Video games draw a large number of people, with the industry as a whole making billions a year. But what is it about video games that creates such deep fascination?
Vicarious experiences are the name of the game—any game, as a matter of fact. From the age old experience of listening to orations (think Ancient Greece—Homer reciting his epic tales), to the more advanced form of the novel, all the way to the most modern ways of telling stories and living in a vicarious world (television series and movies come first to mind). Yet the latest iteration of a vicarious experience is dealt not only with disdain, but levels of misunderstanding and fear. Interactive media (read: video games) have been around for a number of years, though it is seen even more predominantly now than ever before. But what is it that makes video games particularly appealing? What is it about the pixilated world that pulls in millions of consumers annually?
As a storytelling device, there is something to be said about active participation. During stage performances and the like during pre-Industrialized times, the audience was expected to interact with those on stage. A trickle of that remains, in that an audience is now supposed to applaud at the end of a scene or, possibly, an entire performance. Yet heckling, hissing, booing, shouting out at the performers and, sometimes, throwing things in the direction of the stage, and other responses were all permissible—even encouraged.
Reading has a deeply personal, individual response that stems from a collection of life experiences interacting with the story the text provides. Readers “relate” to what occurs within the pages of a book based upon all of their personal tastes; in short, a book is written by an author, but made by the reader.
Now television and movies seek to tell stories, entertain, and actually limit personal interaction. A book can be reread, the reading can be slowed or sped up by the reader. A television program (sans TiVo) is simply watched with the occasional interruption of commercials, while the films of today are projected in a completely dark room, filled with strangers and stale popcorn. Interactivity is kept to a very bare minimum, and those who feel they should still heckle the onscreen avatars are thought of as inconsiderate at the best, and menaces at the worst.
This brings along interactive media, or video games. The stories told are often mere trappings on which the action of the game is built, a framework of sorts that explains why this alien race is attacking Earth—enough motive for their annihilation, surely. Still, the stories remain, and have been known to tackle deeper, philosophical questions while maintaining a high level of entertainment (see, in particular, the Metal Gear Solid series).
As a player takes control of the avatar, the line between perfect appropriation of the character’s attributes (felt most frequently in the books where the reader “really connects” to the protagonist) as the player’s own, and the shorthanded way of communicating locale, time, description, etc. that is found in movies comes together. In other words, the stuff that makes movies easier to comprehend—the fact that an entire paragraph worth of information can be transmitted in a single shot—and the items of power found in books and literature—the interactivity with the reader and the text, or, in this case, the player and the game—blend together in a type of harmony that is not only satisfactory, but also immensely rewarding. It is for that reason that gaming has attracted countless millions.
