{"id":25314,"date":"2018-08-20T14:29:14","date_gmt":"2018-08-20T18:29:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/?post_type=cu_story&p=25314"},"modified":"2025-01-31T11:51:28","modified_gmt":"2025-01-31T16:51:28","slug":"states-of-play-video-games","status":"publish","type":"cu_story","link":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/story\/states-of-play-video-games\/","title":{"rendered":"States of Play"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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\n States of Play\n <\/h1>\n \n <\/header>\n <\/div>\n\n <\/div>\n\n \n\n <\/div>\n<\/section>\n\n\n\n

By Olivia Polk <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Professor Aubrey Anable on technologized labour, casual gaming, and feeling through failure<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAngry Birds\u201d. \u201cFarmville\u201d. \u201cKim Kardashian: Hollywood\u201d. \u201cCandy Crush Saga\u201d. Chances are good that you\u2019ve heard of at least one of these games. Maybe you even hold a solid record in a few of them, levelling up on your morning commutes and lunch breaks, or in your office cubicle when your boss isn\u2019t nearby. You don\u2019t brag about it, of course; the goofiness of spending your time lining up brightly coloured pieces of candy or cultivating a celebrity persona isn\u2019t quite the same thing as beating the final level of \u201cBioShock\u201d or \u201cLeague of Legends\u201d. But stil, something keeps you coming back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The compulsion to find temporary pleasure in short play digital gaming is a powerful (and lucrative) one. Collectively known as casual games for their ease and brevity of play, \u201cCandy Crush\u201d and other app based mobile games like it are a part of the fastest growing segment in the gaming market, with Newzoo<\/em>reporting that mobile gaming will represent over half of total market sales by 2020. Yet, for all their popularity, they have received scarce critical comment, both in video game scholarship and in the humanities as a whole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Up until recently, that is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In her new book Playing with Feelings: Video Games and Affec<\/em>t<\/a> (2018), associate professor of film<\/a> studies Aubrey Anable<\/a> joins an expanding conversation on the whys and whereofs of our casual gaming obsession. Beginning with \u201cTennis for Two\u201d and \u201cSpacewar!\u201d, Anable recounts a history of digital gaming that is intimately entangled with our feelings about computerized technology and its steady grip on our everyday lives. For her, there is no artistic medium better equipped to comment on 21st-century digital culture than the video game. But the key to its success lies precisely in the ways it orients us towards failure, both within the game and outside of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Playing<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Digital Labour and Diminishing Boundaries<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The days when smartphones were regarded as an optional luxury item are far behind us. Our employment practically depends on them, with productivity apps like Slack<\/em>, Trello<\/em>, and Evernote joining the ranks of must-have communication tools, on par with email, word processing, and basic call and text. In a culture where the 9-5 office job is giving way to remote, part-time, and freelance work models, it is difficult to argue against any form of software that makes our scattered professional lives easier to manage. The increasing challenge, argues Anable, is locating one\u2019s life outside the flow of hyper-digitized mobile labour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s this blurring distinction between our work and our leisure time,\u201d she notes, \u201cand our phones are often the devices that cause the most blurring between those times. We can get an email from our boss at any time of the day and suddenly we\u2019re pulled into work, or we can be at work and start playing a game.\u201d For Silicon Valley types, this blurring represents the height of flexible living, wherein work and leisure are at our fingertips 24\/7, diminishing the need for set office hours. Still, for Anable, it says something troubling about the possibility (or impossibility) of attaining even a semblance of work\/life balance. \u201cThere are things that mobile technology permits in terms of freedom to play and work whenever we want,\u201d she says, \u201cbut it also seems to be pushing us in the direction of working all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a culture that demands we be perpetually plugged in via our phones and laptops, the desire for instant and effortless mobile entertainment comes as no surprise. A quick round of \u201cWords with Friends\u201d is often all we can ask for to get us through the day. But, in Anable\u2019s view, reducing casual games to mindless escape mechanisms overlooks their reliance on the same basic operating systems that underpin our work lives. Sure, Anable admits, dipping in and out of online play can help us \u201cescape those bad feelings associated with our more banal everyday digital interactions,\u201d but they can also \u201ctransform those interactions into these kinds of fantastic, amazing experiences interacting with computers.\u201d And sometimes, these interactions bear a creeping resemblance to the structure and content of our professional realities.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Feeling Through Work<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Indeed, while mobile gaming might be a gratifying reprieve from the stress of chronic overwork and competition, some of the most popular casual games on the market are premised on navigating increasingly chaotic and physically taxing labour conditions. \u201cDiner Dash\u201d, a casual time management game that has given way to several spin-offs, is one of Anable\u2019s enduring preoccupations.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Diner<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Released by Gamelab in 2004, \u201cDiner Dash\u2019s\u201d narrative is fairly simple. Upon pressing the start button, we are introduced to our avatar Flo, a corporate drone who has grown weary of the daily 9-5 grind. In a series of miraculously swift movements, Flo quits her office job, secures a bank loan, and opens up her own diner, where she is somehow the sole owner and the sole waitress. As we might expect, progression through the game\u2019s universe is dependent on our ability to please increasingly large and impatient groups of customers, with the ultimate pay-off being \u2026 well \u2026 more customers. What unfolds, according to Anable, is a deeply ironic commentary on contemporary models of corporate success.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Prof.
Prof. Aubrey Anable<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPart of what makes that game successful and pleasurable for people is that it gives these very clear tasks and it\u2019s simple,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s about efficiency\u2014I mean, her name is \u2018Flo,\u2019 right? You click in a certain order to increase efficiency, and you see the hearts appear above your customer\u2019s heads. There\u2019s this kind of affective labour that\u2019s a part of the game, keeping your customers happy.\u201d Despite the endless clicking, dragging, editing, refreshing,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

and clock checking that make up an average work day, our interactions with \u201cDiner Dash\u2019s\u201d interface feel almost comforting in their predictability. There are no faulty hyperlinks, spontaneous program updates, inexplicable software crashes, or shortened deadlines here: just uncomplicated and linear routines that lead to tangible results, like a new coffee machine or sound system.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Eventually, though, the predictability begins to morph into an anxious and unfulfilling dullness. The restaurants get shinier and the kitchens more elaborate, but the goal never changes: click on the right number of customers to fill the right number of seats and take the right number of orders in the right amount of time to make the right amount of capital. Perform all of this labour in the proper order, and your grand reward will be more arms for balancing plates, or speedier feet for quicker service.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIn \u201cDiner Dash\u201d in particular,\u201d Anable states, \u201cthere\u2019s this disjuncture between its kind of cheerful fantasy of capitalist progress and the grim repetition of the tasks,\u201d such as mopping, taking orders, and clearing and delivering plates. \u201cAs the game goes on, in the logic of capitalism, it should mean that as you succeed more and more, in some ways, your work should become simplified, or you should be able to hire people to do some of this. But really, Flo\u2019s work just becomes more sped up and more difficult and complicated because that\u2019s how video games work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And while there is still something undeniably kitschy and fun about the game\u2019s bright colours and canned muzak, it is difficult not to read these aesthetic elements as an essential part of its commentary. \u201cThere\u2019s a critique that we can start to see in that, and it\u2019s a very conscious critique,\u201d Anable argues. \u201cIn the logic of the game, there\u2019s something very grim and depressing about it, that what success means in this world\u2014amidst all the bright lights and upbeat soundtracks\u2014is just more work.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

(Re)Structuring Failure<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Time management challenges like \u201cDiner Dash<\/a>\u201d are certainly more obvious targets for cultural critique. They are explicitly labour oriented, with players\u2019 wins and losses almost always measured by the growth or deficit of capital. But when we look closely at the defining structures and algorithms of video games, argues Anable, we can make some important generalizations about the ways that gaming compels us to feel\u2014particularly when we lose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In a very basic way, Anable says, \u201cvideo games are all about failure.\u201d And this is not just because gameplay is structured around increasingly complicated obstacles. At every moment, in every game, the possibility of loss is communicated on multiple sensory levels: there is the clock in the corner of the screen that ticks down to the end of the level, often getting louder and more disruptive in the final minute. There are the energy bars, sometimes shaped like hearts or human bodies, that flicker and fade as our avatars lose consciousness. And then there are the avatars themselves, programmed to shout, grumble, sigh, and even fall down on their knees and sob when we can\u2019t solve a game\u2019s code.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe can play a video game and start to identify these particular formal structures that lend themselves to particular feelings,\u201d says Anable. \u201cThese features are literally designed to make us stressed out. I mean, we\u2019re supposed to feel like, \u2018Oh my god, oh my god, I\u2019ve got to push this button really fast,\u2019 right? You can start to attribute fairly universal feelings to the stress of doing that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For some game designers, the emotional potency of these built-in \u201cfailure algorithms\u201d has become its own subject. \u201cLet\u2019s Play Ancient Greek Punishment\u201d, a browser-based game by Pippin Bar, has players re-enact the myth of Sisyphus by rolling a boulder, perpetually, up a hill. In the game, as in the myth, the task is programmed not to be completable. Similarly, in the two player fencing game \u201cNidhogg\u201d, winning becomes such an impossible proposition as to be rendered almost arbitrary. \u201cIt\u2019s been programmed in such a way where when you seem to be doing well, for no apparent reason, the ground drops out from under you and you just fall,\u201d explains Anable. \u201cIt has nothing to do with your skill, but you\u2019re constantly trying to master it. And then there\u2019s this monster that comes out at the end if you actually succeed at the level and it just eats you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Dark humour aside, Anable looks upon these win-proof video games as valuable tools for reflecting upon our notions of personal control.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe expectation is that if I play a game enough, with enough skill, and learn to master it, I will succeed,\u201d she says, \u201cbecause that is the logic of most conventional video games, and that is also the logic of capitalism: If I work hard enough, if I go to the right schools, if I graduate, and I get a job and I do all of these things, I will succeed.\u201d All that we need to do\u2014or so we are told\u2014is click the right buttons fast enough.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inevitably, then, not getting the right degree, or the right job, or the right salary becomes an unspeakable shame; if success is just a matter of making the proper choices, then failure is entirely self-made. \u201cWe tend to experience feelings of failure as personal, as something we have done wrong in the world,\u201d Anable states. \u201cVery rarely are we encouraged to think through how our options are defined, or why certain choices, while available to some, are simply not on the table for others: be it interviewing for a higher salaried job, or even buying a week\u2019s worth of nutritious groceries. \u201cSomebody always has to fail,\u201d says Anable, \u201cthere constantly has to be a certain degree of failure within the capitalist system in order for other people to succeed.\u201d Be it a smartphone, a spreadsheet, or an economic marketplace, she says, \u201cWe are always just interacting with something that has been designed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There is a brutal kind of fatalism in her analogy, to be sure. The knowledge that we are all just operating within pre-programmed contexts\u2014often literally, in the case of 21st century techno-labour\u2014is an affront to fundamental notions of free will. And maybe this is enough of a reason to make space in our lives for video games. \u201cIt just makes a lot of sense to me that people in their twenties and thirties want to game,\u201d Anable says. \u201cBecause, you know, life is hard. In most games, there are clear goals, clear guidelines given to you, clear benchmarks, and we don\u2019t experience our ordinary lives as having these clear objectives and clear rewards.\u201d Progressing through an alternate reality in which all chaos can be brought to order, all challenges overcome, can do wonders for restoring our mental equilibrium.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But maybe there is something profound in rejecting the imperative for success altogether, as games like \u201cNidhogg\u201d and \u201cLet\u2019s Play Ancient Greek Punishment\u201d demand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What if, instead of labouring to beat the code or level up, we said, \u201cNo, we\u2019re just going to fail, we\u2019re going to sit over here, and screw you and your desire for mastery and success,\u201d asks Anable. After all, \u201cThere\u2019s something playful, kind of radical, and nonproductive about not caring about winning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

By Olivia Polk Professor Aubrey Anable on technologized labour, casual gaming, and feeling through failure \u201cAngry Birds\u201d. \u201cFarmville\u201d. \u201cKim Kardashian: Hollywood\u201d. \u201cCandy Crush Saga\u201d. Chances are good that you\u2019ve heard of at least one of these games. Maybe you even hold a solid record in a few of them, levelling up on your morning commutes […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":132,"featured_media":25316,"template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"cu_story_type":[598,575,599],"cu_story_tag":[],"class_list":["post-25314","cu_story","type-cu_story","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","cu_story_type-film","cu_story_type-research","cu_story_type-ssac"],"acf":{"cu_post_thumbnail":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/cu_story\/25314","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/cu_story"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/cu_story"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/132"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/cu_story\/25314\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":51511,"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/cu_story\/25314\/revisions\/51511"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25316"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25314"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"cu_story_type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/cu_story_type?post=25314"},{"taxonomy":"cu_story_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/carleton.ca\/fass\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/cu_story_tag?post=25314"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}