I just want to emphasize a point I made the other day. Players can, and generally should, progress even as they fail.
You can see this in games like Diablo 2 and Borderlands. When you die, you don't lose the experience points you gained on the way to your goal (such as killing a boss mob).
That ensures, in a natural way, that players will eventually overcome any challenge. Failure doesn't mean reset. You're always progressing.
The frustration a player feels in response to failure is nothing compared to the frustration of being stuck. The player must always feel like he or she is making progress... even when that player is performing poorly.
Showing posts with label core philosophies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label core philosophies. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
enemies with personality
One of the reasons I expect Borderlands to be a lot of fun is the dynamic comments that give individual enemies personalities:
The amusing outbursts of enemies makes them more than just faceless meatbags. The Halo series has proven how effective this can be.
Giving enemies dynamic outbursts does two things. First, it adds a personal dimension to combat, making it feel like your actually fighting individuals and not the Borg. Second, it adds variation and replay value. It can make one enemy feel slightly different from another despite both using the same model and the same AI.
This isn't only possible with human enemies. Individual dogs of the same breed can have different barks. Individual skaags or other beasts could have different growls, screeches, etc. Voice variation with animals and monsters has an effect similar to that with humans.
Nor does personalizing individual enemies have to be done only through modeling, AI, and voicing. There's also animations. Slightly different hand motions, ways of walking, relaxed and defensive stances, and so on can make enemies which are otherwise the same feel like true individuals.
Every aspect of NPCs changes the experience.
The amusing outbursts of enemies makes them more than just faceless meatbags. The Halo series has proven how effective this can be.
Giving enemies dynamic outbursts does two things. First, it adds a personal dimension to combat, making it feel like your actually fighting individuals and not the Borg. Second, it adds variation and replay value. It can make one enemy feel slightly different from another despite both using the same model and the same AI.
This isn't only possible with human enemies. Individual dogs of the same breed can have different barks. Individual skaags or other beasts could have different growls, screeches, etc. Voice variation with animals and monsters has an effect similar to that with humans.
Nor does personalizing individual enemies have to be done only through modeling, AI, and voicing. There's also animations. Slightly different hand motions, ways of walking, relaxed and defensive stances, and so on can make enemies which are otherwise the same feel like true individuals.
Every aspect of NPCs changes the experience.
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
roleplay isn't for nerds alone
It occurs to me that books and movies are basically an externalization of the roleplay all human beings naturally engage in as children.
In other words, we never really stop roleplaying as we grow into adults. We just rely increasingly on the imaginations of others... entertaining their adventures, rather than conjuring our own.
Instead of donning paper helmets and swinging wooden swords, shooting paintball guns and lobbing water balloons, we watch action movies, violent and competitive sports, and military documentaries. The girl who plays with dolls and tea sets might grow up to watch melodramas and "play" hostess at gatherings. It's still playing pretend, but why come up with your own fantasies when someone else can provide better ones?
If this is true, then it makes sense that video games would be tagged as childish, because the medium is a step back toward the self-directed roleplay of childhood.
It also suggests that role-playing games are not just for nerds. They're for everyone. If RPGs have trouble matching the sales of shooters, perhaps the problem isn't the genre itself. Perhaps the problem is a mistake in how RPGS are commonly realized.
It's not that RPGs are intellectual. Football has an abundance of rules and more strategy than chess. But football is also fundamentally about action. And there, I think, is the key. It's the poor presence and implementation of action that holds most RPGs back from broad appeal.
On the one hand, you have RPGs like Final Fantasy and Mass Effect which emphasize dialog and cutscenes over other elements. On the other hand, you have MMOs and D&D-derived stat-based combat systems in which the rules dictate more than guide.
I'm happy to see a lot of blending between genres these days; particularly between shooters and RPGs. I think developers will find that most people, and not just nerds or hardcore gamers, respond well to RPG elements when those elements don't slow things down to a crawl and allow players the freedom to direct their own experiences.
In other words, we never really stop roleplaying as we grow into adults. We just rely increasingly on the imaginations of others... entertaining their adventures, rather than conjuring our own.
Instead of donning paper helmets and swinging wooden swords, shooting paintball guns and lobbing water balloons, we watch action movies, violent and competitive sports, and military documentaries. The girl who plays with dolls and tea sets might grow up to watch melodramas and "play" hostess at gatherings. It's still playing pretend, but why come up with your own fantasies when someone else can provide better ones?
If this is true, then it makes sense that video games would be tagged as childish, because the medium is a step back toward the self-directed roleplay of childhood.
It also suggests that role-playing games are not just for nerds. They're for everyone. If RPGs have trouble matching the sales of shooters, perhaps the problem isn't the genre itself. Perhaps the problem is a mistake in how RPGS are commonly realized.
It's not that RPGs are intellectual. Football has an abundance of rules and more strategy than chess. But football is also fundamentally about action. And there, I think, is the key. It's the poor presence and implementation of action that holds most RPGs back from broad appeal.
On the one hand, you have RPGs like Final Fantasy and Mass Effect which emphasize dialog and cutscenes over other elements. On the other hand, you have MMOs and D&D-derived stat-based combat systems in which the rules dictate more than guide.
I'm happy to see a lot of blending between genres these days; particularly between shooters and RPGs. I think developers will find that most people, and not just nerds or hardcore gamers, respond well to RPG elements when those elements don't slow things down to a crawl and allow players the freedom to direct their own experiences.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
focus on setting
In literature and film, the most crucial storytelling element is the characters and interaction between them. Compelling characters make up for a lot of slack in plot and setting. Just look at the most popular TV shows -- they're all driven by interesting characters and the hooks involve those characters. Ask a person what they liked about a book, and they'll probably begin by describing a character or a character-defining action. In novels and movies, the audience experiences things sympathetically. We follow someone else's journey and think/feel with that character.
In video games, the most crucial story element is setting. No matter how good the plot may be, the heart of a game always lies with the decisions and skills of the player. The main job of the developers is to create a great setting, and to define how and why the player will interact with that setting.
That's true even in plot-driven games. Plot is undeniably important in the Halo series. But the primary purpose of that plot, effectively, is to make the player feel like a hero and anticipate escalating challenges. There are few exceptions... mostly Bioware games (which I often describe as a blending of mediums -- game and film).
Characters are important in many games, but they are typically used more in line with cinematic goals than gaming ones. They're actors in a script for players to receive, rather than set pieces for players to experiment with and affect.
As Raph Koster has stated many times, play is fundamentally about learning through action. Plot and characters should serve the setting. In a game, the primary value of any character is what the player can do with that character or how that character affects the setting. Plots in a game provide inspiration and change the rules of play (ex: now, you must go this way, use this weapon, etc).
I appreciate games mixed heavily with cinema, like Mass Effect or Ghostbusters, but it's important to recognize such games as a blending of mediums. Games are not about being taken along on grand adventures. Games are about going on the adventures, yourself... your own adventures.
In video games, the most crucial story element is setting. No matter how good the plot may be, the heart of a game always lies with the decisions and skills of the player. The main job of the developers is to create a great setting, and to define how and why the player will interact with that setting.
That's true even in plot-driven games. Plot is undeniably important in the Halo series. But the primary purpose of that plot, effectively, is to make the player feel like a hero and anticipate escalating challenges. There are few exceptions... mostly Bioware games (which I often describe as a blending of mediums -- game and film).
Characters are important in many games, but they are typically used more in line with cinematic goals than gaming ones. They're actors in a script for players to receive, rather than set pieces for players to experiment with and affect.
As Raph Koster has stated many times, play is fundamentally about learning through action. Plot and characters should serve the setting. In a game, the primary value of any character is what the player can do with that character or how that character affects the setting. Plots in a game provide inspiration and change the rules of play (ex: now, you must go this way, use this weapon, etc).
I appreciate games mixed heavily with cinema, like Mass Effect or Ghostbusters, but it's important to recognize such games as a blending of mediums. Games are not about being taken along on grand adventures. Games are about going on the adventures, yourself... your own adventures.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
fun and simulation
This article by Ysharros got me thinking. Sometimes it's difficult to find the right balance between fun and simulation in an RPG, where both are at play.
Case in point: crafting.
Should being a beginner/apprentice and learning the basics of the trade be more difficult than being a master? or vis versa?
Yes, masters do crazy-hard stuff, but they’ve also naturalized most habits and strategies. Masters are more likely than beginners to feel flow. Beginners have to think about what they’re doing, rather than what they’re making. In general, masters of any craft think less about technique than about the product ideal they're pursuing.
Thus, as a simulation, the beginning levels of crafting should be harder. But, as a game, the early levels should be easier. Right?
How fun and simulation are balanced depends largely on the specific game's goals. I think it's worth resurrecting such basic questions during every design process, regardless of how many times you've considered and debated it before.
Case in point: crafting.
Should being a beginner/apprentice and learning the basics of the trade be more difficult than being a master? or vis versa?
Yes, masters do crazy-hard stuff, but they’ve also naturalized most habits and strategies. Masters are more likely than beginners to feel flow. Beginners have to think about what they’re doing, rather than what they’re making. In general, masters of any craft think less about technique than about the product ideal they're pursuing.
Thus, as a simulation, the beginning levels of crafting should be harder. But, as a game, the early levels should be easier. Right?
How fun and simulation are balanced depends largely on the specific game's goals. I think it's worth resurrecting such basic questions during every design process, regardless of how many times you've considered and debated it before.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
starting with the specific
I've never respected doing things differently only to be different; loving new things only because they're new. Traditions usually have some purpose that's only fully recognized when they're absent. But, occasionally, it can be good to take things completely back to the beginning and start anew.
Backbreaker seems to be a good example:
Whether or not this game turns out well or not, I admire the aim. Football games have traditionally focused on strategy, with few possible exceptions (like Super High Impact on the SNES). Backbreaker, on other hand, takes the camera down to ground level and exaggerrates the violence, thereby sacrificing some strategy to focus more on the visceral experiences of individual runningbacks, receivers, and linebackers.
I've heard many suggest, and I agree, that the initial step in designing a game should be defining the game in terms of individual experiences. It's not enough to outline the game in broad terms. You should begin by imagining examples of specific experiences in as much detail as possible. Those experiences symbolize the essence of the game and help guide consideration of gameplay structures and elements.
The essence of Backbreaker is the violence and frequent surprise of tackles. As Natural Motion's first video says: "Imagine a football game in where every tackle is different every time." Granted, the company's main objective is probably to advertise their physics technology, since they're primarily a tech company. But Backbreaker is a good example of letting desires for specific experiences guide design.
Backbreaker seems to be a good example:
Whether or not this game turns out well or not, I admire the aim. Football games have traditionally focused on strategy, with few possible exceptions (like Super High Impact on the SNES). Backbreaker, on other hand, takes the camera down to ground level and exaggerrates the violence, thereby sacrificing some strategy to focus more on the visceral experiences of individual runningbacks, receivers, and linebackers.
I've heard many suggest, and I agree, that the initial step in designing a game should be defining the game in terms of individual experiences. It's not enough to outline the game in broad terms. You should begin by imagining examples of specific experiences in as much detail as possible. Those experiences symbolize the essence of the game and help guide consideration of gameplay structures and elements.
The essence of Backbreaker is the violence and frequent surprise of tackles. As Natural Motion's first video says: "Imagine a football game in where every tackle is different every time." Granted, the company's main objective is probably to advertise their physics technology, since they're primarily a tech company. But Backbreaker is a good example of letting desires for specific experiences guide design.
Monday, April 13, 2009
knowing a good thing
In response to the latter half of this week's Bonus Round discussion:
Sometimes, good works fail. And by good works, I mean the whole shebang: a good concept, good execution, good marketing, etc.
The hard reality is that not everything is under your control. Occasionally, the stars will align against you. Wise publishers and developers know when they've put out something great, regardless of public acceptance. They know that problems don't always signal a need to change.
Sometimes, first impressions aren't telling. Timing can be everything. Trust yourself.
Sometimes, good works fail. And by good works, I mean the whole shebang: a good concept, good execution, good marketing, etc.
The hard reality is that not everything is under your control. Occasionally, the stars will align against you. Wise publishers and developers know when they've put out something great, regardless of public acceptance. They know that problems don't always signal a need to change.
Sometimes, first impressions aren't telling. Timing can be everything. Trust yourself.
Monday, March 16, 2009
the game must go on
Last night, I played LOTR: Battle for Midde Earth 2 (RotWK expansion) with a cousin for the first time in months. Neither of us had played in all that time, and we knew we'd be rusty. We started a war... and, sure enough, we lost the first battle. But we were back in the swing of things by the third battle.
A benefit of the form, a non-linear series of challenges, that a player can fail and not feel discouraged. Had my cousin and I been forced to replay the exact same scenario until we beat it, returning to the game after such a long hiatus would not have been as fun.
In general, it's good for players to have options and variety even when they fail. Reward success by means other than level/story progression.
A benefit of the form, a non-linear series of challenges, that a player can fail and not feel discouraged. Had my cousin and I been forced to replay the exact same scenario until we beat it, returning to the game after such a long hiatus would not have been as fun.
In general, it's good for players to have options and variety even when they fail. Reward success by means other than level/story progression.
Friday, March 06, 2009
if it ain't broke...
I agree whole-heartedly with Daniel Clancy that a game doesn't have to be innovative to be excellent.
That a game offers nothing new is not necessarily a strike against it. A game can alternatively excel by honing old ideas or combining the right elements.
I've written somewhere before that slapping together only top-notch gameplay elements does not always make a top-notch game. Some elements are individually great, but don't fit well together or fit better with others. And sometimes it's the recognition of compatibility between elements that usually appear separately, or the ordering and emphasis of elements, that makes a game phenomenal.
Don't be afraid to repeat something that's tried and true. Things are often become tradition or the most common of their kind because they're simply the best. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
That a game offers nothing new is not necessarily a strike against it. A game can alternatively excel by honing old ideas or combining the right elements.
I've written somewhere before that slapping together only top-notch gameplay elements does not always make a top-notch game. Some elements are individually great, but don't fit well together or fit better with others. And sometimes it's the recognition of compatibility between elements that usually appear separately, or the ordering and emphasis of elements, that makes a game phenomenal.
Don't be afraid to repeat something that's tried and true. Things are often become tradition or the most common of their kind because they're simply the best. If it ain't broke, don't fix it.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
executive rationing
I grew up in an area with millionaire homes just a short walk from trailer parks. So I quickly learned that rich and poor people, excepting the furthest extremes, tend to worry about the same things: grocery bills, energy and water bills, medical bills, tuition, gas, etc. This occurs because most people, regardless of social class, live up to their means. If they have money, they spend money... much of it on fruitless activities and items.
This basic psychological pattern applies to all aspects of life, including production of both artistic and (for lack of a better term) pragmatic works. Whatever resources you offer, expect them to be spent. I was reminded of this as I put Christmas ornaments on a tree. The tree would look good with half the ornaments I had available, but I felt compelled to use every ornament.
It's good executive practice to intentionally limit resources. Doing so not only helps to bring costs down, but also forces craftsmen to be more careful and innovative.
For example, provide artists with less memory storage and RAM usage than they would like. You can also place aesthetic limits on them, such as forbidding particular methods or styles. Challenge them by saying their new work should not look like anything they've created before (forbidding styles and imposing styles are very different in effect, particularly regarding the artist's enthusiasm).
Demand miracles. All the great leaders throughout history accomplished what they did because they demanded the impossible of those who served them. All people are capable of more than what they usually commit to. Inspiring leadership goes a long way in helping them achieve greater things. Their greatest reward will probably be the moment the job is finished and they can appreciate the extraordinary work they've done, but some positive encouragement helps, of course.
Writers, especially, need limits. Generally speaking, words cost nothing... and writers love to spend (use more words, more characters, etc). And a bad story can ruin a game. So be sure to place plenty of limits on your writers.
Allow workers to help choose their own limits. This doesn't mean accepting exactly the limits they offer, but their input will help keep the limits reasonable and also make workers more willing to accept the hardships.
People tend to rise to expectations. Even unreachable ideals can be useful when expectations are reasonable.
This basic psychological pattern applies to all aspects of life, including production of both artistic and (for lack of a better term) pragmatic works. Whatever resources you offer, expect them to be spent. I was reminded of this as I put Christmas ornaments on a tree. The tree would look good with half the ornaments I had available, but I felt compelled to use every ornament.
It's good executive practice to intentionally limit resources. Doing so not only helps to bring costs down, but also forces craftsmen to be more careful and innovative.
For example, provide artists with less memory storage and RAM usage than they would like. You can also place aesthetic limits on them, such as forbidding particular methods or styles. Challenge them by saying their new work should not look like anything they've created before (forbidding styles and imposing styles are very different in effect, particularly regarding the artist's enthusiasm).
Demand miracles. All the great leaders throughout history accomplished what they did because they demanded the impossible of those who served them. All people are capable of more than what they usually commit to. Inspiring leadership goes a long way in helping them achieve greater things. Their greatest reward will probably be the moment the job is finished and they can appreciate the extraordinary work they've done, but some positive encouragement helps, of course.
Writers, especially, need limits. Generally speaking, words cost nothing... and writers love to spend (use more words, more characters, etc). And a bad story can ruin a game. So be sure to place plenty of limits on your writers.
Allow workers to help choose their own limits. This doesn't mean accepting exactly the limits they offer, but their input will help keep the limits reasonable and also make workers more willing to accept the hardships.
People tend to rise to expectations. Even unreachable ideals can be useful when expectations are reasonable.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
data and perception
Figures don't lie, but liars figure.
I've always liked that expression, and it's a vital bit of wisdom. Raw data is rarely impervious to misinterpretation. Such misinterpretation is often willful, but innocent illusions are just as common.
Nowhere is misinterpretation easier and more common than in demographics. Demographic information is often talked about as if it contains undeniable truths. The reality is that nearly every demographic study raises more questions than it answers... which is why there's no substitute for intuitive wisdom. The decision-making process that any entertainment consumer goes through is usually too complex to be summarized in clearly-defined calculations and diagrams.
I point this out because there's a cultural attitude in the modern world that facts and figures are more insightful than human reasoning and intuition. This cultural pressure can sometimes lead to poor judgments. Great works come from human beings, nor from systems and processes.
Just for fun, take a look at these charts and try to discern a lesson or two from each. What can we learn from looking at the all-time US box office sales? Or what might be made of the discrepancies between the US box office and the UK box office.
I've argued before that film sales demonstrate that Americans favor entertainment which is open to all ages ("family" entertainment) and offers inspirational messages.
I've always liked that expression, and it's a vital bit of wisdom. Raw data is rarely impervious to misinterpretation. Such misinterpretation is often willful, but innocent illusions are just as common.
Nowhere is misinterpretation easier and more common than in demographics. Demographic information is often talked about as if it contains undeniable truths. The reality is that nearly every demographic study raises more questions than it answers... which is why there's no substitute for intuitive wisdom. The decision-making process that any entertainment consumer goes through is usually too complex to be summarized in clearly-defined calculations and diagrams.
I point this out because there's a cultural attitude in the modern world that facts and figures are more insightful than human reasoning and intuition. This cultural pressure can sometimes lead to poor judgments. Great works come from human beings, nor from systems and processes.
Just for fun, take a look at these charts and try to discern a lesson or two from each. What can we learn from looking at the all-time US box office sales? Or what might be made of the discrepancies between the US box office and the UK box office.
I've argued before that film sales demonstrate that Americans favor entertainment which is open to all ages ("family" entertainment) and offers inspirational messages.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
exponential design
Someone emailed me a link to a flash program for creating virtual snowflakes. If you've ever made a paper snowflake ornament, then you know how this works. You fold a piece of paper five or six times, then cut out shapes with scissors or a knife. When you unfold the paper, the removed spots have been multiplied into symmetrical patterns.
It's ironic that in this virtual version, the unsteadiness of your cursor movements often contribute to the uniqueness and surprise of your designs.
Anyway, I think this snowflake program can be a metaphor for good game design. The best design is exponential. By that I mean that the player gets out of the game more than what the designer puts in.
A few examples:
It's ironic that in this virtual version, the unsteadiness of your cursor movements often contribute to the uniqueness and surprise of your designs.
Anyway, I think this snowflake program can be a metaphor for good game design. The best design is exponential. By that I mean that the player gets out of the game more than what the designer puts in.
A few examples:
- The ability to throw a person in Saints Row 2. Some content in the game is designed specifically for this feature, but as much or more related content is emergent. The player can throw someone against a wall, in front of a train, onto a car, off a building, over a rail, into breakable furniture, into another person, into the ocean, down a stairway, etc.
- The ability to change spell order in Fable 2. Though there are only a dozen or so spells in the game, the ordering and charge up of those spells, and their combination with melee and ranged skills, enable good variety. When abilities can be combined or linked somehow, those abilities often gain far greater affective power.
- The encouragement of trade in Monopoly and Settlers of Catan. Because trade in those games relies mostly on human intelligence (individual, dynamic, reactive, etc) more than fixed rules, players are free to adapt gameplay to suit their own preferences and momentary desires.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
defining fun
Today, I'm going back to the most fundamental question of game design: What is fun?
This post is necessarily long, but I've tried to keep this as short and orderly as possible. I'm not completely satisfied with the following argument, but I believe it's stronger than others I've read.
Fun is a subset of entertainment. This can be verified by asking yourself two questions: Is all fun entertaining? Is all entertainment fun? The answer to the former is yes; to the latter, no. Fun is entertainment in which the audience actively participates. I'll go so far as to say that the degree of fun is related to degree of participation, though I don't believe the two are directly bound to one another. I'll get into this a bit more later.
Reading The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire can be entertaining, but few would call it fun. Reading Jurassic Park, however, can be fun for many. That's because most people are trained to merely absorb history, rather than to question, imagine, and explore it. Readers are more apt to participate in fiction by picturing the story, imagining themselves as the characters, questioning the story's themes, and so on.
Now I'm going to dig a little deeper. My premises here are debatable, but an avid game designer should have an alternative theory if he or she disagrees with what I propose. Game design fundamentally involves anticipation and manipulation of emotions, and one is better able to do that with a conscious understanding of what emotions are and how they operate. One can design a great game from intuition, as I'm sure many do, but deliberate understanding undoubtedly helps.
Entertainment is a subset of joy. All that is entertaining is enjoyable, but not all that is enjoyable is entertaining. Joy, or happiness, is emotional harmony. The less disparity that exists between seeking and having, wanting and being, perception and actuality, the happier we are.
Consider all the unpleasant things we enjoy. We voluntarily listen to sad and angry music, and enjoy it. We can enjoy sadness and anger because those emotions are right/accurate responses to some situations. Orderly sadness and anger (emotions can be disorderly, inappropriate) are responses to disharmony. Sadness is a response to separation (from desired companions, but also from desired situations). Anger is a response to injustice. Anyway, the point is that happiness can be found even amid disharmony when our response disharmony is correct (harmonious with reality).
So...
Joy/Happiness --> Entertainment --> Fun
Now it seems I must modify an old point. You see, I'm not as stubborn as you think!
I've said before that games do not have to be fun, only entertaining. But if fun is a result of participation, then an interactive art must necessarily involve fun. So a more accurate statement would be: games can be focused on entertainment, rather than fun. Story-focused adventure games, particularly ones with a lot of cinematics, could be said to represent this maxim. The focus of some such games is not on interaction, but on reception of scripted experiences.
If a product's focus is predominantly on entertainment, rather than fun, then I would say it is more film or literature than game. The mediums are not cleanly distinct. There can be overlap (video games, in particular, regularly incorporate other mediums, such as art).
We tend to think of fun as being more purely joyful and entertainment as possibly including a wide variety of emotions, but non-joyful emotions can be integral to fun activities. For example, one might not only listen but sing along to a sad song. One might pretend a role of anger or sadness, as children often do. There is still a joy, a harmony involved, but that is not the only emotion at work. Emotions are rarely isolated in experience.
Developers I respect often say that play (engaging in fun) is about learning new skills. That's incorrect, but perhaps only because of the obsession with skills. Fun necessarily involves action, but skills are not the limit of action, nor the limit of learning.
Perhaps the joy we find in fun comes from learning and applying skills, knowledge, and wisdom (when, where, why, and how to apply knowledge and skills).
Wisdom is similar to a skill, but is not a skill. Critical thinking is a skill, but not wisdom. Wisdom is a consequence of good logic and accurate, and/or copious, knowledge. It's a form of knowledge; an object of information, rather than an action. So perhaps it should be lumped in with knowledge, but I'm not sure.
Fun from learning and application of knowledge can be seen in trivia games. Many popular trivia games, like Trivial Pursuit, offer no strategy (beyond picking teammates, if you're playing with enough people). All you do is roll the dice and answer a question. There's no skill involved, only knowledge and luck. It's the competitive application of knowledge, social interaction, and the thrill of chance which makes that game fun. Even without competing players, people sometimes enjoy reading the question cards to challenge themselves.
Speaking of which... How can the thrill of chance fit into a definition focused on learning? Dice, slot machines, lotteries... these activities feel entertaining and, many would say, fun. Which is it? Entertainment or fun? Perhaps it is the instinctual desire to find or create order in our world from which we find engaging. If so, what are we learning? After the hundredth or thousandth time of rolling the dice, surely the player is beyond learning that not all elements of experience are within our control. So what is the player learning?
Then, of course, there's the question of how boredom and learning can coincide. Learning is not always fun, so how can fun be the result of any and all learning? If learning is the source of enjoyment, then there must exist some qualifier that separates fun learning from not-fun learning.
I give up! At least for now. I haven't found a definition of fun I like yet, and there are certainly holes in this argument, but I feel a little closer. This is not a question to try to answer in a single afternoon! I won't post again until the weekend or Monday, so you can take your time with this.
Complaints? Questions? Where am I off?
By the way, I haven't yet read Raph's A Theory of Fun. My exposure to theories of fun is purely from reading comments of his and others' on blogs and industry sites. It's quite possible that most or all of this long musing is nothing new. Some developers have probably already provided answers to the questions I pose.
Don't worry, Raph! I'll buy your book eventually. :)
This post is necessarily long, but I've tried to keep this as short and orderly as possible. I'm not completely satisfied with the following argument, but I believe it's stronger than others I've read.
Fun is a subset of entertainment. This can be verified by asking yourself two questions: Is all fun entertaining? Is all entertainment fun? The answer to the former is yes; to the latter, no. Fun is entertainment in which the audience actively participates. I'll go so far as to say that the degree of fun is related to degree of participation, though I don't believe the two are directly bound to one another. I'll get into this a bit more later.
Reading The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire can be entertaining, but few would call it fun. Reading Jurassic Park, however, can be fun for many. That's because most people are trained to merely absorb history, rather than to question, imagine, and explore it. Readers are more apt to participate in fiction by picturing the story, imagining themselves as the characters, questioning the story's themes, and so on.
Now I'm going to dig a little deeper. My premises here are debatable, but an avid game designer should have an alternative theory if he or she disagrees with what I propose. Game design fundamentally involves anticipation and manipulation of emotions, and one is better able to do that with a conscious understanding of what emotions are and how they operate. One can design a great game from intuition, as I'm sure many do, but deliberate understanding undoubtedly helps.
Entertainment is a subset of joy. All that is entertaining is enjoyable, but not all that is enjoyable is entertaining. Joy, or happiness, is emotional harmony. The less disparity that exists between seeking and having, wanting and being, perception and actuality, the happier we are.
Consider all the unpleasant things we enjoy. We voluntarily listen to sad and angry music, and enjoy it. We can enjoy sadness and anger because those emotions are right/accurate responses to some situations. Orderly sadness and anger (emotions can be disorderly, inappropriate) are responses to disharmony. Sadness is a response to separation (from desired companions, but also from desired situations). Anger is a response to injustice. Anyway, the point is that happiness can be found even amid disharmony when our response disharmony is correct (harmonious with reality).
So...
Joy/Happiness --> Entertainment --> Fun
Now it seems I must modify an old point. You see, I'm not as stubborn as you think!
I've said before that games do not have to be fun, only entertaining. But if fun is a result of participation, then an interactive art must necessarily involve fun. So a more accurate statement would be: games can be focused on entertainment, rather than fun. Story-focused adventure games, particularly ones with a lot of cinematics, could be said to represent this maxim. The focus of some such games is not on interaction, but on reception of scripted experiences.
If a product's focus is predominantly on entertainment, rather than fun, then I would say it is more film or literature than game. The mediums are not cleanly distinct. There can be overlap (video games, in particular, regularly incorporate other mediums, such as art).
We tend to think of fun as being more purely joyful and entertainment as possibly including a wide variety of emotions, but non-joyful emotions can be integral to fun activities. For example, one might not only listen but sing along to a sad song. One might pretend a role of anger or sadness, as children often do. There is still a joy, a harmony involved, but that is not the only emotion at work. Emotions are rarely isolated in experience.
Developers I respect often say that play (engaging in fun) is about learning new skills. That's incorrect, but perhaps only because of the obsession with skills. Fun necessarily involves action, but skills are not the limit of action, nor the limit of learning.
Perhaps the joy we find in fun comes from learning and applying skills, knowledge, and wisdom (when, where, why, and how to apply knowledge and skills).
Wisdom is similar to a skill, but is not a skill. Critical thinking is a skill, but not wisdom. Wisdom is a consequence of good logic and accurate, and/or copious, knowledge. It's a form of knowledge; an object of information, rather than an action. So perhaps it should be lumped in with knowledge, but I'm not sure.
Fun from learning and application of knowledge can be seen in trivia games. Many popular trivia games, like Trivial Pursuit, offer no strategy (beyond picking teammates, if you're playing with enough people). All you do is roll the dice and answer a question. There's no skill involved, only knowledge and luck. It's the competitive application of knowledge, social interaction, and the thrill of chance which makes that game fun. Even without competing players, people sometimes enjoy reading the question cards to challenge themselves.
Speaking of which... How can the thrill of chance fit into a definition focused on learning? Dice, slot machines, lotteries... these activities feel entertaining and, many would say, fun. Which is it? Entertainment or fun? Perhaps it is the instinctual desire to find or create order in our world from which we find engaging. If so, what are we learning? After the hundredth or thousandth time of rolling the dice, surely the player is beyond learning that not all elements of experience are within our control. So what is the player learning?
Then, of course, there's the question of how boredom and learning can coincide. Learning is not always fun, so how can fun be the result of any and all learning? If learning is the source of enjoyment, then there must exist some qualifier that separates fun learning from not-fun learning.
I give up! At least for now. I haven't found a definition of fun I like yet, and there are certainly holes in this argument, but I feel a little closer. This is not a question to try to answer in a single afternoon! I won't post again until the weekend or Monday, so you can take your time with this.
Complaints? Questions? Where am I off?
By the way, I haven't yet read Raph's A Theory of Fun. My exposure to theories of fun is purely from reading comments of his and others' on blogs and industry sites. It's quite possible that most or all of this long musing is nothing new. Some developers have probably already provided answers to the questions I pose.
Don't worry, Raph! I'll buy your book eventually. :)
Friday, September 05, 2008
the true heart of "casual"
N'Gai Croal (who I love to hear banter about games with Michael Pachter, by the way) wrote an article that inadvertently highlights the reason the "casual games" trend is a fool's errand.
GameInformer editor-in-chief Andy McNamara recently wrote (September 2008 issue) that the division between casual and hardcore gamers is an illusion. The same gamers who play Halo play Bejeweled. Quality, McNamara says, is what drives game sales. The industry is naturally growing beyond the borders of generations who grew up with video games, growing beyond its initial marketing and distributing limitations, and the major causes of that growth are being misperceived.
Croal's article points out why that argument holds water, at least to a limited extent:
That's what "casual" games have that makes them so popular right now, particularly to new and infrequent gamers. They offer a "complete experience" immediately, at any time, and consistently.
Immediately means you don't have to work up to the thrill. The thrill begins when you start the game. MMOs are notorious for telling players "the real fun comes later", and they're shooting themselves in the foot that way. A game that gradually unfolds a story is fine, but there should be some other aspect of the game that is immediate and self-contained (doesn't require remembering what you were doing the last time you played). Fable 2 seems to be an example of a game that offers both a long-term experience and immediate experiences. The omnipresence of immediate experiences and short-term rewards is an important distinction between entertainment and the hardship of real life. Don't make players wait for the thrill.
At any time means the thrill doesn't come in spurts or need rebuilding after the game is paused. Cutscenes are often at odds with this by forcing the player to wait before interaction (play) resumes. Harsh death penalties can put fun on hold or make challenges feel more like work than fun. Pausing a game will inevitably disrupt a player's level of immersion, but keeping fun in all areas and all moments of the game allows the player to regain this immersion quickly and effortlessly. Simple, intuitive controls allow players to move from game to game and take long breaks without feeling frustrated by having to relearn.
Consistently means the thrill is there every time the game is turned on. An MMO, for example, might be inconsistent because its thrill depends on variables like how many players are currently logged in, which players are logged in, or the prevalence of lag. The degree of fun in each play-session is relatively unpredictable. Likewise, games that shift dramatically in content from one point to another, as Half-Life did (human weapons in a human environment --> alien weapons in an alien spaceship) and Assassin's Creed did (fast-paced exploration and combat in the Crusades --> slow dialogue and not much to do during the modern environment), limit their popularity by jarring many players and putting off potential players who don't see a focused game. Every time I boot up Puzzle Quest or Diablo 2, I'll face different challenges and enemies, but the basic style of gameplay remains constant.
Yes, people who are new to gaming or haven't gamed in years need simplicity to convince them they can handle games comfortably. Yes, these potential gamers are more susceptible to lower game prices, because they have not been cultured to accept the high prices of blockbuster games. But beyond that, the appeal of "casual" games is not out of reach of "hardcore" games.
GameInformer editor-in-chief Andy McNamara recently wrote (September 2008 issue) that the division between casual and hardcore gamers is an illusion. The same gamers who play Halo play Bejeweled. Quality, McNamara says, is what drives game sales. The industry is naturally growing beyond the borders of generations who grew up with video games, growing beyond its initial marketing and distributing limitations, and the major causes of that growth are being misperceived.
Croal's article points out why that argument holds water, at least to a limited extent:
"Every session that I have with one of these games feels like a complete experience – even when it’s interrupted – as though I’ve experienced a beginning, a middle and an end."
That's what "casual" games have that makes them so popular right now, particularly to new and infrequent gamers. They offer a "complete experience" immediately, at any time, and consistently.
Immediately means you don't have to work up to the thrill. The thrill begins when you start the game. MMOs are notorious for telling players "the real fun comes later", and they're shooting themselves in the foot that way. A game that gradually unfolds a story is fine, but there should be some other aspect of the game that is immediate and self-contained (doesn't require remembering what you were doing the last time you played). Fable 2 seems to be an example of a game that offers both a long-term experience and immediate experiences. The omnipresence of immediate experiences and short-term rewards is an important distinction between entertainment and the hardship of real life. Don't make players wait for the thrill.
At any time means the thrill doesn't come in spurts or need rebuilding after the game is paused. Cutscenes are often at odds with this by forcing the player to wait before interaction (play) resumes. Harsh death penalties can put fun on hold or make challenges feel more like work than fun. Pausing a game will inevitably disrupt a player's level of immersion, but keeping fun in all areas and all moments of the game allows the player to regain this immersion quickly and effortlessly. Simple, intuitive controls allow players to move from game to game and take long breaks without feeling frustrated by having to relearn.
Consistently means the thrill is there every time the game is turned on. An MMO, for example, might be inconsistent because its thrill depends on variables like how many players are currently logged in, which players are logged in, or the prevalence of lag. The degree of fun in each play-session is relatively unpredictable. Likewise, games that shift dramatically in content from one point to another, as Half-Life did (human weapons in a human environment --> alien weapons in an alien spaceship) and Assassin's Creed did (fast-paced exploration and combat in the Crusades --> slow dialogue and not much to do during the modern environment), limit their popularity by jarring many players and putting off potential players who don't see a focused game. Every time I boot up Puzzle Quest or Diablo 2, I'll face different challenges and enemies, but the basic style of gameplay remains constant.
Yes, people who are new to gaming or haven't gamed in years need simplicity to convince them they can handle games comfortably. Yes, these potential gamers are more susceptible to lower game prices, because they have not been cultured to accept the high prices of blockbuster games. But beyond that, the appeal of "casual" games is not out of reach of "hardcore" games.
Monday, August 25, 2008
no original ideas?
Absolutely, there are original ideas. And Waldo said it best.
Human beings can't create (make something from nothing). We can only invent (use pre-existing materials and concepts to form new objects), but there's always more to be discovered in this way.
Music is the best example. With only 12 notes (in the West), musicians continue to explore new ground. Not just new twists on old styles, but new styles and flavors, new instruments, new progressions and flairs, etc. It's simply amazing. Just thirty short years ago, nobody had heard anything like Korn, Tori Amos, or Guns 'n' Roses. When my parents were young, nobody had imagined an electric violin or computer-modulated singing.
Like with anything, most works fall somewhere into the realm of the ordinary, the flawed and trite. But some will always break free of that.
A non-gaming writer I like, Father John Richard Neuhaus, often talks about "the cult of the new". Especially in our time with such rapid developments in all aspects of society, many people make the mistake of equating newness with quality. New does not equal good. Many of our best inventions are refinements of old works, because no work is ever perfect. Still, new can be good; and new is always possible.
Don't give in to cynicism. I'm no technosoph or utopian dreamer. Our capacity for progress in this world is limited, but there's always so much more to do. So much more.
Human beings can't create (make something from nothing). We can only invent (use pre-existing materials and concepts to form new objects), but there's always more to be discovered in this way.
Music is the best example. With only 12 notes (in the West), musicians continue to explore new ground. Not just new twists on old styles, but new styles and flavors, new instruments, new progressions and flairs, etc. It's simply amazing. Just thirty short years ago, nobody had heard anything like Korn, Tori Amos, or Guns 'n' Roses. When my parents were young, nobody had imagined an electric violin or computer-modulated singing.
Like with anything, most works fall somewhere into the realm of the ordinary, the flawed and trite. But some will always break free of that.
A non-gaming writer I like, Father John Richard Neuhaus, often talks about "the cult of the new". Especially in our time with such rapid developments in all aspects of society, many people make the mistake of equating newness with quality. New does not equal good. Many of our best inventions are refinements of old works, because no work is ever perfect. Still, new can be good; and new is always possible.
Don't give in to cynicism. I'm no technosoph or utopian dreamer. Our capacity for progress in this world is limited, but there's always so much more to do. So much more.
Friday, August 22, 2008
goals alone don't motivate
So I finally got around to watching the trailers for Command & Conquer: Red Alert 3. Just about everyone who has played RTS games since the genre's earliest days knows that Red Alert is one of the gems in the RTS crown, so hopes are high for any game that seeks to recapture that experience.
In RA3 (gamers love acronyms, right?), the graphical quality and visual detail are very impressive, the story sounds intriguing, and the scale of combat seems right for a Red Alert game. But you know what really grabbed me in the trailers?
That classic Red Alert music! Heavy metal guitar mixed with marching orders and a touch of techno. Oh yes. It's time to rock!
Music, more than any other artform, acts as inspiration. And inspiration is vital to any player experience. It's not enough to provide goals and some challenges to overcome.
It basically boils down to this: human beings are not defined merely by logic, by our capacity for reasoning. Emotion is every bit as vital to our being, and the purpose of emotion is to motivate. Every one of us sometimes fails to act in accordance with our own reasoning, and that is because logic is simply not enough.
Great music inspires. Wondrous and beautiful visions inspire. Deep and larger-than-life characters inspire.
Mathematical formulations fail to produce great works of art because art is math yet it is more than math... just as humans are logical, but we are more than logic. Calculations are often accurate, but they are not enough. A good game designer studies the science behind the systems, he pays attention to demographics and other statistical feedback, but he also steps back from all the numbers and the figures to look at his work with a child's eyes and a loving heart. He takes a moment to regain that child-like sense of wonder and asks simply, "Now, what would be cool?".
A wise man once said that anything worth knowing can be explained to a child. If you can't explain to a child why your game is worth playing, why your game is "cool", then it's time to start over. Goals and challenges are nothing without inspiration to pursue and conquer them.
In RA3 (gamers love acronyms, right?), the graphical quality and visual detail are very impressive, the story sounds intriguing, and the scale of combat seems right for a Red Alert game. But you know what really grabbed me in the trailers?
That classic Red Alert music! Heavy metal guitar mixed with marching orders and a touch of techno. Oh yes. It's time to rock!
Music, more than any other artform, acts as inspiration. And inspiration is vital to any player experience. It's not enough to provide goals and some challenges to overcome.
It basically boils down to this: human beings are not defined merely by logic, by our capacity for reasoning. Emotion is every bit as vital to our being, and the purpose of emotion is to motivate. Every one of us sometimes fails to act in accordance with our own reasoning, and that is because logic is simply not enough.
Great music inspires. Wondrous and beautiful visions inspire. Deep and larger-than-life characters inspire.
Mathematical formulations fail to produce great works of art because art is math yet it is more than math... just as humans are logical, but we are more than logic. Calculations are often accurate, but they are not enough. A good game designer studies the science behind the systems, he pays attention to demographics and other statistical feedback, but he also steps back from all the numbers and the figures to look at his work with a child's eyes and a loving heart. He takes a moment to regain that child-like sense of wonder and asks simply, "Now, what would be cool?".
A wise man once said that anything worth knowing can be explained to a child. If you can't explain to a child why your game is worth playing, why your game is "cool", then it's time to start over. Goals and challenges are nothing without inspiration to pursue and conquer them.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
chance
I have a great appreciation for chance/luck in games. I played a lot of boardgames and poker growing up, and those games tend to involve as much or more chance than skill. Monopoly, Sorry!, Chutes and Ladders, Scrabble, Life... countless boardgames have proven that there's a massive market for games in which the roll or the draw is king.
Complete randomness is not good. Spinnerbox, one of Fable 2's three pub games, is a terrible game. It's basically a slot machine. Slot machines can probably be found in nearly every casino in America, if not the world. The game is certainly popular, but I don't think that's because it's fun. It's addictive -- that's not the same as fun. If the reward was not monetary, I doubt anyone would play the game. It's the concept of money for nothing that's attractive. The anxious anticipation of winning quickly fades for most as the game is replayed. People stay for the money, not the game. I could be wrong, though.
So anyway, 100% chance is bad. But chance doesn't have to be a small part of gameplay. Luck can be the heart of a very popular (profitable) game.
And chance doesn't exclude choice. One thing Monopoly and Diablo 2 have in common is that player choice occurs mostly in reaction to uncontrolled events (dice rolls and loot "rolls"). The same happens in epic literary adventures; characters respond to, rather than cause, major events.
Complete randomness is not good. Spinnerbox, one of Fable 2's three pub games, is a terrible game. It's basically a slot machine. Slot machines can probably be found in nearly every casino in America, if not the world. The game is certainly popular, but I don't think that's because it's fun. It's addictive -- that's not the same as fun. If the reward was not monetary, I doubt anyone would play the game. It's the concept of money for nothing that's attractive. The anxious anticipation of winning quickly fades for most as the game is replayed. People stay for the money, not the game. I could be wrong, though.
So anyway, 100% chance is bad. But chance doesn't have to be a small part of gameplay. Luck can be the heart of a very popular (profitable) game.
And chance doesn't exclude choice. One thing Monopoly and Diablo 2 have in common is that player choice occurs mostly in reaction to uncontrolled events (dice rolls and loot "rolls"). The same happens in epic literary adventures; characters respond to, rather than cause, major events.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
accept limits
I just want to point y'all to a great post made by Sanya the other day.
Lesson #1: Design for the tech and audience you have now; not what you might have later.
Lesson #2: Be humble enough to really listen to experienced designers (hunt them down if you have to)... including when they're wrong! Whenever someone is wrong about anything, you can at least learn from asking why they believe what they believe.
Lesson #3: Artists can meet deadlines, too. Many deadlines shouldn't be written in stone, but they shouldn't be completely malleable either.
Lesson #1: Design for the tech and audience you have now; not what you might have later.
Lesson #2: Be humble enough to really listen to experienced designers (hunt them down if you have to)... including when they're wrong! Whenever someone is wrong about anything, you can at least learn from asking why they believe what they believe.
Lesson #3: Artists can meet deadlines, too. Many deadlines shouldn't be written in stone, but they shouldn't be completely malleable either.
there are goals in combat?
As I said in response to Geoff's post about MMOFPS games, I don't think combat needs any goals if it truly is engaging.
I don't mean that goals are not necessary to gameplay. They are, of course, regardless of a game's genre and style. But good combat can be enjoyed for its own sake.
Halo offers players a clear goal: reach the end of the level to advance the story. Yet players are generally more focused on enjoying the battle at hand than moving forward. The same occurs in LOTR: Battle for Middle Earth II, Star Wars: Battlefront, Street Fighter II, Neverwinter Nights, and many other great games.
Sure, maybe your MMO isn't just about combat, and a depthful and dynamic combat system (which includes fun, dynamic enemies) requires a good bit of time and resources. Games like Halo and Street Fighter 2 can concentrate more exclusively on battle. But if the majority of time playing your game involves fighting (as in most MMOs), then there's no excuse for a lackluster combat system (as most MMOs have).
Grinding is the obvious result of focusing on goals to the neglect of the journey. When the journey is basically just filler between goals, I consider that disrespectful to gamers.
I don't mean that goals are not necessary to gameplay. They are, of course, regardless of a game's genre and style. But good combat can be enjoyed for its own sake.
Halo offers players a clear goal: reach the end of the level to advance the story. Yet players are generally more focused on enjoying the battle at hand than moving forward. The same occurs in LOTR: Battle for Middle Earth II, Star Wars: Battlefront, Street Fighter II, Neverwinter Nights, and many other great games.
Sure, maybe your MMO isn't just about combat, and a depthful and dynamic combat system (which includes fun, dynamic enemies) requires a good bit of time and resources. Games like Halo and Street Fighter 2 can concentrate more exclusively on battle. But if the majority of time playing your game involves fighting (as in most MMOs), then there's no excuse for a lackluster combat system (as most MMOs have).
Grinding is the obvious result of focusing on goals to the neglect of the journey. When the journey is basically just filler between goals, I consider that disrespectful to gamers.
Monday, June 09, 2008
classic stories vs mere entertainment
This started out as a response to Monique's article over at Write the Game, in which she stresses the importance of relationships in game dramas.
I think every classic novel and film is fundamentally about human beings and human relationships ( with others, with nature, with God, with past and future generations, with technology, etc). Classic stories are about us. Through the story experience, we, the audience, understand a little more about ourselves and how we as individuals relate to the world.
When we watch the movie Alien, for example, we're fascinated by the monster; but it's the human responses to the alien that make the story memorable. Otherwise, the Sci-Fi Channel's original movies would be worth watching. ;)
Consider this: Comedy (by which I mean "humorous narrative", as opposed to the literary critic's definition) has been around since the dawn of acting, literature (including oral literature), and art. Yet how many comedies are considered classics? The comedies that last beyond generations offer more than mere resolution. Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing and A Midsummer Night's Dream explore relationships that cannot be fully defined or explained because they are truthfully-imagined human relationships, rather than mere stratagems in entertaining plots.
What attracts so many to Da Vinci's most famous painting every year, what is mentioned time and again in the countless critiques it has received, is the mystery of Mona Lisa's smile and gaze. The painting stands on its accurate representation of the beautiful subtlety and mystery of human emotion.
Entertaining stories leave us with answers; with certain conclusions. Classics leave us with answers, but also questions -- questions which, despite their universality or social focus, are deeply personal. Classics can be appreciated over and over again because we're never entirely sure of our own responses to them. We notice things the second time around that we didn't notice the first time. Classics grow with us. Our individual personalities and experiences, our cultural, geographical, and technological points of reference, our exposure to other artistic works -- these things change us, and so change what we see in and how we respond to those great stories. Every time we read them, listen to them, gaze upon them, play them... every time it's new, because we also are new.
Where does a soldier find the strength and immediately-present love to jump on a grenade so his comrades might be spared? What do you do when a child points a gun at you with intent to kill? Is it a betrayal of friendship to ask for romance, not knowing the nature of that friend's thoughts of you? When are you obligated to reveal your feelings, and when are you obligated to be happy or brave for another person?
Those are the sort of questions classic stories raise. They are questions without certain answers. We've been asking them for thousands of years, yet still we have only incomplete and often unsatisfying responses. Classic works often provide those partial answers. They hint at the truth we know, and motivate audiences to keep searching for the rest.
I believe that all human beings are called to perfection. None of us can be perfect, but each of us is capable of amazing feats. We should strive toward the amazing, reach for the miraculous. That calling is present in every aspect of our lives, and it includes making art. Few of us will ever create a masterpiece, but we should all aim that high. The place to start is within ourselves -- the questions that drive our lives and define our actions. We all ask classic questions. A master storyteller shares such thoughts in a presentation that does them justice.
I think every classic novel and film is fundamentally about human beings and human relationships ( with others, with nature, with God, with past and future generations, with technology, etc). Classic stories are about us. Through the story experience, we, the audience, understand a little more about ourselves and how we as individuals relate to the world.
When we watch the movie Alien, for example, we're fascinated by the monster; but it's the human responses to the alien that make the story memorable. Otherwise, the Sci-Fi Channel's original movies would be worth watching. ;)
Consider this: Comedy (by which I mean "humorous narrative", as opposed to the literary critic's definition) has been around since the dawn of acting, literature (including oral literature), and art. Yet how many comedies are considered classics? The comedies that last beyond generations offer more than mere resolution. Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing and A Midsummer Night's Dream explore relationships that cannot be fully defined or explained because they are truthfully-imagined human relationships, rather than mere stratagems in entertaining plots.
What attracts so many to Da Vinci's most famous painting every year, what is mentioned time and again in the countless critiques it has received, is the mystery of Mona Lisa's smile and gaze. The painting stands on its accurate representation of the beautiful subtlety and mystery of human emotion.
Entertaining stories leave us with answers; with certain conclusions. Classics leave us with answers, but also questions -- questions which, despite their universality or social focus, are deeply personal. Classics can be appreciated over and over again because we're never entirely sure of our own responses to them. We notice things the second time around that we didn't notice the first time. Classics grow with us. Our individual personalities and experiences, our cultural, geographical, and technological points of reference, our exposure to other artistic works -- these things change us, and so change what we see in and how we respond to those great stories. Every time we read them, listen to them, gaze upon them, play them... every time it's new, because we also are new.
Where does a soldier find the strength and immediately-present love to jump on a grenade so his comrades might be spared? What do you do when a child points a gun at you with intent to kill? Is it a betrayal of friendship to ask for romance, not knowing the nature of that friend's thoughts of you? When are you obligated to reveal your feelings, and when are you obligated to be happy or brave for another person?
Those are the sort of questions classic stories raise. They are questions without certain answers. We've been asking them for thousands of years, yet still we have only incomplete and often unsatisfying responses. Classic works often provide those partial answers. They hint at the truth we know, and motivate audiences to keep searching for the rest.
I believe that all human beings are called to perfection. None of us can be perfect, but each of us is capable of amazing feats. We should strive toward the amazing, reach for the miraculous. That calling is present in every aspect of our lives, and it includes making art. Few of us will ever create a masterpiece, but we should all aim that high. The place to start is within ourselves -- the questions that drive our lives and define our actions. We all ask classic questions. A master storyteller shares such thoughts in a presentation that does them justice.
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