Sociability and Video Games

I used to enjoy sitting in a room and watching someone else play a video game. I've now lived with another gamer for more than two years, and every time he gets a new game and starts playing it, I completely lose interest in playing it myself. Even when I kinda want to, initially. Maybe it's the way he plays. He has a pretty systematic approach to it. Like he's crossing off points on a checklist. Always doing all of the side-missions, getting all of the trophies. Silently. Concentrated. Killing the game. Multiplayer, too.

I think I've developed the same attitude toward games as I have had toward films for a long time now. That it's more enjoyable if I watch it with someone who can really get into it. Or alone at 3 a.m. on one of those insomniac nights when the TV is just on to soften the noise from a neighbor's party. There's always at least one good and weird film on in the deadest part of the night. For instance, I just re-watched Léon and that weird film with the guys and the banjo duel.

Anyway, my point is that all the games I've loved in the recent years have sort of popped up in my face from out of nowhere. And all the unmentionables have been everywhere. And I'm not saying this because I think unpopular games are necessarily better than popular ones or the ones that are produced by companies who can afford million- or billion dollar ads. I'm saying I think it probably matters how games are introduced. At least to me.

Spyro the Dragon and Crash Bandicoot. These are the first games I played on the PlayStation I got on my (probably) 8th birthday. I had never seen or played anything like them, since the only games at school were 2D Nintendo games and the only games at home were Wolfenstein 3D and Solitaire. Kids took turns at school playing, and I was only ever allowed by the others to play the first level, hoarding lives. Solitaire is a game I associate with my mother, since she'd always play cards on the computer in the room when I'd gone to bed. (We only had one room at the time.) Lights off, computer on. Click. Click. Click-click. Drowsing off... click. Wolfenstein was for the daytime, on the weekends, when I could convince her to boot it up on her way too old Windows 92 PC, which had been bought second-hand, probably twice over. I'd watch her gun down Nazi's and cuss like a construction worker. Apart from helping out with the groceries sometimes, that's the only social thing I ever did with my mother. She was always at meetings, or tired. So tired. And I was 8.

I loved both my games to bits. It didn't matter that the PlayStation was stolen and chipped and that the two games were pirated copies in old CD cases. It was all my mother could afford, and it was a huge surprise. I'd just started reading a lot, since reading was something I could do independently. These games meant freedom to me in much the same way. Thanks to them, I didn't need to wait for my turn, or for my parent to be home and awake. I just needed me and the game, and I could always rely on having both. Well, not at school. But that's what books were for.

When I saw a copy of Final Fantasy IX in a toy store, it was also completely new to me. Not just the series, or the Japanese art style. I had never gotten a "new" or "real" game before. A legit non-pirated one. We just didn't have that kind of money. So when my mother somehow bought it anyhow, I cherished that thing like it was the guardian of my ancestors. I've dropped it many times, the cover is in pieces and taped together, the third CD doesn't play beyond a certain cutscene right before the change to disc 4, but I love it. It's the only thing I still have from back then.

I remember everything from the first time I played it. It was 16 years ago, and I could draw you the room. And I sat there until my mother had to tell me again for the third time that it's time to sleep. School night. I couldn't sleep, though. I'd just found out that Vivi was one of those robots.

I never lost any sleep over Assassin's Creed. I like the games, sure. But I love Journey. And Grim Fandango. And Catherine. You can play these games systematically, but that's not the point of them. It's like going to the cinema and someone keeps talking while the film is playing. Or analyzing and discussing your favorite book in school or at university. It kills the love.

I don't really know if people who play very social games like WoW, or people who play very competitive games like LoL, or people who hunt trophies in all the big AAA titles… if they feel the way I do about games. To me, a game isn't really good, emotionally or intellectually, before  it stays in my brain and makes me think that it's all worth it somehow. That what I'm feeling isn't clever design or snazzy mechanics, but something important and real. That my love is just, and not forced just because I spent some money. You can't tell me who or what to love.

I rarely enjoy watching someone play games anymore. Maybe that's because it's the wrong way to play. I prefer freedom.