"That's how the world works, Becks. Things glow when you can interact with them."
It is summertime in the Valley of the Sun. This now being the fifth year I have spent in part or in whole in the desert, I have acclimated to the point that I now reach for a sweater when the thermometer dips to 88 degrees Fahrenheit. Those blessedly cool days are far away though, and in an effort to keep this month's electric bill below $300 for our little apartment, my roommate has moved his computer into our living/dining room, on the opposite side of the sofa from my "office".
As I write this, it is Sunday morning, and I am at work. Across the room, Raven the Wonder Roommate is lugubriously working his way through some previously unattempted FPS (I am going to assume it is FarCry 2 because he keeps complaining that he is out of malaria medication). When I turned around to see exactly what he was whinging about, he was in the process of entering a ramshackle hovel where a friendly NPC was seated on what can only be described from across the room as a tanning bed.
"What are you talking about?" Raven asked in that familiar, "My roommate is a girl and clearly cannot be allowed to play games" tone.
"The dude you were just talking to. Why is he sitting on a tanning bed?"
"That's a cot."
"Then why is it glowing? I assume it's not radioactive."
"That's how the world works, Becks," He explained. "Things glow when you can interact with them."
And that's when it hit me. In the world of gaming, instinct don't mean shit, yo. If the cot didn't radiate, you'd possibly never realize you could use it to rest. If there weren't one shiny lever in a row of rusted ones, you'd possibly not think to pull any of them. If not for a lamp hanging above that particular door, or a bell that goes 'ding' when there's something to look at or a friendly NPC leading you to one particular spot, how would you ever solve the puzzle before you?
Now, my first reaction is to point an accusatory finger at the modern gaming industry, with their fancy high resolution graphics and open world designs. Sure, when you've got layers and layers of background and set design, it could be difficult, even frustrating to accomplish anything, such as figuring out which palm tree the key to that conspicious speedboat I need to cross this random body of water is hanging from. Let's make it a little bit taller, a little bit brighter. Really pop. Because unlike real life, you can't go chopping down every palm tree until you find the bloody key (or can build a raft). Which would have been my first choice, honestly.
But then my old fashioned, text-based-adventure loving self begrudgingly had to admit that the pre-everything games I loved so much really weren't any different. Sure, there were no blatant audio/visual clues, but the same ends were reached through selective description. You're walking through a forest. You're walking through a forest. You're walking through a forest, there is a tree here. Why here? Is this the only tree in the Great Treeless Forest of No Trees Beside this One? Hmm, maybe I should inspect it. Oh look, a plot device!
All of this leads me to the conclusion that we members of the past generation or two have really been conditioned to look without seeing. The next time you visit a public restroom, count how many diagrams and sets of instructions you find. As if shitting weren't something each of us has done since Day 1. Our coffee cups warn us that hot beverages are hot, and our blow driers have tags to keep us from using them in the shower. Even the soda cup on my desk has an illustration reminding me to throw it in the trash. Are we really that far gone that our instincts have been reduced to a series of Pavlovian responses? Will our grandchildren be forced to wear a monitor when they go swimming to remind them that they cannot breathe under water, or set their watches for mealtimes so they don't starve to death? Maybe our clothes, dishes and houses will clean themselves, so that no one runs the risk of ever sleeping through a laundry day again.
And all the important things in life will glow.
The Dumbing Down of Instinct
"That's how the world works, Becks. Things glow when you can interact with them."
It is summertime in the Valley of the Sun. This now being the fifth year I have spent in part or in whole in the desert, I have acclimated to the point that I now reach for a sweater when the thermometer dips to 88 degrees Fahrenheit. Those blessedly cool days are far away though, and in an effort to keep this month's electric bill below $300 for our little apartment, my roommate has moved his computer into our living/dining room, on the opposite side of the sofa from my "office".
As I write this, it is Sunday morning, and I am at work. Across the room, Raven the Wonder Roommate is lugubriously working his way through some previously unattempted FPS (I am going to assume it is FarCry 2 because he keeps complaining that he is out of malaria medication). When I turned around to see exactly what he was whinging about, he was in the process of entering a ramshackle hovel where a friendly NPC was seated on what can only be described from across the room as a tanning bed.
"What are you talking about?" Raven asked in that familiar, "My roommate is a girl and clearly cannot be allowed to play games" tone.
"The dude you were just talking to. Why is he sitting on a tanning bed?"
"That's a cot."
"Then why is it glowing? I assume it's not radioactive."
"That's how the world works, Becks," He explained. "Things glow when you can interact with them."
And that's when it hit me. In the world of gaming, instinct don't mean shit, yo. If the cot didn't radiate, you'd possibly never realize you could use it to rest. If there weren't one shiny lever in a row of rusted ones, you'd possibly not think to pull any of them. If not for a lamp hanging above that particular door, or a bell that goes 'ding' when there's something to look at or a friendly NPC leading you to one particular spot, how would you ever solve the puzzle before you?
Now, my first reaction is to point an accusatory finger at the modern gaming industry, with their fancy high resolution graphics and open world designs. Sure, when you've got layers and layers of background and set design, it could be difficult, even frustrating to accomplish anything, such as figuring out which palm tree the key to that conspicious speedboat I need to cross this random body of water is hanging from. Let's make it a little bit taller, a little bit brighter. Really pop. Because unlike real life, you can't go chopping down every palm tree until you find the bloody key (or can build a raft). Which would have been my first choice, honestly.
But then my old fashioned, text-based-adventure loving self begrudgingly had to admit that the pre-everything games I loved so much really weren't any different. Sure, there were no blatant audio/visual clues, but the same ends were reached through selective description. You're walking through a forest. You're walking through a forest. You're walking through a forest, there is a tree here. Why here? Is this the only tree in the Great Treeless Forest of No Trees Beside this One? Hmm, maybe I should inspect it. Oh look, a plot device!
All of this leads me to the conclusion that we members of the past generation or two have really been conditioned to look without seeing. The next time you visit a public restroom, count how many diagrams and sets of instructions you find. As if shitting weren't something each of us has done since Day 1. Our coffee cups warn us that hot beverages are hot, and our blow driers have tags to keep us from using them in the shower. Even the soda cup on my desk has an illustration reminding me to throw it in the trash. Are we really that far gone that our instincts have been reduced to a series of Pavlovian responses? Will our grandchildren be forced to wear a monitor when they go swimming to remind them that they cannot breathe under water, or set their watches for mealtimes so they don't starve to death? Maybe our clothes, dishes and houses will clean themselves, so that no one runs the risk of ever sleeping through a laundry day again.
And all the important things in life will glow.
I guess to broaden the appeal (i.e. to drop the frustration) in games, the explorers and the experimenters are often ignored. I'm irritated by glowing stuff too, especially in 3D games that allow you to move around and examine objects. It doesn't really feel nearly as frustrating as pixel hunting in a 2D game, or trying to guess the right words in a parser-driven game.
It's especially awkward when I see games that simplify searching a room to the point where you just click a bunch and move on. All those art assets are ignored, and the feel of the place is limited to the shinies. You don't really feel like you're exploring, so much as being paid in-game credit for your game purchase. I guess some games don't care much about exploration; I guess that's fine if the game still works, but I hope we don't give up on the idea of giving some players some games where we're credited with intelligence and curiosity, rather than a psychotic level of impatience.
This is only stage one.
Stage two is selective breeding via the removal of all warnings.
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