Several months ago Roger Ebert re-proclaimed his belief that “Video Games can never be art”, which ignited a storm of nerd rage not seen since Jar-Jar Binks stepped in dog poop in Star Wars. Instead of trying to defend his stance or listen to well constructed thoughts on why he is mistaken, Ebert merely dismisses these arguments and proclaims himself to be right and all others completely wrong, or, if he has taken a shine to you, to be “mistaken”. He places film on a pedestal of what art should be, despite countless evidence supporting the opposite. His arrogant dismissal of this medium has inspired countless rebuttals, and I found it only fitting that I express my feelings as well.
First of all I should establish some of my feelings about film, games, and art. Anyone who knows me knows that I love film, reading, and gaming. Each experience, while wildly different from each other, can transport the audience to a world that we can never experience in normal life, invoke emotions we rarely feel, and tell a story that any of us can find deeply compelling and poignant. Yet Mr. Ebert states that video games can never be high art because “I know it by the definition of the vast majority of games. They tend to involve (1) point and shoot in many variations and plotlines, (2) treasure or scavenger hunts, as in "Myst," and (3) player control of the outcome”. The sheer arrogance of that statement is what has been making me want to write this for the better part of a year.
He says that he knows (not thinks, but knows) he is right by the definition of the vast majority of games, but on the other hand, the vast majority of films being released are cheap, common crap not even worthy of my time, or brand names being released for nostalgic value (and to make a quick buck). In fact, independent filmmaker and critic Mike Stoklasa has pointed out that from 2008-2010 96% of all movies being released by Hollywood are reboots, remakes, or re-imaginings… that is NOT a made up number. Now does that mean we should consider film a higher art based on the artistic merits of G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra? Absolutely not, but according to Roger Ebert’s logic on the topic this is EXACTLY what we should be doing, creating a definition of film by judging an example of the “vast majority”.
But to be fair let’s try an experiment, let’s judge two examples of each medium side by side, Star Wars: Episode III Revenge of the Sith vs. Red Dead Redemption. Should I really be using this film as an example? Probably not, but it’s fair and I chose it for one big reason. Roger Ebert gave this film three and a half stars, the second highest score that he can give a film. Think about that for a minute… that means that this film places immediately below Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, and The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly in terms of quality. Even worse, that means that he considers this film on par with, or better than True Grit, The Shawshank Redemption, any Lord of the Rings film, Ghostbusters, Away We Go, Sideways, Children of Men, and Serenity just to name a few.
Now I gotta admit, I kind of liked parts of Revenge of the Sith, and it was by far the best of the prequels, but saying that this film is the best of the prequels is like saying the root canal I had this morning was way better than the spinal tap I had yesterday. The entire film is filled with boring, unappealing characters that I don’t give a crap about, despite the four plus hours the previous films had to get me to like them. I remember seeing these movies and thinking Why? Why are these lightsaber fights so impressive, and yet I’m so freaking bored? And the answer is a lot simpler than I thought it would be. The dialogue and character “development” was so forced and unbelievable that at no point did I feel ANY connection to ANY of these characters.
Art is defined as many different things, but the biggest thing these countless definitions have in common is that it is something that creates an emotional response by the viewer and considered beautiful by the audience. I think that is a fair and unbiased definition that almost everyone can get behind, and by this definition the original trilogy is something I would absolutely consider art. This is especially true for The Empire Strikes Back, which was an emotional powerhouse of a film for me. Even today when I watch that movie I feel excitement at the Battle of Hoth, hopelessness when Han is placed in carbonite and taken away by Boba Fett, and of course, the massive surprise and shock I felt the first time Darth Vader told Luke he was his father. The film was beautifully shot, the framing, blocking, and cinematography created an intense and moving work of art, which created countless scenes that were so amazing that they became iconic examples of pop culture. The dialogue was well written and compelling as well, making me care about these characters in ways I never imagined I would through simple, yet powerful and utterly believable conversations.
All Revenge of the Sith made me care about was just getting to the end so that I could see the final lightsaber fight between Anakin and Obi-Won, which was admittedly cool for three minutes, but soooooo f*****g long that by the end I was glad just to see it over. I never felt any compelling feelings like I did while I watched Empire, even though this movie contained scenes that were so promising they should have written themselves! I mean, a war on Kashykk between an army of Wookies and killer robot commandoes? How can you possibly screw that up? Even worse, since I felt nothing for these characters there was a void of emotional response when they started to meet their fates. Padme’ dies? Oh well. Mace Windu gets thrown out a window to his death? No biggie. Anakin becomes Darth Vader? A great idea in theory that turned out lame and flat out retarded as he screamed “NEEE-YOOOOOH!” in front of a laughing audience. The point is, the “art” of this film, the component that was supposed to elicit some sort of emotional response from me, did nothing of the sort. The cinematography is bland and uninspired, the acting is wooden and yawn-inducing, and most importantly, the story is a boring and muddled mess, but Roger Ebert still gave this movie his second highest rating possible.
Now, compare this film to Rockstar’s flawed but brilliant masterpiece Red Dead Redemption. Roger Ebert argues that a lack of cinematography automatically detracts from a mediums’ ability to be art, but this game immediately draws the audience into a deep and interesting story with a brilliantly shot opening cut scene of our hero John Marston traversing the countryside of the Wild West aboard a packed train. The musical score is taut and foreboding, and the camera switches between shots of the beautiful wasteland and a worried Marston looking out his window, conveying the feeling that Marston is fearful of an unknown challenge he will have to face out there. Without our hero ever saying a word we as an audience are already invested in discovering what fate awaits this man that we have known for less than five minutes, and it only gets better from there.
Throughout the course of this game we follow Marston on a suicide mission into the West, fueled by nothing but a vague promise of being able to return to his family once his mission is complete. We witness Marston develop friendships and relationships with a wide variety of interesting and crisp dialogue and situations, see him plunge begrudgingly into dangerous predicaments, and guide him on an epic quest of excitement and adventure towards reaching his family again. Rockstar exceeds expectations at the rich character development we see in this game, not just with Marston, but with a plethora of supporting characters as well. We witness Marston evolve and adapt as he deals with a cast that includes a shady government agent, a female ranch hand and cowgirl, a creepy grave robber, a snake oil salesman, a legendary gunslinger, a perpetually drunken Irish mercenary, a philosophical sociopath, and a slimy but charismatic Mexican revolutionary.
As we follow Marston we come to learn that the people he is hunting are former friends of his, and we feel his pain as he ends of the lives of each and every one of these former vigilantes-turned-criminal. We witness his sadness, and then his loneliness as we discover that he is a dying breed of man in this changing America, and even after he fulfills his legal obligation and is re-united with his family the story delivers one more gut-wrenchingly powerful final twist to the player.
SPOILERS:
Several months after finally being re-united with his family, his ranch comes under attack by the very people who promised him sanctuary. After fighting off waves of would be invaders, John tells his family to leave out the back door of his barn, then steps out to face an army and make the ultimate sacrifice. Those who have played the game can verify how powerful this moment is, the only sound being James footsteps and the tall grass blowing in the wind and the beating of his racing heart, the army standing like a silent sentinel as they have their guns drawn in pure fear of this one man. And finally, the powerful moment when James finally pulls on his attackers, taking several down before finally succumbing to the sheer firepower of his enemies.
END SPOILERS:
By the way, this twenty second moment was more powerful and beautifully done than anything in the prequel trilogy combined, and even though the moment is outstanding in itself it’s the emotional connection that the game successfully made with the viewer that makes it so utterly brilliant and unique.
Now not to get personal, but let’s discuss what I consider to be the largest single element in film that creates an emotional response from me and is something I truly consider artwork, story driven character development, or character arcs if you will. What is a character arc? In a nutshell an arc is the change a protagonist or even antagonist will go through during the course of events in a story. A great example of a character arc would be Han Solo from the original Star Wars. The first time we meet Han he is more anti-hero than hero, he runs an illegal smuggling business, takes advantage of our hero’s desperation, he’s cocky, he’s arrogant, and he shoots a man in cold blood (first I might add). You never would have expected this man to become a hero of the Rebellion and the protagonists’ best friend, but after being forced into extraordinary circumstances he begins to grasp their ideals as his own, and by the end of Return of the Jedi he’s a stalwart friend, a great military leader, and a genuine and noble role model. None of these changes are forced by the way, they occur organically and naturally, the result of his adaptations to incredible situations and circumstances. He never loses his renegade edge, if he did then that would be the end of Han Solo as we know him, but instead he grows and matures into a better man because of it.
Now, can we find any character like this in the new Star Wars trilogy? Nope. Did Obi-Wan grow and mature? Nuh-uh. Did Padme’ develop as a character? Not at all. Did we witness any major characters mature due to circumstances at all? NO! And don’t try to use Padme’ and Anakin falling in love because that is not maturing, it’s a natural emotion. You might say Anakin had an arc because he was a good guy who became a bad guy, but when that change occurs it’s jarring, abrupt, and awkward and it doesn’t make any sense. I think at one point during the new trilogy I felt kind of bad for him because he was doing what he did in the name of love, but literally ten seconds after lamenting how he killed Mace Windu and crying about it he blindly agrees to murder countless Jedi children and ambassadors without asking any question. This is (literally) how the scene went.
Anakin: (after helping kill Mace Windu) What have I done? (collapses and cries)
Emperor: You are fulfilling your destiny, Anakin. Become my apprentice.
Anakin: I will do whatever you ask master.
That’s not an arc, that’s lazy writing. That would be like in the original trilogy if Luke and Han had their famous scene when they were dressed as storm troopers in the Death Star control room and the scene went like this:
HAN Now, look, don't get any funny ideas.
The old man wants us to wait right
here.
LUKE
But he didn't know she was here.
Look, will you just find a way back
into the detention block?
HAN
I'm not going anywhere.
LUKE
They're going to execute her. Look,
a few minutes ago you said you didn't
want to just wait here to be captured.
Now all you want to do is stay.
HAN
Marching into the detention area is
not what I had in mind.
LUKE
But they're going to kill her!
HAN
(Pause) You’re right Luke! Oh I have
realized the error of my ways! I will
now devote myself to helping the
Rebel Alliance!
And despite its’ massive budget and undertaking, countless digital effects, and a massive cast of talented actors the new trilogy utterly fails to create any sort of character arc, leaving us stuck with wooden, boring caricatures of archetypes.
Now compare this turd to a hit game called Mass Effect 2. In summary, the game is an interactive adaptation of Star Trek, but a well made and fun one. Its’ core gameplay is that of a third person shooter, but its’ main driving force is its’ rich and detailed character development and the ability to create a custom world around you through the consequences of your decisions. For example, in the first game I chose to save a race of insects that were perceived as a threat. As a result, in the second game a woman who was saved by these insects came up to me with a message from this race thanking me for allowing them to live, and promising their allegiance to me in the coming battle. Now Roger Ebert stated that having control over a situation and character detracts from a medium’s ability to be considered art, so while I don’t exactly agree with that statement I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and say that OK, sure… since we are directly controlling the man Commander Shepherd (the main character) is becoming and the world he is creating, his story won’t be entered into the equation.
Where this statement does NOT apply however, is in the story arcs and character development of the rest of your crew. Every crew member you take onto the ship has rich and unique back story to them, and the more you learn (NOT control, but learn) about their lives, their situations, their plights, and their motivations, the more you learn about their personalities and behaviors. Some of them come on board with a preconceived positive view of you, others come on board and make no attempt to hide how they want you dead, but each character is unique and interesting. As time goes on these crew members stories converge with your main quest, and as a result each individual grows into a stronger, more mature soldier that begins to trust you as their commander. Again, a natural change of character due to the course of events in the story, sounds an awful lot like an arc doesn’t it?
Christ, even the artificial intelligence on your ship has a character arc! When the game starts EDI is an experimental AI designed to help streamline the efficiency of your ship, but NOT control it. At first she doesn’t understand human emotion very well, she gets defensive when you try to explain things to her, and she gets in constant fights with your pilot “Joker”. As time goes on though EDI begins to learn and grows fond of everyone on the ship, she even starts to play pranks on Joker as a way to better understand human emotion. Eventually the ship comes under attack, and as a last resort Joker unshackles EDI to purge the virus out of the system and escape. After all is said and done not only does EDI NOT try to kill the crew like every other Hollywood thinking machine, but offers to re-shackle herself if it will help ease tension about her control over the ship. She even tells you “I would never allow any harm to come to any of you as a result of my actions, you are my crew”, and even Joker, her most stalwart opposition, argues that she really saved their asses and should be allowed to remain free in the systems.
When the time comes to launch the final attack attack on the enemy you have grown to like and respect each member of your crew, so every single loss you face is a punch to the gut unlike anything witnessed in any movie. I felt devastated when Wash died in Serenity, but that feeling was nothing compared to pit I felt in my stomach when I saw Mordin Solus, my Salarian science expert, get shot and killed in the final mission. I almost threw my controller across the room in anger, a huge difference in emotional response from saying “Oh no they di’in!” and then just going right back to watching the movie. You could argue that since the game takes around twenty hours to complete characters are given more time to develop than films, but that’s that doesn’t work here for two reasons:
1. While the overall story takes twenty hours, each character is given roughly 20-30 minutes for direct, actual character development and conversation, depending on how much you want to hear about them.
2. The Star Wars prequels were given over six hours to get me to care about their characters, and they still failed magnificently.
Through simple character development Bioware created a game that allows you to feel more deeply about a character than pretty much any film in Hollywood, and last I checked caring about a non-existent character or situation in a story is the epitome of “creating an emotional response”, hence, art.
At the end of the day pretty much all of Roger Ebert’s arguments fall flat, and it’s not because they are bad arguments, but mostly because they are poorly thought out and not researched at all. His lack of knowledge on the topic of video games doesn’t give him the right to even talk about one in depth, let alone completely insult and bash the industry as a whole in one sweeping statement. His argument without knowledge would be like if I called Hitler a great man because all I knew were the following facts about him:
1. He was responsible for saving Germany from a crushing depression.
2. He was a brilliant wartime tactician, overcoming amazing odds against him despite not being allowed to build weapons.
3. He was a decorated soldier who served on the front lines during WWI.
It’s a blanket statement made without any proper research or study, and declaring it without taking the time to study all the facets of your idea makes you sound like a fool. Even worse, a broad declaration like his completely steamrolls over everything that goes into a good piece of art, doesn’t take into account the feeling or motivations of the creator, and sounds as egotistical and uninformed as something a 6th grader would say in a playground argument. Ebert has been saying a lot of things lately that have gotten many people to view him as an arrogant, pompous, out of touch ass, and I hope for his sake he is doing it for attention and not because he truly believes it. The next time he releases an intentionally degrading blanket statement such as this, I hope he puts a little more research into it than none at all. Now before you ask, no, I do not think I am smarter, better, or more sophisticated in my thoughts than Roger Ebert (I mean, look at the title of this entry for God's sake), but one thing I certainly AM NOT is blind, stubborn, or afraid to admit when I'm wrong.
No comments:
Post a Comment