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| Image by Jasper Byrne - Source |
"I say it's time to let go of our preoccupation with gameplay as the primary criterion upon which to evaluate a game's merits. It's time to stop fetishizing mechanics as the defining aspect of game design. Designers must be free to arrange their priorities as they wish - and, increasingly, they are. Critics, too, must be nimble and open-minded enough to consider gameplay as one among many other useful criteria on which to judge a game's quality and aspirations."
I have to disagree. Games are games. They are intrinsically about mechanics, or they aren't games. I don't mean to say that an interactive not-game that is beautiful and aspirational and moving shouldn't be made or isn't valuable, but maybe we shouldn't be trying to call it a game and evaluate it next to other games. And I am not saying that games have to necessarily be fun. There are plenty of incredible films that aren't entertaining and many important books that aren't easy to read. Games don't have to be fun to be games, but they do have to have interacting parts governed by rules, and that aspect will be a big part of any evaluation.
The author says that we tend to focus on the mechanical properties of a new form of media, leading to terms like newspaper and moving pictures and talkies. Eventually we move on and use the media to do whatever it is it can do. While this may be true of the audience for movies or games, I don't think the same can be said of the makers. To make art, or simply entertainment, you have to be acutely aware of the mechanics of your medium. Games have a vocabulary, just like movies and literature, and the words aren't the same. Interactivity is one of the pillars of the medium. Without it you cease to be a player and become an audience. So if the interactive part of a game is broken, isn't the game broken?
Above all, I believe that the value of a game comes from the way all its pieces come together. As a creator, I know that design sometimes informs story, and sometimes story informs design. The same can be said for sound design, art, and even the different experiences and views of the creators. It's a powerful interplay that knits together different pieces to be more than they are by themselves. But it also means that when one element fails, it's clear. A great game can easily be reviewed holistically, but in a terrible game the mismatched elements scream for your attention.
As an example, a platformer is about navigating space. If you want to create a surreal platformer, you can't only create spaces that look surreal. You must also create spaces that feel surreal to move through. When reviewers say that the gameplay feels broken, oftentimes it is, in part, because the mechanics don't match the environment. It can be because your jumping feels too big or too small or too floaty for the size of the character, or it could be because the game has strange ethereal platforms with obviously rigid collision geometry underneath. These things matter.
Games are a fascinating medium for entertainment and for art. They plug straight into my heart and make me hold my breath and tilt my controller sideways as if it's going to help me steer. They occupy the body and mind. That is why they are powerful, and it's why they are damned hard to get right. The failure of otherwise impressive games to deliver gameplay that truly takes you somewhere should only be a sign that when it all comes together games really can be transcendent in new ways. That's not something to be afraid of.
