Soren Johnson spent five years working on the Civilization series for Firaxis, eventually landing the job of lead designer for Civilization IV. He also did work on Spore, amongst many other things. He also gave the keynote address of the 2010 Serious Games Summit.
Johnson's talk, "Theme is Not Meaning," opened with a simple question: who decides the meaning of a game? The designer, or the player?
Hit the jump for the answer to that question, and a summary of Johnson's keynote.
It's the player.
The designer might want a mechanic or a story to mean one thing, but the player is the one intimately dealing with that game, and so his decision as to what the overall theme is will always be the correct one.
When comparing a game's theme versus a game's mechanics, though, what defines that game's ultimate meaning? The theme is, in Johnson's words, "essentially the skin of the game." You can buy Star Wars Risk or Lord of the Rings Risk, but it's still Risk from a mechanical standpoint no matter what the game tokens look like. But to the player, theme is important: you buy Star Wars Risk because you really like Star Wars.
So, thinking about theme, which is the true successor to Warcraft: World of Warcraft, or Starcraft? One takes place int he same fictional universe but with drastically different gameplay, while the other is basically "Warcraft in space." Depending on whether you value theme over mechanic or vice-versa, your answer may differ.
Johnson moved on and talked about Ticket to Ride, which he called "one of the greatest board games to come out of the last decade." Over the course of the game, you draw cards and create routes, and you get more points based on how long your route is. It's a typical railroad management game.
The problem is that the manual thematically frames the game as a sort of Around the World in 80 Days-esque adventure, where the objective is to see which of the game's characters can travel by rail to the most US cities in just 7 days. According to the manual and the designer-authored theme, the game isn't about management and building an empire, it's about travelling.
The actual mechanics, however, don't jibe with this. If you're just a traveler, why can you claim routes in any order? Why do claimed routes close for other players? Why does your physical presence on the game board not matter?
So, who decides what Ticket to Ride is about? The player will say they're playing as a rail baron, and they're not wrong just because the manual says otherwise – it's their experience, and they're the ones playing.
Going back to Risk, Johnson compared it against a similar board game called Diplomacy. Both games involve conquering territories and using army tokens, except for two seemingly minor distances: Risk has sequel turns while Diplomacy has simultaneous turns, and the combat in Diplomacy doesn't involve any die-rolling.
Though these may seem like small changes, they completely change the experience of playing each game. Diplomacy is about mystery, and trying to read your opponents and imagine what they'll do, and Risk is about everyone knowing what everyone else is doing, and potentially taking risks to go reach their objectives. There is a great coupling between the the thematic and the mechanical: "Risk is about risk," Johnson said, "and Diplomacy is about diplomacy."
Having worked on Spore, Johnson brought it up as a thematically contentious game. It was pitched as a game about evolution, but the creature creator was more about encouraging and exploring the player's creativity. The theme and the mechanics didn't sync up.
But are there any games that are truly, mechanically about evolution? Johnson argued for World of Warcraft as a possible contender, due to the community-created idea of builds. Whatever type of character you wanna create, there is an optimum series of upgrades and things you need to do. Johnson referred to this as "Paladin Natural Selection," as the idea of optimizing your own specialized character shares a lot in common with Darwin's finches, even though the authored theme is about orcs and war.
Similarly, the Mario games are about timing, not plumbing. Peggle is about chaos theory, not unicorns. Even though Battlefield 2 and Left 4 Dead have different outward themes -- "modern combat" and "zombies," respectively -- they are both actually about cooperation.
X-Com is about limited information, not aliens, thanks to the fog of war.
Gears of War is about cover, not aliens.
Starcraft is about asymmetry, not aliens. The three races are fundamentally different gameplay-wise. You can rush, you can boom, or turtle.
Galaga is about pattern matching, not aliens. The player has to predict where are the aliens gonna come from, where are they gonna end up.
After four consecutive examples in this vein, Johnson pointed out that "aliens" is a really common theme for games because it's an easy theme to map your own mechanics onto.
Players come to certain games with expectations of what they should be, and sci-fi prevents you from relying on those sole expectations. When you play Civ IV, you feel that archers MUST do a particular thing based on what you know about archers -- they've gotta be long-range attackers. Conversely, in Alpha Centauri, you have no idea what a “mind worm” is, so the designers can create totally new mechanics for that unit without worrying that they seem thematically wrong, in some way.
But what happens when a game's mechanics don't match its theme? Johnson brought up Jon Blow's argument that BioShock claims to be about altruism and the difficulty of being a good person, but the fact that you get the same amount of Adam for either killing or harvesting all the little sisters makes this a thematic lie. "Players see right through this," Johnson said.
So, who decides what a game like Spore is about?
Science magazine reviewed Spore's basic depictions of biology, and found it a total failure.
That's because they were sold on the idea that the game was specifically about evolution. Not only was Spore not giving you something meaningful about evolution – it was giving you WRONG information about evolution. If you bought into the whole "evolution" theme, that was a real problem.
Does that mean Spore, with its creature creator and focus on player creativity, is actually a game about intelligent design? The dev team joked about it, but that's the reading most supported by the mechanics.
Johnson moved on to a concept he calls "the agency problem." Civilization's theme is ostensibly about world history. Its mechanics are about becoming an awesome, all-powerful god-king. But in order for Civ to work as a game, the player needs to have abilities that break this theme: you need to be able to know the consequences of your actions, and have top-down decision making, and even be allowed to decide when your nation will undergo a revolution.
The fan community called this the “Eternal China Syndrome”: at some point the game no longer looks like history because the states become very static. No breaking apart, no ups and downs. Everything is as it was. In Civ 3 the team experimented with a Dark Ages feature, but people hated it. In Civ 4, the team allowed players to choose government types in order to create bottom-up decision making, which just really wasn't all that fun. Nobody ever used them, because people like making decisions.
Louis the sixteenth would ahve really loved a "revolution" button, Johnson said, but Civilization isn't scholarship. It's a game.
But can games be scholarship?
A while back, Johnson really wanted to make a game like the book Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond, which tries to explain why Eurasians were the ones to create guns and steel and conquer the entire world, rather than the Incans.
According to the book, the Incans were simply in a crap part of the world; early on, civilizations could easily share crops and agriculture to the east and west of a continent because of basic climate uniformity. It's not possible to share crops between the northernmost and southernmost parts of a continent, because the climate changes are too problematic. Additionally, the Americas only had one domestic animal (the llama) where the Eurasians had a bunch.
"The long and the short of it is, you know, the Incans are doomed," Johnson said. "There's no way they can win under these situations." This sort of geographic determinism may be good scholarship, but it's really bad game design -- who would want to play as a game where your starting location decides everything about your future?
Can Civilization's mechanics ever match its theme? Can you make a game that is engaging AND about world history in a meaningful way? Maybe not, Johnson argued, but other mediums are equally incapable of doing the same. Movies are more about stories than world history -- if you want history, books are really your only choice.
Instead, why not let the player "play a life"? Why not put them in the shoes of a historical figure and force them to make difficult decisions, like what The Redistricting Game does? The game is about gerrymandering, and the actual gameplay is about drawing districts to further your own political goals. Considering this is exactly what real-life gerrymandering entails, the game has a great theme/mechanic marriage as well as teaching the player something valuable about real life.
Have there been any thematic/mechanic successes in mainstream games? Sure, Johnson argues: sports games, management games a la Sim City, and tactile games like Rock Band. Two of Dan Bunten's games, MULE and Seven Cities of Gold, were also singled out as great examples.
Johnson pressed that realism wasn't the key to thematic harmony, however. It can help, but it's not necessary. Which is a more effective statement about the bombing of Guernica -- a photograph of the wreckage, or Picasso's famous painting? Which feels more right?
Which conveys the feeling of what it's like to be in a race -- Gran Turismo, which focuses on car design and realism, or Mario Kart, which is about unpredictability and constantly shifting player standings?
Theme still matters, though. GTA3 and Crackdown are both fundamentally about open-world stuff, but they have different themes. People look at GTA and complain that it's indicative of everything that's wrong with games, and maybe that doesn't matter, but it's still true that GTA didn't HAVE to be about crime. Crackdown wasn't.
Johnson briefly quoted from Raph Koster's A Theory of Fun, where Koster postulates that a Holocaust-skinned version of Tetris could have great mechanics, but also suffer from a repugnant and distancing theme.
But what about Brenda Brathwaite's Train? It's another board game about trains where you wanna delvier the most cargo and defeat your opponents, but at the end you find out that your ultimate destination was Auschwitz -- that you're a Nazi trying to get the most Jews to their deaths. And that's a powerful moment, but does that mean the game is really about the Holocaust if most of its mechanics are still about trains and winning?
If not, can we actually make a true game about the Holocaust, or about evil? If we force players to "play a life," as Johnson suggested, can we get them to play an evil life?
Going back to The Redistricting Game, Johnson argued that, yes, we can. Gerrymandering is evil -- not on a Holocaust scale, but still pretty evil -- and the mechanics encourage players to explore and further that evil. The Holocaust itself was actually kind of ironic and self-destructive in that Hitler got the exact opposite of what he wanted in nearly every way, but it might not work to have all of a player's actions in a game massively backfire just to prove a thematic point.
You may have to do the “Star Trek solution,” where you put everything in the future and then you can talk about it freely -- the show couldn't deal with interractial romance, but it could create green alien women and have Captain Kirk make out with them.
The Ultima series tackled these sorts of ideas (er, evil and irony, not hot green chicks). In Ultima V, part of the goal of the game is to destroy the underworld, which is full of typical demon Gargoyle dudes. But when you get to Ultima VI, some of the gargoyles appear in your world and start causing problems for humanity. But as the game goes on, you realize that they're not fundamentally evil characters: they're just creatures who lived in the underworld who lost everything at the end of Ultima V. The thematic and mechanical answer isn't to kill the gargoyles, it's to find a peaceful solution.
So can games actually be about something? Johnson argued that they could, but only if the mechanics deliver on the promise of the theme. Furthermore, the theme only matters if the mechanics enlighten us about it.
At this point, Johnson took audience questions.
One audience member asked why Johnson accused Train thematic disharmony if Train is, in fact, supposed to be about the banality of evil and the fact that the player, even if unthinkingly, is an administrative Nazi who just doesn't care about anything but his bottom line?
How are those mechanics not enlightening you about the theme?
Soren agreed that those mechanics do sort of enhance the theme, but that he was trying to make a larger point about what a Holocaust game would actually entail. There's a bit of a problem with a game like Train where the mechanics make you do one thing and then someone arbitrarily says, oh, you're not really doing that thing. It's a one-off game. Train is, in Johnson's words, “one of those pieces of art like 3 ½ minutes of silence.” Somebody had to make it, but we can't keep making stuff in that direction.
The next audience member asked, who are you designing the mechanical meaning for? Are you narrowing the subset of players who want to play your game if you want it to be "about" something? Not everyone's gonna wanna play The Redistricting Game. Johnson said that he'd think of it as a designer with a target audience in mind, though he'd still hope that everyone could play it because it was fun in some way. Johnson was quick to point out that while every game needs to be a little fun to compel people, “compel” shouldn't just mean “entertain.”
The final audience question concerned game type and formula, and how much things like the number of players or the length of a game impact the theme.
In Civ 4, Johnson said, they needed to add an option to extend the length of the game. Average playthroughs felt too fast, and didn't feel like you were building epic civilizations. The basic game scenario is an important issue to Johnson, and also leads into the question of singleplayer vs multiplayer. Certain things you can only explore in singleplayer. Multiplayer games are all about beating other people, and singleplayer games aren't so limited.
Good read.
So yeah, sorry but no.
@sky4: Because Maxis really knew their shit about evolution too when they made a game about fish with legs building space ships.
But if we're all hopping on the rage train, to quote Artanis, STARCRAFT IS NOT WARCRAFT IN SPACE, IT'S MUCH MORE SOPHISTICATED. :|
PS: This was actually a very good read.
I know it's completely impossible that he read what I wrote, it's just a little synchronicity.
I love the point about Spore. I think one of the reasons it was disappointing for some players, apart from making the only "deep" game experience the most mind-numbingly hardcore (space strategy) is that some of us were excited about seeing a game that handled natural evolution in a creative and entertaining way, and it turns out they just weren't able to make it work properly, so we got stuck with a fun paint program for making aliens.
It doesn't strike me as intuitive that an assertion of theme (by a game's creator) is always going to be correct. In fact, I doubt most game developers would agree. It's hard to see one's creation, whether it be a game or a song or a movie or a piece of clothing, until it starts getting used. "Ticket To Ride" in particular is a great example. I just played the game for the first time last year, and had trouble synchronizing the "theme and goals" of the game with the actual board mechanics, which were much more in line with an empire-building game, both visually and in the sense of "no moving pieces". It was much easier to understand, and more enjoyable, when I dropped the underlying theme from my mind altogether.
Please, more articles like this!
That's correct but consider this: if the audience was the final authority on deriving meaning from the piece (interpretation), then there would never be a posibility of misinterpretation. For example, from my understanding of this game Trains it is about the banality of evil using the Holocaust as a backdrop. Saying that it is about the Holocaust is a misinterpretation of this, and so is an inadequate report of the game.
Now he's absolutely right that often a game's mechanics, theme and moral don't coincide, often leaving a complex mess that doesn't amount to much. This is a fault of the game, but one that is not bestowed upon the game by an interpreting player.
Far too often my comments end up huge so I'll wrap this up this point with another example. See what he calls a "thematic lie" in Bioshock? That though you might try to be altruistic or misanthropic regarding the little sisters, the game mechanic amounts both courses to the same thing. Now consider this in light of the Objectivist theory of free will. The 'redundant' game mechanic reveals through the theme of the game a meaningful philosophical parable. But Johnson interpreted the mechanic according to himself, ignored the theme and misunderstood the aspect (ie. theme and mechanic together as a piece) for a jarbled, inarticulate mess.
Currently, XP gained by chopping someone down with a sword can be used to upgrade spell points if you so choose, which I think is really odd - a mechanism like mine would be much more realistic
p.s. This is still not evolution as evolution is genetic change in a Population, and not an individual, but I think it is a decent evolution-inspired idea.
The idea he is presenting with the thematic lie within Bioshock is very real. When you first capture your first little sister you are presented with a moral dilemma: Do I harvest her for more ADAM at the cost of receiving their help (as we're told) later on or do I save her for less ADAM while gaining their trust? This inherent decision presents two different gameplay paths for the player that affects the feel of the game:
One in which they can better afford abilities due to more ADAM while simultaniously being disliked by the little sisters and their mother.
The other in which they can't afford the abilities but they have gained the trust of the group.
Each decision you made was impacted by those thought processes and the end result was the specific ending you received along with the achievement and the experience. If you were to take away the gameplay decision then you would be left with only the moral dilemma that was presented. When we are presented with the same dilemma in real life, we weigh consequences and other stigma at the time. In the game, though, we feel disconnected without that gameplay push. "These aren't little girls." you think, "They're just polygons." Without the added benefit of knowing that your decision could impact the mechanics of the game (More ADAM means more abilities, less ADAM means less), you are left with only the choice of deciding which ending you want. Do I want the good (SAVE) or bad (HARVEST).
This is the thematic lie that he was talking about. The theme was morality but the mechanics broke that process by removing the grounding decision to help make you consider the over all consequences.
While the choice mechanic in Bioshock does not make for good gameplay, it exemplifies the issues raised of morality and free will against the Objectivism theme. Problem is Johnson ignored the topic of free will and Objectivism as thematic influences on the choice mechanic, which of course would render it senseless. If he had taken the game, and not himself, as the authority on it's meaning he wouldn't have made this mistake.
Of course I'm speaking broadly, if all but one in a million view some art and see the artists intention, then that one guy you could say is mistaken. However, if the views are mixed, it means the artist failed at portraying their vision (if there was a particular message).
For example, "Born in the USA" by Bruce Sprinstein was not written as a patriotic song. But you're going to hear it every 4th of July. So despite Bruce's attempt to sing about how hard it may be to get a job, that's not what it ended up meaning to most people who hear that song.
I had a dream that would beg to differ.
I like that.
Perhaps there's a camp growing against this idea that "the play is the thing" that Byronic Man is defending. If there is, I think I'm in it. As messy as it makes discussion, I think the perception and interpretation by the individual is the most relevant in finding meaning. Defining meaning by agreement seems to detract from ... meaning, ya know?
It feels to me, as a creative type, that the creation can reveal intent, or purpose, or assertion of something. But a meaning belongs to the audience, however brilliant or thick.
You can play through MGS4 ignoring all the supplementary codec information and only half-paying attention to exposition-heavy cutscenes, likely concluding that the game made no sense with all it's plot-holes and arbitrary plot-twists. Of course, this is a false conclusion founded on ignorance and poor participation.
If a player's interpretation has authority to determine the meaning of a piece, it would thereafter be senseless to communicate this meaning as if relevant to others (bar at a campfire setting). All - or at least most - interpretations become valid although they may differ immensly; each player's experience becomes the final say on the game's meaning. With this pervasive subjectivity, critique is rendered useless. No more of this "Bioshock is ludonarratively dissonant" or "How to solve the grind" - your ideas of Bioshock's narrative or the RPG grind are no more valid than my own, and should they conflict I have no impetus to alter my perception so long as my interpretation is the exclusive source of the game's meaning.
That is... if by "play" you mean "playthrough" and not "a bunch of people on stage kind of thing..."