Why serious games and non-gamers don’t mix.

Now, I’ve got nothing against people who don’t play games. I mean, some of my best friends don’t play games. But people who don’t play games shouldn’t be put in charge of making games.

I’m talking specifically about “serious” games here, although I’d imagine the same goes for other kinds too; this post is inspired by a recent long, bad and annoying experience making games for a large learning website, and I wanted to try and sum up my feelings about the project and what I’d learned along the way.

Serious games have “a point”, which is to say they have some information they would like you to take away into the real world. They’re often produced for schools or educational sites, or to support things like charity or awareness-raising campaigns. And they’re generally shite.

Now, I don’t have a problem with serious games per se, but the vast majority have too much serious and not enough game. I firmly believe that games should be fun, first and foremost. When you’re making a game, fun should be prioritised over learning, educational content, quizzes, badges, social play gubbins or everything and anything else the client would like to bolt on.

Obviously the aim is to make something that’s genuinely useful and educational as well as being ridiculously good fun, but the sweet spot where fun and suitable subject matter meet is really pretty small – and unless your client “gets” games then you’re going to be pulling in different directions, which makes hitting that target virtually impossible. The upshot of this is that you often end up having to choose between fun and serious, either focusing on gameplay or pushing the serious content to the front.

If a game is fun but only gets across half your message, then that’s pretty good going. People will play the game and enjoy it, leaving positive impressions and happy memories – and at least some of your serious information.

But if a game isn’t fun then people won’t play it, regardless of how well it conveys your message or teaches your content. And players-not-playing is a best-case scenario; at worst, you’ll actually turn people off a subject they might have been interested in before they even really had a chance to get to grips with it.

Unfortunately, if your clients don’t get games, then they probably won’t see it that way. To a non-gaming client, a game is nothing more than a vehicle for delivering information – essentially a web page that moves around and makes noises – and that lack of understanding means serious content gets prioritised over fun or playability.

Modern gamers enjoy a multi-billion-pound industry dedicated to making stuff that is fun – they can afford to be picky. If you think they’ll play your game that’s kind-of-a-bit-fun when they could be playing the new super-fun Gears of Duty 17 you’re sadly mistaken.

The problem for me is that people who don’t play games often don’t get games. They don’t understand the flow of games; the joy of discovery and what makes them fun; the playfulness of a well-crafted game mechanic and the learning that can come from play rather than reading stuff in a book. They don’t get the ebb and flow of risk and reward or the satisfaction of a perfectly-timed recovery or counterstrike.

Not all non-gamers are like this, obviously. There are plenty who still have an appreciation of the art of game design, or are open-minded enough to accept that there might be things they don’t understand about games. These people are great to work with.

But these lovely people seem few and far between. The digital industry is dominated by the worst kind of non-gamers – people who simply don’t seem to care about gameplay, or understand when a mechanic doesn’t work, and who just want to shoehorn facts in wherever possible because otherwise the player can’t possibly be learning anything. And they’re often the ones in charge.

You can see the effect of this firsthand – just play virtually any e-learning game, because the vast majority are shite. They’re boring, and there’s often little to no actual gameplay; most should be classed as “activities” or “quizzes” rather than games. They take some educational content and digitise it, wrapping facts up in something that looks like a game but really, really isn’t.

When there is gameplay, it’s either perfunctory or completely split from the learning – often in a play a bit, learn a bit, play a bit kind of structure where you finish a level of play and then have to complete a quiz before you can progress.

These things are the bastard offspring of badly made Flash games and those deadly-dull teachers whose lessons seemed to stretch on forever. These “games” aren’t fun or educational for a lot of reasons (usually because no-one can be bothered to play past the first level) and the only realistic response to the stupid inter-level quizzes is listlessly clicking at random until you get the right answer.

Throwing more serious content into a broken game will not make players learn more – if anything, you’ll just turn them off even quicker.

These kind of non-fun time-wasters get made over and over again – but we wanted to do something different. We wanted to make games that are fun, where the player can learn by playing, rather than by alternating play and learning.

Gamers know that when you’re playing a game you are learning, while not necessarily “being educated” in the classical sense  – and that kind of learning can be powerful stuff. Why show someone a picture of a process in a book when you could use a game to bring that process to life, let people experiment, muck around, mess up and actually, literally, play with it?

Games can’t replace lessons and teachers – but they can complement each other. Games can spark interest in subjects and help bring subjects to life. For example, an intelligent game where the player uses gravity and momentum to battle foes could well inspire a child to ask “But why do things fall down? Why do things move in a particular way?”

A well-crafted complementary lesson could take that spark of interest and help it grow, perhaps even teaching the theory in such a way that players can take their new knowledge back into the game to improve their scores.

Sadly, making games like this is a difficult process, and prone to being derailed by non-gaming people who don’t see how anyone could learn from a game that doesn’t have a quiz in it. Games get treated as lesson-replacement activities, crammed full of “educational” material and thrown out into the cruel world to fend for themselves.

The lesson I’ve learned is that it’s best not to try to make a game that teaches through gameplay unless you’re sure everyone’s on the same page. Without buy-in and understanding from the client you’ll end up with an awkward halfway house of a game that pleases no-one; not fun enough for kids and not enough educational content to stand up in class alongside videos and textbooks.

There’s a reason most e-learning games are crap. The games industry is mature enough to move forward and start making games like this – but I don’t think the public has got the message yet, and until everyone client (and agency) side is on board then making decent serious games will be very, very difficult.

What makes a game scary, and why does it matter?

Picture the scene: you’re creeping through a tight, dark tunnel (probably a sewer of some kind). There’s something down here with you: you can hear it, growling, somewhere close by. You inch forward, round another corner – but there’s nothing there. You breathe a sigh of relief and turn, only to find a drooling pointy-toothed demon thing about to do you some serious misdeed.

Do you:

  1. Shit the bed and run.
  2. Alt + F4 and go to bed.
  3. Dispense with the pleasantries and shoot the crap out of it with your newly upgraded DemonSlayer 4000 assault rifle.

Now in most games, the obvious answer is likely to be 3. Because that’s how most games work – even the scary ones. If you have a problem, then guns are usually the solution. Games like Fear F.E.A.R F3AR are excellent examples of this school of thought. There’s loads of creeping round dinghy warehouses and a lot of jumpy moments when a creepy little girl pops out and eats your brains or whatever – but is that really scary?

More (frankly terrifying) musings after the jump.

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Stumbling through the dark in LA Noire

LA Noire caught me by surprise when a PC version was released. It was released on console first, with no indication that there’s be a PC port, and by the time it was announced the game had already seemingly been played by anyone who was going to  play it. Apart from me, apparently. I picked up the Complete version, which includes all the DLC, for about £18, and have been playing to see whether it really is the flawed masterpiece it’s made out to be.

The big feature of LA Noire is the facial animation. Through a combination of black magic and Hannibal Lector-style face surgical face-removal (probably) Rockstar and Bondi have transplanted proper actors’ faces into the game in an incredibly realistic way.

The facial detail and animation is amazing. I actually recognised actors’ faces, rather than just their voices – and that’s a good thing, considering that half the cast of Mad Men is in it. In some ways it really works. There’s something recognisably human about the characters’ movement and emotions, and while there’s definitely a touch of the uncanny valley about the characters (and their weird shiny skin) it’s a far step beyond the barely-animated square-jawed space marines we’re used to.

And it’s not just pretty – it’s central to the gameplay. Your role as a detective is to interview witnesses, using their body language and facial tics to deduce whether they’re telling the truth or trying to hide something from you. It’s a great idea, and the promise of such subtle interactions between the player and the characters sounded like it has the potential to be something really special, but the gameplay isn’t quite the revelation that I was hoping for. Despite all the other advancements, it still feels like the meat of the game hasn’t progressed far from its roots in old-school point-and-click games.

The problem is that I don’t ever feel like I’m a detective unravelling a reluctant witness’ story – I feel like I’m playing a computer game, trying to guess what the maker of the computer game was thinking when they put this interview together.

In conversations you can choose to say a person is telling the truth, cast doubt on their statements or accuse them of lying. Each witness statement has a “right” answer that you determine by assessing their behaviour. This is where all those pop-psychology articles come in handy – signs of lying include fidgeting, not looking you in the eye and all that jazz. This bit is fairly straight-forward, because all you have to do is interpret the signs.

But where it gets difficult (and frustrating) is choosing what to do next. When you accuse a witness of lying you have to back up your accusation with evidence. I was interviewing a guy in a dodgy car workshop, trying to sweat the truth out of him. He claimed to know nothing about any stolen-car racket, and demanded that I show some proof. I check my notebook. I’ve got notes about a load of forged proofs of purchase, a big box of dodgy documents I found in his office, information about a car racket and a few other things. Frustratingly, I know he’s guilty, and I know that one of these things is the right answer, but in my head there are any number of ways each of these things could be connected – with only one attempt to get it right these sections can be pretty frustrating.

In these situations making the right choice is less about getting into the narrative and playing the game and more about trying to think which one of these things the game developer thought was the most appropriate. It’s like filling in a really annoying form, where an ambiguously labelled “ID Number” box might require a passport number, national insurance number or even some other random thing no-one’s told you about, but there’s no clue which is the right answer. Rather than just doing it, you spend the whole time second-guessing the author.

Fittingly for a game called LA Noire, these sections felt a bit like stumbling round in the dark. The facial animation is amazing, all the more so for how quickly I got used to it and actually missed it in other games – Skyrim’s population felt distinctly like furniture rather than characters, in comparison – but it’s a shame the rest of the gameplay hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Games and gamification: tiresome fun, gaming the system and playing to learn.

Gamification gets a lot of bad press. And it’s true: there’s a lot of bad, mad and just plain stupid gamification out there. Whether it takes the form of pointless points, badges, stupid progress bars, high-score tables or missions and achievements that no-one even nearly cares about, gamification has become the kind of creative bogeyman that people swap stories about in the pub and roll their eyes when a client mentions it.

Gamification can spoil things – and usually not in an obviously broken way, but with a more subtle kind of damage, where a system of points, badges and awards has slipped in like a cuckoo and replaced functionality, content or actual gameplay. It’s often thrown over other ideas like a suffocating blanket in an attempt to make things more “sticky” or addictive, usually accompanied by talk of engagement and eyeballs.

It’s easy to confuse something that’s commonly misused with something that isn’t actually any good in the first place. Where does gamification commonly go wrong, and what does that say about how to do it right?

Long post after the break…

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Rage: shallow beauty and going round in circles

I’ve been playing Rage of late. It’s the new first-person shooter by id, the makers of Doom and Quake – each of which is a seminal title that pushed the boundaries of computer games. Rage is good fun, I’ll give it that, but it’s certainly not pushing forward the boundaries of game as we know them. It’s a blast, and the running and shooting stuff is great for what it is, but it leaves me with a nagging feeling of emptiness somehow – like it’s not quite all it appears to be.

Long-ish post about game/level design with some nice screenshots after the jump.

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