What Defines a Game?

We haven't really reached a consensus on what interactivity in games signifies, but we've concluded that whether it exists or not does not determine a game's quality. This raises an intriguing question: why do we often act as if it does?

The confusion arises when we conflate interactivity with customization. This blurring of lines between games as an artistic expression and as a marketable product is prevalent. We often promote discussions about “gamey” elements, which, while beneficial for marketing titles we love, can also serve as negative marketing for those we dislike. I propose using 'gamey' to describe this narrow, capitalist perspective on games—similar to how a bullet transforms a living creature into mere product.

The way we shop for items is fundamentally different from how we appreciate art. When purchasing a product, we seek specific functionalities. Additional features may enhance our experience but don’t alter the product’s core purpose. In contrast, art demands that every element be essential. Artists often emphasize that their work should only include what is necessary—if it doesn’t contribute to the narrative, why include it? Learning to edit is an artist's most challenging lesson, yet it’s crucial for crafting impactful narratives.

Players of collectible card games instinctively understand this principle—every card that doesn’t contribute to your strategy becomes a barrier to success. This makes deck-building a complex endeavor. Many game developers design titles as if they were creating everyday appliances, adding trendy features without questioning their relevance.

Why does the original Half-Life include frustrating jumping puzzles? Because such elements were expected by players who had come to associate them with other major shooters. Similarly, why does Spec Ops: The Line include multiplayer? It detracts from the game’s narrative focus but is included to meet consumer expectations. Gamers often demand these traditional features, which can lead to dissatisfaction when they are absent.

When a game lacks meaningful interactivity, we dismiss it as inferior. We mistakenly label games without our preferred forms of interaction as incomplete and of lower artistic value.

You Are Part of the Problem

Yes, I'm addressing you—the one who dismissed concerns over pre-ordering games and its impact on quality. You debated whether Dear Esther should be monetized, as if only mass-produced items deserve a price tag. You who claimed to advocate for ethics in gaming journalism while masking your biases.

Let's take a breath. That person likely isn't reading this. I’m aware that many view me as an outsider in gaming circles, but those of us who recognize the issues can foster a more nuanced conversation about art versus consumer products. We must clarify our critiques and distinguish between what games should be as artistic expressions and what they should be as products.

Demanding features from large developers is a fair expectation; they’ve entered a cycle of releasing new versions of the same games annually, aiming to entice consumers with flashy bullet points. Treat them as you would a pushy salesperson—hold them accountable until they begin to prioritize quality.

Critiquing Art Effectively

Let’s avoid pointless debates about whether Death Stranding qualifies as a game without frequent combat or whether Fallout 76 is worse for diverging from its predecessors. Interactivity is a crucial aspect of gaming, but it doesn’t equate to a binary scale of book versus game.

Consider titles like Little Big Planet or Dreams: while they allow extensive player-created content, their lack of fixed systems means they serve more as tools than traditional games. They belong in the games section, yet their artistic value differs.

We often excel at criticizing companies for their lack of product quality. However, we need to improve our ability to critique art. Goethe’s three questions for art interpretation offer a solid foundation:

1. What was the artist's intent?
2. Did they achieve it?
3. Was it worth pursuing?

Answering these questions in order is essential before debating a piece of art. Much of our gaming discourse jumps straight to the last question, neglecting the first two. This results in superficial criticism that prioritizes sensationalism over genuine artistic appreciation.

Food for Thought: Games as Meals

Consider this analogy: when you shop for snacks, do you question someone buying a salad instead of chips? Food serves a utilitarian purpose but can also be a medium for creativity. For a richer experience, it often requires effort and time.

Obsidian Entertainment, known for its narrative depth, has produced games with intricate choices and consequences. However, their latest game, The Outer Worlds, appears more formulaic compared to their previous works. A developer remarked on simplifying dialogue choices, but for players who appreciate narrative depth, this may feel like a loss of replay value.

The shift towards more generic gameplay mechanics can dilute the unique experiences that games once offered. Just because a game emphasizes crafting mechanics doesn’t inherently align with its narrative goals.

Ultimately, preferences differ—some will favor quick and easy experiences, while others seek depth. The existence of diverse gaming experiences is not a competition; it reflects varied tastes and desires.

Separating Gameplay from Product

Death Stranding, it's time to stop justifying your lack of combat. You’ll never satisfy those looking for traditional gameplay. They’re not in competition with each other; art is subjective and valuable in different ways to different individuals.

When discussing games as products, avoid framing narrative options or interactivity as mere features. This conflation muddles the conversation about product utility and personal preference. We must analyze games without conflating artistic choices with commercial considerations.

As consumers, we should be mindful of how our purchasing decisions impact game development. Supporting customization over meaningful interactivity leads to a cycle of mediocrity, pushing developers to prioritize profit over artistic integrity.

The reality of late-stage capitalism complicates our relationship with art and commerce. Corporations often manipulate emotions to drive sales, creating a cycle where consumer desires dictate production values.

By supporting practices that prioritize profit over quality, we risk perpetuating a culture that undermines the artistic potential of games. We can do better by being more discerning in our expectations and supporting genuine artistic endeavors.