Putting these stupid controllers back in their place
Douglas Wilson is a co-founder of the Copenhagen Game Collective and now a partner with indie games studio Die Gute Fabrik. He is an academic. A PhD candidate at the Center for Computer Games Research at IT University of Copenhagen, but I might describe him as a mad genius.
Wilson designs multiplayer games that barely require technology, usually don’t have graphics, and provide just enough rules to incite fist fights between complete strangers.
B.U.T.T.O.N. demands that a group of players follow un-enforceable physical actions until they are prompted to run at their Xbox controllers and mash a button.
Johann Sebastian Joust is set to the music of Bach, and players must move in accordance with the music while trying to swat each other’s Playstation Move controllers to death. I had a chance to play Joust this year with a group of mostly strangers. My thoughts about the game are mostly included in this interview, but one thing that struck me about the game is how instantly and playfully it destroyed physical boundaries between people.
Wilson spent part of a recent research sabbatical in San Francisco. He talked to me via Skype about what a “broken” game looks like, and what video games could be if we stop trying to define them.
THM: So what’s your PhD thesis?
Wilson: I wish I could give you a really easy, one sentence thesis … I’m really interested in purposely abusive, broken, and incomplete games, and how they might change the dynamics of multiplayer gameplay. And specifically, I think those types of games, when designed the right way—or at least when appropriated the right way by players—can change the focus from a really competitive take on multiplayer gaming to performance and togetherness.
It’s interesting that you corrected yourself when you said, “designed.” Is that a term you try to avoid when talking about broken games?
I think “design” is a really loaded word. Speaking as a game developer, I’m not even sure that’s the right verb I’m looking for. Like, B.U.T.T.O.N. is this really silly, kind of intentionally stupid party game that we made. We originally conceived of it at my birthday and we were a little drunk. It was kind of a joke. But it was one of these jokes that kept going and spiralled out of control and actually became a game.
In some regards there is very little actually going on in B.U.T.T.O.N. There’s no real computational system. When the game tells you to take 10 steps back, for example, there’s no camera there using algorithms to track if you’re actually moving 10 steps back. We just put text on the screen and kind of hope you do it. And that’s true of anything that games asks you to do. The only thing that it checks is sometimes the button presses. So if it tells you, “first player whose button is pressed ten times wins”, okay then we’re actually checking if the controller’s button is pressed. But that game is basically a glorified button-pressing detector with graphics, music, and text. So part of the trick is you’re not just designing an intricate object, you’re almost like a marketer trying to sell the player’s on the idea that they should improvise their own game around this game system. They’re the people who are responsible for bringing fun to the table, not you.
It’s interesting that you corrected yourself when you said, “designed.” Is that a term you try to avoid when talking about broken games?
I think “design” is a really loaded word. Speaking as a game developer, I’m not even sure that’s the right verb I’m looking for. Like, B.U.T.T.O.N. is this really silly, kind of intentionally stupid party game that we made. We originally conceived of it at my birthday and we were a little drunk. It was kind of a joke. But it was one of these jokes that kept going and spiralled out of control and actually became a game.
In some regards there is very little actually going on in B.U.T.T.O.N. There’s no real computational system. When the game tells you to take 10 steps back, for example, there’s no camera there using algorithms to track if you’re actually moving 10 steps back. We just put text on the screen and kind of hope you do it. And that’s true of anything that games asks you to do. The only thing that it checks is sometimes the button presses. So if it tells you, “first player whose button is pressed ten times wins”, okay then we’re actually checking if the controller’s button is pressed. But that game is basically a glorified button-pressing detector with graphics, music, and text. So part of the trick is you’re not just designing an intricate object, you’re almost like a marketer trying to sell the player’s on the idea that they should improvise their own game around this game system. They’re the people who are responsible for bringing fun to the table, not you.
This is the super lazy man’s approach to design: rather than designing an intricate object, I tend to think of it in terms of marketing… the more academic way of putting it, I would say deputizing the player rather than designing for the player. So you’re deputizing the player’s to design their own gameplay, so to speak.
And obviously it’s a mix. You are designing, of course you’re designing. I think sometimes as a game designer—especially when you’re designing party games—it can be useful to think beyond this verb of design and more to: how am I going to sell the player on this attitude of approaching things?
With something like B.U.T.T.O.N., there’s a screen that says, “The player who doesn’t press his button wins.”
It would be something like, “Any player who presses his button loses.”
Right. So with a rule like that, it’s no accident. You must know exactly what you’re inciting when you write that on the screen.
You’re right, that’s true. Clearly there is some thought that went into it. In one hand it’s kind of disingenuous to pretend that we’re not designing something, I’m just saying that’s a useful credo when you’re going about making these party games.
And obviously it’s a mix. You are designing, of course you’re designing. I think sometimes as a game designer—especially when you’re designing party games—it can be useful to think beyond this verb of design and more to: how am I going to sell the player on this attitude of approaching things?
With something like B.U.T.T.O.N., there’s a screen that says, “The player who doesn’t press his button wins.”
It would be something like, “Any player who presses his button loses.”
Right. So with a rule like that, it’s no accident. You must know exactly what you’re inciting when you write that on the screen.
You’re right, that’s true. Clearly there is some thought that went into it. In one hand it’s kind of disingenuous to pretend that we’re not designing something, I’m just saying that’s a useful credo when you’re going about making these party games.
What you’re trying to do is force yourself to look beyond the design object itself to think about how you’re going to wink—there’s always that clever asshole who figures out, “oh, I can press the other player’s button to make them lose.” It would be really boring if we told you to do that. It’s actually one step more indirect.
Of course in the name of the game, Brutally Unfair Tactics Totally Okay Now, we’re hinting that, and of course that’s what we want and intended when we make that rule. Otherwise it would be a really boring game. You would just sit in front of your button and do nothing. By making the player take that last step in putting two and two together, I think it’s more rewarding for the players. They feel a little more creative, because they are bringing something to the table. Not just passively consuming what the developer has given them.
A game like Johann Sebastian Joust seems even more tightly designed than B.U.T.T.O.N. Do you consider Joust a broken game?
No. For me—this gets academic a little quickly—I will acknowledge that almost any game can be modified by the players or has rule ambiguities. So even a really traditional game like Starcraft that people play super competitively—and I love Starcraft, by the way. If you go to the world cyber games—and my adviser T.L. Taylor writes about this a lot—there will always be rule ambiguities. Sometimes you hear, “Ah, now that computers can be impartial judges for us, we no longer have to worry about rules.” That’s just demonstrably false. There will always be disputes about how we play the game, what levels we choose, the equipment we use, etc…
I think what distinguishes B.U.T.T.O.N., and which is why I’m calling it “broken”, so to speak, is that it’s self-consciously broken. It’s not only ambiguous, it’s that it’s actively calling attention to the fact that it’s ambiguous. Trying to get you to cheat.
Certainly that’s not true of Joust. As a designer, the exciting thing is that it’s ambiguous and that players can improvise rules on top of that. I think it’s just a little less self-conscious than B.U.T.T.O.N. I would call a game like Joust “low process intensive.” What I mean by that is the computational algorithms are only doing so much in that game.
A game like Johann Sebastian Joust seems even more tightly designed than B.U.T.T.O.N. Do you consider Joust a broken game?
No. For me—this gets academic a little quickly—I will acknowledge that almost any game can be modified by the players or has rule ambiguities. So even a really traditional game like Starcraft that people play super competitively—and I love Starcraft, by the way. If you go to the world cyber games—and my adviser T.L. Taylor writes about this a lot—there will always be rule ambiguities. Sometimes you hear, “Ah, now that computers can be impartial judges for us, we no longer have to worry about rules.” That’s just demonstrably false. There will always be disputes about how we play the game, what levels we choose, the equipment we use, etc…
I think what distinguishes B.U.T.T.O.N., and which is why I’m calling it “broken”, so to speak, is that it’s self-consciously broken. It’s not only ambiguous, it’s that it’s actively calling attention to the fact that it’s ambiguous. Trying to get you to cheat.
Certainly that’s not true of Joust. As a designer, the exciting thing is that it’s ambiguous and that players can improvise rules on top of that. I think it’s just a little less self-conscious than B.U.T.T.O.N. I would call a game like Joust “low process intensive.” What I mean by that is the computational algorithms are only doing so much in that game.
Basically what you have is a toy, the accelerometer, which will detect whether you’re dead or not. Of course, the game speeds up the music or syncs the sensitivity to the music, but it’s up to the players themselves to do the rest of the work.
By social custom when I have players run the game I usually have players stand in a circle, and I tell them that when they’re out they can no longer affect the game. But all this stuff is self-enforced by the players. You could totally have some cheating asshole who goes around even when he’s out getting people out. And maybe that would be a fun way to play with the right group of people, I don’t know. But it’s nice to leave that open.
It strikes me that T.L. Taylor’s research, focused on virtual worlds, probably can’t get any further on the spectrum from what you’re designing.
I’m not super convinced, actually. She actually has a new book coming out on e-sports. I think it’s coming out in MIT Press … Certainly she’s someone who studies really traditional online worlds, like her last book was about Everquest. But she’s a sociologist/ethnographer, so she’s interested in the social interchange that’s happening between players, developers, that’s happening around these contested social worlds. Everything from how gender is constructed in an MMO like Everquest … to rule disputes at the World Cyber Games in e-sports. So I think like her, I’m really interested in focusing on that social human element that’s happening in this whole gaming scene that we’re all a part of. I guess to me that’s the part that’s where her stuff is really resonate with my interests.
I was thinking that at one end of the spectrum are your games with as few screens as possible. At the other end is something like an MMO, which is predominantly someone staring at a screen. They are both very social, but in very different ways. One is very isolated, I guess.
Oh, man. I kind of agree with you and kind of disagree with you at the same time. It’s funny you say that. T.L., my colleague Emma, and some of my other colleagues back at IT U were recently at Dreamhack, which, I think it’s one of the biggest LAN parties in the world in Sweden. The LAN party is one of these classic instantiation of this kind of traditional screen-based multiplayer gaming. But you’re right there together sitting next to each other, sweating together in the same big room. I’m not sure “isolating” is always the right adjective. Certainly these games are bringing people together not just over the Internet, but also corporeally in these LAN parties.
I wouldn’t disagree. But I would posit that most MMORPGs, for example, aren’t played in one big room together with people. How much does that influence the socializing in those games?
I’ll agree with you, because obviously I’m not interested in making those types of games. Clearly on one level I do agree with you. It’s just super complicated how it’s different. It can be really easy to over-simplify that. It’s actually pretty difficult to articulate why World of Warcraft different than Johann Sebastian Joust. On one hand it’s really obvious why they’re different. On the other hand, I do think they both can be really projectively social experiences. I guess… I would say that I’m really interested in co-locative, very physical play. Specifically platforms that are echoing the kind of folk games, playground games, and camp games that we grew up with as kids.
I actually think there’s some element of nostalgia that a game like Johann Sebastian Joust is building off of. I get most of my design inspiration these days from old folk games and playground games. That, to me, is how I would start to articulate the difference with World of Warcraft. I don’t think you were trying to do this, but some people do demonize World of Warcraft. Like, “Oh, people are getting addicted, and they have no friends”—not that I want to be a World of Warcraft apologist… Man, that shit is mad complicated.
For the record, I don’t hate World of Warcraft, I guess I’m just trying to navigate the different types of socializing in both games. I get the feeling that you want to move away from the screen as a device. Face Off in the Magic Circle was a game you were designing when you were with the Copenhagen Game Collective. The document for that game explained it was, “getting players to look at each other not the screen.”
It strikes me that T.L. Taylor’s research, focused on virtual worlds, probably can’t get any further on the spectrum from what you’re designing.
I’m not super convinced, actually. She actually has a new book coming out on e-sports. I think it’s coming out in MIT Press … Certainly she’s someone who studies really traditional online worlds, like her last book was about Everquest. But she’s a sociologist/ethnographer, so she’s interested in the social interchange that’s happening between players, developers, that’s happening around these contested social worlds. Everything from how gender is constructed in an MMO like Everquest … to rule disputes at the World Cyber Games in e-sports. So I think like her, I’m really interested in focusing on that social human element that’s happening in this whole gaming scene that we’re all a part of. I guess to me that’s the part that’s where her stuff is really resonate with my interests.
I was thinking that at one end of the spectrum are your games with as few screens as possible. At the other end is something like an MMO, which is predominantly someone staring at a screen. They are both very social, but in very different ways. One is very isolated, I guess.
Oh, man. I kind of agree with you and kind of disagree with you at the same time. It’s funny you say that. T.L., my colleague Emma, and some of my other colleagues back at IT U were recently at Dreamhack, which, I think it’s one of the biggest LAN parties in the world in Sweden. The LAN party is one of these classic instantiation of this kind of traditional screen-based multiplayer gaming. But you’re right there together sitting next to each other, sweating together in the same big room. I’m not sure “isolating” is always the right adjective. Certainly these games are bringing people together not just over the Internet, but also corporeally in these LAN parties.
I wouldn’t disagree. But I would posit that most MMORPGs, for example, aren’t played in one big room together with people. How much does that influence the socializing in those games?
I’ll agree with you, because obviously I’m not interested in making those types of games. Clearly on one level I do agree with you. It’s just super complicated how it’s different. It can be really easy to over-simplify that. It’s actually pretty difficult to articulate why World of Warcraft different than Johann Sebastian Joust. On one hand it’s really obvious why they’re different. On the other hand, I do think they both can be really projectively social experiences. I guess… I would say that I’m really interested in co-locative, very physical play. Specifically platforms that are echoing the kind of folk games, playground games, and camp games that we grew up with as kids.
I actually think there’s some element of nostalgia that a game like Johann Sebastian Joust is building off of. I get most of my design inspiration these days from old folk games and playground games. That, to me, is how I would start to articulate the difference with World of Warcraft. I don’t think you were trying to do this, but some people do demonize World of Warcraft. Like, “Oh, people are getting addicted, and they have no friends”—not that I want to be a World of Warcraft apologist… Man, that shit is mad complicated.
For the record, I don’t hate World of Warcraft, I guess I’m just trying to navigate the different types of socializing in both games. I get the feeling that you want to move away from the screen as a device. Face Off in the Magic Circle was a game you were designing when you were with the Copenhagen Game Collective. The document for that game explained it was, “getting players to look at each other not the screen.”
This was kind of a lesson that I took away, and my colleagues took away, when we did Dark Room Sex Game [the “award-winning, multiplayer erotic rhythm game” that has players finding mutual rhythms to the sound of sex], which was really this dumb Wiimote sex game. It was more of an installation piece than a really serious indie game.
It had no graphics. It was audio-only, haptic-only game. In testing the game we discovered there’s no screen to look at and you need to coordinate with your partner. So you end up looking at each other and that’s actually pretty weird. Bringing facial expressions and emotions back into computer gaming. On one hand that’s really dumb, because we’ve been playing board games and card games and sports for centuries looking at each other in the face. In theory that should be a really familiar feeling. I just think there’s this cognitive dissonance.
When you hold a Wiimote or Playstation Move controller or an Xbox controller in B.U.T.T.O.N., it feels really subversive that you’re looking at each other and not at the screen. That’s typically not what you do when you hold a Wiimote. When you hold a Wiimote, you’re used to looking at your dumb Wiis, or whatever, on the screen. I think it’s that element of unexpectedness situated in a particular culture of gaming that makes those games feel like we shouldn’t be doing this. That’s why it’s fun.
It’s interesting that you said “subversive”. I really felt like Joust was subversive in that you’re taking technology that’s pretty powerful and you’re saying, “here’s the smallest amount of effort you can use to make a game on this platform.”
So, you nailed it. That literally is the core interest of my PhD, basically. And that comes as a response to the ubiquitous computing literature, or human-computer interaction literature, or even ads for the Kinnect and stuff. You get this really optimistic view of technology. Augmented reality! We’re going to enchant your living room, and combine the best of the physical world and computers to give you the best of both worlds!
I think that’s great to some extent, but I think it’s problematically saccharine or too optimistic sometimes. I think it’s really good for people like me to come in and do the opposite, which is pessimistic or at least ambivalent toward virtual technology. I’m actually somewhat of a luddite. I’m not completely comfortable with the increasing role of the computer in our lives. But I’m also not a total romantic, like, “we need to move to the country side and get rid of computers forever.”
Computers are obviously here to stay. I think treating them with ambivalence is a more intellectually interesting approach. I would say, instead of trying to enchant the living room, we’re trying to disenchant existing technology. So take existing technology and subvert it and do really stupid shit with it.
It’s interesting that you said “subversive”. I really felt like Joust was subversive in that you’re taking technology that’s pretty powerful and you’re saying, “here’s the smallest amount of effort you can use to make a game on this platform.”
So, you nailed it. That literally is the core interest of my PhD, basically. And that comes as a response to the ubiquitous computing literature, or human-computer interaction literature, or even ads for the Kinnect and stuff. You get this really optimistic view of technology. Augmented reality! We’re going to enchant your living room, and combine the best of the physical world and computers to give you the best of both worlds!
I think that’s great to some extent, but I think it’s problematically saccharine or too optimistic sometimes. I think it’s really good for people like me to come in and do the opposite, which is pessimistic or at least ambivalent toward virtual technology. I’m actually somewhat of a luddite. I’m not completely comfortable with the increasing role of the computer in our lives. But I’m also not a total romantic, like, “we need to move to the country side and get rid of computers forever.”
Computers are obviously here to stay. I think treating them with ambivalence is a more intellectually interesting approach. I would say, instead of trying to enchant the living room, we’re trying to disenchant existing technology. So take existing technology and subvert it and do really stupid shit with it.
An even better example of this would be this dumb new Move game I’m working on called Dog the Wag where you tie the Move controller to your belt as a tail, and you get on all fours and you have to wag around your tail with this silly LED light at the end of it. That’s a game that’s deliberately about: 1) making the player look really stupid in a public space but in a fun way, and: 2) I feel like putting these stupid controllers back in their place.
Rather than get lost in the rhetoric of, “Oh the Move, it’s this really accurate, new controller that’s going to change the way we play.”
It’s more like, “Man, fuck this shit, let’s tie it to our butts and wag it around like a tail.”
I just find that really funny. And subversiveness can be fun in and of itself, regardless of what you’re doing.
Joust and B.U.T.T.O.N. are really funny, but in a dry, understated way.
You wouldn’t think that this is a reference point, but I’m a really huge Boards of Canada fan.
You read interviews with Boards of Canada, they are also a little troubled by the role of technology in contemporary life. They’re not just interested in glorifying electronic instruments. They take these electronics instruments and purposely degrade the sound quality. They’re using broken instruments and weird, mutated soundscapes to achieve that aesthetic of broken technology or ambivalence. They’re doing it a lot more seriously than a game like B.U.T.T.O.N. that takes a more comedic approach to that.
Looking towards other media, that’s a big inspiration for me. In terms of using deliberately broken technology as a way to explore that issue.
I’ve heard you talk about Boards of Canada and their use of “broken” instruments, and it reminds me of someone you might be familiar with, William Basinski, who recorded the sound of tape loops disintegrating.
Yeah! Totally. Another big reference point. Another artist using technology for something it absolutely was not intended for.
It’s really beautiful, those disintegration loops. There is something beautiful about hearing this technology falling apart. The other thing I would say about Basinski is, we usually approach it really seriously. I mean, there is this story about 9/11. I can’t fully remember the story, but it’s something like he discovered the tapes around 9/11… The story of those albums have been intertwined with this sad, tragic event in New York.
That said, I still think there is a black humour element to the disintegration series. I mean, it’s this stupid melody playing over and over again and then you hear these little hiccups and bloops in the degradation. Just on a pure slapstick level, it’s pretty ridiculous. I do think there is a humour element there, even though it’s a little buried under the surface, so to speak. So maybe that’s the connection to the weird motion-controller humour that I’m interested in.
Another connection between the two is that William Basinski isn’t saying anything explicitly, he’s just presenting his tapes and the rest is up to the listener. And you’re not saying anything explicitly with your games, you’re just presenting rules. It’s up to everyone to not just read into it and decide your tone, but to also read into it and decide how to play.
I think in games studies and in the indie games world, [there is] this whole idea of meaning and expression and representation. “I’m a game designer and I’m going to use a computation system to represent some sort of issue.” The classic case being September 12th, where the rule system is speaking toward some external issue, like the war on terror.
There’s nothing wrong with that approach, but I think sometimes that’s not the whole story. That’s not the only way to approach making games. I’m much more influenced by contemporary artists. Like Marina Abramović … When she stages a performance, let’s say at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, she’s not trying to make some statement about an external issue. She’s just trying to put the museum goer into a weird emotional situation so they can empathathize with her or feel vulnerable … To me, especially with multiplayer games, this isn’t about the designer making a statement. It’s more setting up an arena to have this crazy experience together. An experience that’s improvisational, and a little physical, and a little awkward.
I just find that really funny. And subversiveness can be fun in and of itself, regardless of what you’re doing.
Joust and B.U.T.T.O.N. are really funny, but in a dry, understated way.
You wouldn’t think that this is a reference point, but I’m a really huge Boards of Canada fan.
You read interviews with Boards of Canada, they are also a little troubled by the role of technology in contemporary life. They’re not just interested in glorifying electronic instruments. They take these electronics instruments and purposely degrade the sound quality. They’re using broken instruments and weird, mutated soundscapes to achieve that aesthetic of broken technology or ambivalence. They’re doing it a lot more seriously than a game like B.U.T.T.O.N. that takes a more comedic approach to that.
Looking towards other media, that’s a big inspiration for me. In terms of using deliberately broken technology as a way to explore that issue.
I’ve heard you talk about Boards of Canada and their use of “broken” instruments, and it reminds me of someone you might be familiar with, William Basinski, who recorded the sound of tape loops disintegrating.
Yeah! Totally. Another big reference point. Another artist using technology for something it absolutely was not intended for.
It’s really beautiful, those disintegration loops. There is something beautiful about hearing this technology falling apart. The other thing I would say about Basinski is, we usually approach it really seriously. I mean, there is this story about 9/11. I can’t fully remember the story, but it’s something like he discovered the tapes around 9/11… The story of those albums have been intertwined with this sad, tragic event in New York.
That said, I still think there is a black humour element to the disintegration series. I mean, it’s this stupid melody playing over and over again and then you hear these little hiccups and bloops in the degradation. Just on a pure slapstick level, it’s pretty ridiculous. I do think there is a humour element there, even though it’s a little buried under the surface, so to speak. So maybe that’s the connection to the weird motion-controller humour that I’m interested in.
Another connection between the two is that William Basinski isn’t saying anything explicitly, he’s just presenting his tapes and the rest is up to the listener. And you’re not saying anything explicitly with your games, you’re just presenting rules. It’s up to everyone to not just read into it and decide your tone, but to also read into it and decide how to play.
I think in games studies and in the indie games world, [there is] this whole idea of meaning and expression and representation. “I’m a game designer and I’m going to use a computation system to represent some sort of issue.” The classic case being September 12th, where the rule system is speaking toward some external issue, like the war on terror.
There’s nothing wrong with that approach, but I think sometimes that’s not the whole story. That’s not the only way to approach making games. I’m much more influenced by contemporary artists. Like Marina Abramović … When she stages a performance, let’s say at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, she’s not trying to make some statement about an external issue. She’s just trying to put the museum goer into a weird emotional situation so they can empathathize with her or feel vulnerable … To me, especially with multiplayer games, this isn’t about the designer making a statement. It’s more setting up an arena to have this crazy experience together. An experience that’s improvisational, and a little physical, and a little awkward.
And so, the metaphor here is I’d rather be the dude who builds the paintbrush for you rather than the Picasso who builds the nice painting that you try to interpret. That metaphor is overly simplistic, but it kind of works.
It’s more like you’re the guy that builds the paintbrush and a canvas: which happens to be a giant maze.
That’s a very good point. Touché.
Where do you think a video game ends, as a form?
It’s more like you’re the guy that builds the paintbrush and a canvas: which happens to be a giant maze.
That’s a very good point. Touché.
Where do you think a video game ends, as a form?
That’s a really hard question to answer. I’m of two minds about this. On one hand, I’m not even sure I see Joust as a game. It’s something that pretends to be a game. This is even more true of B.U.T.T.O.N. [You think it’s a game], and suddenly you find yourself on the floor tackling your friend. So it’s like a public wrestling performance masquerading as a game. Or, Joust is a dance performance masquerading as a traditional game.
On the other hand, I’m woried that we’re sometimes way too myopic about the definition of a game. Today on Twitter I was ranting about the interactive fiction community … I think it’s really unfortunate that the indie community tends to ignore these text games a little bit. Maybe because they don’t seem game-like enough, or what we traditionally see as games. So I think there are all these people around the periphery of traditional computer games, whether it’s musicians or choreographers, or architects, or writers, and to me the challenge is to make the tent as big as possible. And still keep it coherent, but reach out to these other traditions.
The innovative stuff, to me, doesn’t happen by really focusing on games, or mechanics, or rules. It’s about interfacing with other people from traditions and inventing new hybrid forms.
The point isn’t to define what a game is. The point is to make compelling experiences. I don’t give a shit what the structure of that experience is, as long as it’s compelling.
What do you think a game should be?
Oh, man. I don’t think there is any way to answer that.
Okay, no, here is a way to answer that question: a game should do exactly what I say it shouldn’t do.
What I mean by that, is the minute anyone makes a normative statement about what games should do, people should try to exactly violate those normative statements. Once you see people agreeing or echoing a certain way of designing games, it becomes really productive to explore the territory that they are pushing away. That’s new ground that people have been ignoring because of whatever Kool-Aid they’ve been drinking, so to speak.
I think we should be really hesitant to make statements about what games should do. And I would encourage people out there, if you’re reading people saying what games should do, to do the exact opposite of the advice they’re giving you and go explore.
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