Showing posts with label video games. Show all posts
Showing posts with label video games. Show all posts

Friday, 1 August 2014

Changing the Game: Self-Reflexivity in Spec Ops: The Line

Self-reflexivity is a known feature of many media forms, with film and literature turning their gaze inwards in numerous texts, and such self-reflexivity is frequently connected with the postmodern text, a theoretical structure with which videogames are also associated, through their ability to subvert traditional ideas about the distinction between reality and simulation or image, for example.  Some videogame releases of recent years attempt to address cultural concerns connected with gaming; Bioshock uses the game’s structure and narrative to consider notions of free will as a gamer; Deus Ex: Human Revolution offers a consideration of the uses of computer and internet technology to collect potentially sensitive, or private, information, and Heavy Rain uses the medium to offer an examination of the prevalence of violence within the medium, through reinstating violence as a destructive and shocking part of gaming, rather than a norm.  This is taken further in the 2012 game Spec Ops: The Line (Yager 2012), which explicitly explores the morality of violence in videogames using the tropes of the first person shooter genres to subvert player expectations and, furthermore, uses the visual and ludic elements of other games as pastiche to do so.

                Spec Ops is a loose adaptation of both Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and the canonical Apocalypse Now (Coppola).  The game offers a personal exploration of the decisions made by the protagonist, Captain Martin Walker (and the player), as he makes his way through a speculative version of Dubai, which has been destroyed and left communicatively in darkness by a series of sandstorms, in search of the ‘Damned’ 33rd Battalion and their commanding officer Konrad who have gone missing after being left to protect the survivors of the storms.  The game makes explicit similarities between Walker and the protagonists of Heart of Darkness and Apocalypse Now, placing his actions in dialogue with the actions of the protagonists of those earlier works.  At first, Spec Ops appears to be a clone of games like the Call of Duty franchise, achieved through using the same tropes and ludic strategies of that franchise as the basis for questioning those games portrayal of a violent occupation as a legitimate and normal part of the ludic experience of these games, but the intertextual relationship the game has with other games in the shooter genre, as well as the texts upon which the game draws from, signals more than simply a direct cloning of these other texts, but uses these texts as the basis by which it critiques itself and the medium.
                The game opens with the player controlling Walker as he enters Dubai, under orders to carry out reconnaissance to locate the 33rd Battalion and their commanding officer John Konrad.  Upon finding the bodies of American soldiers, Walker disobeys his original orders for reconnaissance and instead decides that the team will enter Dubai to search for survivors, beginning the game.  In most narratives, this disobedience is justified, with subsequent events proving that the original rubric is flawed, and so the player assumes this to be the case.  Once gameplay begins, there is a familiar: aim, fire, load, repeat.  However, where many games use this as a method of empowerment, as Michael Hartman suggests, offering repeated sequences that require the player to ‘wantonly execute people, zombies, head crabs or splicers, which satiates some limitless desire for players to empower themselves while playing’ (Hartman 2012), Spec Ops uses instead ludonarrative dissonance to subvert these usual empowerment fantasies, seen in the repetitive fight sequences, in which wave after wave of enemies have to be destroyed, their numbers swollen to absurd levels,  and are placed on the screen in a way that allows the player to destroy them without the need for much gaming skill.  Here, the ludic enjoyment and empowerment provided by the fight sequence is destabilised and questioned through the sheer volume of enemies that appear in opposition to the protagonist and his crew of two.  Ludonarrative dissonance is also used to subvert ludic progression.  Typically, videogames require the player to learn skills and offers a reward system for the successful implementation of those skills, such as better weaponry after killing an end of level boss.  As the player controls the protagonist, Captain Martin Walker deeper into the ruined city of Dubai, she begins to perceive that the reward for the successful implementation of ludic skills is, in fact, a punishment: the games tone becomes darker, and she is treated to a series of scenes of escalating brutality as the protagonist degrades both physically and mentally on the screen in front of her.  The ludonarrative dissonance and the negative reward the player is given for progression culminates in one of the most disturbing scenes in the game, which the player is presented with a scene familiar to players of Call of Duty 4.  In the Call of Duty mission, Death from Above (and it cannot pass unnoticed that the name of this mission is the same as the slogan printed on the front of the helicopter Colonel Kilgore uses in Apocalypse Now, further emphasising the intertextual relationship between the different texts), the player takes the role of a gunner in an aircraft, providing support for the main characters of the game (including the protagonist, Soap McTavish) as they make their way through hostile territory for extraction.  The mission calls for the player to target white ‘hotspots’, areas of enemy militia and armament to allow the ground crew to reach the extraction point, with an achievement for killing 5 or more enemies with one shot, thus highlighting the games objective of killing as many people as possible (after all, Call of Duty 4, as with the other games in the FPS genre are shooting games and require the player to shoot enemies).
Call of Duty 4: Death From Above mission

For the player of Spec Ops who has previously completed this or similar missions in other games, the rubric seems clear: target the white areas with weaponry and eliminate as many enemies as possible.  However, the game critiques this, using a munition—white phosphorus—that has been hotly debated after it was revealed that the US military employed this weapon in 2004 whist fighting in Falluja, Iraq (Reynolds 2005) as the primary method of attack in this scene.  This munition is used in warfare as a obscurant and will allow the protagonist and his team to pass this encampment unscathed.  Sergeant Lugo challenges Walkers use of the munition, citing its harmful effects and offering a moral counterpoint to Walkers determination, but is overruled; this section of the game is completed via an aerial view of the landscape, and closely resembles Call of Duty 4 in its design, as does the gaming strategy.  However, unlike Call of Duty, once the section has been completed, the player must guide Walker and his team through this encampment, where she witnesses the consequence of using this weapon.  White phosphorous, as well as providing cover for the movement of troops, has a number of other effects, such as severe injuries, including being able to penetrate clothing and to burn directly through skin and bone.  The smoke is toxic and can cause severe lung irritation if it is inhaled.  It is also incendiary, and fragments of the phosphorus get stuck to the skin as it explodes—and will continue to burn until fully consumed, or deprived of oxygen.   (Forensic Architecture 2009).
Spec Ops: The Line

After the smoke has cleared—literally, the players reward is revealed.  Usually for performing such feats, progressing through narrative as well as ludic elements of the game, but here again, those expectations are disrupted, leaving the player shocked as she sees that Walker has fired on civilians, and that she was controlling him at the time.  The cut-scene that follows the white phosphorus scene depicts Walkers path through burned corpses, lingering on a dead woman clutching a child to her, their mouths open in agony.  The players response to these images—and the realisation that she condoned this by carrying out the attack—mirrors that of Lugo and Lieutenant Adams who argue in the background of the scene, their confusion and self-disgust evident.  This part of the game aroused strong emotions in testing, with players having to leave the room and to compose themselves after seeing the mother and child images (Dyer 2012).  Game writer, Walt Williams considers this to be a moment in the game that aims to offer the player an insight into the psyche of the protagonist, saying ‘if you were actually a soldier in that situation, you would have to make that very conscious choice of trying to move on and accept what you had done’ (Dyer 2012) and explicitly asks the player to make a similar decision: ‘is this actually a game that I want to finish playing? And if I do, I have to accept what just happened and choose to keep playing this game’ (Dyer 2012).

White Phosphorus
This scene, in particular, seeks to highlight, and to subvert, player expectations, forcing her to reconsider her actions—and her acceptance of those actions—even in a virtual context.  Spec Ops offers the player a commentary on choice in the game, despite its strict linear structure; there are repeated pieces of dialogue that feature Walker telling other characters that there is no choice in the actions he is taking, such as when Walker is challenged by Lugo about the use of white phosphorus.  At each point in the game where there are actions that are immoral, or which the player is uncomfortable with, the player is offered a choice: to quit playing.  In continuing to play the game, much like Walker continuing into Dubai, she makes a choice, and each time does, the game rewards her with more death, more destruction, more discomfort, and complicity in Walkers actions.  Even the loading screens of the game question the role the player takes in the game.  Usually, loading screens offer the player hints and tips to aid in the successful completion of that game.  However, Spec Ops once again subverts this trope, and instead offers captions such as ‘It takes a strong man to deny what’s in front of him’, ‘Do you feel like a hero yet’, ‘You are still a good person’, ‘How many Americans have you killed today’, and ‘To kill for yourself is murder. To kill for your government is heroic. To kill for entertainment is harmless’.  Each of these screen captions serves two purposes, to remind the player of the psychological events related to the characters, and to question her role in the game.  Tellingly, each of the quotes suggest that the player is implicit in the violence Walker inflicts during the game, asking her if she feels like a hero as she controls Walkers actions.  ‘To kill for entertainment is harmless’ suggests that the player’s actions are harmless; however, these actions are not referred to as virtual: the player is not told that she is playing, she is told that she is killing, a word whose connotations are predominantly negative.  Brendan Keogh considers the loading screens to be part of Walker’s subconscious, an attempt to justify his actions (Keogh 2012, Loc 176 of 2850), reflecting the decisions Walker makes for himself and his team and how these change the way the trio interact with each other, and with subsequent events as the team penetrate deeper into Dubai; Walker becomes less professional in his tone and manner, and his behaviour becomes more erratic and brutal and the group dynamic is lost.  His physical appearance changes along with his mental deterioration; his skin is burned and eroded by the sand and the violence he encounters and initiates is reflected in this physical change.  The game does more than this, however, it challenges the player’s assumptions about her own behaviour whilst playing Spec Ops and similarly structured games.  The game, then, directly addresses the player and asks whether this hyperbolically violent game arouses feelings of enjoyments, and furthermore whether she considers the killing she engages in to be harmless.  As Mitch Dyer of IGN comments after playing Spec Ops the game tries to engage the player with a number of questions: ‘What is it you were wanting to feel when you chose to sit down and play a military shooter? What did you think you were at the beginning of this game? Why did you think it was okay to keep going and to keep doing these things?’ as Walker commits more and more atrocities, disobeying the commands of his superior officers to further his own aim of finding the missing Konrad.
Loading Screen
                Ultimately, the game asks the player whether the only way to win Spec Ops: The Line is to turn it off, to refuse to engage with Walker and his team; to actively question her role in games such as Call of Duty, Black Ops, and Spec Ops, and further asks her if playing these games make her complicit in the violence the various protagonists inflict throughout the games.  Spec Ops does not attempt to either justify or condemn the violence it presents, but through the hyperbolic gameplay asks the player to consider this for herself, and whether turning off the game constitutes a legitimate gameplay strategy.  In being able to do this, Spec Ops: The Line in turn asks questions that encompass the medium of the videogame, questioning its own actions, drawing attention to its artifice, and offering the player the ability to do the same.
Videogames, through interactivity that renders the player a quasi-author, are particularly well placed to interrogate intersections between real-world and virtual-world ethics in a variety of ways.  As I have shown, for Spec Ops: The Line, this takes the form of individual morality and decision-making.  Videogames also challenge the ethics of gaming meta-textually. Indeed, Spec Ops not only considers the fictional ethics of hyperbolical virtual situations, but also reflects on the ethics of gaming itself, whether or even if gamers are free to choose the actions they perform, or of mainstream videogames’ normalizing of risk-taking and violence.

                There has been much debate over whether videogames increase real world violence or whether they have an opposite effect, offering a virtual and safe outlet for violent propensities This paper has been less concerned about the likelihood of players of actually killing themselves or others in the real world than the ways in which videogames engage consumers ethically. Whether the haptic participation of players in ethical and unethical fictional events is more or less likely to lead them to similar actions in the real world is not within the scope of my research. My conclusion, however, is this physical participation allows for a more engaged interrogation of ethical values than traditional media do.  Bob Rehak notes that ‘the disavowal necessary to gameplay is like the ‘yes, that’s what I see’ of successful cinematic structure, but goes further: ‘yes, that’s what I do’ (Rehak 2003, 121).  The ability of the videogame to allow players to explore virtual ethical situations, carrying out physical actions in a physically safe real-world context, allowing them to do, and at the same time to consider the ethical and/or moral weight of these actions more intensively displays a maturity of the medium, as well as of videogame designers and players who interact with these games.

Monday, 21 July 2014

Still Alive: Understanding Femininity in Valve’s Portal Games

Portal and its sequel Portal 2 are not the first videogames that come to mind when considering the Gothic.  As videogame analyst Ewan Kirkland points out, the games ‘high-tech world of white, featureless test chambers, artificially intelligent super computers, laser targeting security robots and the portal gun itself, an elegant device allowing the player to pass through one flat surface to another, has none of the imagery commonly associated with Gothic culture’ (Kirkland 2014, 454).  However, beneath the sterile, technological veneer, lies a narrative of female imprisonment, trauma, and emancipation, something Gothic fiction has been concerned with almost since its inception.  The narrative of these games is achieved through an underlying—or embedded—history that exists alongside the games ludic puzzle solving structure.  Like a number of other games, the player can, if she chooses, explore the narrative through audio and visual cues, as well as through the interactions between the games characters.  It is this narrative that defines the game as Gothic, with the antagonist—GLaDOS—taking the role of the traditional Gothic female, the Gothic monster, and the postfeminist Gothic woman.
The Portal games have two female characters, Chell, and a Genetic Lifeform and Digital Operating System—GLaDOS.  The player controls Chell, a human trapped in the Apeture Science Enrichment facility.  GLaDOS, who controls the facility, wakes Chell and compels her to complete ‘tests’.  These tests make up the ludic elements of the videogame, and are a series of spatial puzzles, in which the player guides Chell from point A to point B.  To do so, the player uses a ‘portal gun’ that allows her to place pairs of portals that allow instant travel.  With this gun, the player has to assess trajectories, speed, and use lateral thinking to complete a series of progressively more difficult mathematical problems that involves placing portals, to reach the exit of each level.

Chell is a rarely seen character, which along with the games first-person perspective allows the player to identify herself as the protagonist.  This is aided by the game’s discourse, a one-sided conversation in which GLaDOS repeatedly taunts Chell, something I want to return to later.  This monologue blurs the distinction between the player and the character being controlled: after a couple of hours of hearing GLaDOS say ‘you’, it starts to appear that she is talking to you the player, not you the fictional character being controlled.  
GLaDOS is a computer/human hybrid, and as I said, is in control of the long abandoned enrichment facility, which is itself part of the larger, fictional, Half Life universe.  At first GLaDOS appears to be a guide through the game, a popular videogame trope, but the player gradually becomes aware that the disembodied voice is not simply a programmed series of commands, and appears to be a narcissistic, passive aggressive, insane female.  The embedded narrative of the game allows the player to discover the origins of GLaDOS, to understand her insanity, and ultimately (as it is a game) to bring about the postfeminist conclusion to the narrative.
Gothic fiction frequently begins with trauma, and the Portal games are no exception to this.  Piecing together the narrative through pictures, audio clips, and memories, the player learns that the human use to create GLaDOS was Caroline, the personal assistant to the CEO of Apeture science Cave Johnson.  Whilst the GLaDOS program was originally designed to house Johnsons consciousness, he left instructions that if he was to die before it was completed, Caroline was to take his place in the program, even if she refused. Like many other Gothic heroines before her, Caroline ‘an innocent and blameless heroine [is] threatened by a powerful male figure and confined by a labyrinthine interior space’ (Brabon and Genz 2007, 5)—literally disembodied, her consciousness is bound inside a computer and this incarceration drove Caroline insane.  Like many other Gothic heroines, Caroline suffers a complete mental collapse because of her treatment, and her first act as GLaDOS is to attempt to kill the Apeture Science employees in revenge with a neurotoxin.  This causes her to be, literally, turned off, until the Apeture Science team can fathom a method of controlling her –and force her to submit to their will.  Whilst this is enough to signal Caroline as a Gothic heroine, her incarceration at the hands of the employees of Apeture Science is compounded by the implantation of several ‘dampening spheres’, designed to stifle her intelligence and decision making abilities.  Tellingly, for the gendered narrative of the game, all of these spheres are male.  At the end of Portal, Chell attaches several of these to GLaDOS to make her malfunction, and then at the beginning of Portal 2, another of these spheres, Wheatley—designed to be the ‘dumbest moron who ever lived’ revives Chell from cryogenic hibernation, setting off the events of the second game.  GLaDOS then, lives in a place where ‘the damsel in distress cannot escape her painful fate.  Masculinity defines and contains her [and her containment is] a process almost invariably violent’ (Williams 2007, 88), her body is taken from her, and her mind and consciousness is undermined by the men who want to control her – even after she kills them.  Caroline is clearly the victim of patriarchal power, literally reduced to being ‘a set of mechanical functions’ (Williams 2007, 90) by being placed inside a computer system, and losing control of her own thoughts and feelings.
For me, one of the most chilling discoveries I made in the game was when I realised that GLaDOS inclusion in the digital operating system as the genetic lifeform part of the program would mean that she was included in a periodic backing up of the system, just the same as my computer does.  Just as with my computer, this would mean that if anything went wrong, GLaDOS could be reinstalled from a backup copy of the program she is encased in, her immortality ensured as long as there is sufficient power to run her hardware.  In creating a backup of the GLaDOS program, the human within the program is denied death; her personality and memories are stored to allow her to live forever.  Even if there is a malfunction (such as occurs at the end of Portal, when GLaDOS is beaten by Chell and appears to die), GLaDOS (and therefore Caroline) is still denied death, as there is the possibility of the program being restarted by a third party, which is exactly what happens in the second game: GLaDOS is reawakened by one of the dampening spheres created to supress her intelligence.  Whilst there is certainly an exploration of the use of Posthuman technology in the game—considering the ramifications of a corrupt artificial intelligence on the humans around it— I was disturbed by the realisation that there is no possibility of escape for this woman, even death is denied her.  This is heightened when GLaDOS relates her perspective of the final battle in the first game, stating that a feedback loop in the backup of the program caused her to repeatedly relive her death until she was reanimated by Wheatley.  Like her Gothic predecessors, Caroline is not only ‘physically and psychologically constrained’ an ordeal that leaves her ‘scarred by madness, and locked into monstrosity’ (Stein 1983, 123), but there is no rescue for her, no means of regaining her body and her life.
Donna Heiland notes, in Gothic and Gender that to ‘inhabit a woman’s body is to be a Gothic heroine’, before going on to say that this is the case, unless ‘we change the story’ (Heiland 2004, 158).  This change forms the basis of the second part of Caroline’s Gothic incarnation; being taken from her body and imprisoned in the computer changes her from being a Gothic heroine, a victim of patriarchal oppression, to being a Gothic monster, as Caroline becomes GLaDOS.  At this point, the modest, innocent Caroline, along with the predetermined and monolithic understanding of femininity as nurturing, maternal, and protective is exchanged for the contradictory understanding of the female as antagonist, with GLaDOS insanity and need for revenge transforming the positive feminine virtues for their transgressive opposites.  Femininity takes on a darker, distinctly monstrous aspect when GLaDOS floods the enrichment centre with deadly neurotoxin in revenge for her incarceration, refuting her status as a Gothic heroine and resulting in her deactivation. 
Once reawakened and along with being implanted with the male dampening spheres, GLaDOS memory is also inhibited; her ‘human identity [is literally] stolen, wiped out and replaced with a grim purpose that denies [her] previous identity’ (Dryden 2007, 161), she is no longer Caroline, and even her humanity is taken from her.  It is this version of the character that exists throughout the first Portal game, and during the first part of the second game.  As the antagonist and the Gothic monster, GLaDOS takes on a distinctly anti-feminist role, with Chell being taunted by GLaDOS.  Throughout Portal and Portal 2, GLaDOS makes repeated comments designed to undermine Chell’s self-worth.  These include comments such as ‘This plate must not be calibrated to someone of your…generous…ness.  I’ll add a few zeroes to the maximum weight’, and ‘Here come the test results.  You are a horrible person.  I’m serious, that’s what it says: a horrible person’ and even ‘the birth parents you are trying to reach do not love you’.  Chell’s femininity and humanity is scrutinised and belittled by GLaDOS, whose thoughts, as we know, are controlled by the implants in her operating system, which dampen her intelligence, and by extension her femininity.  This changes at the point GLaDOS becomes PotatOS – the third incarnation of the Gothic female in this game, which I will return to in a couple of minutes.

As PotatOS, the dampening spheres are removed from GLaDOS programming, and it is GLaDOS herself that articulates the futility of insulting Chell as a woman, and as a person.  Here again, we see the influence of male influence in the game universe, as well as in contemporary culture.  Rosalind Gill considers that women are as much to blame as men for ‘the monitoring and surveying’ of the female body and it is through this that we judge ‘the performance of successful femininity’ (Gill 2007, 155).  This self-surveillance is found throughout contemporary media, especially in television and magazines, in which ‘bodily shape, size, muscle tone, […] home, finances etc. are rendered into problems that necessitate ongoing and constant monitoring and labour’ (Gill 2007, 155).  ‘Women’, Gill writes, ‘simply cannot win’ (Gill 2007, 157), suggesting a gendered competition that involves the use of women to vilify the female body and to reinforce the traditional, male notion of what constitutes a successful woman.
The third incarnation of Gothic femininity occurs when GLaDOS is once again removed from her body, this time the computer system that she was originally imprisoned in, and changed into PotatOS.  Usually, release from imprisonment would signal the emancipation of the Gothic female and a return to normality; in Portal 2, this is complicated by the fact that GLaDOS is returned to the Gothic female state, through re-imprisonment—in a potato.  Whilst this appears far-fetched, the premise of the imprisonment is factually correct.  A potato can be used to create enough energy to power a clock for example, and since the game’s release, a working PotatOS model has been created, that uses an actual potato as the battery to power the model.  However, the energy produced by the potato renders GLaDOS incapable of more than thought and speech, she is no longer in control of the Enrichment facility, and is rendered completely powerless.  This incarceration as PotatOS, then, signals a loss of power for the monstrous GLaDOS; she is left completely passive and helpless in this incarnation, and it is through this helplessness, her reliance on Chell, and the loss of the dampening spheres that modify her very thoughts that GLaDOS is able to rediscover her original personality—Caroline, her femininity, and her humanity.  Here the player sees the game not only as a critique of female oppression by a patriarchal society, but offers a redemption of the female character as she refutes the masculine traits imposed on her, and ‘resignifies her feminine position [and] regains control over her life’ (Genz 2007, 75).  GLaDOS, as PotatOS, is stripped of her omniscience and power, and in rediscovering her original personality come to terms with her treatment at the hands of the long dead, oppressive males of Apeture Science, and also with her own behaviour as GLaDOS, the Gothic Monster.  This is most clearly symbolised in the epilogue of the second game, in which GLaDOS, who has been returned to her monstrous body, releases Chell instead of killing her, telling her ‘thank God you are all right’ and that ‘all along, you were my best friend’, her humanity, and her ability for empathy restored. 
During this third part of the game, GLaDOS gains what Fred Botting calls ‘a “posthumane” identification with the other’, meaning that ‘from female abjection and otherness, from corporeal destruction and rebirth, a new subject appears to be resurrected, with an ethical, compassionate spirit’ (Botting 2002, 290-291), and whilst the reinstated GLaDOS continues to refute this compassion as part of her character, her actions in rescuing Chell from death, and releasing her from the enrichment centre show her as having compassion for another human, granting her the freedom that GLaDOS still cannot have, despite her emancipation.
In the Portal games, the representation of the female figure is explored through the paradoxical role of the same character as the Gothic heroine, the Gothic monster, and the liberated woman.  Claire Knowles writes that
the potential for feminine empowerment has always existed within the heroines of Gothic fiction, […] but, whereas earlier heroines […] are constrained  in their actions by the limitations placed upon them by the patriarchal society in which they live, twenty-first-century women are constrained only by their perception of their own limitations (Knowles 2007, 149).
This is the stance the games take; GLaDOS is able, through her return to the role of Gothic heroine, the loss of patriarchal control in the form of the dampening spheres, and her collaboration with a strong female, to come to an understanding of her own feminine power and this frees her from the subjection that she has been held in thrall to, and allows her to come to terms with the loss of her body, and her immortality, noting that she ‘had a pretty good life’ as she does so. 

            The Gothic has always been a forerunner in exploring female empowerment and considering the presence of patriarchy within culture.  This game, despite its appearance, can be placed within the Gothic exploration of femininity and the understanding of being female, both within a fictional capacity, and within the wider cultural remit of feminist studies.  Using the antagonist as the principal character within the narrative, the player is forced to consider the role of the human trapped inside the computer as the Gothic heroine through the embedded narrative, as well as the Gothic monster and the empowered female who has shaken off her male oppressors and established herself as a symbolically free entity, although she will forever remain trapped by her long dead male captors as a genetic lifeform and digital operating system.

Losers Don’t Play Videogames, Heroes do!

I grew up in the 1980s, and having a ‘geek’ dad, I got to watch, read, and play all the things he was interested in, and luckily for me his hobbies are films, books, and computer and videogames.  He loved, and still does, the Blockbusters, and the heroes that come with them.  Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jean Claude Vanne-Damme and Sylvester Stallone regularly appeared on our screens, with their heroic achievements and superhuman ability to survive any peril.  I remember a lot of science fiction being released as mainstream film during this time, with The Terminator, Predator, Total Recall, and of course Blade Runner making their mark on my consciousness—indeed, it has been argued that in the 1980’s, science fiction film achieved a dominant position in terms of production, which given the amount of science fiction films I remember watching, seems reasonable.  All of these blockbusters, made for their box-office appeal were expensive to make, with a lot of special effects, and were designed to bring about maximum profit.  John Clute writes that the 1980s saw the beginning of a changing relationship between science fiction and the world, with that relationship becoming altered ‘almost out of all recognition’, through the intertextual nature of franchises such as Star Trek and as the content of science fiction films began to resemble the real world more (Clute 2003, 64-65).  This change contributed to the mainstreaming of Science fiction, and included the introduction of science fiction electronic gaming and the growing presence of science fiction in television.  This decade also saw a rise in the adolescent hero, a younger, broadly identifiable character, whose appeal did not rely on muscles and violence, but on his ability to use intellect and emotion to solve problems and resolve issues.  Coming from a wide range of economic and social backgrounds, these heroes, often seen as geeks, nerds, and even losers, use their skills as gamers and hackers to achieve their heroic status, which seemed to me a more plausible heroic type, and one I, as a child, could recognise.
                My dad, it turns out, made me into a gaming, sci-fi loving, 80’s film fan.  A lot of the films we watched, the games, we played, and the novels I borrowed from him, remain fixed in my memory as favourites.  Some of them still are, despite the years and the progression of technology that makes them look simple and cheaply made in comparison to contemporary examples, especially in terms of computer generated content.  In the first part of the 1980s, the inclusion of computer generated images, sequences, and animation into live action film was revolutionary.  Tron (Bridges 1982) was the first film to feature CGI to a great degree, and compared to contemporary examples, it looks—and I acknowledge the heresy—pretty crappy, as you can see!

The introduction of CGI in science fiction during the first part of the 1980s paved the way for many, many films, including another of my childhood favourites –The Last Starfighter (Guest 1984).  Computers and computer technology then, were being used to create the very stories that were commenting on their use in society, and on the people that used them.


 Historically, between 1977 and 1988, there is a clear pattern of film that concentrates on the relationship between adolescents or children and aliens.  The Last Starfighter,Flight of the Navigator,ET,  Explorers, and Space Camp all feature encounters between young people and alien life – which Lincoln Geraghty suggests  is because ‘the young are simply more open to wonder and therefore more able to accept the otherness of alien life forms’ (Geraghty 2009).  I would argue that films that engage with the use of videogames and computers, adhere to this same principle: the wonder and openness attributed to the youth of the protagonists and their acceptance of alien life, extends to the presence of computers and computer technology.  This technology, especially in the early and mid-1980’s was as alien as any other science fiction topic, despite its basic grounding in fact.  Films like  The Last Starfighter and
 WarGames (and of course, Tron,  D.A.R.Y.L, and Weird Science) were telling stories and exploring the potential for the use of computers and the perceived dangers of giving them too much power.  However, despite the science fiction themes of these films, computers were not science fiction, they were real.  Keith M Johnston writes that ‘for the first time, science fiction was coming into your house…the computers were real, the technology was real, and you could program your computer to do almost anything’ (Johnson 2011, 2) (including bringing Kelly LeBrock to life apparently), and computers were becoming part of everyday life—at least for some of us!


Whilst films were featuring young people, and using them as metaphors for openness and more accepting of new and alien experiences, there were other factors in the production and release of adolescent oriented film; Johnston says that ‘by the 1980’s, Hollywood had embraced demographic audience research, and studios were increasingly aware of the number of young male customers that were attracted to the new summer blockbuster’ (Johnston 2011, 100-101).  This resulted in a rash of films that explored the relationship adolescents or children have with and in the world, as well as with alien life: Stand by Me, and
The Goonies are two of the many instances that spring to mind.  The result of this focus was that in these films, ‘the 1980’s masculine hero was defined less by the action star than by young male characters that relied on empathy, emotion, and intelligence over aggression and violence’ (Johnston 2011, 100-101).  Despite the dominance of male heroes, I’m not going to discuss gender in this paper, apart from to acknowledge a discrepancy in the number of female heroes at this time, and to say that at the point I was watching them for the first time, I didn’t care that the heroes were male, they were first and foremost  gamers and geeks!

The Last Starfighter is one of the first films that sticks in my mind to feature a protagonist that I identified with (After of course, Luke Skywalker in Star Wars).

Alex Rogan is an average young man who dreams of escape from his life at the Starlite Starbrite trailer park.  The setting of the earthbound portions of The Last Starfighter in the trailer park establishes Alex’s social status, and his desire to leave and to make life better for himself.  Keith M Booker writes that  ‘Every detail [of the opening scenes] reinforces the dreariness of the working class roots of the residents of the trailer park.  Every tiny trailer looks rundown, with tiny front yards packed with kitschy lawn ornaments and banged up furniture.  The small dirt lane between the trailers is overrun with too many people crammed into such a tiny space’ (Booker 2012, 154).  The perception of imprisonment this creates is deliberate, as director Nick Castle explains.  The film, he says, was originally set in a suburban environment reminiscent of ET and Poltergeist, but he considered that this was ‘too derivative of these works’.  The setting was changed to foreground Alex being trapped in his economic situation and to allow audiences to feel sympathy for him and to empathise more with his desire to achieve the American Dream. 

Alex’s principle relaxation and escape is to play an arcade game— Starfighter.  In 1984, when the film was released, computers were not present in every home, or pocket, as they are today, and the Starfighter game, in its huge arcade casing, is situated outside the trailer park’s shop in a communal space.  Whilst the trailer park is seen as a space to escape from in economic terms, the communal nature of the park, nevertheless, is shown as a supportive and nourishing place, with Alex being part of a loving community.  When Alex has a perfect run through and completes the game, many of the park’s residents gather round him in this public arena; as well as supporting and encouraging him as he plays, the technology is so new and exciting that the residents want to be part of it—even vicariously. 
In using an arcade game that involves an intergalactic rebellion, The Last Starfighter draws parallels with another popular film and the wish fulfilment of its central protagonist; as Howard Hughes explains in The Outer Limits: The Filmgoers Guide to The Great Science-Fiction Films  ‘In the wake of Star Wars’ mega-success, every kid wanted to be a star pilot and take on the Empire.  The Last Starfighter was a tale of such wish-fulfilment, offering hope to those who spent their entire lives playing videogames’ (Hughes 2014, 124).  Although I have not actually been in space and fought aliens, I have been playing computer and videogames since I was about 7, and have been there hundreds, maybe thousands of times over the years, and killed untold aliens in the process, so this is a childhood fantasy I recognise!
Films that featured videogames and computer technology were not universally optimistic, and whilst The Last Starfighter was offering its teenage viewers hope for a better, brighter, future, WarGames (Broderick 1983) following Tron’s example, was promoting a more cautious approach to computers and technology, whilst at the same time suggesting that hacking and hackers were a good thing.  

In WarGames, David Lightman, ‘a computer geek, before most people really knew what a computer geek was’ (Johnson 2011, 1), accidently hacks into a state-of-the-art government computer system instead of a videogame development company, and nearly starts World War Three when he begins a computer simulation called Global Thermonuclear War.  The Government assume that the simulation is a real event and starts taking real measures to counter the perceived threat.  Unable to terminate the program, David has to teach the artificially intelligent computer humanity just as the simulation he began reaches its apex, bringing with it the realisation that there is no winner in war.  At the time, the film gave a fairly accurate representation of how a hacker accessed a remote system, placing a telephone receiver onto a cradle and dialling a number and in using this depiction, just like Tron before it, WarGames romanticised hackers and hacking, seeming to condone breaking into computers and stealing or changing information, something that has subsequently touched most people’s lives detrimentally.  25 years after the film’s release Wired magazine stated that WarGames was ‘the geek-geist classic that legitimized hacker culture’ and ‘minted the nerd hero’ (Brown 2008).  Rather than the contemporarily perceived hacker as a destructive force, David Lightmann is as a good character, part of the phreaker culture that studied how telecommunications work, and that considers that all information should be freely available, a movement that has gone on to include Hactivism.  The film simultaneously implies that hacking is a good thing then, and yet questions the widespread use of computers and the potential for them to go wrong if machines are given too much autonomous power.  The ramifications of these films was culturally immense, just like Alex’s brother at the end of The Last Starfighter who is inspired to play videogames, a generation of children and young adults ‘started programming, building games, and basically geeking out’ (Johnson 2011, 2) as our computing interests were acknowledged, explored, and even accepted through the films we were watching.
Whilst WarGames offers us a hero that is similar to Alex in The Last Starfighter, an adolescent, game playing male, the film is doing something substantially different in terms of theme and the exploration of computers  and gaming.  Unlike the Starfighter game, which is a training simulation, the machine in WarGames is a sentient intelligence, which has been given the power and ability to simulate and enact war.  It is presented as a childlike individual in the film, one who must be taught that winning is not everything.  The unsuspecting David triggers one of these simulations, which fools the military into thinking war is about to break out, and it is he that convinces the machine to end the simulation and teaches it that there is no winner in war, making him the hero, despite the fact it was he who started it!  Where The Last Starfighter offers a positive image of technology as a means to escape and to achieve the American Dream, WarGames instead questions the wisdom in giving computers too much power and control, as well as reinforcing the age old message that war is universally lost, no matter who wins.
30 years on, and the science fiction themes that the two films offer have in some respects become fact.  The Starfighter game, an intergalactic military simulation that tests Alex’s skill has gone on to become reality in the form of an international military training programme, Virtual Battlespace 2, which offers ‘semi-immersive, experiential learning opportunities to familiarize and train soldiers in various tactical scenarios and environments’ (Rundle 2012) and is used by many countries across the world, including the UK and the US.  Hacking is not the romantic pursuit that WarGames portrays, but instead is part of everyday life, with news stories reporting the infiltration of multinational businesses such as Playstation, and more than 10 million attempts to infiltrate the Pentagon every day (Bender 2014).  Hacking organisations are common and include the network Anonymous, a collective of unnamed individuals, which use ‘collaborative hacktivism’ to take action against what it perceives to be ‘corporate interests controlling the internet and silencing the people’s right to share information’ (Tsotsis 2010).

The films exploring computers such as WarGames and The Last Starfighter offer two opposing views of computers and technology.  The Last Starfighter shows the potential for  computers as a positive influence, and WarGames is a ‘cautionary tale about the futility of war and the dangers associated with giving computers too much control over our lives’ (Johnson 2011, 2), they all nevertheless were exploring the technology that was being brought into our homes, and our daily lives.  The protagonists in these films are not the muscle bound heroes of the big blockbusters, but a more recognisable, more identifiable hero to the children and young adults that were using computers and playing videogames, and while these films were empowering and entrusting their protagonists in the 1980s with ‘the huge responsibility of representing earth, and defending it from hostile others’ (Geraghty 2009, Ch4, p2), such as aliens or computers, or even from humanity itself, they were also offering us the hope that this technology could bring about our salvation, both economically and socially.  More than that though, these films intimated that the people using computers, programming them, and playing them were heroes, not losers.

Bibliography

Bender, Jeremy. "This Site Shows Who Is Hacking Whom Right Now — And The US Is Getting Hammered." Business Insider. June 26, 2014. http://www.businessinsider.com/norse-hacking-map-shows-us-getting-hammered-2014-6 (accessed June 28, 2014).
Booker, Keith M. Blue Collar Pop Culture: From NASCAR to Jersey Shore Vol 1. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger, 2012.
Tron. Directed by S Lisberger. Performed by J Bridges. 1982.
Wargames. Directed by J Badham. Performed by M Broderick. 1983.
Brown, Scott. "WarGames: A Look Back at the Film That Turned Geeks and Phreaks Into Stars." Wired Magazine. July 21, 2008. http://archive.wired.com/entertainment/hollywood/magazine/16-08/ff_wargames?currentPage=all (accessed July 03, 2014).
Clute, John. "Science Fiction from 1980 to the Present." In The Cambridge Companion to Science Fiction, by Edward James and Farah Mendlesohn, 64-79. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003.
Geraghty, Lincoln. American Science Fiction Film and Television. New York: Berg, 2009.
The Last Starfighter. Directed by N Castle. Performed by L Guest. 1984.
Hughes, Howard. Outer Limits: The Filmgoers Guide to the Great Science-Fiction Films. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.
Johnson, Brian D. Science Fiction Prototyping: Designing the Future with Science Fiction. San Rafael, CA: Morgan and Claypool, 2011.
Johnston, Keith M. Science Fiction Film: A Critical Introduction. London: Berg , 2011.
Rundle, Michael. "US Army 's New £28m 'Video Game' Training Simulator To Include Female Suicide Bombers." Huffington Post. August 02, 2012. http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/08/02/us-army-video-game-training_n_1731816.html (accessed June 28, 2014).
Tsotsis, Alexia. "RIAA Goes Offline, Joins MPAA As Latest Victim Of Successful DDoS Attacks." TechCrunch.com. Septemebr 19, 2010. http://techcrunch.com/2010/09/19/riaa-attack/ (accessed July 1, 2014).

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

Authorship and Point of View in the Videogame.

In Half Real, Juul distinguishes two types of videogames: games of emergence and games of progression, with emergence games being the historically dominant form. Emergence games use ‘nominally simple rules where it nevertheless requires immense amounts of effort to gain proficiency in playing the game’.  Tetris is a typical example of a game of emergence; it is a puzzle game, ‘with the shapes each consisting of several squares that are falling down the well. When playing a Tetris game, one turns them or moves left and right, trying to arrange the shapes in a line. When a line of squares makes a line from edge to edge, it disappears and all the pieces move down by a square. When the well is filled up, the player loses (Absolutist 2013)’.  Similarly, Space Invaders (Pixeleye Interactive 2012) involves moving the game avatar left and right across a fixed screen, firing missiles at moving targets.
            Narratively, the title of Space Invaders suggests that there are invaders from space and the player is charged with repelling this invasion.  Despite this suggestion, the game is not a narrative driven game.  There is an inferred beginning (the invasion) and a middle (the action of the game), but there is not an ending to this game, however; the invaders move progressively quicker until the player succumbs to the space invaders and the game ends.  Incidentally, this structure is also problematic for Juul’s six point classic game model, which requires a game to have a variable outcome (as discussed in chapter 1), which neither Tetris nor Space Invaders have, with the only conclusion being the player losing the game. 
Opposed to this, narrative games are usually progression type games; games of progression are those where the ‘game designer explicitly determines the possible ways in which the game can progress’ (Juul 2005, 56).  Videogame walkthroughs can vary from being explicitly instructional (‘Climb along the yellow rail to the left to reach the underside of the train’ (Bradygames 2009, 24)) to those resembling works of fiction.  Alan Wake has such a walkthrough, with the action of the game presented as if it were a piece of textual narrative fiction:
Wake left the car in a state of agitation.  He staggered forward toward a rough-hewn wood pole.  He gazed up into the illuminating glow of a lamp on the left side of the road.  It seemed comforting: like a Safe Haven subduing the creeping sensation of fear. (Hodgson 2010, 24)
The Walkthrough is presented almost as a novelisation of the videogame, a third-person retrospective narration of Alan Wake’s quest to save his wife.
Games of progression more closely resemble traditional narrative structures in other media.   The structure of the progressional game is, as its name suggests, a progression—from the beginning, through a middle, to an end, a structure that has characterised traditional media since Aristotle’s famous propounding of it as essential to theatre (Aristotle 2008).  Even videogame franchises that span numerous games, such as Assassin’s Creed have a progressional structure, with many game franchises developing sub-plots or episodes that are self-contained as well as connected.[1]  Generally, the player can assess the type of game s/he is playing using the following test:
Search for a guide to the game on the Internet.  If the game guide is a walkthrough (describing step by step what to ­­­do), it is a game of progression. If the game guide is a strategy guide (describing rules of thumb for how to play), it is a game of emergence. (Juul 2005, 71)
Whilst the player may feel as though they are influencing the narrative, the ability to create a walkthrough that encompasses all plays of the game refute the players role as the author; instead reaffirming the designer as the authorial presence in the narrative, and the predetermined status of videogame narratives.
Although most discussions of identification in narratives concern identification with characters rather than authors, since videogames are interactive—that is, the player influences the action taking place within the game through play, and this play can change the outcome of the game, both ludically and narratively—players do not simply identifiy with the characters they control, they furthermore take on authorial roles,and videogame authorship is an interactive rather than a dictatorial affair. Janet Murray makes the distinction between the author and the interactor[2] of a piece of electronic narrative (Murray 1997, 153).  In Hamlet on the Holodeck, she considers ‘authorship in electronic media [to be] procedural’, meaning that the designer is charged with
Writing the rules by which the texts appear as well as writing the texts themselves.  It means writing the rules for the interactor’s involvement, that is, the conditions under which things will happen in response to the participant’s action.  It means establishing the properties of the objects and potential objects in the virtual world and the formulas for how they will relate to one another. (Murray 1997, 152)
Whilst the player of a videogame can put the pieces of the narrative together, sometimes in several different ways, the constituent parts of the narrative are created by the game designer.  It is possible to suggest that the player, then, is a quasi-author, creating a variation of the narrative that may be unique, but nevertheless formed from the game content provided by the game designer.  This is not to suggest this as a precursor to Murray’s holodeck—each of the elements of a game must be created by the designer prior to a game’s release meaning that a truly interactive game, which the player authors as she play, is unlikely for the foreseeable future.  However, there are a rising number of games that use the veneer of choice to allow a player to feel as if she is influencing the narrative, whilst retaining the core elements that all players share.  An example of this can be seen in the Mass Effect franchise (Bioware 2007 - 2012), a futuristic set of games that centres on the character Shepard, a soldier who leads the defence of the Galaxy in a series of missions and quests.  The core elements of the game are fixed; the pursuit and destruction of the ‘Reapers’, a life form that aims to destroy all other life in the galaxy; the player has the option of enlarging the game and the narrative however, through the quests and missions, and through interaction with non-player characters, allowing the player to enter into optional relationships, for example, and to affect the personality of Shepard, and therefore the reactions of other characters to Shepard. 
Heavy Rain is another example of the ability of the player to act as a quasi-author.  Here, the ending of the game depends on the choices that the player makes throughout play, such as whether the identity of the serial killer is discovered, and which characters survive to the end; these combine to give a total of eighteen possible conclusions to the game, ranging from the Origami killer going free, and all other characters being killed, to everyone surviving and the killer apprehended. These options, then, are not minor variations on a theme but significantly contrasting. While the player is instrumental in selecting the composite parts of the conclusion, and so plays an authorial role in the game, even so, each of the endings are predetermined by the designer simply by the fact they are already loaded into the software that is being played.  Thus while the player is free to make choices, s/he may only choose from among what has already been programmed.






[1] Assassin’s Creed uses the framing narrative of Desmond Miles to allow the franchise to span 5 separate game episodes to date.
[2] Murray uses the term interactor where I use player.  

Monday, 7 October 2013

An Objectivist Nightmare? Political Philosophy in Bioshock

Whilst the validity of narrative in videogames has been contested by academics, ethics, ideologies, and politics have become familiar features of videogame criticism as a growing number of videogame designers experiment with the medium.  These games present a player with situations that ‘represent how real and imagined systems work’ (Bogost 2007, xi) and allow her the potential for the ‘change [of] fundamental attitudes and beliefs about the world, leading to potentially significant long-term social change’ (Bogost 2007, xi).  Author and game designer Ian Bogost suggests that ‘videogames open a new domain for persuasion, thanks to their core representational mode, procedurality’ (Bogost 2007, xi) and it is this that allows the videogame player to actively investigate a particular rhetorical position and to form her own opinions of it, rather than being presented with an ideological standpoint, as is traditionally the case.  Procedural rhetoric, as Bogost labels it, is ‘the art of persuasion through rule-based representations and interactions (Bogost 2007, xi) and is reliant on the ability of the videogame to include the player as part of the execution of a narrative, or game, as a physically active participant.    
            The presentation of rhetoric in videogames can be found in many types of game, not just the narrative driven games that are to be primarily discussed in this chapter.  Bogost cites the game Animal Crossing, an ‘animal village simulator’ (Bogost 2008, 117) as an example of videogame rhetoric; this game, he argues, ‘simulates the social dynamics of a small town, complete with the material demands of keeping up with the Joneses’ (Bogost 2008, 119) complete with an economic system that allows  the player to understand supply and demand, long-term debt, and ‘the repetition of mundane work necessary to support contemporary material property ideals’ (Bogost 2008, 119).  The popular Facebook game, Farmville (Zynga 2009), is also based on economic principles, with the player engaging in farm management, including growing crops, animal husbandry, as well as cooperation, throung trading with other players.  Whilst these ‘casual games’[1] can be played by young children (Bogost uses his own five year old son as an example of a player of Animal Crossing), there is a sophisticated rhetoric at play within the game, the player is part of ‘a full consumer regimen’ (Bogost 2008, 118), which leads to an economic understanding of wealth and its distribution, as well as sophisticated, yet often unnoticed mathematical principles.
            More recognisable to the narrative driven videogame, is the representation of ideologies, both ethical and political as part of the games construction.  Early videogames, due to technological restrictions, were concerned primarily with ludology; that is the playing of the game.  As the medium has matured, there have been a growing number of games that use narrative and ludology concurrently to examine rhetorical issues within a fictional, and safe[2], environment.  This scrutiny can take many forms and cover a variety of themes: Deux Ex: Human Revolution (Eidos Montreal 2011) interrogates trans-humanism, for example, whilst the Mass Effect (Bioware 2007 - 2012) trilogy considers inter-racial cooperation, through the lens of an interspecies mirror.   Heavy Rain (Quantic Dream 2010) takes a more personal approach, placing the player in the role of a father, who must break ethical and moral constraints in the pursuit of a kidnapped child, prompting the question, ‘How far would you go to save someone you love?’ — the game’s tagline (IMDB 2010).  However, the most famous example of a videogame to use procedural rhetoric is Bioshock (2K Games 2007), which places the player in a specific ideological environment, and then asks her to question her actions, her motives, and the information she receives as she plays the game.

A Man Chooses, A  Slave Obeys: Political Ideology in Bioshock
Bioshock (2K Games 2007) offers a ludological adaptation of the philosophy of the philosophy of Objectivism, as portrayed in the novel Atlas Shrugged (Rand 2007) written by Russian born author Ayn Rand, considering the novel in relation to Rand’s philosophy and criticism, as well as offering a critique of the novel itself.  The interactive elements of Bioshock play a direct role in the understanding of the novel and Rand’s philosophy, especially her understanding of free will; the game is filled with references to the novel and, more widely, to Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism, on which the novel is based.  This is achieved through direct references, symbolism, and aesthetic allusions within the landscape.  Predominantly a first-person shooter game (FPS), in which the player controls a character, Jack, as he seeks to escape the underwater city, Rapture[3], Bioshock is concerned primarily with the destruction of enemies, ranging from splicers (humans addicted to ADAM[4]) to the antagonist of the game, Frank Fontaine.  Alongside this, however, Bioshock provides a critique of Rand’s philosophy via its landscape and dual narrative: that of the game: the search for and the destruction of Andrew Ryan and Frank Fontaine, and that of the destruction of the City of Rapture.
Originally published in 1957, Atlas Shrugged is a premeditated vehicle for Rand to articulate her philosophy of Objectivism.  This philosophy, she explained in 1962, holds that facts are facts, regardless of the wishes, hopes, or feelings of man; it also maintains that reason is man’s[5] only source of knowledge, his only means of perceiving reality, and his basic means of survival.  It also teaches that man must exist for his own sake, a quality that she describes as selfishness in which he must put his own interests above all others, but must not do this to the detriment of any other.  The fourth tenet of objectivism describes the political system that this philosophy breeds; that of laissez-faire capitalism, described as
a system where men deal with one another, not as victims and executioners, nor as masters and slaves, but as traders, by free, voluntary exchange to mutual benefit. It is a system where no man may obtain any values from others by resorting to physical force, and no man may initiate the use of physical force against others. The government acts only as a policeman that protects man’s rights; it uses physical force only in retaliation and only against those who initiate its use, such as criminals or foreign invaders. In a system of full capitalism, there should be […] a complete separation of state and economics, in the same way and for the same reasons as the separation of state and church. (Ayn Rand Institute 1962)
Rand believed that altruism—putting the needs of others before one’s own—was inherently wrong and her fiction is a deliberate attempt to demonstrate this philosophy and to highlight what she believed to be a fundamental truth: that altruism would lead to the downfall of society.  In Atlas Shrugged, Rand charts the decline and fall of alternate version of the United States becoming dystopian through its extreme socialist ideology; she also presents an alternative to this, in the form of Galt’s Gulch, a small, isolated community comprised of those people who believe in her philosophy.
            The juxtaposition of the narrative and the ludology is important in Bioshock; the two elements of the game are reliant on each other to create a representational fictional form, such as those described by Kendall Walton in Mimesis as Make-believe (Walton 1990).  The gameplay is constructed within the narrative: Rapture is the play arena of the game; the player explores the city to find and destroy the splicers in order to reach Ryan (and later Fontaine) and to escape Rapture.  Without Rapture and the narrative structure, Grant Tavinor notes, there would be no game. (Tavinor 2009).  Clint Hocking disagrees with this, instead claiming that the game offers the player two contracts, a ludic contract and a narrative contract.  Hocking sees these two as being mutually exclusive, in that the narrative contract is at odds with the ludic contract, creating what he coins ‘ludonarrative dissonance,’ ‘forcing the player to either abandon the game […] or simply accept that the game cannot be enjoyed both as a game and a story’ (Hocking 2007).  What Hocking sees as ludonarrative dissonance, however, is an integral part of the games questioning of free will, both for Jack and for the player. 

Would you Kindly…
Throughout the first part of the game, the player is given guidance from a character known as Atlas, who prefaces his requests with the phrase ‘would you kindly’, as he leads the player through Rapture via a one way radio.  Partway through the game, the player is led to the office of Andrew Ryan, to kill him in revenge for the murder of Atlas’ wife and child, and it is at this point that a number of critical events take place that question Jack’s role in the game, and the narrative  First, the game takes away all control from the player, rendering her a passive observer of events in a game notably devoid of cut-scenes and reveals that the phrase ‘would you kindly’ has been part of the mental conditioning of Jack and that he is programmed to obey any order preceded with this phrase.  This revelation comes not only as a shock to Jack, but to the player as well.  When asked about this, a group of players responded in the majority that the repeated use of the phrase was not noticed, or that if it was noticed, it was considered part of Atlas character rather than an indication of a sinister purpose (Facepunch.com 2009).  The phrase, which seems to be innocuous until this point, instead begins to ‘inspire a retroactive horror’ in the player (Bossche 2009)  as she is shown a montage of examples of this conditioning, from the opening scene (Figure 1 & 2) to the ‘present’ of the game, illustrating that this has taken place whilst the player has been controlling Jack, and that all the events to date have been devised and carried out with Jack operating as a pawn who must obey the instructions of a higher power.  It also becomes clear that the game is addressing the player and questioning her relationship with videogames. 
Figure 1
Figure 2
     Videogames are teleological; that is, all the events and actions are purposefully designed to work towards an ending; even games that are part of a franchise, such as Assassin’s Creed (Ubisoft Games 2007 - 2013) or the Mass Effect trilogy, use this teleological construction, with each ‘episode’ having an ending of its own, as well as being part of the larger structure.  This in turn makes the concept of free will in videogames problematic, as they are predominantly presented as a finished form, with an ending already in place, fully authored by a game design company.  The player is not offered free will at any point in any game, she is merely conforming to a set of predetermined events that dictate her actions, even if she is offered the ability to make choices (Beirne 2012).  Bioshock exploits this determinism through the revelation that Jack has been designed to obey the commands of Atlas, whilst refusing the player the ability to influence this and forcing the realisation, in the player that there is no freedom in videogames: each story has already been written and the player cannot influence that story, despite the game intimating the ability to do so. 

Whilst the player is in the role of observer, during the passivity of the cut-scene, Jack kills Ryan, who makes no attempt to defend himself, his death proving that Jack has been the subject of mental conditioning, with Ryan taunting him repeatedly with ‘A man chooses.  A slave obeys’ as Jack hits him.  Despite Hocking’s assertion that the narrative asks the player to ‘help Atlas and you will progress’ (Hocking 2007) and is thereby a failure to conform to Objectivist principles, the game does not present a scenario as simple as this; at face value, the two men are working towards a mutually beneficial outcome, perfectly acceptable in Randian philosophy as a trade by two men ‘who earn what [they] get and do not give or take the undeserved’ (Rand 2007, 1022).  It is only when it is revealed that Jack has not been operating through free will that this changes, and it becomes evident that Atlas has been acting for his own benefit, and that Jack’s role is that of a puppet as he makes his way through Rapture.

Rapture
As the player and Jack travel down to Rapture in a bathysphere[6], the graphical abilities of game machines are shown to the player, through the first views of the city (Figure 2), whilst a voiceover tells the player that Rapture was born from Andrew Ryan’s dissatisfaction with American left wing politics in the Second World War, and finding that there was no place for ‘men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate’ (Fuller 2007, 42) decided to create one, following John Galt’s lead, as he created Galt’s Gulch as a place where man ‘hold three things as the supreme and ruling values of his life: Reason—Purpose—Self-esteem’ (Rand 2007, 1018) in a society that requires a producer[7] or entrepreneur to be both immolated to society and to accept this as fair and just[8].  Both settings adhere to the policies of Rand’s philosophy, and the freedom that provides for the inhabitants.  However, where Galt’s Gulch remains utopian, Rapture instead becomes dystopian, the freedom of the inhabitants to do as they wish engendering a society of inhabitants addicted to the drug ADAM, and its derivative EVE.[9]  Grant Tavinor considers that the ‘visual impact of Bioshock […] is striking’ and that the game ‘draws on the architectural motifs and cultural themes of 1930s and 1940s America […] to provide a coherent artistic statement’ (Tavinor 2009, 91) and this setting provides the backdrop for two stories in the game, that combine to produce a narrative, one of the city itself, and the other of the protagonist, Jack and his attempts to escape Rapture.

Figure 3: 'Aerial' view of Rapture
              For the reader familiar with Atlas Shrugged, Rapture is instantly recognisable as a representation of Ayn Rand’s utopia.  Most obviously, both are hidden from the majority of the world; Rapture through its immersion in the sea, and Galt’s Gulch by refractor rays in a remote valley in the US.  More closely signalling the relationship between the two is the presence of Rand’s ideology.  Andrew Ryan of Rapture created his city to be a place ‘where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the great would not be constrained by the small.’  Rand uses Galt’s Gulch as an example of a perfect society, founded on individual freedom and where the Government serve as a police service, ensuring that business and individual alike are law-abiding.     
Beyond this initial indicator, there are a number of specific references to the title of Rand’s novel in Bioshock.  During the opening sequence of the game, for example, the player crashes near a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean and the doors to the lighthouse are decorated with a frieze of Atlas holding the world (Figure 3).  Further in the game, the player also comes across a statue of Atlas holding up the world and there are many statues reminiscent of these through the game, men with their hands stretching upwards to the sky.

Figure 3: Atlas holding up the world.
There are several other signals in the game to point to this relationship; the protagonists of both the game and the novel discover this hidden community through crashing a plane, and there are ‘Easter eggs[10]’ that reveal Rand’s face in photographs (Figure 3), leaving little doubt that Levine used Rand’s fiction in this game, and that he used Bioshock to comment on it, critiquing the practical implementation of her philosophy (just as Rand herself did in Atlas Shrugged through the Twentieth-Century Motor Company and the famous slogan From each according to his ability, to each according to his need, popularised by Marx in 1875), all pointing to the importance of the setting of the game as a critical exploration of Rand’s philosophy.

Figure 4: Ayn Rand Easter Egg

Andrew Ryan, the founder of Rapture, is a key figure in Bioshock.  The narrative indicates that Ryan fled the USSR in 1919 for the USA and, after becoming increasingly disillusioned by US politics, built Rapture in order to house the Atlases[11] of the world, ‘men who refused to say yes to the parasites[12] and the doubters. 'Men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate’ (Fuller 2007, 37).  Ryan’s character shares some biographical links with Rand; she fled the USSR during the rise of Communism, eventually settling in the US, where she wrote her novels (Ayn Rand Institute 2013).   Ryan and Rand also share the same attitude to religion; Rand is open about her views on religion, believing that religion and ‘Faith, as such, is extremely detrimental to human life: it is the negation of reason’ (Ayn Rand Institute 2013) and Bioshock shows Ryan to have similar views; throughout his city, banners proclaim that there are ‘No Gods or Kings, Only Man’ (Figure 3) and religious paraphernalia has to be smuggled into Rapture to be enjoyed by the residents.  In naming Ryan, the game designers were explicitly linking the character to Ayn Rand—a masculine version of the novelists name. 

Figure 5: No Gods or Kings.  Only Man
Andrew Ryan is representative of John Galt, one of the three protagonists of Atlas Shrugged, despite spending much of the novel being called ‘The Destroyer.’  It is he that takes away the brightest minds from the world and gives them the individual freedom to follow their own passions in Galt’s Gulch, with no restrictions.  Ryan’s utopia is the same as Galt’s:  a place where a man can be free from censorship and governmental restrictions to use his skills, and Ryan offers a similar freedom.  As well as this, Ryan stands for similar characters of the novel, collectively known as ‘thinkers’, and can be seen through Ryan’s speeches and public addresses.  At one point Ryan details how
I once bought a forest. The parasites claimed that the land belonged to God, and demanded that I establish a public park there. Why? So the rabble could stand slack-jawed under the canopy and pretend that it was paradise ‘earned’. When Congress moved to nationalize my forest, I burnt it to the ground’ (Fuller 2007, 18)
This closely mirrors the actions of oil baron Ellis Wyatt at the end of the first part of Atlas Shrugged (Rand, 2007, p.336); When forced to give the majority of his (pre-tax) revenue to the government because he is ‘best able to bear the brunt of the national emergency’ (Rand, 2007, p334), and still being expected to maintain his employee levels and other costs, sets fire to his entire oil field and disappears, rather than comply with this government directive.
            It appears at first, that Andrew Ryan represents the failure of the Randian ideology at work in Bioshock, as critics such as Joseph Packer consider (Packer 2010) to be the case. As detailed, Ryan represents the ‘thinkers’ in Atlas Shrugged, choosing to leave the world, and to join like-minded people, 'men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate’ (Fuller 2007, 37) to bring to fruition the utopian space that Atlas Shrugged promises; however, this Utopia is flawed and by the time the player enters the story, Ryan’s rule has taken on a number of dystopian characteristics.  As the narrative is uncovered, the player discovers that Ryan, initially, allowed free rein to entrepreneurs and free will to the inhabitants of Rapture, believing that there would be economic self-regulation, as Objectivism preaches.  However, when his position as ruler of Rapture is threatened, he begins creating laws contrary to Objectivist policy, leading to a power struggle that culminates in the New Year’s Eve battle and destruction of Rapture, as well as the apparent failure of Objectivism as a practical ideology.
Even with Rapture in ruins and the Utopian experiment failed, Ryan still adheres to the principles of Objectivism and to one of the clearest themes found in Rand’s fiction – that of the sanction of the victim[13].  According to Rand’s ideology, the sanction of the victim is ‘the willingness of the good to suffer at the hands of the evil, to accept the role of sacrificial victim for the “sin” of creating values’ (Binswanger, 2011).  It is at this point Ryan reveals that the protagonist is the product of mental conditioning and has had the phrase ‘would you kindly’ implanted as a trigger for mental control. Furthermore, Ryan chooses to die in order to try to break Jack’s conditioning, citing it as an example of free will: ‘A man chooses. A slave obeys’ (Fuller 2007, 35).  In killing Ryan, Jack proves that he is nothing more than a slave; the words ‘would you kindly’ triggering and enforcing this servitude.  Free will is one of Ryan’s original principles for the city, as an audio file reveals: ‘Free will is the cornerstone of this city. The thought of sacrificing it is abhorrent’ (Fuller 2007, 22).  John Galt is similarly willing to face death as long as his principles are not compromised; in Atlas Shrugged, Galt almost welcomes torture and pain, going so far as to instruct the governmental aggressors in how to fix their broken torture machine so they could resume their cruelty, but refuses to compromise his principles in order to appease the government who want him to save them.  The premise on which the ‘looters’ in Atlas Shrugged depend is the same mental conditioning as Jack is subject to, albeit less explicitly.  This is foregrounded in the novel with the statement ‘You’ll always produce […]. You can’t help it.  It’s in your blood.  Or, to be more scientific: you’re conditioned that way’ (Rand 2007, 984-985).  It is at this point in the novel that Hank Rearden, presented with this knowledge, ‘opts out’ of American society and becomes a member of Galt’s Gulch.
At this point in the game, it seems clear that Bioshock is showing Objectivism in a negative light, with Andrew Ryan’s utopia in ruins showing that this ideology has failed.  It is here also that Atlas is revealed to be Frank Fontaine, Andrew Ryan’s competitor, and Ryan’s position as antagonist is questioned, as well as the premise that the political ideology he represents is adverse to human wellbeing.  It is also here that the game is exposed as not just a criticism of Objectivism, but rather a more rounded critique, using Fontaine as the basis for this.


Frank Fontaine is a gangster who challenges the rule of Andrew Ryan in Rapture, known in the first part of the game as the amiable figure Atlas.  During the first part of the game, until his true identity is revealed, Atlas appears to be a familiar figure in videogames: a character who gives advice and instructions to the player to allow her to complete the tasks that comprise the game.  The revelation that this amiable character is Frank Fontaine, who has faked his own death in order to take power from Ryan through the mental conditioning of Jack, so he could murder Andrew Ryan, is designed to shock the player and to once again call them to question what they are being told within a game.  Here, the role of the player and the identification the player has with a game becomes foregrounded, as considered in chapter 2[14].
During the first part of the game, whilst unwittingly helping Frank Fontaine kill Andrew Ryan, the player is shown Ryan’s Utopia as a failed endeavour; Atlas relates how he brought his wife and son to Rapture for a better life, but quickly became disillusioned, as it became clear that there was a Marxist class divide developing and that ‘Ryan's […] up in Fort Frolic banging fashion models; we're down in this dump yanking guts out of fish’ (Fuller 2007, 16).  Atlas openly blames Ryan for the deterioration and destruction of Rapture, saying, ‘He’s the one who built this place, and he’s the one who run it into the ground’ (Fuller 2007, 11).  At this point in the game, the player has no reason to doubt Atlas’s words, and Ryan’s actions appear to validate this.  Once unmasked as Fontaine, this along with the rest of Atlas’s words are called into question; the likeable Irishman was a fiction, making the player question whether Ryan is the megalomaniac that he has been portrayed as being.
            As a character, Fontaine/Atlas should be the perfect objectivist; his ethics are based in self-interest, valuing his own happiness and success above all others, initially earning Ryan’s admiration and respect as a fellow Objectivist.  However, he also personifies several negative aspects of humanity, being manipulative and dishonest in his dealings with others, undermining the principles of objectivism[15] and a fair society, under the guise of freeing the inhabitants of Rapture from the tyranny of Ryan, thereby calling into question the practical implementation of objectivism.  The narrative details how Fontaine becomes a figurehead for the underclass to revolt, in a clearly Marxist reference to the overthrow of capitalism by the proletariat.  Atlas cites Ryan filling Rapture with the best of society as a failing in the City, as there is no-one to carry out the menial work that needs to be done (Fuller 2007, 39) and that the divide between the rich and poor is the fault of Ryan’s political agenda.  After the death of Ryan, the game shows Frank Fontaine as the primary antagonist, placing Andrew Ryan in the role of the victim rather than the antagonist role he has held, and calling into question the supposition that this is a world that portrays the failings of Objectivism, which then opens the player (and Jack) to the notion that is is Fontaine who brings about the downfall of Rapture, investing twelve years in planning and initiating the downfall of Ryan, calling it a ‘long con’ (Fuller 2007, 47) and replacing the Objectivist ideology with a bastardised form of Marxism[16], resulting in ‘violence, crime, and disrepair replacing the peaceful efficiency Rand attributes to Galt’s Gulch’ (Packer 2010, 215).  More symbolically, the role of the monster is given to Frank Fontaine (Figure 3), showing him, as ‘a menace [that] represents the threat of further chaos emerging’ (Butler 2010, 10) in a city that is already failing to function.

Figure 6: Atlas/Frank Fontaine
Once revealled as the antagonist,  portraying Fontaine as the monster allows the game to present him as the physical embodiment of the ethics and morals he upholds.  Just as Dorian Gray makes the transition to his real self in The Picture of Dorien Gray at the end of the novel, his ‘withered wrinkled, and loathsome’ (Wilde 2006, 188) corpse on the floor, so too does Fontaine’s first taste of ADAM reveal his monstrosity to the player. 

I believe in no God, no invisible man in the sky. But there is something more powerful than each of us, a combination of our efforts, a Great Chain of industry that unites us. But it is only when we struggle in our own interest that the chain pulls society in the right direction. The chain is too powerful and too mysterious for any government to guide. Any man who tells you different either has his hand in your pocket, or a pistol to your neck." (Fuller 2007, 24)
The Great Chain is a motif Ryan frequently refers uses in his speeches and musings regarding the economy of Rapture and is consistent with the economic elements of Rand’s philosophy.  Ryan’s own philosophy of the Great Chain of Industry is visible in Rapture through statues (Figure 5), and banners, just as Rand uses her characters in Atlas Shrugged to extoll the virtues of a free economy, and the understanding that all men will participate in this system, providing for themselves, and creating employment for other men, at a fair and just rate of pay.  The idea of industry being the chain that unites all men is, for Ryan, the foundation of Rapture and provides the basis for the City’s economy; the Great Chain of industry is the economic freedom given to the inhabitants of the City in regard to their business and the success of the City.  As long as each person, each link in the chain, is working for their own self-interest (and not contrary to objectivism), then the chain will be level and strong, as each link (business) in the chain is regulated by the principles of the consumer; if there is no demand, or the business is not functioning as the market would wish, they will simply not use it, thereby eliminating it from the economy.  However, when dishonest dealings, such as smuggling or cheating a competitor enters the economy, then this upsets the equilibrium of the Great Chain and the dishonest business becomes a weak link that can then pull the chain apart. 
Ryan's Chain


Jack's Chain
There is also a more personal symbolism associated with the chain; Jack has chains round both of his wrists, (see Figure 6) symbolising his slavery and lack of free will.  The chains are a symbol of this control, a metaphorical joke by Fontaine, that Jack (who is genetically Ryan’s son) is a slave to Fontaine and Jack’s inability to disobey him, his mental chain forcing him to obey commands preceded with ‘would you kindly’.  This makes Jack himself the weak link in the Great Chain, in that he can cause the downfall of Rapture’s economy by causing the death of Ryan.  The chains on Jack’s wrist are also a frequent reminder to the player of their own servitude to videogame design companies.     

            Whilst it seems clear that Bioshock offers a consideration of Objectivism, there is some confusion over whether this is a criticism of the philosophy, or whether the game tries to empower the player into making her own decision about whether she agrees with the philosophy.  It is true that the game shows Rapture, the realisation of the philosophy ,as a dystopia; the game does not, however, simply show this as a result of Objectivism, but rather as a result of the introduction of a destructive force, in the form of Frank Fontaine, that undermines the philosophy.  This is symbolised through the representation of Fontaine as a monster.  However, the game offers the player an exploration of the philosophy from within, rather than from without, and allows her to form a decision based on all the information she collects in the game.

Bibliography

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[1] Casual games are considered to be games that can be played quickly and easily, with little learning curve and generally no need to save the game's progress.Invalid source specified.
[2] The player is physically safe, in that she is interacting with fictional characters and situations, without any real danger.
[3] This is one of a number of religious references in the game.  Here, Rapture is descriptive of the inhabitants being taken from society and led to a better life, just as God is said to intend to do when he causes The Rapture.
[4] ADAM is a drug created from the stem cells of a parasite, which replaces human cells with that of the parasite, causing side effects that act as ‘superpowers’.  However, this also causes cosmetic and mental deterioration in users, resulting in the need for more ADAM.
[5] Rand was a self-professed male chauvinist, who believed that women should engage in male hero-worship, and so the use of gendered terms that favour the male is deliberate in relation to Rand’s philosophy. (Thomas 2013)
[6] An automated submarine that carries the player through underwater areas.
[7] In Randian terms producers are ‘independent, rational and committed to the facts of reality, […] and to their own happiness (Younkins 2007, 14)
[8]This is also the basis of the Randian notion of the ‘sanction of the victim’—being acquiescent to one’s own rights being infringed.
[9] The religious symbolism cannot be ignored here.  Just as Adam and Eve ate of the fruit of the tree of knowledge causing the Fall, so too does the use of ADAM and EVE cause the society of Rapture to become dystopian.
[10] Content not considered part of the game, or as extra content, and hidden within the game for the player to find.
[11] In the novel Atlas Shrugged, these characters, metaphorically speaking, hold up the world through their creativity and ability.
[12] The use of the word parasite to describe any character that is not of the same ilk as Ryan is taken directly from Rand’s fiction; she postulated, through her fiction, that any person who relied on another to survive was a parasite – and that this reliance on another person was forcing them to live for your sake.
[13]This is a recurring theme in Rand’s fiction, most explicitly found in Anthem and The Fountainhead as well as Atlas Shrugged.
[14] I am not certain whether this is where the discussion will go – maybe Ethics is a better place?
[15] Objectivists believe that whilst they put their own self-interest above others, they do not do this to the detriment of any other person, which is perceived as having another person live for their sake. 
[16] Fontaine does not uphold Marxism; he is working for his own gain, and the lower class inhabitants are useful to his plans to conquer Rapture, rather than for altruistic means.