On BioShock Infinite and Roger Ebert (and Art)

A man once said something contentious. That man is dead. Is there meaning in it?

Roger Ebert after losing his jaw but not his spirit.

This week, famed movie critic, Roger Ebert died. Subsequently, some people took time out of their days to reiterate their vitriol towards the man. The man once claimed that video games are not art and could never become art, so some awful people saw fit to trounce upon his death as if his cancer was related. I feel the hate was unnecessary for reasons beyond the idea of taking delight in a man's death.

Reveling in someone's death or saying that person deserved it is vile. When I learned of Roger Ebert's comments on video games, I said, "He can go fuck himself," which is a common feeling one can have when someone criticizes something he finds important but is not available for debate. But I did not wish him cancer or to lose his lower jaw. Can you imagine how horrific it would be to have any of that happen, to know you were bound to die or be disfigured? If you think that is tantamount to hearing that a well-known movie critic thinks video games aren't art, well, you should reevaluate your life up to this point. (You may leave.)

Ebert had no direct effect on my life. When I was younger, and Siskel was alive, I would occasionally try to catch their show on FOX whenever the station randomly decided to air it. It was a fun show and a justification for staying up late like I did then. I didn't await their reviews, and I never consulted critics before going to watch a movie. Fast forward to present day, and my only interaction with him in the last few years was clicking on links to a few of his essays, which were all intelligent and well-written. He was a smart, cultured man, and I had every reason to believe he was good-natured, as well. Although I'm not bummed about his death, I'm not elated about it either. Everyone deserves better.

Much to my surprise, his death started to draw links to the recent AAA blockbuster, BioShock Infinite, in that some believe it is the realization of video games as art. It even brought the notorious Cliffy B to the fold:

Something eerie about the timing of the loss of Roger Ebert and the release of a true game as art in Bioshock Infinite.
— Cliff Bleszinski (@therealcliffyb) April 4, 2013

While, compared to some others, I found absolutely nothing offensive about this tweet, I was surprised that people thought this was the game that was going to win over someone who derided video games so long ago. To this I say, "Who are you kidding?" Although Ebert was a noted consumer of culture, video games were not among them. He certainly was not going to spend his last days valuing his life sinking hours into a violent video game or any video game for that matter as if all of a sudden, the industry finally created the holy grail. I'm happy to contend that there were plenty of good and better examples before it, all easily dismissed by such a critic.

I recently finished BioShock Infinite, and like many others, I was blown away by the ending. It made me feel a lot of emotions all at once, and my body's reaction was to send a few tears to my eyes. It was not the same feeling as the special moment in To the Moon, but it was an intense moment. BioShock Infinite features some really impressive writing and direction, but it also features a significant amount of gameplay that makes consuming these triumphs intimidating to a lot of people, including gamers.

I can see why some don't see the art I see in this image.

The fact is that first-person shooters can be tough to get into and tough to play from there. You may not agree; you may be the biggest FPS fan in history. Despite the number of FPS or FPS-like games I've reviewed here, I am not a fan of them in particular. For me, it's about wanting to check out a great story regardless of gameplay mechanics or wanting to check out why everyone loves a game even if it doesn't seem to be my style. The original BioShock was the first FPS that sparked an intense desire within me to overcome my reservations about the genre in order to experience what the game offered, and to this day, I do not regret wanting to play that game as badly as I did.

For other people, it's just not worth it. I suck at some types of games, and I most notably suck at first-person shooters if there is no stealth involved. Well, I suck at shooters in general – don't let me mislead you. But just because I'm willing to trudge through the threat of sucking doesn't mean everyone is. And there are also a lot of people who don't play video games because they (think they) suck at them, regardless of genre. Alongside those people are some who don't believe it's worth the time when they enjoy so many other cultural offerings available; they don't even evaluate their skills at video games because video games are a non-entity to them.

The skills required to progress through a game represent a barrier of entry for that particular art form. When it comes to the video-games-as-art discussion, I am not sure many people consider breaking down the video games into what they think is the art versus what they consider to be the game. The fact is that the game might be worthless or threatening to those who don't play. This, in turn, makes the art easy to be dismissed, and I don't blame them. It doesn't apply to every game, of course. Some games feature gameplay that is very much tied to its artistic expression, such as Journey or The Unfinished Swan, where divorcing the two is hard to comprehend.

Journey, where everything is beautiful, but is it art?

Before I write further on that subject, I do want to explain that I consider many video games to be art. I think art is based on emotional response. "Do I emotionally respond to what I am experiencing?" If the answer to that question is "yes," then I am willing to entertain its consideration as art. Maybe that is too broad, but I am not the judge, and there isn't any real jury. I just find it hard to believe that people can play a game, one with either a great story or a great experience, and feel joy, fear, heartbreak, or otherwise and not consider it art. Like Ebert, though, I'd agree that some games contain art but may not be pieces of art in their entirety. I think that's a fair assessment and one that is fair to debate.

On the other hand, I don't think that people who deride video games as something other than art consider the barrier of entry involved in other forms of art. Movies, music, and books are easier to consume, yes – there is nothing other than technical malfunction that can really prevent you from navigating them from beginning to end – but some of the most appreciated or most debated of these actually do require more than watching, listening, or reading to fully appreciate beyond a superficial level. I've had the experience where I've enjoyed a movie but spoke to a person who started talking about themes or metaphors that I completely missed. The end result is usually a modicum of disappointment from the other. We clearly did not enjoy the same art. It's possible I did not see art where others did.

A good recent example from pop culture would be Psy's dance hit, "Gangnam Style." People went nuts for the song. (I was not among them, but I think the song is fun and well-produced.) DJs everywhere started playing it at clubs and parties, and it's reached a saturation point where you will involuntarily hear it several times a week. It's even been incorporated into Dance Central 3, so those gamers can dance to it and score points doing so. But how many people listening to and enjoying the song are aware of its existence as political and social satire? From conversations I've had with people, the answer is not many. The clear reason why is that you'd need to speak Korean, have an understanding of South Korean culture and economy, and know that Psy has a history of being politically vociferous.

In The Path, you have to go to Grandmother's house down the road, but the forest is calling to you, too.

Although "Gangnam Style" is appreciable as musical art, it has a barrier of entry to be understood as art with commentary and crticism. Compared to a video game, the barrier of entry is less apparent, almost hidden. I'd compare it to Tale of Tales' The Path, where it is easy to complete the game six times in under thirty minutes by just walking in a straight line from start to end, but the core of the game actually requires the player to step off the titular path before trying to return to it. In other words, it's impossible to appreciate what the game has to offer or what the developers wanted to express without doing the extra work required to do so. Admittedly, unlike a song, The Path is not very enjoyable if you take the easy route, but one can consume and opine about it that way, and the artist is left to feel like that person is doing it wrong.

It is these barriers of entry that actually separate art appreciators, where the "snobs" come from, so to speak, though it's not fair to pass judgement on those who devote their time to understanding an artistic medium fully. With respect to video games, the barriers prevent gamers from playing what I would consider pieces of art, and other barriers, such as historical knowledge, prevent gamers from understanding what the art is trying to tell them beyond what they are experiencing. I reluctantly bring up the fact that a handful of people who played BioShock Infinite thought Wounded Knee references were bro shoutouts to Skyrim's "arrow to the knee" meme instead of a serious, horrific moment in American history. (By the way, it's OK to pause a game to Google a reference if it'll help you appreciate it more.) The truth is that many people will finish BioShock Infinite without being able to wrap their heads around the ending, or they might love the first-person shooter gameplay and think the story is trash altogether. Who am I to judge them? Nobody, even though I lament it.

This brings me back to Roger Ebert and his opinions. That's all they were. To their credit, he wrote them thoughtfully and carefully, which is more than I can say for many who wished him death, threatened him in life, or resorted to homophobic slurs to drive their indignation home. Regardless, Ebert was just a man albeit a famous one. He did not and does not have the ability to determine what is art for you or what you should think is art. If you feel passionately that he is wrong, then video games are art. It's really as simple as that, and many people will disagree with me. That is also OK.

Instead of hating the man, we should thank him for bring us closer than ever before to the medium we love – video games.

Play with My Father

Just once would be nice.

I think it would be fair to say I could attribute my love of video games to my father. Well, sort of. My father was always into new technology, and he always wanted to show me the latest gizmo he bought. His interest in electronics and the like was the polar opposite of my mother, who continually resisted anything that came around. Naturally, I became attracted to the digital image and its interactive manipulation. Despite how he always exposed me to and bought me new electronics and toys, it saddens me that he never really joined me in playing them. Even worse, until recently, he always expressed a constant derision towards my life's passion.

Before there was color, there was green.

For my seventh birthday, I asked for the original Nintendo Game Boy. To this day, it is the only handheld system I ever owned, and I poured a lot of hours into it. In fact, I still have it, though I haven't tested its operational faculty in a number of years. Not that I was big into sharing, but I was surprised when my father wanted to play Tetris on occasion. I didn't appreciate it then, but looking back, it was cool that he wanted to play a game at all. That was the only one, though, and he never expressed any interest in the other games I had. Eventually, he also stopped playing Tetris, though he never played it enough for it to be considered sudden. That was it. I never saw him play another game since.

That isn't to say that was the last game he showed interest in. One day, when our home computer was still the Macintosh Performa, he came home with Zork Nemesis: The Forbidden Lands, a graphic adventure game in the same vein as Myst. I was definitely excited since I loved Myst and really looked forward to playing another puzzle game, and I was excited that he wanted to play it with me. The excitement was over almost as quickly as it began because we ignored the hardware specifications that called for at least double the RAM we had on board, and the game would not even launch. As unfortunate as this was, it was more disappointing when he never came back around to play even after we bought and installed the upgrade. I don't know why, and I didn't ask. I just played and enjoyed the game alone and thought nothing of it.

So that was the last game he ever told me he wanted to play, and he never played it. This actually never began to bother me until the last few years. My parents and I did a lot of things separately. Sometimes, we'd all watch the same TV program in our own rooms. Thus, playing video games by myself didn't phase me one bit, and I never grew a desire to play with them either. Nothing about that seemed wrong to me. The time I would spend with friends was sporadic (I was not popular), so I found myself gravitating towards more single-player experiences. Sure, there were games like Street Fighter II and Eternal Champions that were more fun to play with friends, but you wouldn't believe how much time I'd spend playing against myself or screwing with Game Genie codes.

So began my own personal adventure.

Coasting a large number of years into the future, my true love of video games was ignited when I played Final Fantasy VII on PC in 1999, the first half of the last year of high school. Although I played Myst, most of the games I played offered shallower stories; I never encountered something so layered nor with optional story content to discover. After that, I became more insistent that I continually needed something to play. I needed another story. My first "real" relationship, which took place during most of my time in college, was with a guy who would play with me. We even bought a Nintendo GameCube together. Although we had multiplayer games to play with friends, such as Super Smash Bros. Melee and Super Monkey Ball, our definition of playing with each other and friends often meant one person playing a single-player adventure while others observed. Even today, this is how I typically enjoy experiencing new games – watching friends demonstrate what they have to offer. It may sound silly, but to me, any game was as exciting to watch as Uncharted 2: Among Thieves.

Years after dropping that human waste of time, I held out until I met another guy who shared a passion for video games with me. At the time, it was more challenging than it probably is now, what with Gaymercon starting next year. But I met the love of my life, and we have spent six awesome years now playing and loving. I definitely play significantly more than he does, but he has always shown interest, and there are games he loves and have elicited strong emotional responses from him. (He handled a certain scene in Final Fantasy VII a lot worse than I ever did.) However, it was also during the time we've spent together that my father became rather adversarial towards my hobby. My parents naturally ask what I've been up to since the last time I've seen them, and usually I answer with a game I'm playing. My father's natural response has always been dismissive, instantly losing interest in me talking about it further. But there eventually came snide comments, too. I remember speaking at dinner about the Overlord DLC for Mass Effect 2, and I specifically wanted to talk about it because of how it involves autism. My only brother is autistic, so it is definitely a relevant topic of discussion in their house. However, when I began to explain that Mass Effect is a science fiction game, my dad quipped, "all [video games] are science fiction." No, it doesn't make any sense, but I could tell there was no point in continuing to talk about it.

The majority of the Myst games were about a father's relationship with his sons.

Things came to a head a few weeks ago as my boyfriend and I were leaving my parents' house to go home. My father asked what we'd be doing with the rest of the night, and I stated that I'd be playing, and my boyfriend stated he'd be watching a movie and maybe playing. His response was something to the effect of "Tell me how it is. The movie, not the video games. I don't care about that shit." So the conversation went.

"They're not shit."
"I think they're shit."
"How can you continue to put down the thing I love to do most like that?"
"It's shit to me. What do you want me to say?"
"I would never put down something you're passionate about. And it's shit that you would say something like that to me."

He just shrugged, but I was rather angry as I drove off. I always got annoyed when he'd dismiss me, but this just took the cake. It was the first time he really just said it plainly, and he managed to make it as offensive as possible. The last thing I said was true, though. I may not have interest in many things my friends love, such as sports, – I may not even care the slightest bit about them – but I would never tell someone that this thing he or she is so excited about is shit. I'd just say I don't like it myself.

Deus Ex: Human Revolutions allows the player to proceed through the whole game without killing (almost) anyone.

From this negative experience came a positive.  It took two weeks, but shortly after my birthday, in response to something completely unrelated, he apologized. He expressed a sincere regret for putting down what I love to do. My father also finally articulated one of his issues with video games, that being the violence in them. It is kind of funny, actually, since he watches and likes some violent movies, and he even owns some firearms. However, I think the issue for him is actually participating in the violence, something movies don't require of the viewer. He actually expressed that he loved Myst, which I don't remember him playing but was once the buzz of the house. This was a significant step forward, and I felt very touched to finally learn more about him.

My response to him was that not every game is violent, of course. Without a doubt, I own some games like Mortal Kombat where the violence is gratuitous, but I wanted to tell him that I'm not always a death dealer. Aside from sharing the artfulness of games like Journey and Papo & Yo, I also went on to talk about games like Grand Theft Auto IV, which match exciting and well-written plots with the violence. I even expressed that some of the best games make you question whether you want to commit violence like Deus Ex: Human Revolution. Most importantly, I told him that I regret never playing Zork Nemesis with him. It only took 16 years to realize that it would have been nice.

Zork Nemesis, the bonding experience that never was.

Sadly, I think that's the end of the positive result. I told him that I own all the games from the Myst series, the sequel, Riven, being incredible, and how I could easily install them and Zork Nemesis on his laptop. However, he said he's too old to play them and doesn't have the attention span for them. I feel like I lost something there. I don't know what exactly. I don't know that if I attempted to include him on what I was playing when I was younger that he would've joined me. Still, I feel much better knowing that my father understands what it means when someone puts down something you care about and that we're past that era of our relationship. I hope one day he'll play by my side, though.

What about you? How involved are your parents with what you're passionate about? Do you play games with either of them? Please share your experience.

Music: I Love Video Game Soundtracks, Part I

No, really, I'm serious.

My first video game soundtrack was Burn: Cycle, composed by Simon Boswell. The PC version of the game came with it by default. (By the way, does anyone remember the CD-i?) Be that as it may, it only ignited a small flame within me that would not rage into a fire for many years. Still, there were a few other notable additions to my soundtrack collection until it became a full-on obsession. I was among the small population that owned a Sega Saturn, which I purchased mainly for NiGHTS into DREAMS. I loved the game, but somehow or another, I discovered that the themes to all the boss battles, not the level music, were accessible via a regular CD player. That said, it meant I could eventually rip the music onto MP3 format once that became popular. The next game I could do this for was Earthworm Jim 2, which was composed primarily by Tommy Tallarico. That soundtrack was a double bonus because it contained some awesome tracks from him, but it also had the 3rd movement of Moonlight Sonata (Beethoven), which I think is the best movement.

It wasn't until Myst III: Exile did my interest truly get sparked. The theme to that game really opened my eyes to the potential a game soundtrack could possess. It also spoke to me directly as I have a rather exploitable love of songs that start small in production but become booming choral masterpieces by the end. Thus, Jack Wall created the standard by which I would judge future soundtracks, and the next one I would actually own would be Myst IV: Revelations, whose main theme is an awesome tribal piece done with a choir in 7/4 timing. However, it was hard to maintain just one composer to love as time went by.

Stepping back a little to the year, 2000, that is when I played Final Fantasy VIII on the PC. While I wouldn't own the soundtrack for a number of years, I think many gamers around the world are with me when I say this: "Liberi Fatali," the opening theme to the game, is a masterpiece on par with "Carmina Burana" (Orff) in terms of drama and fantastic choral work. I must have started a new game about 50 times either to watch the opening sequence myself or to show it to others, and it always solicited a "wow" response from my friends.

Well, these are my origins, but I won't go into every single inspiring soundtrack I've come across. There are probably many more I forgot or cannot access anyway. What I will focus on is the composers and their soundtracks or notable songs. I have played the games corresponding to each of these, and I honestly feel that your ears are missing something by not having access to some songs.

(In no particular order.)

Jack Wall
What I have heard: Myst III: Exile, Myst IV: Revelation, Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Jade Empire

I already stated that I love him. You may have never heard of Myst III or IV (did you know there were sequels to Myst?), but I'll tell you what you have heard of: Mass Effect. He was lead composer on the soundtracks for both Mass Effect and Mass Effect 2, and he did just as much of an amazing job on both. They both possess arguably different sounds to match the narratives they back. Mass Effect has more of the sci-fi edge to it with a lot of notable synthesized sounds, but it also possesses a lot of drama. Songs like "Breeding Ground" and "Exit" are sweeping pieces that invoke memories of the exciting missions you encountered throughout the game. On a tamer note, though, "Uncharted Worlds" and "Vigil" have become iconic and hauntingly beautiful themes carried throughout the entire series, invoking a sad peace among the chaos of the larger story arcs. With Mass Effect 2, the focus shifted to the characters themselves, and they each have a theme. Starting with "The Illusive Man," which sets a haunting tone for one of the most notorious characters, the soundtrack almost serves as the narration itself. Listening to the undulating brass work on "Jacob" or the cries of the vocalists on "Samara" easily take you back to their characters and the missions you performed for and with them.

Sam Hulick, Sascha Dikiciyan, Cris Velasco, Chris Lennertz
What I have heard: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3

Although I would love to sing only Jack Wall's praises for the Mass Effect soundtracks, I simply cannot. He did not work alone. All of these composers created notable tracks across all three soundtracks. It's also worth noting that the Sonic Mayhem duo, Sascha Dikiciyan and Cris Velasco, did all the music to the Kasumi's Stolen Memory DLC, and Chris Lennertz composed the wildly dramatic scores to Overlord and Lair of the Shadow Broker DLCs.  Sam Hulick's notable contributions were on the Mass Effect soundtrack, where he composed the awe-inspiring theme for "The Normandy" and the victorious "From the Wreckage." Thus, it's worth mentioning that the game basically begins and ends with Sam Hulick. Just sayin'.



Jesper Kyd
What I have heard: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed II, Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood, Assassin's Creed: Revelations, Borderlands, Darksiders II

To me, Jesper Kyd was reinvigorating. Listening to his work made be super passionate about video game soundtracks all over again. At this point, he is mostly known for his work on the Assassin's Creed series and with good reason. Whereas the first game's soundtrack was impressive, with sweeping themes for the various Middle Eastern areas, such as "Flight through Jerusalem," his command over the audience comes with the opening triptych of Assassin's Creed II. If I could recommend three songs that belong together to play on repeat, it would be "Earth," "Venice Rooftops," and "Ezio's Family." Through them, he establishes a musical theme that would carry through the game via various instruments and voices. It manages to be memorable while subtle at the same time. These acclaims aside, it is the entirety of the Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood soundtrack where Kyd shines, and it is due to the excellent percussion work. There is so much variety in the percussion here, from the sounds of marching in "Flags of Rome" to the almost heart-like pounding of "Borgia Occupation," which sadly disappears from the game once you've successfully captured all of Rome for the assassins. Although I am still listening to it, I would like to assure the video game world that the Darksiders II soundtrack is arguably an even greater tour de force embodying so much variety and interest in its double-disc size.


Austin Wintory
What I have heard: flOw, Journey

This man entered my radar only this year, but I pray that he will never fall off. I could contend that that if you want an absolutely beautiful, emotional experience that is both complex and accessible, you will get the soundtrack to Journey. On top of a superb game, Wintory's soundtrack is maybe the deepest experience you could have via a single video game soundtrack. It is a journey in and of itself, and upon the epic arrival of "Apotheosis," life just feels complete. The composition of that song rises and rises almost endlessly until it plateaus at the apex of your aural desire. It is a truly unfathomable song and album. I bought the soundtrack to flOw out of curiosity, and while it maintains a much simpler atmosphere, it contains "Gratitude," which seems like a taste of the greatness Wintory has yet to unleash on the world years later.


Kow Otani
What I have heard: Shadow of the Colossus

There is nothing else to hear, honestly. Whereas Shadow of the Colossus presents so many arguments for the idea of video games as art, the soundtrack acts as the pedestal for every point you could bring up. Fighting a colossus ultimately becomes synonymous with the dramatic rise of a wild string orchestra, whose strings switch to victorious themes as soon as your sword penetrates the flesh beneath each glowing symbol you encounter. It is hard to choose a favorite, but I love the flurry of "A Violent Encounter." It usually stands as my great example, but it's unfair to choose. "A Despair-filled Farewell" features an almost crying horn that adds to the emotional realization that you spend the game killing majestic beings. And something begins to swell within me as soon as I hear the bells chime in "Epilogue ~Those Who Remain~," which backs the credits as the player observes the fallen heaps of his or her own handiwork. Seriously, this soundtrack is indescribably memorable through and through.


Rei Kondoh
What I have heard: Okami, Bayonetta

Rei Kondoh is definitely not the only composer on these humongous 5-disc soundtracks, but his songs remain the most memorable to me. I have a huge penchant for the dramatic, as I have said, and Rei fits the bill. I loved every minute of Okami, but I think I first took notice of the soundtrack during "Giving Kushinada a Ride," which plays as a beacon of strength during a time in the game when everyone has succumbed to the sad fate of one of the characters. The listener can feel that important heroics are afoot, and this song narrates the journey towards facing one's fate admirably. From the same soundtrack, "The Sun Rises" oddly makes me a bit teary-eyed. Following a suspenseful moment near the end of the game, it acts as a reprise of the game's main theme, but mixes it into a triumphant ballad that defeats evil with its notes alone. The Bayonetta soundtrack was notably all over the place in terms of style, but many of the booming tracks were composed by Kondoh, including all of the insane choirs that play during the epic boss fights. My favorites are near the end, though. "You May Call Me Father" backs an incredible battle as Bayonetta falls from the top of a huge skyscraper, and "The Greatest Jubilee" bears a sound as big as the universe as she fights to save it. These two tracks stand out for me because in contrast to the other boss themes, the choirs get notable reprieves from screaming their lungs out during a few movements, which makes their alarming return all the more deliberate and disquieting. If it would stir things up, I'd let Rei Kondoh conduct the choir at my funeral.


It does appear my passion for this post has gotten the better of me, so I will continue with a second part tomorrow! I do hope you're going and buying all these things, by the way.

(Part II can be found here.)


Images taken from Amazon, iTunes, and other Googled sources.