Doom, always brilliant, rarely improved-upon. (Image: Id Software)
Show Hide image

All these years later, there’s still nothing better than Doom

Development is an evolutionary process, and newer games end up objectively better than the older ones they replace – yet 1993’s iconic game Doom remains as fun and unique today as ever.

A strange thing about video games is how they age. They get relatively worse over time as other games take what was good from them, refine it, expand it and run with it. Standards change, expectations grow. What was compelling and spectacular 30 years ago is a comedy retro phone game today. Whether you see games as an art form or not they are still predominantly mechanical things, feats of engineering that can be improved as method, practice and technology advances. As such, what was great and grand in its day feels doomed to soon become stale, irrelevant and bettered.

At least, that is often the way. But some games buck the trend. Some games, either because of unmatched feats of artistic flair or more often simple obscurity, are never surpassed.

And then there is Doom, a game that people have attempted to replicate several times a year for the past 20 years. No other game has stood so tall in such a crowded genre for so long as it has done. There have been hundreds of first-person shooters over the years since Doom arrived and hundreds of them have not been anything like as good. Millions of pounds in production costs, thousands of hours of work from thousands developers from all corners of the world. The best and brightest minds in video games development, including the very people who actually made Doom, have swung and missed at making a better game.

Usually making a game that renders another game obsolete is not particularly hard to do – indeed, this is the business model for a lot of the bigger-budget AAA developers. Big-budget games tend to belong to franchises, and these will often yield a game every year or two, the explicit purpose of which is to surpass the previous game. If I am the developer of a Battlefield or Assassin’s Creed title, I want my next game to make the game that came before it look intolerably inferior, otherwise why would anybody buy the new one? The FIFA games, in particular, exemplify this school of thought; though the series has made some changes to the core mechanics and swapped engines over the years, the new releases are more often than not just minor refinements. The FIFA developers would never want to claim that they had nailed the perfect video-game interpretation of football for the ages; rather, they prefer the idea that the journey is made one huge leap at a time, year after year, forever.

Being replaced doesn’t just happen within franchises, it happens to most games. Newer games come along that relegate once brilliant titles to irrelevance. For example, when I was just a little round nerd with a ZX Spectrum +2 hooked up to the TV in the living room I was a huge fan of a turn-based strategy game called Encyclopaedia Of War: Ancient Battles. I loved that game, to the point of buying it twice because my first copy wore out, gradually chewed beyond recognition by my Spectrum's hungry tape recorder. But I wouldn’t play it today, except perhaps as part of an elaborate gambling sting or contest with the devil, or if the only alternative was human interaction. Nor would I play Populous, Elite or Laser Squad, brilliant games in their day, now merely fondly remembered ancestors to better games. Better games that have replaced them not by having revolutionary ideas like those that gave rise to the original greats, but through relentless incremental refinement. Most modern car designers probably couldn’t personally invent the vehicle from scratch but they still make better cars today than Karl Benz, and so it is for games developers.

Yet Doom bucks this trend. It would be hyperbole to say that Doom is the best game of all time, or even the best first-person shooter of all time, but it is fair to say that even now, 20 years since release, it is still one of the best. Not for the sake of nostalgia, not for admiration of how far ahead of its time it was, but because it is still that good. You simply can’t say that about the likes of Quake 2, or Goldeneye, or even more recent titles like F.E.A.R or Far Cry. People ransacked them for good ideas, put those good ideas to work in newer games, and there was no longer any reason to play the oldies. So it goes.

The question of what makes Doom so great has been the stuff of articles and reviews going back 20 years, and there’s a well-trodden line of reasoning. The game looks right for what it is doing, the levels are well-designed, the enemies are fun to fight, the player character moves extremely well and the sound and music fit perfectly. Even with the limited tools of the era the Doom developers nailed it, particularly with the little touches, like how if one enemy accidentally shoots another, the enemy he has hit will turn on him, leading to carnage. Twenty years I’ve been watching that happen and I’m still waiting for it to get old.

The trickier question is why has nobody simply beaten Doom at its own game? Why did even Doom 3, with the apparent advantages of superior hardware and developer experience to call on, fail to top it?

One answer could lie in the change in focus of modern first-person shooter games. Modern shooters tend to place the emphasis on the shooting part of the game, which is something that Doom doesn’t do, despite its fearsome reputation as a violent game. In Doom, the levels are largely flat, and even when they’re not your gun auto-aims on the Y-axis, a throwback to the days of playing purely on keyboard when aiming up and down was a pain. Enemies are not hard to hit, nor do they have specific weak points. The shooting mechanics are perfunctory at best, which is in stark contrast to more modern titles with their customisable weapons, reams of stats and fetish for headshots.

Where Doom puts its focus, instead, is on the movement. Even without a jump button Doom feels slick and fast, and it needs to because the core of the game is evasion. Doom features enemies that attack in hand to hand, that use conventional firearms that will hit you if you stand still and projectile weapons that you can see coming and actively dodge. This combination demands that the player stays moving in a way that you won’t find in a Call of Duty or Bioshock-style game, where the enemy will punish you for leaving cover by enthusiastically murdering you to death. Doom lets you run rings round the enemy, literally, and is more fun for it.

The capacity to dodge incoming fire indefinitely also ties to another anachronistic but vital Doom mechanic: the health system. No regenerating health here, no shields. This forces creativity from the player, if a direct attack against an enemy group fails, you have to improvise. Maybe you try to trick them into fighting each other, maybe you fall back and pick them off one by one as they follow, maybe you try to find a way around or try to dodge your way through. This sounds really basic but it is vastly more complex and engaging than the common modern model of simply shooting everything directly that is in front of you, reaching a checkpoint and then repeating the process.

These changes in focus mean there is much less you can do with a modern-style first-person shooter and this is a problem that doesn’t seem to be going away. The iterative development from Doom, the evolutionary process so to speak, seems to have gone in the wrong directions and wandered into dead ends, weighed down with pitiful attempts to break up the formula with turret sections and quick time events. Developers looked at Doom, at the graphic violence, the gore, the apparently indomitable one-man-army premise, and they ran with those elements – and in doing so, missed the point. The agility and fragility of the character, the deviousness of the map design and the freedom to go backwards and forwards and treat every level like a sandbox, all this was lost over the years.

Unless developers get a grip on what really made Doom great and work from that, we will never see Doom bettered, and that is a terrible shame. I want to see Doom surpassed not because I dislike Doom but because I love it. I want to see beautiful bouncing baby Dooms cropping up all over the place, games that are about ducking and moving more than shooting people in the face, more about improvisation than scripted events. Hopefully, with indie games such Tower of Guns and more remakes of older school first-person games such as Shadow Warrior appearing, a true successor to Doom is on the cards. Until then, well there’s always the Doomsday Engine version of the game to tide us over. Let’s hope it doesn’t take another 20 years. 

Phil Hartup is a freelance journalist with an interest in video gaming and culture

Getty
Show Hide image

The “Yolocaust” project conflates hate with foolish but innocent acts of joy

A montage of selfies taken at Berlin’s Holocaust Memorial layered above images of concentration camps risks shutting visitors out of respectful commemoration.

Ten years ago I visited Berlin for the first time. It was a cold and overcast day – the kind of grey that encourages melancholy. When my friends and I came across the city’s Holocaust Memorial, with its maze of over 2,000 concrete slabs, we refrained from taking photos of each other exploring the site. “Might it be disrespectful?” asked one of my non-Jewish (and usually outrageously extroverted) friends. Yes, probably, a bit, we concluded, and moved softly and slowly on through the Memorial’s narrow alleys.

But not all days are gloomy, even in Berlin. And not all visitors to the Memorial had the same reaction as us.

A photo project called “Yolocaust” has collected together images of the Memorial and selfies taken there that young people from around the world have posted to Facebook, Instagram, Tinder and Grindr. In the 12 photos featured on the website, one man juggles pink balls, a girl does yoga atop a pillar, another practises a handstand against a slab’s base. The last of these is tagged “#flexiblegirl #circus #summer”.

Most of the images seem more brainless than abusive. But the implication seems to be that such behaviour risks sliding into insult – a fear all too painfully embodied in the first image of the series: a shot of two guys leaping between pillars with the tag-line: “Jumping on dead Jews @ Holocaust Memorial.”

Grim doesn’t begin to cover it, but the artist who collated the photos has thought up a clever device for retribution. As your cursor scrolls or hovers over each photo, a second image is then revealed beneath. These hidden black-and-white photographs of the Holocaust show countless emaciated bodies laid out in mass graves, or piled up against walls.

Even though they are familiar for those who learned about the Nazi concentration camps at school, these historic scenes are still too terrible and I cannot look at them for more than a few seconds before something in my chest seizes up. In fact, it’s only on second glance that I see the artist has also super-imposed the jumping men into the dead bodies – so that their sickening metaphor “jumping on dead Jews” is now made to appear actual.

The result is a powerful montage, and its message is an important one: that goofy, ill-considered behaviour at such sites is disrespectful, if not worse. Just take the woman who urinated on a British war memorial, or the attack on a Holocaust memorial in Hungary.

But while desecration and hate should not be tolerated anywhere, especially not at memorials, does juggling fall into the same category?

I can’t help but feel that the Yolocaust project is unfair to many of the contemporary subjects featured. After all, this is not Auschwitz but the centre of a modern city. If public-space memorials are intended to be inhabited, then surely they invite use not just as places for contemplation, grieving and reflection but also for being thankful for your life and your city on a sunny day?

The Memorial in Berlin is clearly designed to be walked in and around.  Even the architect, Peter Eisenman, has been reported saying he wants visitors to behave freely at the site – with children playing between the pillars and families picnicking on its fringes.

So how do we determine what is offensive behaviour and what is not?

A section at the bottom of the Yolocaust website also suggests (in rather sarcastic tones) that there are no prescriptions on how visitors should behave, “at a site that marks the death of 6 million people”. Though in fact a code of conduct on the memorial’s website lists the following as not permitted: loud noise, jumping from slab to slab, dogs or pets, bicycles, smoking and alcohol.

Only one of Yolocaust’s 12 photos breaks this code: the first and only explicitly insulting image of the jumping men. Another six show people climbing or sitting atop the pillars but most of these are a world away in tone from the jumpers.

The blurb at the bottom of the webpage says that the project intends to explore “our commemorative culture”. But by treating the image of the yoga performer – with an accompanying montage of her balancing amid dead bodies – in the same way as the jumping men, the artist seems to conflate the two.

In fact, the girl practising a yoga balance could be seen as a hopeful – if overtly cutesy and hipster – act of reverence. “Yoga is connection with everything around us,” says her tag beneath. And even if climbing the slabs is frowned upon by some, it could also be read as an act of joy, something to cherish when faced with such a dark history.

In an era when populist German politicians are using the past – and sentiment towards Holocaust memorials themselves – to rev up anti-immigrant, nationalist feeling, the need for careful and inclusive readings of the role of memorials in our society has never been greater.

Yolocaust may have intended to provide a space for reflection on our commemorative behaviour but the result feels worryingly sensationalist, if not censorious. Instead of inviting others in to the act of respectful commemoration, has it risked shutting people out?

India Bourke is an environment writer and editorial assistant at the New Statesman.