Buckle up, 'cause shit's about to get pseudo-academic.
The debate over the artistic merit of video games (or lack thereof) is not a new one, but in recent years the question has received a great deal of attention. When Roger Ebert declared that video games could not be art in 2005, the question of whether or not was introduced to gamers of all kinds, when earlier only a few writers had considered it seriously.
As is generally the case when the gamers debate, most of the replies were disappointing, somewhat incoherent, and missed the point.
The crux of Ebert's argument concerns player interaction – that games cannot reach the same artistic heights as books or movies, because games are the only medium where the creators can be overridden by player choice. The player has the ability to distort or change the intended message of the creators, and because of that, any attempt by game developers to make the kinds of insights made by books and movies are hobbled in a way that can't be overcome.
This is bullshit. It's where Ebert's complete lack of game experience truly undermines his argument. The idea that gamers can do whatever they want, trampling roughshod over the wills of designers, is something only a non-gamer would think. Anyone with even a passing familiarity with games knows that players can only do as much as the designers allow them to do. The bane of the gamer's existence – the insurmountable knee-high pile of rubble – is a prime example demonstrating just how much power designers have over players. Games don't offer players control as much as the illusion of control; ultimately, it is up to the creators to decide the paths and actions a player can take, and they have just as much power to guide a player, just as book authors guide their readers and film directors guide their viewers.
Unfortunately, the vast majority of gamers don't even consider the 'player interaction' aspect of the 'art' discussion. There are a number of people who focus on how long it took for film to be regarded as a valid artistic medium, which is a useless observation, as the length of time before something is accepted as 'art' isn't indicative of whether something can be art. Robert Brockway, in his excellent breakdown of the game Rez, is one of the few game writers who has explored the player interaction angle in depth; and he is only one writer out of many.
This is all a long-winded way of saying that I am frustrated that so few people have done a very simple thing: define what they mean by 'art' when applying it to gaming. Having a solid set of criteria is a lot easier to defend than simply poking holes in other people's assumptions, and gives people consistent guidelines they can apply to any game.
The following are the guidelines I use when determining whether or not a game is 'art.' This isn't to say that these are the only criteria people should use; they are just the criteria that matter most to me.
Intent. This one is pretty simple – game designers can't make art by accident, they have to set out with the intent to make art. That knocks a lot of games out of consideration from the outset, as the vast majority of games are made for entertainment – which, for the record, is not a knock against entertaining or popular games. Making something that is both entertaining to many and original in design is incredibly difficult and requires a great deal of talent and work, but the presence of talent and work are not the sole qualifiers for artistic expression.
This doesn't mean that developers need to publicly declare “Hey, this game we're making is going to be ART!” It just means that the developers would like to achieve more that just creating an entertaining experience. Which brings me to my next point...
A game must have a theme. This term is a little vague; the best way I can describe it is “Developers need to have something to say.” That 'something' can be very broad; it can be as simple and unfocused as making players 'think' or as grand and ambitious as making a statement about the transience and fragility of human life. (Hello, Lost Odyssey.) This also allows for moments of artistic expression in games that primarily focused on entertainment; nearly every game released today has a storyline that, at one point or another, tries to say something about real-life issues, or elicit a strong emotional response from the player. Whether or not that attempt is successful is another thing entirely, but what's important is that the attempt is there in the first place.
Finally, a game needs to utilize player interaction to develop its theme. By that, I mean a game can't just use cut scenes or dialog to make a point, as cut scenes and text are essentially the same medium as movies and books, respectively. The control over a player's actions, and a player's ability to interact with the world creators have built is a unique aspect that cannot be duplicated in any other medium. Final Fantasy X, for example, uses a strict, linear structure to underscore the themes of pilgrimage and unavoidable duty. Survival horror games have become notorious for utilizing deliberately clumsy control schemes to heighten a player's sense of helplessness. LIMBO is a game that has generated an enormous amount of speculation and discussion about the meaning of its story, a 'story' that has no cut scenes, and no text outside of a one-sentence description – it's an experience that can only exist as a game.
This means, however, that some games held up as examples of artistic achievement aren't actually art, or rather – it's art that is more traditional than unique. Xenosaga, for example, completely separates its storyline from its game play; it's possible to experience everything Xenosaga has to offer by say, watching all the cut scenes on YouTube without ever playing through its uninspired dungeons or other free-roam areas. While the cut scenes and game dialog show a great deal of polish and creativity and pretentiousness it could easily be replicated through a television series or graphic novel. Because the game play aspect is so removed from what Xenosaga is trying to do artistically, it can't be considered an artistic game – just a game with an elaborate storyline.
Obviously, I don't mean for these guidelines to be the one and only true definition of artistry in video games. They are simply what I use when considering whether or not a game has achieved something artistically. In later posts I plan to explore a number of games and how they do, or do not, meet these criteria. In particular, I will focus on the relationship between player and designer, and how they influence each others' decisions. I hope readers will find these posts interesting and engaging.
I might also write a lot of posts saying Game Informer sucks. I hope that's interesting and engaging for you, too.
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