il/~gershon/EscherForReal/

Image 3C and 3D (Penrose Triangle Possible 3D Modeling Variations). Created by A. Petrovits and A. Canossa

Categoria: 2/2013 Journal | Tags: Athanasios Petrovits (IT University of Copenhagen) Alessandro Canossa (Northeastern University)

Graphical technologies, innovation and aesthetics in the video game industry: a case study of the shift from 2d to 3d graphics in the 1990s

Posted on 11 Marzo 2013 by Gabriele Ferri
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For a decade now, game studies have steadily progressed and covered ever more ground in the fields of humanities, arts and culture. An important dimension of video games, however, is still left unaccounted for: the dynamics of innovation in the games industry. Searching for innovation in the Title and Keyword fields of the Digital Games Research Association (DiGRA) digital library returns only 8 papers out of the 618 entries. This is all the more surprising given that the 2009 DiGRA conference was titled Breaking New Ground: Innovation in Games, Play, Practice and Theory. There seems to be a clear lack of research on innovation, which this project aims to remedy to a degree. A few Game Innovation Labs exist in universities in the U.S.A. (at the University of Southern California and at New York University, for instance), but they are spaces of practice where games are designed and developed. Theoretical research on innovation is limited, but existing. A research seminar on game innovation, initiated by the GAIN (GAmes and INnovation) project led by Annakaisa Kultima at the University of Tampere, stated in its call for papers that “we know relatively little about the innovation processes that take place within the industry, [and] the bulk of the influential work on games and innovation is found in practically oriented guidebooks authored by experienced games industry experts” (Game Research Lab, 2011). The GAIN project has provided the most extensive writings on theorizing innovation in the games industry and game design process, along with the annual international Games Innovation Conference, which has been running since 2009.

The present project aims to unravel the links between graphical technologies and innovation in the games industry and in gamer culture by focusing on a specific historical corpus: the transition from 2D to 3D graphics in the 1990s. This transition is of the utmost importance in video game history because it conflates two different issues, which analysis and research will distillate: innovation in graphical technologies, in the capacity to represent and implement tridimensional game spaces, and in types of gameplay. From a research and disciplinary standpoint, rooting this study in the graphical dimension of gameplay allows for interesting and fruitful interdisciplinary explorations of art history and film studies approaches; moreover, it makes a strong case for the shortcomings of any single disciplinary framework, and for the importance of game studies to establish itself as an academic discipline of its own.

Beyond the Superficial: Framing Graphics and Material Culture

From game reviews in specialized magazines to general newspaper articles on the games industry, marketing claims, advertisements, and interviews with game developers, it seems that everything that revolves around video games ties into larger issues of technology. id Software, makers of the infamous Doom (1993), were pioneers in developing graphical technology to the point where most of their business came from selling their proprietary technology to other video game developers (Kushner, 2003). Popular game magazines from the 1990s featured elaborate comparisons of megahertz, RAM and ROM or number of on-screen colors, sprites or background layers between Nintendo’s Super NES and Sega’s Genesis consoles, and dedicated whole articles to the benefits of CD-ROM technology, Full-Motion Video (FMV), pre-rendered 3D graphics, or some special software technique or hardware configuration that allowed spectacular visual effects.

Magazine excerpts that focus on graphics and technophilia (highlights added for emphasis). Left: Computer & Video Games, no.174 (May 1996), p.108; right: Sega Visions, June-July 1993, p.13.

The Sega Genesis console had the terms “16-BIT” and “HIGH DEFINITION GRAPHICS” centrally embossed on its very hardware. When the TurboGrafx-16 console attempted to topple Nintendo’s NES, it launched the “bit wars,” claiming that the NES was an 8-bit console, while the TG-16 was 16-bit, and hence more technologically advanced. This argument backfired when it was discovered that in fact, the TG-16 had a 16- bit graphics processor, coupled to a Central Processing Unit (CPU) that was only 8-bit. This goes to show the level of technical expertise and literacy that was put forth by the games industry and its culture, and also the need for conducting a rigorous historical study. None of the various websites and articles that treat this topic (including Herman, 2008, for a single example among others) detail how and when the 8-bit nature of the TG-16 was discovered, or who called it out. More importantly, as the failures of the TurboGrafx-16, NeoGeo, CD-i and other consoles proved, technology alone cannot make a platform successful. Why then do we find such a strong focus on this subject in various video game publications?

The hypothesis upon which this part of the research rests, and that this project will allow to test and refine, is that technology does influence the success of a game platform, but in an indirect and limited way. More precisely, it has to affect graphical capabilities to have an impact on the public, but only in a certain, precise way: its graphical innovations must be geared towards new modes of gameplay, rather than simply upgrading the fidelity, resolution, or “polish effects” that graphics can provide. We wholeheartedly agree with Michael Nitsche (2008) that “it is time to move away from graphics that function as ‘eye-candy’ that remains largely unused in actual gameplay” (p. 6), and are similarly irritated by those graphics engines which “offer little to no development of their original interactive features. They concentrate predominantly on improved performance of 3D graphics. Visual detail has become the fetish of some game developers who entered into a kind of space race to the most advanced presentation form” (pp. 71-72). Our irritation does not come from any prescriptive position on what and how games “should” be, but is epistemological: these technical innovations run the risk (and, in our view, have already done so to some degree) of reducing graphics to a qualitative surface layer, thereby clouding the vital role that they play in shaping the gameplay.

Technology in Platform Wars

While the significance of graphical technologies and innovation cannot be understated for the games industry as a whole, it is of paramount importance when considering platforms — notably, the release of new game consoles. Ultimately, a platform is only as strong as its library of games on offer. While console manufacturers make games themselves, a broad and sustained selection of genres and titles can only be achieved by resorting to third-party developers. By developing games themselves, they contribute to making the platform ever more appealing to consumers, which creates a positive feedback loop that results in ever more adopters. But the problem lies in the very first moments of a new platform’s life, when little to no third-party support exists and must be built from the ground up.

In this crucial stage, technology acts as a pole of attraction for game developers by delimiting a technological trajectory (Nelson & Winter, 1982), a natural orientation for technological changes to follow according to the demands and realities of a given environment. To claim that graphics are important in promoting video games is self-evident, as Mark J. P. Wolf observed: “The number of games available for a given system was one consideration for system buyers, along with graphical complexity. Game graphics were, and to a large extent still are, the main criteria by which advancing video game technology is benchmarked” (Wolf, 2003, p. 53). Hence graphics, when envisioned in the context of technological innovation, are more than eye candy: they act as a conceptual interface that allows consumers (and, to a lesser extent, developers) to see the underlying, invisible technologies. But this technological trajectory must be coupled with a trajectory of innovation, which the platform stakeholders themselves will set by developing games that revolve around the idea of demonstrating the possibilities which their technology affords.

In this context, Nintendo’s abundance of mosaic effects, scaling and rotation, and scrolling background layers in Super Mario World can be read as a means to demonstrate the strengths of the Super NES platform for other developers interested in traditional games, while titles such as F-Zero and Pilotwings showcased the console’s unique Mode 7 graphical perspective in order to stir experimentation in other directions. The production of these games (as well as other flagship titles, such as Sega’s Sonic the Hedgehog or id Software’s Doom and Quake) cannot be thought of as simply providing entertainment to its consumers. Instead, these games become rhetorical devices in themselves, parts of a wider discourse from technology stakeholders that attempt to seduce and convince third-party game developers and consumers to choose their own technology over that of competitors.

While all game platforms have historically employed graphics as a rhetorical device supporting claims of technological superiority, the 1990s period is particularly relevant for this study because it featured a common goal that each platform aspired to: the “conquest of the third dimension”. In this regard, the Super NES console (1991-1997) holds a determining spot, and deserves the lion’s share of the research efforts because it offers several hardware and software innovations. The Super NES had a built-in capacity to display four background layers, each of them being able to scroll at variable speeds. This set an innovation trajectory for video game creators to take a cue from traditional film animation and implement parallax scrolling (the movement of different background layers at different speeds to simulate a depth of field that increases the perceptual illusion of perspective). The Super NES’ most interesting contribution to the conquest of the third dimension, however, is its special (and much-touted in discourse) mode 7 graphics, a form of planar projection that can render a 2D bird’s eye view image in pseudo-3D by foreshortening the pixels up to a horizon line, with the rest of the frame being occupied by another background layer (such as a skyline). Over the mode 7 playfield, the 2D sprites (individual movable objects) are superimposed and scaled according to distance.

The composite image presented in Mode 7 in F-Zero. From top-left to bottom-right: 1) the natural view of the aerial 2D plane; 2) the deployment of Mode7 perspective effect by foreshortening the pixels at the top of the screen; 3) the 2D plane projected up to a horizon line, without the skyline background image; 4) the skyline image without the 2D plane projection; 5) the final, composite image with all layers.

Technological Innovation and Techniques

The nature of video games as technological constructs (and subjected to Moore’s law that processors double in power every two years) makes any investigation of innovation seem inherently technology-driven. Even in fixed, standardized platforms like the Super NES, some manufacturers resorted to external processing chips added in particular game cartridges. For example, Nintendo used a Super FX chip in Star Fox to compute real-time 3D polygons (again with much fanfare, the game’s box itself reading “Revolutionary Super FX Micro Chip Creates Special Effects Like Never Before!”), while Capcom included in Mega Man X2 a C4 chip to integrate 3D wireframe meshes in their 2D platform game. Quite significantly, the back of the box’s very first bullet-point feature reads, “Enhanced realism and 3-D effects with the new CAPCOM C4 graphics chip!” These are the most high-profile examples of technologies that aim to bridge the 2D-3D gap; others are doubtless waiting to be found, as we discovered, shuffling through an issue of Electronic Gaming Monthly, the existence of a Sega Virtua Processor chip meant as a riposte to Nintendo’s Super FX chip (which fared much worse, having been used only once in Virtua Racer).

Heavy marketing for technological advances on the Star Fox and Mega Man X2 game boxes.

Through its competing platforms and their varying technological promises, the 1990s offer a unique window into the various processes of innovation. This includes the fact that many innovations cannot be attributed to technology, but are instead dependent on techniques. An innovation comes through techniques (often in programming) when a novel usage of a given, established technology is made. This is the case for games which managed to include a form of parallax scrolling prior to the presence of multiple background layers (see Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back on the Atari 2600, or Joe & Mac and Metal Storm on the NES), or the various ways which game developers used to represent a tridimensional game space using bidimensional graphics and different depth cues and perspective effects. Examples could be enumerated ad libitum, but we only need to think of games from the beat ‘em up genre (such as Double Dragon and Streets of Rage) that offered a playfield with navigable depth, even though actions were still performed on the horizontal x-axis only: fighting moves could not hit targets positioned a single step nearer or farther on the z-axis.

Perhaps the most famous graphical techniques came from id Software’s Wolfenstein 3D and Doom; John Carmack’s ingenious computing skills allowed the developer (and those game developers who licensed their engine) to create fully navigable tridimensional game spaces before the technology of 3D accelerated graphics cards streamlined the process and made it viable to resort to polygons. The success of the raycasting technique at work in both of these games is important for four reasons: first, it explicitly shows the need to distinguish between techniques and technologies; second, it illustrates the two global models of innovation (reiteration, which follows progressive additions and revisions, and innovation itself, which is thought of as a more radical break from established forms and conventions); third, it stands as the point of departure of a trajectory of innovation, before the wave of new 3D-focused hardware opens a technological trajectory; finally, it calls attention to the need to trace a common filiation between games that concretize a given gameplay mechanic (such as the treatment of space), independently of the technical or technological means through which they do so. The concept of graphical regimes, which we are developing as part of this research project, stems from this necessity 34.

TRIGGER: Technology / Reiteration / Innovation / Graphics / Genres / Evolution / Regimes

Arsenault has shown (2009, 2011) how video game genre is a driving factor in the development of innovation. In this light, Nintendo’s Super NES can be said to favor reiteration across already-proven genres, such as platform games, turn-based role-playing games (RPGs), and 2D action/adventures, integrating its graphical technological innovations into these reiterations of familiar gameplay aesthetics. Super Mario World is representative this approach: whether by placing trees in the foreground to occlude the playing field, or by having Mario climbing on fences and using revolving doors to move from the second to the third background layer, seamlessly transiting from the front to the back of the fences and vice-versa to avoid or to hit the Koopas that he meets, the graphical capabilities of the Super NES console were not simply used to woo the target audience with images that were impressive in themselves, but were the starting point of new explorations in form — albeit very limited explorations that stick close to a well-known formula. Nuances must be made, though, since clearly some SNES games experimented with innovative control schemes, gameplay mechanics, or spatial treatment; but many of the new gameplay possibilities were integrated at first as specific parts or alternative modes in the context of a larger, more traditional game type. For example, while Mode 7 graphics were used as a key game mechanic in the original S.O.S. (1994), where a side-scrolling game environment literally revolves around the player-character to open or block possibilities for spatial navigation, that idea was first introduced in stage 4-2 of Super Castlevania IV (1991).

The importance of generic templates in game design, which Ernest Adams (2009) attributes to Nintendo’s draconian policies with the NES platform that dominated the 1985- 1990 period, reached its apex during the 1990s on the Super NES. Meanwhile, bolstered by new technologies such as CD-ROM storage and real-time polygon-based rendering, the personal computer and Sega’s Genesis/Sega-CD hardware engage in experimentation through a number of new genres: full motion video (FMV) games with digitized footage, 3D action/adventures, and the ubiquitous first-person shooter (FPS), which is a genre that perfectly espouses a technological trajectory (of 3D accelerated graphics cards and general computing power) with little radical innovation (aside from the Doom spark that launched it).

The research will allow us to determine under what conditions a new technology can lead to new visual aesthetics, but also of new gameplay propositions (graphical regimes), and how these factors interact with other forces such as marketing imperatives or generic formulae. These findings will allow us to better contextualize, revise and enhance diverse statements on innovation, such as Matthieu Letourneux’s explanation that games can be created according to a specific genre to lessen the financial risks of production (in Genvo, pp. 39-40), Chris Bateman’s opinion that “[r]efinement of design is as valuable a process as raw originality. Sequels serve an important role in the development of games, and one quite separate from the occasional ground-breaking games” (Bateman, 2003), and Thomas Apperley’s belief that “[t]he expectation is that the stability of genre will be tempered by innovation; this innovation may be technical, not necessarily stylistic” (Apperley, 2006, p. 9).

An Academic Parallax: The Case for Cross-Perspective Analysis

The academic framework of this project is strongly related to art history and theories of visual perception. When looking at the various video game technologies and their associated discourses throughout the transition from 2D to 3D, one is struck by the resurgence of techniques, debates and philosophies that have marked art history. This leads us to a thesis, largely developed by Edmond Couchot (1988, 1991): for all its ontological novelty, computer-generated imagery (particularly in the case of the video game) presents itself as an extension of already-existing visual media history. For instance, Henry Jenkins (2004) situated the side-scrolling perspective of the platform game among the older tradition of Japanese map scrolls. Isometric and axonometric perspectives in games like Final Fantasy Tactics have eschewed perceptual realism (and notably accurate depth perception) in favor of providing a Cartesian view of space in its exact measurements and angles.

This leads us to one of our biggest challenges in tackling the question of graphical representation of game spaces: bridging our understanding of video game graphical technologies and the myriad ways in which they depict visual signs, which are articulated in a hybrid, dynamic visual flux during the gameplay experience, with the descriptive and analytical vocabularies developed in other disciplines, for other more linear objects 35. Games present themselves to us as a motley configuration of tridimensional spatial depictions with depth cues and a vanishing point, static bidimensional backdrops or skylines (sometimes projected on a hemispheric dome to make up “virtual skies”), objects highlighted with glowing edges, parallax effects in bidimensional background layers, superimposed textual layers of menu items or dialogues, etc. If we ever hope to make sense of video games as complex visual objects, we need to adopt a broader view and import and adapt tools, vocabulary and methods from a variety of disciplines with both exacting rigor and creative flexibility, including graphical projection, architectural and technical drawing, art history and perspective, philosophy, animated film, photography, and so on.

This becomes readily apparent when we consider graphical techniques such as raycasting, used by id Software in Wolfenstein 3D: from the player’s position on a 2D map, rays are traced in the direction in which he is looking, and when these rays hit a wall or an object, the computer draws the object at an appropriate scale (based on distance) in perspective projection. This technological resurgence of Plato and Euclid’s belief that rays of light (or fire) emanated from our eyes and lit the objects upon which we gazed can appear surprising, but further highlights the need to situate these techniques and technologies in a much broader history. The same applies to the distinction between game spaces represented in perspective, and those game worlds which are rendered in parallel projection. In the first case, we are reproducing the world as we perceive it (or as we would, anyway); in the second case, we are depicting the object as it is in actuality, parallel lines never intersecting in the object’s material structure. Plato’s view that we should represent objects as they are in truth, and not in the way we perceive them, could have been formulated — all philosophical considerations set aside — as a game design principle for strategy and management games, where the exact representation of space as a dimensional grid of possible movement is to be valued over any sort of subjective view that would immerse the gamer in the fictional world “as if he was there”. Sid Meier’s Civilization, Sim City and Warcraft: Orcs & Humans may tell the player, through the fictional mise-en-scène that they are an emperor, a mayor or an army leader, respectively, but they clearly consider that role as an abstraction in their mise-en-image: no actual human being could have the free-roaming, disembodied view of space that the player is afforded in those games. This is radically opposed to such innovations as the multiple background layers that allow parallax effects in 16-bit game consoles, a digital remediation of the Disney multiplane camera used in animated film to simulate the human impression of depth.

Methodology and State of Research

The project’s theoretical framework is composed of texts from art history, psychology and philosophy on perspective and perception, and video game history and genre theory. A number of factual and basic information sources, such as reference works, will be consulted as well, in order to get a firm grasp on a number of concepts from related disciplines such as animated film, technical drawing, and technological innovation in industries.

As the first year of the project comes to a close, we can say that, so far, we have reviewed a high number of discursive materials in order to identify common recurring tropes and types of discourses regarding graphics, technologies and innovation. These materials include the most popular gaming magazines from the time period: Electronic Gaming Monthly, Nintendo Power, Game Informer, GamePro, Official U.S. PlayStation Magazine, PC Games, Video Games and Computer Entertainment, and Sega Visions, as well as a number of particular guides and books, such as the Super NES Players Guide. We have also begun identifying games to form a corpus of study. These may be interesting because they pioneered a graphical technique or technology, or because they integrated new graphical effects in classic game genres and structures. A number of games will provide some examples: Super NES titles F-Zero, Pilotwings, the Super Star Wars trilogy, and Super Mario Kart for their extensive usage of Mode 7 graphics; Mega Man X2 and Mega Man X3 for integrating 3D wireframe graphics using a special chip; Out of this World and Flashback: The Quest for Identity for integrating polygons into 2D platforming games; Star Fox, Stunt Race FX and Virtua Racing (on the Sega Genesis platform) for their inclusion of 3D polygons computed with special chips on 2D consoles; Castlevania: Symphony of the Night as an example of a 2D game on Sony’s predominantly-3D PlayStation console, that featured 3D effects for certain magic spells and background graphics; a few games for Nintendo’s failed Virtual Boy portable console, that featured stereoscopic graphics in an evident bid for the conquest of the third dimension; Alone in the Dark as a prime example of early 3D games, where the settings and backgrounds are painted in static camera views and 3D polygons are superimposed over them; Wolfenstein 3D, Doom and Quake for their respective uses of raycasting, polygonal walls and floors, and full-3D characters and objects. We have identified 65 such games so far, but the list will undoubtedly grow to include peripheral titles on a monthly basis.

We have also looked at a high number of game boxes and manuals of the games from this period in search of mentions of techniques and technologies used in the games, as an important relay of material culture. In the coming year, these paratextual statements will be analyzed and filed in a public database on the Ludiciné website (www.ludicine.ca) according to the grounds on which the arguments are made (hardware technology, novel techniques or unique choices), the nature of the claims regarding the current state of similar games or genres (increased complexity, increased graphical fidelity, innovative approach to gameplay) and the larger interests they serve (stimulating interest in the game, selling the platform behind it, undermining competitors), etc. The descriptors will undoubtedly change and expand as the team encounters more and more of these discourses. The database will also grow as the team also reads and files various theoretical works on perspective, art history and technology, game studies and genre, and map the technological innovations identified in discourse onto the larger history of visual media and digital media ontology.

Ultimately, the bulk of the theoretical work will go towards a system of descriptors for the composite visual mediation at work in video games. We have begun this work and while we cannot share our preliminary working hypotheses and system developed so far, we can say with confidence that the current 3-year project will not be enough to devise a system of descriptors that can account for the plurality of ways in which graphics can depict space and represent game events in any game type. We will have to settle for a partial system optimized toward our needs of articulating the transition from 2D to 3D graphics, and leave the vast peripheral questions and objects for future research.

The research project’s main contribution will reside in a monograph on the Super NES console for the MIT Press’ Platform Studies series, for which work has already begun. This publication will benefit the field of game studies as the Super NES is an important milestone in video game history, and the monograph, like the research project out of which it is born, addresses the larger question of the video game industry’s seeming over-reliance on graphics and technology, as well as the medium’s specificities and, perhaps more importantly, its ties to older traditions and debates in art history and visual media.

Furthermore, it is expected that a typology of graphical and generic innovation will be of interest not only to game studies researchers, but also to the games industry and academic game development communities, and could help to instigate new projects of experimentation.

Until then, we welcome any and all feedback and suggestions from like-minded researchers, whether on games, books or papers, conferences, magazines, advertisements, interviews with industry people, theoretical concepts or disciplinary approaches, etc. And we would like to thank the FQRSC (Fonds de recherche Québec – Société et Culture / Quebec Fund for Research – Society and Culture) for funding this project, and the editors of G|A|M|E for putting up an issue on such a timely question!

Select Project Bibliography

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Bateman, C. (2003). The Evolution of Games: Originality & Chreodes. International Game Developers Association. Retrieved from http://www.igda.org/articles/cbateman_evolution

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Categoria: 2/2013 Journal | Tags: Dominic Arsenault (Université de Montréal) Pierre-Marc Côté (Université de Montréal) Audrey Larochelle (Université de Montréal) Sacha Lebel (Université de Montréal)
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