On Thomsen’s “Will Work for Fun”

So the video game world is blowing up a little bit today over Michael Thomsen‘s article for Kill Screen titled “Will Work for Fun.”

To start off, I want to say that I agree with 90% of what Thomsen has to say about video games. I am a fan of the ever-fashionable Marxist critique, and Thomsen applies it deftly to marketplace of video games, showing how adaptive changes in the means of production have equated to a change in the way that people play video games (or maybe the ends of what gameplay means.)

It is that last 10% that made me write this post. Thomsen’s article is split into sections, with the first being about the transition of the traditional, console-based to the free-then-pay model (my words, not his.) Totally straightforward and basically true. The second section opens with this quote:

Thinking of videogames as “free-to-play” reminds me of why I hate to play games with other people. In its purest form, play is a creative act negotiated between two people without intermediary. I am not playing when I’m interacting with a videogame, I’m accepting someone else’s rules and experimenting with them, allowing the designer to delimit my instincts for behavior. Doing this with another person feels like a waste of time, an inherent loss of the generative possibilities of play without intermediary limits. Videogames are the experience of being ruled. In contrast, play is the experience of generating new rules in collaboration with someone else. The idea that “play” is free is redundant. It is only ever free. As soon as money is involved it no longer simply “play” but a perverse form of labor, proving one’s worth as a participant in, and exponent of, the zeitgeist.

We need to do some exegesis of some definitions here. For Thomsen, play is “a creative act negotiated between two people without intermediary.” There are a couple assumptions locked into that definition. The first is that, to get to “play,” one has to be with another person. Play can’t be achieved by one person alone. The second assumption is that you have to be local with that person; if mediators, like virtual systems, kill play, I imagine that things like telephones, the internet, etc. would also have to do the same thing. The third assumption rests in the word “people,” implying that one cannot play with, say, a cat. I have ten thousand times more fun with my cat than any other one-on-one play experience I have ever had with another person, and she certainly understands that play is happening.

If we grant Thomsen his limiting, anthropocentric definition, then we still have some problems. He characterizes the act of playing video games as “the experience of being ruled” because the player of a game is “accepting someone else’s rules and experimenting with them” which allows “the designer to delimit [the player's] instincts for behavior.” The begin with, I don’t understand how this broad definition and complaint about accepting the rules of video games is any different from living in the real world. Social mores govern us in the same way, and more importantly, they limit and inhibit cognition in the same way. The idea that a being is a free agent, the libertarian wet dream, is a myth.

The last issue that I have with the paragraph is that, at some hidden point, we jump to money being involved. The paragraph flows from “mediating agents between players means that we are being controlled” to “money involved in that system makes it bad.” It is a non sequitur at best, but it is also wrong. It isn’t merely money that makes the process problematic–you can play hundreds of games for free, a huge amount of which are awesome. Rather, and this is a point that I don’t think is clear in Thomsen’s article, it is the way that one is forced to play that turns play into labor. It isn’t the fact that you are playing by someone else’s rules that makes that form of play bad (or non-play, for Thomsen). We are never playing by our own rules. Instead, it is the drudgery involved, the time commitment that is required to climb to Olympian heights.

For Thomsen’s critique to really hit hard, I think we have to veer away from the discussion of play and how play is enacted in the world of the game. The free will argument is pointless, and while we might have gotten highjacked by capitalism as an industry, I don’t think we need to be surprised by that. The video game industry, at the bare moment of being created as a product, extracts massive amounts of labor from developers, programmers, machine assembly workers, and now players. That shouldn’t be a surprise, and while I’m glad Thomsen wrote the article, we need to push it further.

So if we accept the rest of Thomsen’s argument after that paragraph, which I mostly do, then we accept that making players do drudging work to get to have “fun” in a game might be a little fucked up. The next step beyond that, however, has already been taken by iOS developers. They take the fact that gamers are performing terrible labor for granted. They know that no one wants to put ten thousand hours into Jetpack Joyride just to unlock every jetpack. So they give the player in-app purchases which are in-game currency. This is the company scrip system for the digital era, but even more insidious.

If labor is the combination of the time and work involved to create capital, then in-app scrip is the purchase of that labor. The game player is literally buying her own labor from the company. This is something that is only possible in the digital era, and it is also fascinating–in a fictional, fantastical economic world, anything is possible.

Definitely read Thomsen’s article if you haven’t. It is smart all the way through, and I’m glad this kind of critique is getting some maximized exposure. Check it out.

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On Why We Love Sociopaths

Adam Kotsko, famous blogger and academic guy, has recently published his second book for Zer0 Books, titled Why We Love SociopathsThe book is a longform essay on the concept of the sociopath and analyzes why most popular contemporary television is filled with sociopathic protagonists. That’s my boilerplate.

The book is good, and by good, I mean damn good. Kotsko walked me through a funhouse of American media representations since the 1990s. Like any funhouse experience, it was terrifying, and yet I was still glad that I paid my entrance fee (which was $0, but you know how that goes.) Kotsko is interested in the relationship between our media fantasies and the way we live our lives. What desires are we projecting onto the television screen? By “us,” I mean your middle-class, liberal television viewers, as Kotsko often reminds us, and the television that gets analyzed is reflective of that demographic: House, The Sopranos, Mad Men, Seinfeld, and the holy grail of entertainment, The Wire, are all presented and picked apart in front of your fascinated face.

The 80-odd pages between introduction and conclusion analyze those shows through a spectrum of socipathy that Kotsko presents us with. There are schemers, low level sociopaths who are followed by their more powerful siblings, the climbers.  Higher than they are the enforcers. Without getting into the specifics of what these different groups are, which Kotsko does a great job at, I can simply say that schemers play in culture, climbers abuse culture, and enforcers wrangle it. I’m not sure what I really mean by those odd little divisions, but I hope that they resonate with you as much as I think they should–they are measurements of degree of interruptability.

The fascinating part about the book, in broad strokes, is the conclusion in which Kotsko comes down on this hard fact: sociopaths aren’t somehow doing something that “normal” people aren’t. The sociopath fantasy is a fictional creation that actually seeks to maintain the status quo rather than alter it. In a weird way, Kotsko is coming to the same conclusion that Heidegger did about Nietzsche; the power fantasies and desires to see those people who “do what must be done” have ended up in an absolute figure who appears to be outside the system she is critical of, though that isn’t the case when put under Kotsko’s scrutiny.

The book is full of hard truths like that. One that particularly shook me up, especially considering my own work with the Marvel Comics character The Punisher, was this passage in the latter half of Sociopaths:

This fantasy of suspending the normal rules in order to do what needs to be done is an attractive one—and, in contemporary society, an increasingly prevalent one. As more and more organizations, in government and business alike, seem to be self-perpetuating bureaucracies with little connection to their original goals, the fantasy of a brave leader coming in, shaking things up, and setting things right is compelling. It’s even more convincing when that brave leader shows he’s for real by being self-sacrificing: working long hours, taking low pay, even neglecting his family out of his passionate devotion to the cause. This leader, so the fantasy goes, is so devoted to the goals of the organization that he’s willing to break all the organization’s own rules in service of it, so driven by moral conviction that he neglects his  most fundamental moral obligations. Such behavior will win you a place at the right hand of the Lord—or, failing that, a flattering profile in the New York Times Sunday magazine.  (68-9)

The implication is that the figure who exists to do what must be done is only necessary because we believe her to be. What is the real reward? Why do we want to see figures who are hyper-conflated by bureaucracies or gangs or the federal government?

In a way, the fascination with the sociopath, the person who navigates and lives life better than we do, is really a masochism. We see these figures and they constantly remind us of our meekness, our not-House-ness. And we love it. We love it so much that these characters are being put in every popular show–the figure who doesn’t care, the character we can laugh with and secretly want to replace with ourselves.

The conclusion of the book is a call for a new kind of sociopathy, a radical one that really does reject a relationship to dominant culture and lets its adherents follow a new path. As Kotsko says, this is the kind of sociopath the Jesus, Buddha, and Socrates were.

And that scares me. It scares me because I find all three of those figures equally terrifying.

In any case, buy the book. It is worth your time and money. Kotsko is witty throughout the whole thing, and it is worth price of admission alone just to read Kotsko tearing into 24 for a few pages.

(You might also want to check out my review of Awkwardness, Kotsko’s previous book for Zer0 Books.)

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“Creators are more important than fictional characters and corporations.”

Today was going to be my review of Kotsko’s Why We Love Sociopaths but I got busy writing something for Nightmare Mode and running errands, so that has to wait at least one more day.

Instead, you get this gem that Jamaal Thomas wrote over at Funnybook Babylon.

For the most part, the post is just a condemnation of DC Comics’ treatment of Alan Moore and the general massive fuckery that has gone on in that camp over the past couple years. It then spreads into a larger discussion about creators rights and our ethical responsibilities as consumers of comic books. Thomas writes:

Are we members of a thriving community dedicated to a unique art form? Or are we simply consumers of entertainment products featuring our favorite characters? There’s something very freeing about being a consumer. You can limit your engagement with the industry to buying comics at your local store, from Amazon or on Comixology. You can care about creator’s rights to the extent that they are protected by criminal and civil law. Your purchasing decisions can be purely defined by the quality/entertainment value of the work. If you’re a customer, it’s all about choice. In contrast, if we self-identify as members of a community, we feel an obligation to assume an expanded sense of responsibility to our own, even if they signed a bad contract.

I’d prefer to be a member of a community. There’s nothing dishonorable about limiting one’s engagement with industry to consuming the product, even though I would hope that readers who make this choice try to be ethical consumers by paying some attention to the conditions under which the books they enjoy are created.

Creators are more important than fictional characters and corporations. They are more important than the fifteen minutes of entertainment that I get from reading a good Marvel/DC superhero comic, or the two hours plus of ‘entertainment’ from a superhero action movie. I don’t know if that means I should stop reading comics published by Marvel or DC yet. I want to continue buying books written and drawn by some of my favorite creators, many of whom don’t publish work independently or for other publishers. I don’t really want to boycott either publisher (though I understand why some do). I like contributing to not-for-profits or other funds that support creators in need of help, but that just doesn’t feel sufficient.

I’m not quite ready to quit, but Moore’s words keep echoing in my mind.

This is basically my exact feelings on the subject. I’m not ready to make the David Brothers leap just yet, but I am incredibly close, and it isn’t like I buy enough Big Two for it to matter much in my life anyway. The only cape comics that I really read with any regularity are whenever The Punisher kicks up into high gear, which is pretty rare. Other than that it is Animal Man when he is being written well, fun one-shots, and miniseries. I’m pretty certain that no one at the Big Two makes comics for me anyway, so it isn’t a hug loss.

Anyway, I just really wanted you to read that bit I quoted and to check out Thomas’ article. It is good stuff.

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Jita, Burning

I don’t know anything about EVE Online. I hear things, now and again, though. Burn Jita is one of those things that I have heard about.

Gamepolitics explains:

“Starting last Friday, it was on fire,” CCP software director Erlendur S. Þorsteinsson wrote on the Eve Online community site. “Actually, Jita itself wasn’t on fire, but thousands of players who normally find it a safe haven of trade and economic gameplay found their ships on fire – everything from a lonely hauler on up to the simply massive, highly-armoured freighters moving thousands of USD equivalents of ships and goods.” ”It was a pretty big deal,” Þorsteinsson said. “And it all happened because a few players wanted to make it happen and then, after convincing thousands of others to join them from around the world, they made it happen.” According to data gathered by CCP Games, the total damage inflicted over the three day event was 45,117,952 hit points doled out in 249,021 hits. CCP Games was also delighted that EVE players took videos and screenshots of the event, and got online to either boast about it or complain about it. Basically anyone in the vicinity of the hub was a participant whether they wanted to be or not.

So Goonswarm, a group of people that are dear to my heart (of course I have stairs in my home), have decided to destroy the very heart of the economy in EVE.

The EVE community blog has a really great statistical and mechanical analysis of the event here, so check that out, too.

From these accounts, Burn Jita is a game event. It is something that some disruptive players have decided to do, and the developers have altered their game a little bit in order to allow the game event to occur. There was ample warning that it was coming, and on the Friday, Jita started burning. If we read the event from the clinical, removed perspective of Gamepolitics or the EVE blog, it seems that Burn Jita isn’t a big deal. It is just a game working the way it is intended, with a careful balance between the player base and the developers.

I am willing to take on the guise of an EVE player for a moment. If I were a player, I would be angered by what is going on around Jita. From the perspective of a player, it looks like straight-up terrorism. Goonswarm are willing to watch the world burn. Space citizens can either join in as accomplices or simply be burned with everything else.

Except it isn’t a clear-cut story. The Mittani, apparently an elite member of Goonswarm, writes about Burn Jita in his “Sins of a Solar Spymaster” column at Ten Ton Hammer.

Brilliantly, the post is entitled “The Extortion of Empire.” The official media messages that have sprung up around Burn Jita would have you believe that it is nothing more than Goonswarming being jerks and making everything fall apart. From the perspective of the EVE official channels, Goonswarm look like pranksters.

But reading The Mittani’s post should put some of that into perspective for you. It is an act of protest. Not any kind of protest, mind you; space libertarian protest. It is a response to the way that the official patches of the game have created certain market conditions. For Goonswarm, an enterprising and brilliant collective, it isn’t about burning everything to the ground for fun; it is about burning everything to the ground because the conditions of the game simulation make burning everything a smart financial decision.

Burn Jita is a fascinating example of how rules change behavior. I can’t imagine it was any different for the periodical global recessions that have occurred more and more recently over the past thirty years. The rules of the game, be they by the USFG, the Fed, or the IMF, encouraged trading of bad debt or speculation or entire economic production. The rules determine how investors played those games, with more and more disastrous results and recoveries.

Video games tell us a lot about the world.

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On Games of Empire

I finished Nick Dyer-Witheford and Greig de Peuter‘s Games of Empire yesterday (then powered through Bogost’s Alien Phenomenology immediately after). The short version of my review is that Games of Empire is a great analysis of the material conditions that make up the system that enables us to play video games. The authors’ deployment of Hardt and Negri as their cornerstone theorist creates a grand unifying theory of social/technological relationships that surround video games, which is useful to think through. However, if you are already familiar with their work, be prepared for long boring sections where they quote the basics at you. That isn’t a bad thing, mind you, just something that anyone who plans on reading the book should be aware of.

Even shorter review: I liked the book. It is absolutely necessary for people who study games to take the information in this book seriously.

But beyond that, there are a couple moments that I find fascinating. Let me quote them at you!

Games are machines of “subjectivation.” When we play an in-game avatar, we temporarily simulate, adopt, or try out certain identities. Games, like other cultural machines, hail or “interpellate” us in particular “subject positions” (Althusser 1971). These subject positions may be utterly fantastic, quite realistic, or somewhere in between. But such in-game identities are never entirely separated from the options provided by the actual social formations in which the games are set, from which their virtualities derive and into which they flow back. (192)

This is a point I make all the time–games create you as a subject. Here, the authors are arguing that the subjectivity that the player “tries out” in a game is inextricable from the material conditions from which that game comes out of–what enables the digital world, for example. This is true, but it flows both ways; the material conditions of the subject are crafted through a fiction process. The creation of the subject is a process of fiction-craft. The subject, from the moment of birth, is the product of ideological thrusts, fairy tales of culture, and so on. Short of basic genetic function, everything about the human is constructed. So video games are an additional step in this process, and they can inform the way that we act in the physical world. I know this isn’t exactly mind-blowing or new, but it is important. The argument normally goes that video games make us perform certain behaviors–they make us more violent, for example. This is one step further: video games can allow us to relate to and understand our world in a different way.

Dyer-Witheford and de Peuter move toward a similar argument earlier in the book during their discussion of Full Spectrum Warrior.

. . . games such as FSW generate subjectivities that tend to war. They prompt not atrocities of gothic delinquency but displays of loyal support for “staying the course.” Their virtualities are part of a wider polyphonic cultural chorus supporting militarization, a multimedia drumbeat for war. . . . But the battle song is loud.

Our social interactions, which are all of our interactions, become drawn along the lines of the subjectivities that we take on. It isn’t that people are playing games and gunning down their friends, but that they totally accept the necessity of black ops and all the terrible shit that entails.

But what we need are counter-subjectivities. I really thought that Games of Empire could have been stronger and more explicit on this point. They describe counter-gaming, but there is not a strong showing of what it means to take on a role in the losing side of a battle. I want to see people playing games where they are NPCs. I want to see games where people are the killed, not the killers. Following a body into a lime pit. What would it be like to play a game where the player takes on a subjectivity that then dissolves into nothing?

In any case, read Games of Empire.

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On Plink

Go play Plink. Do it right now.

I don’t have a lot of things to say about the game. It is poetry in motion, and when you are playing with a few other people, you can really feel it click. My virtual musical self often gets into grooves with other people. We chase one another. A resonant beat follows our friendship. She disappears; I am left alone, a friend with the newcomer.

Maybe I do have something to say about it: it is anonymous affective love. There is something special happening when you create a double helix around the play of another person.

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On The Last Broadcast

I watched The Last Broadcast recently. I really liked the film (though I thought the end was a cheesy cop out), and if you’ve seen The Blair Witch Project, there are some really interesting shared aspects between the two films. The Last Broadcast came out the year before, and you can read about the “controversy” between the two films in an interview with the creators of the film here.

I would normally review the film, talk about the way it constructs a space of experience, etc., but I really think the film does all of that for you. It deconstructs itself in the end, which makes it less interesting to talk about. My post a long time ago about Blair Witch probably covers everything that I would say about The Last Broadcast.

So in lieu of doing real analysis, I am going to give you an image breakdown of the whole film. These are screenshots that make up, for me, what it means to watch The Last Broadcast. So here are thirty something screenshots, taken chronologically, that sum up the act of watching The Last Broadcast. There are spoilers, so there is a cut after the first couple.

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