For Those About To Rock (Press Start to Play)

Rock music has played a major role in the rather short history of video games. One may quickly consider the recent popularity of the Guitar Hero (2005-2009) and Rock Band (2008) franchises (and their many imitators,) or games such as Tony Hawk: Pro Skater (1999-2003), Grand Theft Auto 4 (2008), and NHL 2K10 (2009) which prominently feature established rock, metal and punk bands in their respective soundtracks. Similarly, Brütal Legends (2009), starring the voice talents of Jack Black as an ass-kicking roadie, not only boasts an extensive metal soundtrack, but also borrows its visual aesthetics from a library of time-honoured heavy metal album covers. While these are glaring examples, rock music and video games share a strange relationship that runs much deeper than a mere borrowing of licensed content. During the late ‘80s and early ‘90s video game imagery shifted, embodying attitudes and iconography typical of rock culture. This shift was sparked by a renewed popularity of rock music in North America and made possible through technological advances as well as industry competition. This essay will briefly examine this shift as well as cultural phenomena that it has inspired.

In the early days, during the arcade-era of the 1970s and early ‘80s, the sounds heard in games were primitive. These sounds were designed for a distinct marketing purpose, primarily employed to attract passers-by to the arcade machine. Technology constraints required programmers to make the most out of available hardware in order to produce memorable and ear-catching sounds. As computer technology improved, and consoles were produced small enough to enter the home, the sound of games changed. Sound was no longer utilized to compete with adjacent gaming platforms. In particular, game music was now designed to be played for an indeterminate amount of time without annoying the player. Consequently, many memorable 8-bit melodies were born from this necessity. Due to memory constraints, these 8-bit melodies were required to be short and loopable. Undoubtedly, this confined the compositional choices of the programmer.

Steve Jones writes that “popular music is, at every critical juncture of its history, determined by the technology musicians use to realize their ideas.” (Jones, 1) This seems to only be reaffirmed by my brief pre-history of game music, which demonstrates game development as being constantly directed by hardware limitations and intended purposes of the technology. In reality, this historical tendency can be seen in any mass-media. One only needs to look at the development of synchronized sound in film to verify this. W.K.L. Dickson is rumoured to have developed a crude method of synchronized sound as early as 1889, however it lacked the amplification required to be a feasible counterpart to spectacle of the moving image. It was not until World War I had spurred Europe’s technological development that certain sound-on-disc and sound-on-film techniques became viable options for studios and exhibitors. (Fairservice, 224) Historian Don Fairservice toys that “it is interesting to speculate how films might have evolved if they had been required to lock themselves to sound recordings from the very earliest days.” (Fairservice, 224) As Fairservice suggests, technological change has a profound impact on the content of the media. Steve Jones elaborates, “as the printing press enabled production of mass-circulation newspapers, which consquently affected newspaper content (for example, the inverted pyramid news story, the objective account, etc.), music technology affects the content of music during its creation as well as its consumption.” (Jones, 7) It is therefore interesting to consider how improved computer technology might affect the content of video game music.

Karen Collins explores this notion with a study of the Sega Genesis. Before the release of the 16-bit Sega Genesis in the late 1980s, the 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) was by far the most dominant gaming system across the globe. Powerful contractual holds with developers, and the immense popularity of the Super Mario mascot ensured Nintendo’s worldwide success. (Collins, 39) However, the Genesis was technologically superior to the NES, which enabled the Genesis to threaten to Nintendo’s monopoly. Interestingly enough, part of this threat had to do with the sound of the Genesis. “Perhaps the most distinguishing feature of the Sega Genesis audio,” writes Collins, “was the adoption of progressive-rock stylistic traits.” (Ibid. 43) The Genesis was able to simulate the distinctive instruments of progressive-rock and apply the dynamic prog-rock sound to its games. While rock music at this point was no stranger to video game soundtracks, it seems that the release of the Genesis is a point of departure. Indeed, the Mega Man (1987) games (incidentally known as Rock Man in Japan) released on the NES in the late 1980s are commonly praised by many online critics for the composition of their 8-bit soundtracks. While simplistic in quality, the soundtrack for Mega Man emulates the energy and style of an ‘80s power-metal band, such as Iron Maiden. Nevertheless, Collins suggests that the melodic, dynamic, and yet epic soundtracks of the Genesis steered game music away from the noisy pop-like music that characterized most of the 8-bit era.

In fact, much of the marketing for the Genesis surrounded rock iconography. Many of the television ads for the Genesis associated Sega’s system with speed, volume, youth, and rebellion—all tropes which are commonly associated with rock music. One such ad features a sleazy middle-aged store clerk attempting to sell a NES to a spunky but “cool” teenage boy. No matter how hard the clerk tries to sell the NES, the boy is persistently attracted to the Genesis, which the voice-over describes as having “more action, more speed.” Sega’s mascot Sonic the Hedgehog also conforms to this image, embodying explicit rock ‘n’ roll attitudes. He moves fast, taps his foot impatiently if the player puts down the controller for too long, and in later depictions speaks with a real attitude problem. Such rebellious behaviour is most often associated with a rockstar, not a hedgehog.

At the time of the Genesis’ release, rock music in general was experiencing a revival in North America. As the economy faltered, baby-boomers felt disillusioned and looked back on the 1960s as a time when music could make a difference. (Szatmary, 297) Artists such as Bruce Springsteen and U2 would emerge from this climate of frustration. The advent of the compact disc (CD) would also prompt record companies to re-release countless classic rock artists, further promoting this popularity of rock music in North America. (Szatmary, 308) It can be assumed that this popularity of rock music indirectly profited Sega by making the youthful and edgy Genesis seem like the “cool” thing to buy.

In response to the success of the Genesis, Nintendo released its own 16-bit system, the Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES). Released in 1991, the SNES surpassed the Genesis graphically and aurally. Though Collins (and likely the Genesis marketing team) suggests that the SNES maintained the “distinctly ‘chip-tune’ and poppy” (Collins, 47) musical aesthetic of the 8-bit NES, I want to suggest differently. Early SNES games offer a wide variety of musical styles, departing drastically from the 8-bit format of the NES. Fantasy epics such as Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past (1991) and Final Fantasy VI (1994) emotionally engage the player with symphonic pieces comparable to those heard in a film. Likewise, some of the music in Chrono Trigger (1995) sounds as though it was written and recorded by Pink Floyd, while one track in Secret of Mana (1993) closely resembles “Ramble On” by Led Zeppelin in both sound and style. Mega Man X (1993) revived the Mega Man franchise of the NES, returning the famed rock-style soundtrack from the original games. This time around programmers were able to simulate the guitar, bass, and drum sounds more accurately, creating a upbeat, hard-hitting musical experience for the player. While Sega took the turn towards rock aesthetics, Nintendo shortly followed, effectively completing the alignment of video games with the tropes of rock ‘n’ roll.

When envisioning the relationship between video games and rock music I am instantly reminded of a particular scene in Terminator 2 (1991) which was incidentally released the same year as the SNES. In the film, a teenaged John Connor is riding a motorbike to a video game arcade. As he drives recklessly through the city streets, he blasts “You Could Be Mine” by Guns ‘N’ Roses. Connor is meant to represent a rebellious youth, living fast, listening to rock, and playing video games. The 1992 television game show Nick Arcade (1992-1993) also demonstrated the relationship between rock and games which was developing at this time. This was a show that was predominantly video game themed, ultimately requiring players to face a gauntlet of obstacles in a crude but effective virtual reality simulator. The game show had flashy setpieces, an explosively energetic host, and was constantly accompanied by wailing rock guitar cues. These examples only demonstrate the rock sensibility that would proliferate throughout game imagery of the the early-to-mid ‘90s.

This alignment of rock and video games undoubtedly plays a part in the popularity of games like Rock Band, Guitar Hero, and Brütal Legend, and contributes to rock aesthetics found in many other contemporary games. Only now do we see developers such as Nintendo stray from these aesthetics in hopes of attracting non-gamers who may be intimidated by or uninterested in the rock image that I have described. The box-art for Wii Fit (2008), a game for the Nintendo Wii meant to promote health and fitness, shows a woman performing yoga before a glowing white background. The serene box-art of Wii Fit may not attract the young rebels of today, however it has proven to be a popular choice among non-conventional gamers, having sold 22 million units since its release. (http://www.vgchartz.com/)

Interestingly, there are now a number of independent rock bands emerging primarily on The Internet who inversely align themselves with the 8-bit pre-Genesis sound of the Nintendo Entertainment System. While rock bands in nature, groups such as Game Over, Powerglove, The Minibosses and The Protomen interest themselves in not only writing songs about 8-bit video games, but also borrowing the melodies or aesthetics of the distinct NES “pop” sound. The Protomen have recorded two albums to date, which chronicle an elaborated version of the Mega Man narrative in true rock-opera fashion. While having a mainly guitar-driven sound, The Protomen make heavy use of synthesizers. At times their music resembles that of Canadian prog-rock band Saga, and at other times Bruce Springsteen. Often their music resembles the soundtrack of Mega Man itself. Lyrically, they adapt Mega Man iconography to convey messages of revolt, individuality, and freedom from oppression—themes which are reminiscent of the cause-oriented rock ‘n’ roll of old.

Here we see the completion of a cycle. In the late ‘80s technological advancement allowed the Sega Genesis to break from the 8-bit mould and present players with an exciting, rock-flavoured side of video games. Now, decades later, we see rock musicans who nostalgically draw on this 8-bit technology, appropriating its aesthetics. Similarly, many contemporary Nintendo games feature nostalgic easter eggs which make reference to various aspects of the 8-bit era. No matter the aesthetic changes that games undertake, as markets shift and technology develops, we can rest assured knowing the video games will always rock.

Works Cited:
- Collins, Karen. Game Sound: An Introduction to the History, Theory, and Practice of Video Game Music and Sound Design. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 2008.

- Fairservice, Don. “Sounds Promising.” Film Editing: History, Theory and Practice. New York: Manchester U. Press, 2001. 223-248

- Jones, Steve. Rock Formation: Music, Technology, and Mass Communication. London: Sage Publications, 1992.

- Szatmary, David. A Time to Rock: A Social History of Rock ‘n’ Roll. New York: Schirmer Books, 1996.

- “Wii Fit,” VGChartz. 2005. VG Chartz LTD. July 28, 2009. http://www.vgchartz.com/games/game.php?id=7480&region=All

Be Fair to the Flare

Since Star Trek has hit the screens I have been hearing common jokes about the prominence of lens flares in the film. I have never been a Trekkie, always leaning closer to the Star Wars universe, to the extent that J.J. Abrams’ film is the first Star Trek experience I’ve ever had. In short, I am here to defend the lens flare.

Wikipedia describes the lens flare as “light scattered in lens systems through generally unwanted image formation mechanisms, such as internal reflection and scattering from material inhomogeneities in the lens.” In other words, it is light that gets bounced and reflected within the lenses of a camera. When used intentionally, it often creates an epic and dramatic effect.In an interview, Abrams describes his deliberate exploitation of the lens flare effect, suggesting that “just off camera, something spectacular is happening…There are something about those flares, especially in a movie that can potentially be very sterile and CG and overly controlled. There is something incredibly unpredictable and gorgeous about them.” Many of these flares were created with out digital assistance by off-screen flashlights and mirrors which Abrams insists creates the sense of action uncontainable by a cinematic frame.

To me, what the lens flare really does is call attention to the presence of the camera itself. By acknowledging the technical presence of the camera, the film grounds itself as something real and something filmable. This is important for a film like Star Trek, which as Abrams points out, had the potential to become an oversaturated CGI effects extravaganza (Wolverine anyone?) In this sense the lens flare brings a sense of reality to the table. This reality makes the action more identifiable and immediate to the audience.



I would also like to draw attention to a similar technique used in the film to the same effect: the shotgun zoom. This technique involves the manual operation of the zoom lens allowing for a rapid zoom on a subject, often seen in Bruce Lee films [skip to 0:19] (and really, most cheesy films and shows from the 60s and 70s…Star Trek included.) This technique once again draws attention to the existence of the camera as the recorder of events in a cinema verité sort of fashion.

The first time I saw this technique used to this effect in a modern sci-fi was in the Battle of Geonosis scene in Attack of the Clones (skip to 6:30). When I saw this however, I was very jarred. I assume it is because, unlike the new Star Trek, the Star Wars prequels rarely acknowledge the presence of a camera in this grounding way.

This only reminds me of last summer’s Wall-E, which also grounded action through the incorporation of camera aesthetics.



Being entirely computer-generated, it is interesting how Wall-E incorporated these aesthetics to create the impression of cinematic realism. During production, the producers of Wall-E invited acclaimed cinematographer Roger Deakins to Pixar Studios to advise programmers on camera aesthetics, and the visual effects of various lenses and lighting styles. Programmers simulated techniques such as the shotgun zoom and shallow lens focus in an attempt to create a more documentary feel, the same way mockumentary TV shows like The Office attempt to.

It is also worth noting the importance of Ben Burtt’s distinct sci-fi sound design in Wall-E, and Star Trek.



Burtt’s work is probably best known from Star Wars in which he revolutionized sci-fi sound design, opting for very worldly sounds instead of the traditional synthesized sci-fi soundtrack. This approach re-emerges in his work for both Wall-E and Star Trek. The importance of this approach to sound, in similar ways as the aforementioned cinematography, is to ground film visuals into a real-world environment. This has special importance in (CGI) effects-driven films like Wall-E and Star Trek in that much of the film world has no diegetic anchor to the real world in that it is constructed digitally.

These approaches to cinematography and sound may seem minor, however I think this may be a new trend in CGI-heavy movies. When CGI was relatively new, we often saw filmmakers over-indulging in its near-endless possibilities. One shot comes to mind in Return of the King, when the camera pulls away from Gollum’s face (skip to 2:15), through the actual loop of the One Ring, into a wide-angle shot of the innards of Mount Doom. Such impossible camera movement can be disturbing to audiences who know that such a camera movement is impossible, thus drawing attention to the falsity of the special effects in play. Filmmakers are now tending to return to the laws and limitations of the real world in their virtual cinematography in an attempt for greater realism.

In the science-dependent universe of Star Trek, such a move couldn’t be more important.

Snes is the Best: Imagination in the Super Nintendo

Not too long ago Chrono Trigger was released on the Nintendo DS under the auspices of exposing the classic Snes game to a new generation of gamers. Upon its announced release, game composer Yasunori Mitsuda declared “Finally!...It's still a very deep, very high-quality game even when you play it today. I'm very interested in seeing what kids today think about it when they play it." Its interesting to me that the marketed focus is on providing this classic gaming experience to a new generation of youth. I remember growing up on Chrono Trigger and pretty much spending an entire summer replaying it, trying to get my characters to level 99. I know I’m not the only one. Until this Nintendo DS rerelease, Chrono Trigger was quite rare to find on cartridge, sometimes selling for $200 on eBay, and I retain the notion that console games just aren’t the same when played on an emulator on the computer (you need the couch, tv, controller, and save limitations that only the console offers for maximum chill/fun factor.) However, the DS Chrono Trigger is not the Chrono Trigger of our fathers. Its portable, on (two) small screen(s), the menus are altered, there are added dungeons, new features – oh, yeah – and a new “more accurate” English translation of the original Japanese text.

Recently I have somewhat jokingly discussed with several people as to why the Super Nintendo is the best system of all time. The discussions rarely encountered any empirical evidence to back this up, but maybe there’s something to the claim. Its possible that I’m just displaying symptoms of nostalgia, since the SNES played an integral role in my childhood – however, I think that is too easy of an explanation. I think the “more accurate” translation of Chrono Trigger indicates to a gap that separates today’s systems (I’m looking at you PS3) and the consoles of our youth.



To expand on this, I’m going to draw on my all-time favourite game, Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. Released on the Snes in 1992, A Link to the Past has since been adapted to the Game Boy Advance in similar fashion to Chrono Trigger. The game features new dungeons, new features, and a “more accurate” English translation. I noticed this myself as I played the GBA version of the game, as certain text sequences in the game made a hell of a lot more sense than they did when I was a child. Specifically, there is a point when a towns-person refers to the town elder as “Oh, that old guy?” instead of “Oh, the grandpa?”

So maybe this retranslation is a narrative restoration, but why is it that so many English-speaking kids loved that game when many of its plot points barely made any sense? I remember playing many games as a kid, getting confused by the incomplete back-story and thinking I was playing a sequel to a game I had never heard of. I still loved the games though. Even now I’m replaying Illusion of Gaia for the first time since Corey and I beat it in my basement in grade 5, and it barely makes narrative sense.

And this is kind of why I think the Snes is the best. Its limitations as a system force the gamer to employ a great deal of imagination to fully engage with the games. With the insane hardware capabilities today, very little is left to imagination. Solid Snake looks like Solid Snake. Super Mario looks like…a comatose pedophile?



This concept is best illustrated by comparing (or rather contrasting) official game artwork with character sprites from the game. Seeing the variance between what the characters are supposed to look like and what they are represented as indicates to the degree of imagination employed when playing the game. Same goes with bad translations. When games are translated badly, young players may cope with impossibly ambiguous plots with imagination and makeshift narrative connections.

Games today seem to indicate clearly to the gamer exactly what they are capable within the virtual realm. Most games contain some kind of go-to character who is constantly on-hand to provide hints and advice, and to teach gamers exactly what they can and cannot do. When I got stuck in a game back in the day I would spend hours punching walls, slicing pots, and talking to every villager, because I wasn’t quite sure what my character was capable of, and what the game world had to offer. You read the game manual and pretty much thrown into the fray left to your own devices. Now Navi just tells you the answer to the puzzle before you even have a chance to figure it out yourself.

Now one may argue: If limitation is what makes the Snes so good, then what about more limited systems like the Nes?

I think its simply that the Snes has a perfect balance between limitation and capability that is enough to spur the imaginations of the gamer but not fully satisfy the mimesis of the virtual world. That might be a cheap answer…but I pretty much stopped paying attention to this essay as soon as I turned my Snes on.

In Film as Art Rudolf Arnheim essentially argues that cinema's status as an artform depends on its properties that distance it from the real world. I think this notion is pertinent to the Snes. The artistry of the Snes lies in its distance from realistic representation. While the Nes, Atari and other previous systems may seem by this logic more artistic, I somehow think they are less engaging than the Snes.

Explanation of Short Film "Newsreal"

In my Canadian Experimental Film and Video class we were given the option to create an experimental film or video as an end project and provide an accompanying 5-page explanation.

Here is a link to my video "Newsreal"



And here is a variation of my final paper:

Digital technology has been hailed for the popular access that it provides to various forms of art and communication. It is also hailed for its enhancements in narrative storytelling, cartography, space exploration, anatomical record, and military mapping. (Mitchell, 3-10) This praise of the digital medium has also been met with considerable criticism. While this technology allows a new freedom in imagery, it comes with the sacrifice of the indexicality of the image and its ontological properties. The very binary composition of digital imagery, while accommodating layered manipulation, nullifies the ontology of the image. My experimental video Newsreal (2008) reflects on this notion through my wilful manipulation of digital imagery for the purposes of indicating the instable concept of ontology found in the digital image.

To compliment the analysis of this film it would be beneficial to refer to the theories of Lev Manovich. Digital technology has been revered for its advancements in storytelling traditions (with video games for example), yet Manovich insists on condemning the privilege that narrative receives during discussions of digital cinema. Digital technology may provide means of advancement in the story-telling tradition, however it violates certain revered philosophies of photography and conventional cinema. One of the defining principles of conventional cinematic processes is that cinema stresses “the aura of reality ‘captured’ on film.” (Manovich, 299) That is to say that the basic ingredient of traditional cinema is reality, organized and configured for the exposure and “capturing” onto celluloid. The images on the film are impressions of what existed at one time, in one form or another. As Manovich articulates, “Cinema is the art of the index; it is an attempt to make art of a footprint.” (Manovich, 295) Similarly, William Mitchell tastefully describes the photographic image as “fossilized light.” (Mitchell, 24) With the digitization of the image, whether through 3D computer animation or the digitization of live-action footage, the traditional cinematic image not only loses its indexical relationship with reality but also loses its privilege as the only material from which motion-pictures can be produced. The common material of digital imagery what Manovich refers to as the “pixel”, but could more accurately be identified as the binary digit. The reduction of the motion-picture to a series of androgynous digits or pixels increases its plasticity. This plasticity renders the “given truth” of the photographic image obsolete. Without indexicality, an image does not bear an existential bond with its referent, and therefore is no longer reliable as an ontological representation of reality.

The purpose of Newsreal is not to condemn digital imagery for its lack of ontology. The purpose is merely to indicate towards this philosophy and its relationship with digital imagery. The film is comprised of three parts: A war newsreel, an advertisement, and a magic show. The idea was for the film to take the form of the various clips that would have been shown before a theatrical film screening in the 1940s. I chose this period for its distinct aesthetic (for I intended to emulate it) and for the period’s imagery anchoring in indexical representation of reality. Each in its own way, the segments comment on the manipulability of the digital, and how reality becomes only a small factor in the material constructs of the digital image. Generally, I used digital filters to modify the video so that it was sepia toned. Another digital filter makes the video appear as though it was actually being projected on aged film, complete with simulated scratches on the celluloid. Additional projector and phonograph sound-effects further the film-viewing illusion. This use of digital technology immediately attempts to deceive the viewer into thinking that what they’re seeing is photographic, and therefore indexical to reality. In actuality, the raw footage in the video has passed through multiple digitization processes. All footage (whether “real” or computer engineered) was mediated through a Panasonic digital camcorder. In the case of the magic show, which was originally recorded photographically, I recorded the footage from YouTube, which is itself a digital platform.

The first segment in the film is a found-footage video collage imitating a WWII newsreel. I recorded the (digital) audio from a British news reel depicting WWII aerial raids from YouTube. I then proceeded to collect footage of various flight and war simulation video games with my digital camcorder. The games include Star Fox 64 (1997), StarCraft (1998), Body Harvest (1998), Wing Commander (1990), and Axelay (1992). I then replaced the authentic WWII footage with my newly captured, digitally constructed, video game footage, also adding in an orchestrated soundtrack. The effect is a seemingly authentic newsreel consisting entirely of computer-engineered imagery. I was able to digitally manipulate artificially-produced contemporary imagery in a way that seems period authentic, and indexical to reality. This is evidence of what Mitchell calls the mutability of the digital image. What he refers to is the rapid manipulation of digital information through the simplistic alteration of digits. “The mutability of digital data” says Manovich, “impairs the value of cinema recordings as documents of reality.” (Manovich, 307)



The second segment of the video is razor advertisement. The advertisement also stands as a metaphor. While the advertisement is attempting to sell razors, it never shows the actual razor, the razor in action, or even the effects of the razor. So while you are meant to believe that this razor is worthwhile (since we are told it is), you never see why you must believe in its proficiency. The only visual cues that support the razor’s proficiency are found-footage intellectual montages of CGI sequences from Hollywood blockbusters such as The Incredibles (2004) and Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Sith (2005) which signify the act of shaving. All in all, there is nothing in this segment that is concretely indexical to the razor or its performance. One would not buy a product which they have not seen, and yet audiences accept illusions of CGI as believable representation of reality.



The magic show sequence is not only significant to this thesis in form, but also metaphorically. After all, performed magic can be seen as an illusory play which deceives viewers into believing what they see is real. The announcer emphasizes this by declaring, “If you don’t think seeing is believing, here’s a performer that will prove it!” Similarly, digital imagery creates illusory reality through manipulated presentation. In keeping with the theme of Newsreal, I decided to take a further step and manipulate the actual footage of the magic show. In order to emphasize the lack of ontology in the digital image I superimposed an animated clip of Winston Churchill’s face over-top of the magician’s. Thus, it is Winston Churchill’s magic show, and the digital effects employed force audiences to except it as the given truth of the image. This superimposition of digitally animated imagery over raw footage supports Lev Manovich’s claim that ontological footage becomes only one building element in a layering process when cinematic process becomes digital. Manovich adds that “cinema can no longer be clearly distinguished from animation. It is no longer an indexical media technology but, rather, a subgenre of painting.” (Manovich, 295) In a welcomed coincidental irony during the magic show, the narrator reassures the audience that “these pictures...are continuous and there are no camera tricks.”



As proven by the above examples, Newsreal reflects on this notion that the very binary composition of digital imagery, while accommodating layered manipulation, nullifies the ontology of the image. Through my wilful manipulation of digital imagery Newsreal indicates the instable concept of ontology found in the digital image. Thus, while this digital technology allows a new freedom in imagery, it comes with the sacrifice of the indexicality of the image and its ontological properties.

Bibliography:
- Mitchell, William J. The Reconfigured Eye : Visual Truth in the Post-photographic Era. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1994.
- Manovich, Lev. “Digital Cinema and the History of a Moving Image: Cinema the Art of the Index”, The Language of New Media. Cambridge: MIT Press, 2001

Meta-Fiction in the Controls of Metal Gear Solid 2

With the semester’s essays completed, I spent a good part of the past week playing through Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty (I’ve heard good things of the series in general and wanted to see for myself). I’ll have to admit that it took me a long time to become even remotely comfortable with games controls (I’ve never been a fan of the PS controller) and even now I’m not entirely sold on them. At points I found that one of the main challenges presented to me were navigating with these controls. In reflection of my previous blog entry, I tried to figure out why I found these controls so difficult and frustrating.



Last time I wrote about how the first-person shooter genre succeeds in putting the player within the subjective perceptual realm of the in-game character. MGS2 is primarily in third-person, however it offers the option of assuming a subjective first-person mode for investigating environments, and shooting from a vantage point behind the character’s gun.

What struck me instantly was the distinction between these two modes. The third-person view distances the player from the character, while the first-person view provides a very subjective look into the character’s experience providing extra ambient effects such as wind, breath and heart-beat noises. Several segments of the game offer the use of an in-game directional microphone that is used in the first-person mode. When using the directional microphone, the player can only hear what the microphone is pointing at, and if the player isn’t careful, they can miss out on important plot points if they do not point the microphone at specific events.

The third-person mode is seen from a fixed or preset camera position. This is unlike many Nintendo brand games that I’m used to (with the free-roving retro-posited, or player- controlled camera). An example of my preference can be seen here in Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. This game uses a system in which the camera is easily situated behind the character, at the player’s control. The game also has an optional first-person mode for environmental investigation and arrow-shooting. Since the camera is usually situated behind the character Link, the player shares directional continuity with the character. In the same sense as the first-person shooter, the player becomes more immersed in the character’s physical functions.
MGS2 offers no control over camera angles. The camera has fixed positions and movements that are only affected by character movement. Because of this, the player never becomes immersed in the character, instead assuming the position of an omniscient puppet-master. In Zelda, control directions are always relative to the camera position, so you press up to move Link up, and press down to move Link down. In MGS2, you have no control over the camera but the control directions always stay the same, so you may have to press up on the control stick if you want to move Snake or Raiden down. I immediately saw this as negative, however I did not understand the complete implications of this control scheme until I beat the game. I would argue that the control scheme in MGS2 is a means of meta-fiction which meshes well with many of its narrative elements.



While MGS2 is by no means the first video game meta-fiction (most games address the player when teaching game rules and control functions), it effectively utilizes the video game control functions as a means of further expressing certain plot themes. From this point on I will be spoiling crucial plot surprises from the game.

Metal Gear Solid 2 develops a theme in which the main character Raiden must face questions surrounding the basic truths of his existence (offering a parallel between “real world” military training and “VR” training). Throughout the course of the game, Raiden learns that the woman he loves is a spy gathering information on him, that his commanding officer (whom he corresponded with only over transceiver) was only an AI digital representation, and that his entire life was manipulated by an international organization in an attempt in forming him into a perfect soldier. Raiden’s body is also filled with nano-machines that come to betray his sensory perception. In short, Raiden’s entire life has always been under the control of forces outside of his own. It is my belief that the game’s control scheme purposefully distances the player from the in-game character as a means of indicating the player as a controller of Raiden’s life-actions. Several sequences in the game help to back up this theory. For example, Raiden’s commanding officer Colonel Campbell radio’s Raiden shouting "Raiden, turn the game console off rightnow! ... Don't worry, it's a game! It's a game just like usual. You'll ruinyour eyes playing so close to the TV." This reference to the construct of the game suggests the canon’s willingness to include the player as a recognized controller of the in-game character’s events.



So while I found the game’s controls disruptive, I think more immersive controls would have minimized the distance between the player and the character, thus eliminating this meta-fictitious element of the game’s narrative.

"Subjectivity of the First-Person Shooter" By Adam Slight

Lately I have rekindled my passion for N64’s Goldeneye 007, and since the semester is finally winding down I’m able to find more time to play, both the single player missions as well as some riveting multiplayer matches with James Leclaire. I haven’t appreciated Goldeneye 007 this much since 1997 when the game was released (that was more than 10 years ago!). I recall the attention surrounding the game and its close imitation of the 1995 film Goldeneye. I even re-viewed the film recently and notice precise similarities between spatial layouts of sets/levels, replicated gadgets, and close character details (I recall noticing the Alec Trevelyan character in the game wearing a gold ring on his “finger”).

Playing the game this morning (the facility level) I began to apply to Goldeneye 007 some ideas that I have previously explored. As you may or may not know, I have an escalating interest in the application of cinema (and in extension, video games) to various conceptions of “real life experience” a la Andre Bazin’s “Myth of Total Cinema”. In short, I’m close to comfortable stating that I don’t think Total Cinema (cinema as an attempt at an all-encompassing recreation of reality) is a myth at all. Without getting too divergent on this topic, I’d like to skip ahead a little.

The first person shooter genre is in my eyes a very important step on the path to Total Cinema. As the name implies, in the FPS the player is the “first person” to experience what the in-game character experiences. Alternatively, second-person implies a player address, like in text- based adventures (“You find yourself at a fork in the road. Do you turn right, or left?”), while the third-person perspective suggests the player as an omniscient controller of a visibly “other” character.

First-Person

Second-Person

Third-Person

Implicitly, the first-person perspective places the player within the in-game character. As I mentioned in my colloquium presentation on video-game sound experimentation, the first-person shooter allows the player a subjective experience parallel to the in-game character. If one wishes, they may refer to Bordwell and Thompson’s "Film Art" and their discussion on Perceptual and Mental Subjectivity in traditional cinema. Perceptual subjectivity is simple; the film gives “access to what characters see and hear”. A good example of this is the Point of View shot – the shot that first-person shooter permanently assumes. While in cinema, mental subjectivity is the use of stylistic devices to provide insight to what characters think, FPS’ often simply provide perceptual subjectivity to allow players to assume their own desired mental state. Obviously this is not always the case. In Goldeneye 007 for example, coloured bars appear at the sides of the screen upon character injury (a possible visual cue for “panic”). Similarly, N64’s Perfect Dark applies a trippy, blurred slo-mo effect when Joanna Dark gets punched or sedated.

In my colloquium presentation, I focused mostly on sonic subjectivity in the FPS. Using Call of Duty 3, I indicated to several examples where in-game sound is presented to the player using surround sound technology, subjective to the character's own experience. Environmental and diegetic sounds are heard in subjectivity to the direction that the character is facing, in effect to the acoustics and conditions of the setting. The best example I can present is the “ringing ears” effect, when all sounds are deafened by a constant ringing when a grenade explodes near the character.

While I may seem enthusiastic about the FPS’ subjectivity, there are some problems that I considered while playing Goldeneye 007 this morning. There are many limitations that have yet to be overcome by the FPS’ genre. Most of these limitations are based on player perspective. While it is interesting to consider the physical relationship that the player has with the character (the player physically exerts energy and muscle to push controller buttons in order to “physically” move the in-game character through virtual space) this process is still very crude. Here is a list of limitations that I immediately notice:

- The in-game character lacks peripheral vision. This may extend to the wide-screen cinema which arguably imitates a person’s field of vision. I noticed this as I was swiftly moving around a corner in The Facility, and was unable to quickly check a blind-spot for enemies (much like checking a blind-spot while driving)

- A player’s eyes are indefinitely disconnected from the character’s. Instead of forcing a relationship between gamers’ eyes and character eyes, the game creates a contract between gamer and game which encourages the gamer to assume and inspect the character’s presented field of vision. This problem introduces many other problems such as the quality of the gamers’ eyes, the difference between player depth of field and character’s depth of field etc.

- While recent developments in dual-analogue controls have rendered the character’s legs independent of the character’s waist (players can now move in one direction but pivot/point in a separate direction), independence of the character’s neck has yet to be brought into mainstream consideration. The character’s eyes are inherently connected to the direction that he/she is pointing their weapon. I have seen variations of temporary solutions to this, most of which assume a temporary third-person perspective. This unfortunately removes a level of subjectivity from the mix. I have also seen flight simulators which detach the eyes from the weapon, allowing the player to look from side-to-side within the cockpit.


While normally a first-person shooter, Quantum of Solace also uses a third-person cover system in order to detach the character's eyes from his gun

If anyone can think of other problems with the first-person perspective, or examples that overcome some of these problems, please let me know.

Wall-E: Semiotics and Junk...

While I’ve grown up with Pixar since Toy Story hit theaters, it wasn’t until The Incredibles that I began to discover the rich detail, preparation and thought that differentiates Pixar animated films with other subordinate computer animated productions. It was this affection for Pixar that prompted me to see Wall-E as soon as I could when it was released this summer, despite the fact that I had to go see it alone on a Friday night while my little sister was on a date elsewhere in the theater. After seeing it, a repeat viewing was in order.

Since, I have been attempting to organize precisely what it was that I wanted to say about the film. The ideas were present since my first screening, however I could not find the words to articulate them. It wasn’t until I revisited semiotic theory for the purposes of several assignments in an experimental film class that I’m taking did I figure out what it was I wanted to say. Wall-E is gushing with semiotic theory.

For some time in the past I worried, as our world has become more and more dependent on text due to digital technology. Films are stored on DVD or Blu-Ray and can only be seen on its respective player while Books are only readable with knowledge of language. The reason this worries me is due to an irrational expectation of apocalypse. A sentimentality towards culture leads me to fear that it will become inaccessible.

Wall-E uses the events of an apocalypse to explore semiotics precisely in this way. Since Wall-E is an ignorant a post-apocalyptic product, he is able to live in our world out of human context. Wall-E’s obsession with the tape of Hey Dolly! and the inclusion of an Ipod in his pile of trinkets draws attention to the relationship with medium that our culture has. Wall-E separates the signs of our world from their referents—which is a root of the comedy in the film. Wall-E’s ignorance of what a bra is makes the audience laugh. He puts a bra on his eyes! Wall-E!. The film deconstructs the signs of our world to their units of figurative secondary articulation (smallest possible units of no inherent meaning) and re-constructs them differently. For example, a garbage lid becomes a hat for Wall-E.

This process also attempts to make a statement about universality. Despite Wall-E’s ability to view our symbols without referent, some things such as love seem to be iconic or universal. Wall-E is able to recognize through imitation that his feelings for Eve coincide with the feelings felt by the characters in the tape of Hey Dolly! through the act of holding hands.

Stripped of the signs that the audience are accustomed to, the humans in Wall-E add another dimension of de-contextualization. The most striking instance of this is demonstrated by the captain of The Axiom. As he learns to walk (a first for his species for several centuries), the iconic theme of 2001: A Space Odyssey is heard, mirroring the scene when apes learn to use tools. This simple association demonstrates how something that we consider trivial (walking) is monumental for humanity during this time.

I feel I have merely scratched the surface of Wall-E’s semiotic content. I may feel compelled to explore this topic more when the film reaches DVD and I watch it over and over and over.