VideoGamesInteractiveArtisStillArt

VIDEO GAMES: INTERACTIVE ART IS STILL ART 1

Video Games: Interactive Art is Still Art
Kyle Robinson

“This is an important time for games, because they are being ignored,” states Clive
Barker (Perron et al., 2009, p. 1).  This is a rather bold statement many economists might
disagree with, but Barker acknowledges that video games are one of the fastest growing hobbies
and industries in the world today – in 2010 alone Americans spent $25.1 billion on video games
and associated hardware and software (ESA, 2012).  Rather, it is “the Zeitgeistwatchers, the
professional commentators who make it their business to read the auguries of our culture in the
entrails of pop phenomena” that Barker addresses here (Perron et al., 2009, p. 1).  Americans,
especially those in charge of pop culture and entertainment media, do not consider video games
to be as important to our cultural identity as other popular mediums.  This is an unfortunate
situation that is stunting potential entertainment and cultural development.  Video games are still
evolving, but already are and will continue to grow as a legitimate form of art.
One does not have to be intensely involved with the hobby to see that while it is not
exactly a hard rule, video games are primarily enjoyed by the younger generation and are
something that is largely enjoyed often or not at all.  In 2007, only 32% of American adults
played video games as opposed to the 97% of children 12 to 17 (Gentile, D. A., Saleem, M., &
Anderson, C. A., 2007).  That is an overwhelming amount of young Americans experiencing
media that their parents and grandparents likely will not as much as look at.
Admittedly there is little obvious reason that adults should play games.  Video games are
entertainment just like films or books but have additional barriers to entry: they are more
expensive, require specialized equipment to play, and require input from the player that must be
learned.  There is, generally speaking, a larger time investment in playing a video game than
there is in watching a film, and adults working fulltime are bound to have less free time than

children.  With all of these factors, it is really little wonder that games are more popular with a
younger audience and that many consider them to be little more than a timewasting diversion
for children.
The problem here is flawed perception from both sides.  There is a distinction often made
by frequent gamers between “casual” and “hardcore” video games.  “Casual” video games
(which I will refer to as “simple games” from this point on) are games very much akin to board
games in that there is a clear, easy to grasp and quick to learn set of rules, obvious rewards for
succeeding at objectives, obvious penalties for failure at objectives, and a session of gameplay
can be completed in a single sitting (Kramer, W., 2000).  There is little to no storyline or
overarching plot and the simple game exists purely for the joy to be derived from overcoming the
challenges of gameplay within the rule set and emerging victorious.  Examples include
Bejeweled by PopCap Games and Diner Dash by PlayFirst.  Many people who do not play
games appear to think that all games fall into this more narrow set of simple games, and this is
one half of the perception problem – it is an extremely difficult and mostly even unaddressed
case to argue that simple games are art.  If all video games were simple games this would be a
very short debate.
“Hardcore” video games (which I will refer to as “nuanced games” from this point on), in
contrast, are almost any other type of video game.  Nuanced games do not necessarily have a
victory condition where the player is declared to have won (though they largely still do) and
while there is often a set of rules the player works within to accomplish appointed or personal
goals, there is more to be enjoyed and taken from the experience than the mere act of
overcoming virtual challenges.  Specific examples include Capcom’s Devil May Cry and Doom

by id Software.
There is a case to be made that almost any video game can be a nuanced game.  Take, for
example, Nintendo’s Super Mario Brothers.  The player must guide a character, Mario, from the
beginning to the end of a set of levels, avoiding obstacles and monsters that will “kill” Mario and
send the player back.  The objective is to move forward skillfully, the reward is moving on to the
next level until the player reaches a congratulatory ending message, and the penalty for failure is
a loss of progress.  Super Mario Brothers seems like a solid candidate as a simple game.  If we
consider speedrunning communities, however, such as the Speed Demos Archive (located at
http://speeddemosarchive.com/), we see that there can be other entertaining elements derived
from playing the game that exist entirely separately from the rules set forth by the game itself.
Speedrunning is the activity of playing a game with the intent of finishing it as quickly and
perfectly as possible in a single sitting, with the only extra rules being selfenforced by the player
and the only victory condition is becoming the player with the fastest publicly known completion
time.  These are the sorts of elements, where there is something tangible and meaningful to the
players that exists outside of the gameplay, that one should focus on when considering whether
or not video games are art.  I posit that for any video game to be considered art, it must evoke
thoughts and emotions deeper than “entertainment” in the player through their unique element:
play.
As I have stated, however, the average nongaming person is not immersed deeply
enough in gaming to perceive these elements.  Renowned film critic Roger Ebert (2010), exactly
the kind of person responsible for the public representation of media Barker mentions, has on
more than one occasion publically stated that he believes video games are not and never will be

art (para. 1).  Ebert is a respected writer and his opinion is certainly worthy of consideration.  He
takes the time to consider three video games declared examples of art by Kellee Santiago (Waco
Resurrection by Eddo Stern, Braid by Number None, Inc., and Flower by Sony Computer
Entertainment) and gives each a critical eye before debunking her claims.  Ebert (2010),
unfortunately, also admits that, “The three games she chooses as examples do not raise my hopes
for a video game that will deserve my attention long enough to play it” (para. 22).  This is an
issue.  There is certainly nothing wrong with not enjoying playing video games as that is a matter
of personal taste.  There is, however, a considerable flaw in passing judgment upon media one
has not properly experienced.  I personally do not care much for opera, but it would be laughable
for me to merely read a plot synopsis and listen to a single recorded song from an opera and
decide that a completely different performance of that opera is not worth my time.  The
difference is that I could easily sit down and observe an opera to get the full effect.  Playing a
video game requires the proper hardware, a larger sink of time from the participant, and most
importantly, participation that is gradually picked up over time and requires more effort than
simply receiving visual and audial stimuli.  Ebert may claim that this extra effort is not worth his
time, but I argue that to experience other art such as opera takes an effort as well: even the most
beautiful singing is still just noise until you make the effort to appreciate the quality of sound,
skill in producing it, and meaning behind it.
While interactivity is the primary barrier to entry, I actually completely agree with one
facet of Ebert’s (2010) argument because of it: “Santiago might cite a immersive game without
points or rules, but I would say then it ceases to be a game and becomes a representation of a
story, a novel, a play, dance, a film” (para. 11).  This calls back to a previous point of mine: if

one is to consider video games as art, it will have to be on the basis of gameplay.  The artistic
merits of video games lie in their interactivity, which is the thing that differentiates them from
other forms of media.
Phillip Deen also supports this theory of art through interactivity, overviewing two other
common arguments supporting video games as art before dismissing them.  “Some accept the
spectatorial model, but argue that critics are wrong on the facts. They argue that video games are
serious, beautiful and may be appreciated from the contemplative point of view,” Deen (2011)
writes, acknowledging the argument that games can be considered art if they present imagery
that can be appreciated like a painting or animated videos and storylines that can be appreciated
like a film (para. 12).  Deen (2011) continues, “The second strategy is to elevate video games by
integrating them into accepted arts,” mentioning museum exhibits that mimic video games, or
artists who modify video games to play themselves (para. 13).  Both of these arguments are
discredited, however:
Unfortunately, these two approaches assert the aesthetic standing of video games at the
price of their standing as games. To argue that video games may be objects of passive
appreciation is to lose the interaction that is essential to the medium. They must be played
to be games. (Deen, P., 2011, para. 14)
The statement encompasses my feelings entirely and touches on the other half of the perception
problem – most gamers do not understand what exactly they are suggesting.
Video game discussion forums such as GameFAQs (located at
http://www.gamefaqs.com/) are rife with suggestions of which video games have the best
storylines, and these video games are often cited as art.  Mass Effect 2 by Electronic Arts was

nominated for a BAFTA Best Story Award in 2011 and is widely lauded by fans and critics as a
game with a storyline on par with or surpassing most scifi films ever made (British Academy of
Film and Television Arts, 2011).  Like most modern games with an involved storyline, however,
gameplay and storyline are two different elements.  The player is often prompted during scenes
where their ingame avatar (Commander Shepard) is having a conversation to decide how the
protagonist should respond.  This is a step in the right direction, but each choice is only an
illusion of freedom: while the player decides which choice to make, all of the choices simply
result in the game playing back prerecorded audio and video of a conversation before continuing
down a linear story in one of several predetermined branches.  The player’s input and impact is
minimal, as all scenarios have already been accounted for and one only decides which to be
presented rather than personally driving forward the action.  Interestingly, most gamers and
video game critics like Johansen QuijanoCruz (2011) state that a considerable level of
interactivity is paramount to having a video game still feel like a video game, but do not seem to
consider the opposite (pg. 110).  The storyline of Mass Effect 2 may be epic, emotional, and
engaging but as far as interactivity goes it is little more than a glorified
chooseyourownadventure novel put to video.  While I wholeheartedly believe a novel or film
(interactive or otherwise) can be art, making the same claim here again misses the point of
considering video games art by virtue of, rather than despite, gameplay.
Mass Effect 2 is certainly not the only video game often touted as art for its incorporation
of a strong narrative.  Metal Gear Solid by Konami is an older game and even less interactive,
but still champions many arguments.  Again I would disagree.  Metal Gear Solid, like a large
number of video games today, both begins and ends with cutscenes.  “Cutscene” is video game

jargon for moments of audio and video played back to the player without input from them.  The
terminology only emphasizes my point: these scenes “cut” into gameplay and interrupt sessions
of interactivity.  Metal Gear Solid alternates between moments of watching video presented to
the player and actively controlling the protagonist to maneuver him around enemy troops and
help him defeat the game’s villains.  Occasionally dialogue happens during these moments of
gameplay, but these are all preset instances that happen independently from whatever the player
does and are not influenced by the methods a player takes to overcome the virtual obstacles
before them.  One could theoretically watch every cutscene in Metal Gear Solid, removing every
single instance of gameplay, and still get the full impact of the storyline, missing out only on the
exact details of how the protagonist moved from point A to point B between more important
scenes or the specifics of how the middle of a fight scene occurred.  Yet again I would concede
that this potentially makes for an excellent film and elevates a title to the status of nuanced game,
but does not make a video game art.
This is an important distinction because it harkens back to my original idea that games
can only become art through gameplay.  Valve Corporation’s Portal 2 is, in my opinion, one of
the most humorous pieces of media I have ever experienced, and yet all of the humor in the game
is delivered in the form of prerecorded dialogue that is played back by the game once the player
reaches specific plateaus of progress, not because the player causes humorous things to happen
through their virtual actions.  Playing any simple game as intended can certainly evoke fun in a
player, but this is not a deeper or more emotional connection than any other leisure activity and it
can be argued that the player is still not investing in the video game at all or treating it as any
more than a set of rules and challenges to be overcome for a sense of accomplishment.

There are two genres of video games that I believe are the future of the medium as art:
survival horror video games and emergent sandbox video games.  Survival horror video games,
as the name of the genre implies, are games in which players must guide characters to succeed
against overwhelming odds and threats to their virtual lives in a horrific context.  This is both a
gameplay and thematic distinction.  The “survival” part implies that doing so will be difficult and
is the goal of the game, while the “horror” part implies that the player will be frightened.  These
elements work handinhand, however.  By controlling a single avatar that the player can identify
with, all of the player’s interactions flow through this protagonist.  Bernard Perron (2009)
summarizes this idea by stating, “The vicarious kinesthesia of a video game stems from the
connection between the gamer and his player character” (p. 137).  In other words, a player can
become immersed in the video game they are playing and connect with the ingame avatar they
control – the player’s control over the avatar’s subsequent actions are the only direct presence a
player has in the virtual world, which is in turn carried out by the “body” of that avatar with the
player being its “mind”.  It is not entirely unreasonable to then think of the avatar the player
controls as an extension of the player’s self.  This idea immensely heightens the tension of
horrific scenes.
In a grisly horror film one can sympathize with a character once one has a frame of
reference with them and therefore shares in the tension of the character’s impending injury or
death, but at no point does the viewer feel like they are the one physically threatened by the
killer.  In a video game, threats to the protagonist cease to merely be  an observed event – there is
no longer a guarantee in the back of the player’s mind that the protagonist will be survive in the
end as their safety is literally in the hands of the player.  Most importantly, the horrific events

now contain an additional consequence as they threaten not only the fictional character but the
player as well.  A violent death now means loss of player control, enhancing the stakes and
emotional investment.
This creates a fascinating extra element and emotional response that exists by virtue of
and only during gameplay.  The individual objectives a player must fulfill are independent from
the horror, but the gameplay a player must utilize to succeed these goals is opposed by the fear
and hesitation of the player just as much as any programmed element.  One cannot simply write
horror, only write horrific events or create horrific scenery; the horror element is invoked in the
consumer rather than a hard element of the literature.  This is no different from a horror film or
novel until we add in the consideration of gameplay, where the level of separation between the
consumer and the horrific elements and their consequences is removed.  Horror video games can
evoke a very real, primal fear, the legitimate fear for oneself, the loss of control, and the loss of
one’s (in this case virtual) self more deeply than any noninteractive media can by way of
removing certainty and replacing it with punishment.  I am confident that this same concept of
creating a pseudoreal connection to the media while keeping the player safe physically can one
day be applied to an entire range of emotions as well as find use in medical sectors with helping
mental or trauma patients overcome their issues.
The second genre to be addressed is emergent sandbox games.  Penny Sweetser (2009)
explains:
Emergence in games occurs as the player is able to use the basic elements that are
provided by the game developer to create new gameplay (e.g., stories or strategies).
Emergence in games is made possible by defining simple, global rules, behaviour, and

properties for game objects and their interaction in the game world and with the player.
(para. 12)
“Sandbox” games simply refer to video games where a player is not forced into a linear set of
separate, closed off “levels” to play in but rather is presented with an “open world” to explore
freely.  Emergent sandbox games forego the usual method of video game development rather
than programming in a beginning, middle, and end and predetermining what abilities the player
has at certain points, what actions they must take, and what the results will be within a set
framework.  These games instead are designed as a world rather than a collection of smaller set
pieces, and with creatures, player abilities, and objects designed as standalone actual things with
full parameters and attributes instead of abstractions that only trigger predetermined actions.
Many emergent sandbox games, such as Mojang’s independentlydeveloped sleeper hit
Minecraft, lack any real “goal” for the player.  There is no victory condition, and the pleasure in
playing is largely derived purely from how much importance the player imparts to their virtual
creations (Minecraft is a video game in which the player can collect materials of various types
from an everexpanding world and use them to build whatever the player desires).  To the video
game and its programming, each individual block in a player’s castle is just a block with a
tracked type and location, no more, no less.  To a player, that collection of blocks is a virtual
home, a safe haven.  Players often share their creations with one another online simply to show
off, often attaching stories of their adventures and constructions in the process.  When these
elements – including the game’s intruding hostile monsters – are allowed to interact with one
another, the player, and the player’s constructions with some intervention, a story is told.  Not a
prerecorded or literal story identical in every instance of the game, but a unique tale with a

profound personal impact to the player that exists entirely as a result of live, gameguided but
playerdriven gameplay and is simply not possible in any other medium.  It is this deep
connection to the individual player that allows video games to emotionally impact a player just
as deeply as other art in a unique way.
One could argue, like Roger Ebert (2010), that when a game cannot be won that it ceases
to be a game (para. 11).  What is it, then?  I declare that a game with no goals is still a game,
because the goals now become whatever the player wishes them to be.  A play with no meaning
is still a play and considered a literary achievement.  Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot is,
essentially, a play about nothing and by Beckett’s own admission has no deeper meaning than
the words on the page, yet we still consider it art and people from myriad cultures around the
world ascribe “hidden truths” to it that are a result of their own personal life experiences and
feelings (Esslin, M., 1976, p. 116118).  The play surely still holds meaning to these people and
does not cease to be a play.
These moments of intense personal connection to the player are what make video games
art.  All art is experienced – without reading the words on a page and understanding their
meaning, a book is just a collection of paper and ink.  A sculpture is merely a threedimensional
object that serves no purpose until we appreciate the skill and creativity that goes into its creation
and see it not as a lump of shaped stone, but as whatever it mimics.  Live theatre is ephemeral, it
exists only in the moment it is being performed and that exact performance can never be repeated
and requires active, on the spot input from actors, yet we still feel emotions from watching
(Esslin, M., 1976, p. 1416).  Video games can be experienced in the same way.
While the overwhelming majority of video games can still be considered as mindless,

violent entertainment with no deeper value than fun through competition, this is clearly a faulty
generalization.  Video games are art already, and there are countless titles that anyone of any age
or background could create a connection with if only they would look.  The future of art can
grow to include video games, but only if society gives them a chance.  For every exhausted
30something who shoots enemy soldiers online after work every day, there is a teen learning
what it means to lose everything to negligence and thinking you will always be safe, a young
woman coping with her arachnophobia by battling giant spiders in a dark, cramped cave, and a
40yearold with crippling social anxiety experiencing what love truly means for the first time
rather than watching it happen to others.  These people are all playing video games.

References
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http://www.bafta.org/awardsdatabase.html?year=2011&category=Games&award=Story
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Deen, P. D. (2011). Interactivity, inhabitation and pragmatist aesthetics. Game Studies, 11.
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