Video Games (or Games in general, but let's be honest, far more money is put into creating new video games than new board games) have existed in a weird nether-space of "almost art" since they came about. Roger Ebert, the prominent film critic, argued that video games could not count as art, though his reasons seemed custom-designed for his argument, rather than previously-held opinions. The crux of his argument was that games require input from the player, unlike other art forms, where the audience is a passive observer - in other words, that the game maker cannot control the experience completely, and thus their artistic statement cannot be translated.
This seems like seriously faulty logic. Live theater or music benefits greatly from the input and energy of an audience. In theory, film is one of the most "static" art forms (once it's in the can, it's done - at least until someone does a director's cut,) a completed piece like a painting or a sculpture. Yet there are many other pieces - and not only performance art - that encourages audience input. Some of these pieces can be very conceptual, which often turns off audiences expecting something more conventional. As an example, a friend of a friend of mine has a small art gallery in his apartment. When he had his housewarming party, there was a sculpture where the viewer would grab hold of a rod, forcing a ball out of a tube. Some might say it is pretentious to assign this sculpture meaning, but the dissonance between the title, "Pop" and the way the ball simply rolled out of the tube, without the satisfying effect, elicited an emotional response - disappointment.
Defining art is one of those very tricky things to do, but in a very general sense, getting an emotional response out of the viewer/reader/audience describes a good chunk of that which we would call art (Brechtian theater notwithstanding - well, except that alienation is also an emotion.)
To anyone who is a gamer, the idea that games could be art is pretty obvious. But there is a question of what kind of art it is. We often point to wonderful storytelling as a good direction for games - and as an RPG fan and a writer, I can definitely say I like games with a good story - but then there's things like the Mario games. No one could ever accuse the Mario games of pushing the boundaries plot-wise, yet these are hailed as some of the greatest games ever made - and with good reason. You can pick up Super Mario World today and it's still very, very fun.
I think part of the reason that people have a hard time thinking about video games as art is that the central artistic quality of games is a new one. In literature, theater, film, and television, we have narrative and characters foundation for effective art. In painting, sculpture, and photography (and also the performing narrative arts) we have composition and technique to admire. In music, we have the harmony and (different kind of) composition.
In games, we have the gameplay mechanics. The mechanics make up the fundamental pillar on which the art of video games is built. The reason Mario succeeds so well, despite having simple, cartoonish graphics and a paper-thin story, is that the mechanics work with elegant grace. You can sum up Mario very quickly - you run to the right, jumping on or past enemies. Yet within that, there is a depth of nuance that makes for such a satisfying experience.
I think it is a lack of confidence that the game industry has had that has led to many games attempting to become movies. Yet we can see game makers changing the way things are making their games to become something movies could never be.
Take Mass Effect, for example. The game tells a very grand, epic story. While the combat plays pretty much like any other 3rd-person shooter, the real game is in the interactions with other characters. You spend a lot of time talking to your squadmates and everyone else in the galaxy, and it is in these segments that the major decisions are made.
While many games will simply have a plot that you play through, being rewarded with cutscenes or setpieces as the game goes on, the fact that Mass Effect puts so much control in your hands makes the resulting events that much more emotionally resonant. For example (and this is a BIG SPOILER for Mass Effect 3,) assuming he survived the second game, Thane is doomed to die in the third, regardless of what you do. It's sad, because he's a likable character, but the event is not nearly as haunting as the events on Tuchanka. You are given a choice - to prevent the Salarian sabotage to the genophage, but sacrifice your dear friend Mordin Solus and risk unleashing a rapidly-breeding, bloodthirsty horde on the galaxy, or to allow the sabotage to go through, dooming an entire species in the name of theoretical galactic peace and letting your dear friend Wrex die in despair. Even if what you chose was the right thing to do, you can't help but feel like you did something horrible regardless of your choice.
Bioshock, if you haven't played it (it's 5 years old at this point,) has one of the most well-orchestrated twists I've ever seen, and it makes a commentary on central themes via mechanics. SPOILER FOR OLD GAME: Throughout the game, you get advice from a friendly Irishman who wants to help you get out of the underwater dystopia. Each time he tells you to do something, he says "Would you kindly..." and then makes his suggestion. And of course, this being a video game, the player does what he or she is told. Yet about three quarters of the way into the game (the end of the second act, in screenwriting terms) you make a shocking discovery. The character you are playing has a conditioned command phrase - "Would You Kindly," and you cannot resist doing something if you are asked in that manner, and that the Irishman (who isn't even Irish) has been using you all along. When Andrew Ryan, the misguided objectivist who founded the city of Rapture, reveals this to you, the control is taken away from the character, and you watch your own hands killing him as he begs you to resist the command. Before this point, when Atlas said "Would you kindly?" you never lost control - because you would still do what you were told. Bioshock contains within it a damning critique of the blindly-followed, objective-focused gamer, using its own linearity as a commentary on the linearity of games.
Contrary to Ebert's argument, it is the interactivity - the dialogue between the player and the game mechanics - that make games art. Much as photography and music are independent artforms that nonetheless can be used to enhance the artistic effect of another form (such as film,) the cinematic techniques incorporated into games are there to enhance the artistic effect of the game. The gameplay mechanics are what distinguishes games as their own separate form.
Incidentally, similar topics are discussed in two recent episodes of Extra Credits on Penny Arcade TV - look for the episodes called Mechanics as Metaphor.
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