There’s been a lot of commentary lately about the next generation of videogames, about problems relating to the supposed failures of the generation, to accusations and speculation that the used videogame market is supposedly going to disappear, even to criticism that games today aren’t what they used to be in the past. To a certain extent these things are already happening, but there is certainly a more cynical flavor to videogames and their future at the moment. Part of the reality is a slow burnout occurring within the videogame industry, where momentum and grandeur are no longer living up to consumer expectations. In short, videogames have reached a point where they are all blips, from the most fantastic success to the worst type of failure.
Part of such brightly burning stars is how quickly they flicker out of existence, and unfortunately such a state of affairs seems contingent on making games, big budgets or no. The reason is largely a reaction to a lack of critical commentary and the constantly evolving internet sensation idea, where what matters is generating response, rather than meaningful discourse. Essentially, even those who break into the conversation are rarely able to stay there, due to the nature of established hyper-immediacy we now live in as a result of irrevocable interconnectedness. The result is a conversation where a lot is said, promises are established, and expectations are always too far ahead of themselves.
The reason perhaps older videogames tend to elicit such nostalgia is not, perhaps, just their age, but also their ability to sink in. Videogames rarely give their player a concept of respite, sometimes noted as the disappearance of towns from videogames. What the town effect was, was simply a point of rest that also felt as though it were taking a deep breath, rather than a build-up towards something. Even videogames now based around towns, such as the popular Persona series, infuse their towns with personality through requirements and bonuses, rather than willful action, it manipulates players into a system which ultimately creates importance through association, rather than dissociation. In other words, towns are no longer a place where the player might have a coffee break, they are simply a system connected to what is perceived to be important.
The sense of videogames having places where the player is allowed to take a breath, to let it sink in, is rather lacking, and the constant creation of ever greater grandeur is a problem with videogames, big and small. Sometimes, what players really need is a break. The recent rise in slow, contemplative games is rather indicative of such sentiments, particularly well-received games like Proteus. Part of this too is the increasing consumer backlash against the concept that every videogame needs to be an action game, though if the market itself holds sales as important, it’s far more likely that many dance titles and rehashes of Madden are in our future, rather than other videogames of any sort.
There is also a real perception that videogames are simply not as good as they once were, and the primary reason for this is because they aren’t. Videogames are too expensive to develop now, and each successive generation has continued to up the ante, with budgets so high that there are now modelers hired to make brick meshes. Nothing but brick meshes. Imagine how soul crushing it must be to get into a creative industry about advancing interactive concepts, only to be told that your job is one part, and a rather insignificant and oft ignored part of a videogame. The problem of 3D, and large budget games in general, is that the amount of money required to make a game look, in 3D, the way in which they wish it to look, is outrageous. Big budgets and a need for ever-increasing technology is making the industry untenable, and will likely soon be a victim of its own success.
These budgets continue to skyrocket both because of the videogame industry’s upward spiral, but also because of the created expectation each of these new technologies brings. There is an expectation not just for innovation, but for virtual evolution in tried-and-true patterns of constructing a videogame. The result is an attempt to retain an untempered, highly-filtered connection to the audience with the belief that fandom will construct the necessary attention for success. However, sales of most videogames, and most videogame systems, have fallen far below recent expectations. There is a reality being ignored here, especially by the industry, and continuing to ignore such a reality is going to lead to some dramatic downturns.
It is not that there is not interest, nor is it that there is not desire, but there is also no necessity to promote expectations that cannot be met. Videogames need to temper themselves and be honest about what they are and who they’re promoting to, as well as temper expectations about the necessity of evolution. Old fallbacks, well-executed, are just as valuable to the industry as new and innovative ideas, but not every videogame can be both, nor is there any need for all videogames to do so. The recent success of Kickstarter largely plays on nostalgic concepts and old ideas, and the reason for such wide success is largely because there is an open, honest nature to the requests put forward. People desire an industry with transparency, with honesty about the product, not catchphrases and ever more unrealistic expectations. What’s more, Kickstarter has also proven that it’s ok to appeal to niche audiences, and that there has never been a time when people haven’t been interested in experimental titles.
What it has also proven is that there is a deep desire for both iterative titles and titles which are simply rehashes of old genres. There is a need for balance and a scaling back of expectations from the AAA world of games. The spiral cannot continue ever upwards as prices continue to fall in digital markets. It’s untenable and more than that, unwanted by consumers, especially when they have a far greater myriad of options than they ever had before. Perhaps even more necessary is a middle market where videogames have a decent, yet not outrageous budget to spend on development. These markets are where gems like Demon’s Souls and Dark Souls emerged, and will emerge from again if developers and publishers are willing to take small, reasonable risks while scaling back their larger budgets for greater risks. The middle market has also seen the rising popularity of directors as the heads of videogames, and being not just noticed, but coming with a similar popularity and respect as those of movie directors, and this is an important shift.
Such a shift means that videogame creators can now begin to have creative freedom and a vision of what a videogame should be, without such hard pressure from a publisher to succeed. It is a space where even modest success allows the continuation of creative concoctions. Experimentation and manageable budgets is what created the wild success of the 80s and 90s. The same wild successes are possible again, if there is a better management of expectations and a market driven less by booms and busts.