By the end of 2010, all three major consoles will have one thing in common; they will offer some form of motion control.
While playing through L.A. Noire I found myself gradually developing an appreciation for another developer and their own technique.
It’s one of the small oddities of the medium of gaming that one particular genre seems tailor made for interactivity but has had little representation. That genre is cyberpunk, a very specific variant on science fiction settings that came out of the excess and digital revolution of the 80s. It’s a genre that focuses on intrigue, deception, technology and dramatic conflict, but despite that only a few games have ventured into this territory, with the recent Deus Ex: Human Revolution being one latest—and best—ambassadors of the genre to gamers. It’s almost like a clear statement to the gaming community that an important genre, once ignored, is making a comeback to the medium that can do it justice. But why is this genre so compelling? Why is it coming back? To understand these questions, it’s best to start by understanding what, exactly, cyberpunk is.
The World According To Gibson
Often hailed as the “Godfather” of cyberpunk, the genre has as one of its defining creators, the Canadian science fiction author William Gibson. While Gibson can’t be said to have invented the genre from the ground up, he is largely responsible for many of the elements that are regarded as definitive to cyberpunk today. It was his early work in the 80s with short stories such as Burning Chrome and then his landmark “Cyberspace trilogy” of Neuromancer, Count Zero and Mona Lisa Overdrive that laid foundations for the genre.
In terms of theme, William Gibson covered the broad strokes that cyberpunk would concern itself with. There is a sense of near future dystopia to cyberpunk. It’s not that the apocalypse came and went, so much as the world limped on and got a little bit worse with each passing year. Technology has developed unchecked and unfettered by issues of ethics or morality, consumerism has become more prevalent and yet at the same time, poverty and economic class divides have widened. Political power gradually transferred from the federal or national governmental levels to that of multi-national corporations. It is a world where switching jobs to a new company can be as complex, violent and dangerous as a traditional cold war defection from one superpower to another. Espionage has become standard operating procedure for business, and the businesses have a lot more money and authority to exercise it.
It’s ironic that these themes were explored in the 80s, a period of plenty for the West, in particular America, when these ideas seemed far-fetched and unlikely. Fast forward three decades and the prescience of these ideas—such as the erosion of the USA’s importance on the world stage, or the worrying ability of corporate interests to affect government policy—have become everyday concerns that are regularly discussed by just about everyone. Cyberpunk is a world where information is power, and the digital revolution has taken it to such an extreme those that can manipulate the information are the ones in control.
It is a world that has also been largely defined by one seminal movie, Ridley Scott’s 1982 science fiction film Blade Runner. The aesthetic of retro-fitting, of merely adding new layers of architecture, technology and even culture onto an existing structure pervades the entire film. At the time of Blade Runner’s release, Gibson himself was writing Neuromancer and was both elated and horrified at the uncanny resemblance in texture and mood between the science fiction film noir and his own update of the classic, detective noir style for his near-future fiction. Despite the fact that the 80s was one of the most prosperous decades that North America would ever know, the combination of cold war tension and suspicion about “magical” new technologies such as computers and bio-engineering were already planting common seeds of thought in many artists in varying mediums.
And that, of course, also pertains to games.
Welcome To Cyberspace
It should come as no surprise that for those in the gaming industry that ventured into the no man’s land of an untapped genre, a wealth of material lay in wait. From the cyberpunk reliance on technology, to mercenary combat, to ready-made, near apocalyptic settings ruled by evil mega-corporations, these were fertile fields ripe for exploitation and ready to provide players with an intriguing world to interact with.
One of the first efforts to create a cyberpunk game played it safe and went straight to the source. The 1988 adventure game Neuromancer didn’t just pay homage to Gibson’s seminal work, it bought the license and tried to bring the world to life with the crude, low resolution computers that were decades behind the computational powerhouses that Gibson envisioned in his world. After naming the character at your own discretion, you find out he is a “console cowboy,” an underworld hacker. Gradually the puzzles of the real world are negotiated to get back the “deck” (the specialized hacking computer) and the software with which basic hacking is accomplished until better equipment is acquired through means both legal and not. The ultimate goal, as with Neuromancer itself, is to unravel a mystery in cyberspace that involves the wheelings and dealings of various artificial intelligences pursuing their own agendas.
What made Neuromancer so unique, aside from its adaptation of the famed Gibson novel, was the way it gradually ramped up the access to technology that players had. What starts as a simple adventure game with players fetching various items at the request of non-player characters turns into the quest for network addresses and passwords for elementary electronic intrusion. Eventually, when the player finally gets access to a cyberspace-compliant deck, passwords and addresses give way to attack programs and digital combat with ICE—intrusion countermeasures electronics—and the AIs that devise them. It is also one of the rare cyberpunk games that takes a pure, adventure approach to the genre, rather the other titles that make combat a mainstay.
But if Neuromancer the game covers the groundwork of hacking, then the next large entry for cyberpunk gaming tackled the issues of corporations as the new political power. Literally. In 1993, Peter Molyneux, riding high on Bullfrog Productions previous hits Populous and Powermonger debuted the futuristic, multi-platform title Syndicate. The premise puts players in a world where national governments have broken down and the various regions of the world are now controlled by “syndicates,” a fusion of a large corporate entity with organized crime group. The player is at the head of the newest syndicate, and from humble beginnings, controlling four cyborg warriors using turn-based strategy mechanics, goes on to eliminate rivals, expand territory and dominate the globe.
With Syndicate, players were introduced to a more strategic game, one that leveraged heavily on Molyneux’s own experience with the “God Game” genre he defined in Populous. Syndicate went in the opposite direction of Neuromancer, ignoring the individual in favour of a larger stage with greater focus. It’s also brutally Machiavellian in practice, regularly presenting players with opportunities to sacrifice—and in some cases brainwash—civilians as fodder in order to achieve objectives. Syndicate puts players in a position where the end justifies the means. It gave players an understanding of the motivations that occur in a cyberpunk world where people with power have no responsibility to anything except profit and personal advancement. While no one is going to actually condone Syndicate’s methods, it makes it easier to understand the motivations of an authority that views people as little more than chess pieces used to “win” the game.
From Syndicate in 1993 to Shadowrun (in 1993 for the SNES and 1994 for the Genesis) cyberpunk takes an interesting turn when it moves into the genre of the RPG. The Genesis version in particular, developed by BlueSky Software, provides a varied experience that manages to stay surprisingly faithful to the original source material. Shadowrun is an interesting concept because its roots lie in a traditional, pen and paper role-playing of the same name released by FASA in 1989. Unlike “vanilla” cyberpunk, which was squarely in the speculative science-fiction department, Shadowrun mixed things up by postulating that not only was the world bleak, futuristic and dystopian, it also had elves, orcs, dragons and magic users living and fighting alongside its hackers and cyborg soldiers. Ironically, according to Shadowrun lore, in the year 2011, magic inexplicably began to function once more, and dormant races like elves and orcs that had been absorbed into humanity, reasserted themselves, while other species, like dragons, awoke from their hidden chambers of slumber. Fast forward 63 years later to the year 2074 and the stage is set for Shadowrun adventures.
The Genesis version of Shadowrun is an action-RPG that focuses on Joshua, a man with the classic dilemma of having his brother killed, putting him into revenge mode. The game takes place in a futuristic Seattle, as Joshua arrives and performs basic “Shadowruns” or quasi-legal activities, in order to track down information on the Shadowrun job that got his brother killed. Players could choose between basic character configurations for combat, hacking and magic, and then went on to both develop their character and explore a world in which they could perform straight combat jobs for hire, or, if they so chose, hack into systems to steal illicit information. For its time, Shadowrun provided the broadest, most complete interactive cyberpunk experience, and it remained so for a few years until the inevitable heavy hitter arrived.
In 1997, Westwood Studios, usually better known for their work on the infamous Command & Conquer real-time strategy series, surprised everyone with the release of not just an adventure game, but one based on Blade Runner. By this point in time, Blade Runner had rapidly risen from its humble beginnings as a theatrical failure of the early 80s to a highly regarded cinematic experience with the respect of both the audiences and the critics. Blade Runner the adventure game, was, unfortunately doomed to a similar fate, experimenting with both narrative and technological mechanisms that may have been too far ahead of their time, only to gain more recognition in later years.
Rather than put players once again in the shoes of the film’s main character, Deckard, the Blade Runner game focuses on Ray McCoy, a Blade Runner who is tasked with a similar mission. He is also on the trail of a different set of Replicants to kill, and his mission is running concurrently with Deckard’s, with numerous references to that more famous Blade Runner dropped throughout the course of the game as the two missions narrowly miss each other. While the mechanics of the game were the familiar point and click interface that was well understood at this time, the game pushed the technology envelope by using a 3D technology known as voxels. Voxels would eventually lose out in the war for 3D graphics to the polygon that is the mainstay today, but it had the virtue of not requiring some kind of hardware acceleration like today’s graphic cards. It also took the difficult high road of providing a large amount of choice to the player, with 12 possible endings available depending on actions taken throughout the course of the game. Like Shadowrun before it, it gave players a glimpse of gameplay where the setting was complex and choice was always available, something that would see even more fruition in later years.
It was when the original Deus Ex—developed by Ion Storm and directed by none other than Warren Spector—arrived in the summer of 2000, that players discovered a world in which abundant choice was not just a moral quandary, but a consequence of actual gameplay. As JC Denton, players controlled a nano-augmented agent of United Nations Anti-Terrorist Coalition. UNATCO is dedicated to preserving order in the face of a rash of terrorist activity that arose when it became clear a new plague sweeping across the world had a cure, but the cure itself was expensive and valuable, being reserved only for upper class of society. As Denton goes about his job he begins to uncover a conspiracy that rises up to the highest levels of corporate and government authority.
Deus Ex was an important game, not just for introducing a generation of gamers to a vast world of conspiracy theory, but for presenting a compelling environment where players had multiple solutions to problems. For those that didn’t enjoy gun-based combat, it was possible to pick locks, or hack computers, or even employ stealth tactics to bypass security or remain unseen. It also brought an incredibly complex story along with it that touched on everything in conspiracy mythology from Area 51 to the Illuminati. Like the genre itself, the Deus Ex game was a complex one that addressed many concerns, from the abuse of power by authority to the sheer variety of ways that a problem could be resolved, whether it was through violence, stealth, or technological prowess. It was a game that resonated heavily with audiences of the time by expanding the possibilities of gaming as well as bringing new layers of complexity to narrative in gaming.
Since then, Deus Ex has influenced the development of many games in its wake, but cyberpunk as a genre fell out of popularity in many media including games. It seemed the near future had lost its appeal with audiences who either preferred the contemporary settings of Modern Warfare or the far-flung future of Halo and Mass Effect. It would be many years before cyberpunk would make a high-profile return, but it happened.
The Present & The Future
Deus Ex: Human Revolution is a surprising and triumphant return for the genre. It follows its predecessor closely, providing numerous choices in play, while at the same time taking advantage of the advances in technology to present a richer, deeper world. The graphics in particular are evidence of a team at Eidos Montreal that is well aware of the roots of the game, with art direction that looks like it walked off the set of Blade Runner. It also touches on relevant themes that have raised more concern as time and technology have advanced. Deus Ex explores the notions of cybernetic implants and the implications it has on a world where people with money can not just correct physical defects, but even enhance natural abilities far beyond those of natural humans. Where does one draw the line when corporations promise a faster, better, smarter person… but only to those with a sizable income?
Perhaps it is because of the uncertain times the world finds itself in that the questions and ambiguity of cyberpunk have resurfaced. With recent troubles such as the collapse of the American economy placed largely on the shoulders of big business, the mistrust of corporations has grown to new highs. As the internet has entrenched itself in the lifestyle of most people around the world, the concerns about technology, privacy and information is once again a focus. Recent conflicts all across the globe have reminded us that nations go to war for reasons not necessarily in the best interests of their people but rather for profit and resource control.
And surprisingly, this return to cyberpunk in gaming is coming faster than people had anticipated. After a lot of leaks with no comment, Electronic Arts has finally confirmed that a new Syndicate game is on the way in early 2012. Like X-Com, the developer—in this case Starbreeze—is eschewing the original strategy genre that Syndicate was created in, and is turning it into a co-op first person shooter. While it’s not exactly the return that people had been expecting, Deus Ex: Human Revolution has already shown that contemporary gaming is still ready for a meaty, cyberpunk experience. With any luck the new Syndicate game will provide just that, despite its new direction.
If you’re looking to see what all the cyberpunk madness is about, here’s a quick listing of some movies that capture the essence of the genre.
This is pretty much the foundation of cyberpunk in cinema. Half science-fiction, half film-noir, Blade Runner is the mad fusion of a Philip K. Dick novel (in this case, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep) with the astounding cinematography and art direction of Ridley Scott. Harrison Ford plays a retired detective brought back into service for a final mission. He must track down artificially created humans that are physically superior in every way except for their three year life-span. Questions of ethics, humanity and identity all come into play in this seminal film that defined the look of an entire genre and influenced a generation of film makers.
This movie is an automatic candidate for “cyberpunkiness” if for no other reason than it’s adapted from the William Gibson short story of the same name. In this case, Johnny is a living “memory stick,” who is paid to store sensitive digital information that needs to be kept off the grid. Things go horribly awry when extremely sensitive data is tracked to down to him and people start trying to kill him. 90s style virtual reality interfaces make an appearance as cyberspace, and Dolph Lundgren makes a surprise turn in this unique, but ultimately uneven treatment of one of cyberpunk’s foundation stories.
Directed by Kathryn Bigelow, this 1995 film takes the basic notion of Gibson’s “Sim-Stim” or simulated stimulation, and turns it into the basis of an ugly struggle during the 1999-2000 New Year’s eve. Called a SQUID (super conducting quantum interference device), the technology allows “viewers” to experience every sensation of the person recording the experience. When a black market SQUID dealer—who usually dabbles in porn—gets a hold of a recording showing a woman being killed by cops, a conspiracy unfolds that has the dealer (Lenny Nero, as played by Ralph Fiennes) fighting for both his life and the truth.
It’s not just movies that are fascinated by dystopic, high-tech futures. Plenty of comics have explored this territory as well.
Another one of the heavy hitters in the genre, Katsuhiro Otomo’s massive work focuses on a motorcycle gang, and what happens when one of their own is turned into a homicidal psychic psychopath. Technology, conspiracy, a rebellious punk sensibility and some dazzling speculation into the fate of a future Tokyo all give Akira a tremendous weight and scope that few stories have dared to match. Otomo’s ridiculously detailed art is another high point of the series, with an attention to urban detail that borders on obsessive. Although Akira was also turned into a stunning movie—which was also directed by Otomo—the 2+ hour viewing experience obviously lacks the substance of a manga that is 2000 pages in length.
Another import from Japan, Appleseed is the early work of Masamune Shirow who would go on to create other notable cyberpunk works such as Ghost in the Shell. Appleseed is a complex manga that addresses themes of genetic engineering, cybernetic augmentation, and the concept of government in a post-apocalyptic world. The story is seen through the eyes of Deunan Knute, a female SWAT officer partnered with a combat cyborg known as Briareos. After being rescued from their scavenger lifestyle out in the wastelands of a post-World War III landscape, they take up citizenship in Olympus. This new city was an advanced project in the extensive use of bioroids, or genetically engineered humans. It now acts as the seat of government in the devastated new world, but there are many nations unhappy about this new transition of power. Deunan and her partner get caught in the crossfire.
Transmetropolitan is another notch on the demented belt of Warren Ellis. Where the previous two works were Japanese, grounded in a lot of “hard” science and pushed their speculations in imaginative but relatively conservative directions, Warren Ellis’ work is “gonzo,” going as far out as it possibly can with the most outrageous concepts. The protagonist, Spider Jerusalem, is a journalist living and working in a far flung, futuristic city where everything from suspended animation to total consciousness conversion into a nano-cloud is possible. It’s in this world that Spider negotiates the often confusing culture of accelerated change and ultimately battles corruption both corporate and government.
This article originally ran in the November 2011 issue of CGM.
We’ve come a long, long way from the Atari 2600 days, when you had to imagine that your green square was a hero and that the red square was a dragon. We still don’t have games that look as good—in real time—as the 2001 film, Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within, let alone as good as James Cameron’s Avatar movie, but the visual fidelity of games has risen considerably in the 30+ years since gaming became a mainstream, consumer-friendly hobby. Players are regularly exposed to some breathtaking moments in today’s games: dragons fly over sunny, alpine skies, and pristine space stations are full of aliens with wildly divergent evolutionary paths. Games have never looked better, but how much of that improvement is thanks to genuine artistic talent, and how much is merely due to ongoing technological advancements?
The graphics of a game are like a witch’s brew of mystical ingredients, involving both technology and artistry. The graphics engine is what simulates (or outright distorts) reality, through an arcane process of interpreting ones and zeros into gorgeous visuals that approximate everything from the quality of light at sunset, to the behaviour of water as it floods through a ship’s deck. Nevertheless, technological simulation of the world has yet to near the bounds of human imagination.
3D games begin with technology. It is the foundation. Polygons are the “molecules” or basic building blocks from which characters, buildings and vehicles are built. Beyond that, nuances like color, lighting, and, perhaps most difficult of all, physics, convince players, even if only briefly, to forget the real world and lose themselves in the experience.
Crysis is currently hailed as the game with the best graphics, but how has it earned a ranking a step above its peers? From a technical perspective, it now sets the benchmark against-which PC users test their computers. Crysis 2 was so ambitious that it actually toned-down the excessive resource demands of the first game, enabling it to run at decent frame rates and resolutions, even without enormously expensive gaming rigs. So, where had its predecessor gone wrong?
Crysis takes place in a jungle. Its developer, Crytek took the high road by modeling plenty of plants and trees, by filling the air with insects flying about, and by simulating the behaviour of light falling through a jungle canopy and onto the objects on the ground. As if all that weren’t enough, the usual demands, like a smooth frame rate and the use of anti-aliasing to make objects appear smooth and not “jaggy,” are still in full force, while still maintaining a tremendously high resolution.
Combining these jobs into one could bring all but the best gaming systems to their knees. Crysis did many things it didn’t need to do, just to prove that they could be done. The result was a challenging release that, at first, few people could play at its highest graphical settings.
Crysis set new standards for handling light, physics, and numerous virtual objects. But despite notably achieving realistic lighting and environmental complexity, it still wasn’t necessarily the most beautiful-looking game.
Artists & Artistry
2006’s Okami, originally developed for the PS2, is one of the most visually arresting games of the last ten years, and not just because it rendered many photorealistic objects simultaneously. Director, Hideki Kamiya, and art director, Takeyasu Sawaki opted to create a surprising look based on traditional Japanese wood-cut, with ink and brush work. The result was a Japanese museum portrait come to life, all under the player’s command. Five years later, Sawaki again astounded critics and gamers alike with El Shaddai: Ascension of the Metatron. Without pushing the performance limits of current consoles, it shows players sights of worlds that they’d barely imagined possible.
This is where the “eye” of a talented artist rises to the fore of the technology available. Plenty of games do impressive things with technology, but the ability of on-screen images to evoke players’ emotions requires a human touch. Technology can make the creative process easier, but what ultimately defines the look of a game—and how memorable it is—are the choices made by the artists. Real-time lighting is great, but it’s the choice of light placement, the presence or absence of shadow, that makes the difference. Similarly, a color palette of millions of shades is useless if every color is randomly thrown on the screen just because it can be. The relentless greys and browns of Modern Warfare have a very different effect compared to the rich greens of the jungles in the Uncharted series, although even a lack of color can do well in the right hands.
Limbo, by the Danish studio, Playdead is a bold attempt at storytelling through silhouettes and a black-and-white aesthetic similar to silent films. Carefully using simple shapes blended with light and dark shades, Limbo creates an evocative look that incites genuine emotions. The first time a giant spider comes crawling towards the game’s defenceless protagonist, players’ reactions are both real and immediate. The artists’ choices in defining the look of the game carry emotional power. Another good example of a simple game that rises above its technological limitations is Sword & Sworcery EP, by Canadian developer Superbrothers. Taking a deliberate, retro look, it creates moody, austere environments that look striking and detailed, while at the same time using the most rudimentary form of graphical rendering, the humble pixel.
This is the other extreme of the pendulum. While these games are all visually stunning, their technological simplicity is another characteristic they have in common. Games like Crysis can strain any system while still lacking impressive art direction. However, many games do successfully tread the delicate middle ground.
When powerful tools are married to high calibre talent, the results can reach into the realm of the deeply moving. A few big-budget games that enjoy the support of prestigious publishers occasionally achieve lofty heights with their art direction. The artistic team first works at the concept stage, making constant refinements in response to continual feedback, to gradually hone the final look of each character and every environment. Massive budgets give teams of artists the luxury of time, allowing them years to obsessively tweak the little details like lighting, the setting of a scene, or the particular angle of a jaw.
In the highly cinematic Heavy Rain, the filmic sensibility of director David Cage is expressed with the help of extensive motion capture sessions funded by Sony’s deep pockets. Its look is both realistic and startlingly evocative. Lit to echo its film noire inspiration, the game demonstrates an excessive—perhaps even obsessive—attention to detail in the little adornments within the environment, from the posters on the wall, to the knickknacks on the shelves, to the accessories on a bedside table. Designer Quantic Dream’s carefully crafted and convincing vision was fuelled not just by Sony’s finances, but also by the freedom Sony gave these talented French artists. Allowing them the time needed to ensure that every environment met exacting quality-control demands, set a new standard for cinematic aesthetics in games.
The Assassin’s Creed series, most notably, Assassin’s Creed 2, is another aesthetically and technically impressive example. Ubisoft Montreal moved the game to Renaissance, Italy, resulting in a sprawling sense of scale and a distinct time and place. The mood of the game’s sunsets is almost poetic. The talented teams behind such sterling results needed the money Ubisoft threw at them for research trips and for the-top tier hardware and software used to replicate not one, not two, but four Italian cities. Assassin’s Creed 2 gives us a vast world rivalling an open-world game, while still delivering the details and stable performance of a game with far fewer, not to mention less-ambitious, areas of real estate to render.
Through the years, others like Uncharted 2 or even the last-generation critical behemoth, Shadow of the Colossus have shown us what a good team with the right technological resources can accomplish. But this kind of achievement is still too rare. Games are meant to be more than just sheer processing power on display; they should make a meaningful impact on players. Better tools can mean a better product, but only if artists can wield those tools well in the service of stylish subject matter. Every once in a while something different, like El Shaddai’s psychedelic levels, emerges to remind players that photorealism isn’t the final arbiter of good looks in gaming. The best end results avoid the pitfall of looking painfully overproduced and show us what can happen when financing facilitates the ideal union between talent and technology.
Maybe it’s just a case of me getting older and grumpier, or maybe it’s just a case of the internet making people bolder than they actually are in real life. Whatever it is, it seems to me that as the years have gone by fans of games or game consoles have been drowned out by fanboys. That’s not to say there’s a problem with population control, I think numerically fans still outweigh fanboys, but when it comes to the signal-to-noise ratio, the noise of the fanboys is definitely much louder, more apparent and far more obnoxious than their less provocative cousins.
As you might have already gathered, when it comes to fanboys, I am not a fan. It’s not that I don’t understand the “us versus them” mentality. I know it’s a basic component of human nature to make those kinds of divisions between groups, but the degree to which the fanboy takes their loyalty is where I begin to move from amusement to worry. Certainly there are fans of differing car brands, and most certainly, there are fans of different sports teams. But nowhere is there a level of venom and even outright hatred for differing sides as there is in games. Even in a recent survey conducted by Ipsos Loyalty, a consumer and employee research group, Gaming Fanboys came out on top as the most fanatical, beating out even sports and car enthusiasts. That, to me, is a frightening prospect. Cars and sports teams have been around for generations compared to games and yet in the span of just 30 years, gaming fanboys have already become statistically more rabid than either of those interests.
The part that really confuses me is that gaming is something that should bring people together. Gaming is, after all, about fun, entertainment, and on rare occasions, art. If this is what gaming can do, then who cares what console that experience is achieved on? Extreme gamers, it seems, care a great deal. I could argue that part of this is the fairly sizeable investment that gamers make when it comes to purchasing a console and associated games, but this reasoning falls flat on its face when you consider that automobiles cost far, far more than a single console and yet the owner of a BMW doesn’t want to kill a Porsche owner and burn his house down. However, an extremist Microsoft Xbox 360 owner may very well want to do that to a Playstation 3 owner, and vice versa, while both of them spit on owners of the Wii.
Somehow, gaming fanboys have gotten it into their head that a choice of console is almost like a declaration of lifestyle or religion, and anyone that doesn’t belong to the same “tribe” or “sect” has committed an offense punishable by death. A cursory look at any video game forum will quickly yield staggering amounts of hatred and venom, all based on a consumer purchasing choice. Like any bigot, they make generalizations about people that own “enemy consoles” and treat those other owners hate and contempt. It’s even gotten to the point that you have to be careful about making informed purchases at the average video game store, because if the staff members have fan boy allegiances to one console or another, they will deliberately lie to you to “do their part for the war.” There are stories from confused shoppers about going to video game retailers with less-than-impartial staff, who found only later that they were lied to, given misinformation to prevent them from buying the console they actually wanted, because the religious zeal of some console fanboys is so great that common professional decency is no longer an option.
I can only hope this is a temporary condition of the gaming culture. Fanboys were already outnumbered by the more reasonable fans, and that has only become a bigger rift with the influx of casual gamers. It’s doubtful that the fanboy will ever go away, but hopefully, as time passes, the noise they make now as they foam at the mouth will become harder to hear as more rational discussion drowns them out. Right now, however, they are still difficult to ignore because they may be the smallest in number, but they are still the loudest.
This article originally appeared in CGM of August 2010.
We’re entering a bold and strange time for gaming.
Vehicular combat games have always been on the fringe of gaming, compared to first person shooters, but in recent years, they’ve become rarer still.
In videogames, there are only a handful of people that stand out from the rest of the industry.