Sam Hill – Page 3 – Pan Studio

Terror in gaming: Amnesia – The Dark Descent

Sam Hill

4th August 2011

Recently I wrote about how the active consumption of computer games makes them far more immersive than other creative mediums. Amnesia (2010) illustrates this point really nicely.

The game is a “horror survival adventure” created by indie developer Frictional Games and has been critically well received as well as being commercially successful – which is impressive for an independent title.

Viewed in the first-person, the player must solve logic puzzles in the labyrinthine passages of a Prussian castle. Deformed, humanoid monsters haunt the corridors and, in a move that defies convention for the genre, the protagonist is completely unarmed. The only way to survive in the game is to outrun the creatures and hide in the shadows whilst they search for you.

The overall experience is incredibly dark – the encounters are partly random which coupled with the gnawing suspense and powerlessness keep the player constantly on edge.

This is how immersive the gaming experience can be:

It really demonstrates the power of interactive media. With a horror film you can always look away during the gory bits, or shout “don’t go through THAT door” at the protagonist; there are many learned coping strategies for divorcing yourself emotionally from the action. But an interactive title will wait patiently until you walk through that door, and anyone closing their eyes during the action isn’t going to get very far.

The strangest thing about this video, I think, is that this guy keeps on playing even though he seems petrified. I have to be honest, after playing the game for about fifteen minutes, alone, in the dark, I had to pack it in because of wracked nerves. Why is it then, that I decided the best thing to do was to stop, when this guy just powered on? What distinguishes us? Am I more cowardly? Only, I wasn’t screaming or whimpering when I played. There’s something driving him and I’ve missed it. Maybe it’s a greater need to complete the objective, or maybe though he expresses fear more readily, this guy actually has a higher threshold for it.

As for other titles, Alone in the Dark, the 1992 version, is the first brown-trouser title I remember playing. It was necessary to push a wardrobe in front of a window within the first few minutes to avoid being eaten by werewolves. As a child, that shook me up for weeks.

The Dead ‘Event Horizon’ Space titles are often cited as being pretty scary. I found them even more demoralising because on the PC you can’t cheat your way through the fear with F9-F5 quicksave hopping, which really ramps up the jeopardy. The Resident Evil series, Doom 3 and to an extent Bioshock also come to mind as games that really bring the heart into the throat when the ammunition starts to dwindle.

The mind boggles at what terrors the gaming industry might launch in the future.

The Secret Life of Buildings – “Home”

Sam Hill

1st August 2011

An interesting enough quest-u-mentary into improving housing standards in the UK, the first part of The Secret Life of Buildings takes about half an hour to get interesting, from an experiential viewpoint. Unless you’re happy to sit through some fairly contrived experiments to “prove” that 1) lack of sunlight is unhealthy, 2) people are unhappy living in cramped spaces, 3) the golden ratio looks nice.

However from the mid-point onwards the researchers pull up a couple of nice case studies.

The first is a West London drop-in centre for cancer victims, Maggies.

The architects responsible made tactful decisions on materials to give a homely feel that “inspires, relaxes and stimulates” – using inexpensive softwoods, strong colours and polished concrete to create an environment with a warmth that stands apart from the “stark, alienating spaces”, sterility and cheap plastic nature of hospitals and surgeries. The effect this environment has upon the people that use it makes some compelling further arguments for the commonsensical but often forgotten psychology of materials theory outlined by D. Norman^[1] – that the appearance, finish and textures chosen for a designed object or space will affect how people feel whilst using it. This is a very good environment, in other words, to temper a bad experience.

The other relevant case study is the 1920’s Rietveld Schröderhuis, a playful Mondrian-esque structure that avoids fixed corners and has flexible internal walls for re-defining spaces through-out the day (open plan in the morning, enclosed in the evening). The mood of the house can therefore be changed enormously according to the needs of the people within it. An attribute, the programme notes, that most UK housing is lacking enormously.

The series has a further two parts – one relating to work spaces and one to leisure buildings. The third episode, likely to be aired 8pm August 15th should be considered a must-see.

[EDIT:

The third part of the series is largely criticized the corporate-funded, superstar-architect-designed pavilions, galleries and museums that have more going on the outside than the inside. I’d agree that public spaces should show more consideration for the way they’re used, and be designed to be more engaging than passively observed. However, I’d disagree with the implication that buildings can either be impressive but alienating, or “undesigned” and engaging; that we only feel comfortable in spaces is if we can imprint our own identity on them. I see no reason why a structure, or any other piece of design, cannot simultaneously be sensationally stimulating and conducive to engagement.]

[1] Norman, D (2002). The Design of everyday Things. USA: basic books. p9.

Alex: A Life Fast Forward

Sam Hill

26th July 2011

Alex: A Life Fast Forward is a documentary about Alex Lewis and what he did after being diagnosed with terminal cancer. The synopsis is as follows:

Alex Lewis knows he does not have much longer to live. Aged 21 he finds himself falling hopelessly in love and can’t quite believe what’s happening.

Alex was first diagnosed with bone cancer shortly before his 18th birthday. After over three years of intensive treatment, he realises he is running out of options. He decides to cram as much life as possible into the time he has left. His remarkable zest for life is contagious.

But this wasn’t the “bucket-list” extravaganza I was expecting from the trailer – three years of globe trotting, dune buggies, parties, falconry, sports cars, romance and adventure compressed into 60 minutes; a bitter-sweet roller-coaster ride with a Carpe diem message. No. Inevitably, it was actually an account of a very young man with an aggressive, painful and debilitating disease, spending his remaining time at home, with friends and family.

Instead the documentary focused on the term ‘Gezellig’.

The word came to mean a great deal to Alex and he used it to describe his desired state of mind. The Wikipedia description is as follows:

Gezelligheid is a Dutch abstract noun (adjective form gezellig) which, depending on context, can be translated as convivial, cosy, fun, quaint, or nice atmosphere, but can also connote belonging, time spent with loved ones, the fact of seeing a friend after a long absence, or general togetherness. The word is considered to be an example of untranslatability, and is one of the hardest words to translate to English. Some consider the word to encompass the heart of Dutch culture.

Many other European languages seem to have a similar term (Gemütlichkeit, hyggelig, etc.) but there is no real parallel in English (‘Cosy’ probably comes closest). It seems odd that without knowing an equivalent word, such a concept is so easily recognisable. The description is reminiscent of family holidays as a child; an emotional cocktail that creates something unique. It is a significant and powerful idea.

Interestingly, the experiential value of gezellig is grounded in emotional satisfaction, not sensational exploration like so many other ideas we focus on at PAN. The fact that this raises many questions on the relative values of contentment versus ambition shouldn’t be ignored. Alex understood the great emotional depth of this concept and was able to master it.

Other interesting questions from a creative perspective arise. How can design augment gezellig? Or generate it in absence? Answers could take Alex’s example and use it to improve the experiential wealth of other people’s lives.

Pipe Dream Restaurant

Sam Hill

24th July 2011

“A pipe dream is a fantastic hope or plan that is generally regarded as being nearly impossible to achieve. At Pipe Dream we don’t believe in the impossible!”

Pipe Dream Restaurant, which is based in Southgate, takes a novel new approach to selling experiences. It serves two distinct but reciprocating clientèle:

restaurant goers willing to take a risk on their dining experience;
people who dream of running, or cooking in, a professional restaurant.

The concept is brilliantly meta – a case of business-as-entertainment come full circle. It appears heavily inspired by programmes such as The Apprentice and Four in a Bed, but mostly the glut of competition cookery shows such as Masterchef and The Restaurant which have become a staple of British television. Pipe Dream gives participants the opportunity to live-out the “if you can’t stand the heat” drama that they’ll recognise from Ramsay-esque bootcamp quest-u-mentaries. Perhaps for an additional cost the facilitators provide realtime sarcastic narration in a Come Dine With Me style.

It’s not clear from the website how the model is financed. Do the have-a-go chefs pay for their experience (something Gilmore and Pine would condone), or share a cut of the evenings profits? Do the restaurant’s guests have their bill subsidised to compensate for the jeopardy? Or is there a no-quibble returns policy on the food?

It’s seems like a very British, foodie take on ARK Music Factory. ARK are best known for being the vanity label that produced Rebecca Black’s notorious pop song Friday. From our perspective the criticism they received always seemed a little unfair. It’s arguable that rather than working as an “independent label” as they maintain, ARK are actually providing a bespoke premium experiential service, an immersive fantasy, for which the market is in fact the ‘talent’, not the prospective audience (Rebecca’s mother paid $4000 for the release).

Pipe Dream might be seen then, in other words, as a “vanity restaurant”. This isn’t at all a bad thing. They should be congratulated for being an adventurous enterprise and we wish them all the best. If delivering a compelling service means occasionally learning lessons from the entertainment industry, then why not?

Perhaps we could see Ice Road Trucker For The Day or Pipe Dream Alaskan Fishing within the year.

The Conflicting Nature of Computer Games

Sam Hill

21st June 2011

It’s difficult to describe precisely how excited I am about the upcoming Bethesda game Skyrim, which is due to be released in November this year.

Specifically, I’m looking forward to fighting dragons. In my day-to-day life I’m unable to fight dragons, you see, so the prospect is quite exciting.

This is an important consideration when evaluating contemporary computer games. Their status, somewhere between the legacy of Pong (1972) and the potential to be Nozick’s theoretical Experience Machine implies a complex question:

How much experiential value do they really impart?

The case against computer games

Computer games are synthetic experiences. They are approximations of situations built from rendering software, conversation trees, scripts and flags. They are built by finitely sized teams of people. Ultimately, they are limited by the comprehension of the human mind – a condition from which reality does not suffer. They are as incomparable from that which they simulate as a train crash is from a mathematical collision model; as a fruit salad is from a fruit salad.
They are played through a bottleneck of sensation. We input though fingertips – or more recently through gesture. Feedback is received as light and sound. Occasionally primitive haptic feedback devices like “rumble-packs” are involved but generally most of the human range of sensation remains unstimulated.
Computer gaming is a time-consuming activity. Hours can disappear when playing. It is entirely foreseeable that whole childhoods, and adulthoods too, can be lost to a digital interface. This time could be spent doing many, many other things in ‘the real world’ – outdoor activities like running, building, swimming and climbing might be missed out on. The smell of grass, the feeling of the sun on skin, or breathlessness from activity cannot be emulated by a computer.
The long-term rewards of gaming are debatable (though not entirely deniable). Time spent gaming might otherwise be invested in developing skills and knowledge, or pursuing other hobbies, interests and activities. Missing out on these knowledge-experiences can have a cumulative effect in denying future opportunities to learn.
It’s possible for excessive gaming to be described as an addictive behaviour. This can impede social interaction from friends, family and other people, restricting socio-cultural development, and the enrichment this provides experientially.

The case for computer games

“Gaming” is a misleading term. Though most platforms will have puzzles, goals or skill-based challenges, things have changed a great deal since the arcade era of Tetris and Asteroids. It might be more accurate to state that products like L.A. Noire, for example, are simulators, interactive narratives or synthetic experiences. Here, the potential for what might be simulated is bounded only by the imagination of developers. This might sound contradictory to the first argument against games – but it’s not the case; merely the the other side of the coin. As stated before, we cannot actually go out and fight dragons on mountain tops, nor tackle crime in nineteen-forties’ America. But through synthetic experiences we may save the world countless times. We can explore space and solve mysteries and battled demons. We can be gangsters, tycoons and blue hedgehogs. Reality could not deliver these situations, but here we are having lived them -to a very limited extent, yes, but the difference between these simulacra and nothing is huge.
Skilled developers at companies such as Valve and Bethesda absolutely understand what is required to make exciting, fun and memorable titles. Games are consumed actively, not passively. Their immersive nature is virtually unparalleled amongst other creative mediums – being far more interactive than literature, more dynamic than film, more bespoke than most theatre. Though rarely considered a cultural medium, they are annihilating competing products in terms of both intensity and duration of experience. Imperfect though they are, games probably represent the absolute pinnacle of human-engineered experience.
Games are a pragmatic, utilitarian solution for the service and consumption of experience. They are easily replicable and relatively cheap to produce (compared to, say, holidays, leisure activities, or Hollywood blockbusters). Games can exist entirely digitally, so they are a very sustainable form of experience consumption. They also offer good value for money as a medium, with successful titles providing many more hours of immersive entertainment per pound than other forms of consumption.

Conclusion

It’s important to remember: the richest experiences possible are not necessarily man-made at all, and even when this is the case they may not be easily replicable or sustainable. These salient circumstances and events – valuable, definable moment in time – should not be undermined by the inferior, if ubiquitous industry of gaming.

However, games certainly have their place, and in moderation can augment an already experientially rich life with an immersive level of fantasy and escapism. It is also foreseeable that advances in technology, changes in culture and expansion of platforms will help reduce some of their current limitations.