"What makes LA Noire so good as a filmic experience holds it back as a game"

Trying to copy the movie business has its pitfalls.

Arthur C Clarke once wrote that any sufficiently advanced technology was indistinguishable from magic. I imagine that's how anyone who hasn't played a computer game since, say, Doom or Sonic the Hedgehog might feel about LA Noire. The game, set in the police force of Los Angeles in the 1940s, is both very new and very traditional.

The novelty comes from its unique motion-capture system. Instead of blank-eyed heads parrotting clunky lines at you, LA Noire's characters deliver the sharp script with a mixture of grimaces, shifty eyes, nervous tics and eerily recognisable mannerisms. (The likenesses are so good that you can play a rewarding meta-game of "spot the American character actor": veterans of Heroes, Dexter and Buffy appear.)

The story follows an LAPD officer, Cole Phelps (played by Aaron Staton, Mad Men's Ken Cosgrove), who is not long back from fighting the Japanese at Okinawa. He's a by-the-book cop in a motley police department, trying to bring justice to a Los Angeles that's just as corrupt as that of the films LA Confidential or Chinatown.

The movie references are particularly apt here, because this is a game that aspires, above all, to be cinematic. There's the budget, for a start -- reportedly upwards of $50m -- which has enabled Rockstar to create an exquisitely detailed game world, complete with period cars and clothes (not to mention some very period attitudes to race and gender). The music, too, is subtly excellent, with Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong to drive to and wailing jazz stings to indicate the presence of clues at crime scenes.

For me, however, the most innovative aspect of LA Noire is the maturity of its storyline: there's none of the sniggering puerility of Rockstar's major franchise, Grand Theft Auto. Even better, Cole Phelps's character develops over the course of the story; something that is all too rare with video game protagonists and has inhibited their ability to provoke empathy.

The irony is that what makes LA Noire so good as a filmic experience sometimes holds it back as a game. Despite its huge map and cast of characters, the game is tightly linear. In this, it's more like a traditional point-and-click adventure, such as Monkey Island, than the more recent -- and similarly cinematic -- Heavy Rain, where your choices have more far-reaching consequences. Also, the game is sometimes so keen to help you get things right, with sounds and vibrations aiding you to find clues, and your partner chipping in if you're making a real hash of things, that you can feel like a passenger rather than a protagonist.

Nonetheless, LA Noire is an ambitious and successful game, extraordinary both in what it is and in what it represents for the industry. And there is one key respect in which it differs from a film: in the age of the 90-minute megaplex blockbuster, it demands more than 20 hours of your time to tell a sprawling, dark, mature and intricately connected story.

Helen Lewis-Hasteley is an assistant editor of the New Statesman. She tweets: @helenlewis

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

This article first appeared in the 06 June 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Are we all doomed?

Photo: Catgod
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Gig economy: apps offering a small-scale solution to the decline of the UK's music venues

Could bands and fans increasingly start swapping concert halls for strangers' living rooms?

Most up-and-coming musicians rely on live gigs to win new fans, but their ability to find somewhere to play is increasingly under threat. Earlier this month, Arts Council England rejected a funding bid from the Music Venue Trust (MVT), the primary charity looking after the country’s grassroots music venues.

After encouraging the MVT to apply for several grants, the Council ended up awarding 85 per cent of its £367m music budget to the opera and classical sectors. There is no more Arts Council funding available for the next four years, which means that countless grassroots venues in smaller towns and cities that rely on support from the MVT will be left out in the cold.

Music venues are already disappearing across the country. Since 2007, more than 430 live music venues in London alone have had to close down. The majority of these were small, local spots that buckled under rising rents, increasing business rates, and the constant threat of avaricious property developers.

Unsurprisingly, such a dramatic decline in the infrastructure supporting the country's music scene hurts emerging musicians, but it also runs the risk of undermining musical heritage. Places like the 100 Club in London – which in its heyday played host to The Clash, Sex Pistols and Rolling Stones – are at risk of shutting their doors permanently.

Spanning several generations and musical movements, these spaces have helped give popular music a central role in the city’s cultural history. They have also shaped bands that at the time were merely looking for a chance to escape their parents’ basement.

The picture appears gloomy, but a potential solution is on the horizon that taps into two things the millennial generation can’t seem to live without: apps and social media. The success of services such as Uber and Deliveroo has inspired music start-ups to apply digital savvy to this very physical problem.

One such start-up is Tigmus, a platform for artists to find venues that are both interesting and affordable, while connecting them with both venue owners and fans. Venues can include cafes, warehouses, and even people’s living rooms.

Tigmus veterans Catgod are a soul and trip-hop collective who relied heavily on the service while establishing themselves in Oxford. Robin Christensen-Marriott, the band’s manager, says Tigmus gigs were “a vital income for us to pay for our studio recordings, as Tigmus take a small cut of the takings, whereas other promoters generally will take more.”

The platform has also helped Catgod unlock “lots of interesting venues in our hometown as you can virtually book anywhere” – meaning the band “played some really poky, cosy venues ...that have been fun and sweaty”.

Tigmus is not the only start-up offering a more unusual way to cater to a smaller budget. Similarly, Sofar Sounds works as a go-between, however it also adds a bit of old-school secrecy to proceedings. An intimate and authentic experience is the company’s main concern – fans apply for tickets, and only when they get accepted does the secret address get released. This adds a layer of mystery to seeing live music.

These days, fanbases are birthed and sustained on social media, so the extra opportunity to publicise events and venues on Facebook or Twitter is part of the allure of these platforms. Both Tigmus and Sofar encourage performers, once booked, to plaster their events all over fans’ news feeds and timelines. This makes them an appealing option for a band just starting out and looking to make a name for themselves.

The development of platforms such as Tigmus and Sofar mirrors the digitisation of music more generally. Just as streaming services such as Spotify and Tidal sprung up in response to the threat of piracy, as digital music replaced vinyl and CDs, digital platforms are emerging to deal with the decline of traditional venues. Could bands and fans increasingly start swapping concert halls for a perch on a stranger’s sofa instead?