Live the world, don't tell the story

The games industry doesn't need to model itself on the film industry, argues Bill Thompson

Around the turn of the century, people were encouraged to explore a new medium, one based around a technology that could tell stories in a way that tapped directly into the viewer's emotions.

The medium was not videogames but cinema. Between the late 1880s and the start of the 20th century, motion pictures developed from an experimental technology into an established entertainment medium. There were thousands of kinetoscope parlours around the US and Europe and, after Robert Paul introduced the projector in 1895, large audiences for the short films of the day.

The early years of the film industry were as chaotic as any high technology start-up of today, as new inventions flooded on to the market and audiences grew. In the US, film-making became concentrated around southern California.

The Hollywood studio system emerged, offering Ford-like production lines for films with vertically integrated giants controlling every stage of the process, a model that survived for decades.

The big studios remain, but today the film industry in the west is far more fragmented, with star directors and actors holding the real power. It is not even clear that Hollywood is profitable: in Do Movies Make Money? insider Roger Smith calculates that the 2006 releases from Hollywood will lose $1.9bn over five years, once every source of income is added up.

There are some obvious parallels between the film industry and the relatively young videogames industry. Early games were commissioned by the companies that built arcade systems or written by hobbyists for the home computers of the eighties, just as early films were made by the inventors who developed cameras and projectors. As the technology matured, many small companies were started, and a period of consolidation in the 1980s and 1990s created Electronic Arts and the other giants we see today. Major players like Sony, Nintendo and Microsoft funded games development for their consoles, hoping to bring audiences to their next-generation platforms.

Independent control

Now there are signs that the studio model is breaking down - as it did with film. Big name designers like Peter Molyneux are attempting to control their own destiny just as film directors do, although they remain reliant on the big-name publishers to distribute their work, in the same way as independent film-makers need a distribution deal.

From the outside, games seem very similar to films and, indeed, the term "cinematic" is often used approvingly in reviews and discussion. Both are industrialised forms of entertainment, which rely on sophisticated technology to create a product and advanced capitalism to provide a market within which the product can be promoted, sold and consumed.

However, the superficial similarity disguises fundamental differences between the two forms of entertainment which may lead the games industry to diverge from the path taken by film.

Back in 2005, film director Steven Spielberg announced a working partnership with games company Electronic Arts to develop three games, including one for Nintendo's family-friendly Wii. The attendant promotion gave the film industry another chance to claim superiority over mere games developers, and Spielberg remarked: "I am a gamer myself and game development has always intrigued me."

It may have intrigued him, but the assumption that being a good film director automatically equips him to design and develop games is not one that many in the industry would support. Respected games developers like Shigeru Miyamoto, Peter Molyneux, Andy Schatz and Jenova Chen could reasonably argue that their skills in creating engaging and interactive environments are somewhat different from those needed to persuade a bunch of highly-paid actors to sit up and beg in front of the camera.

Commercial relationship

One reason for the confusion may be that the commercial relationship between films and games has been very lucrative, and there is much at stake in encouraging the belief that the overlap is meaningful. Film tie-ins are among the most-hyped titles each year, with Star Wars and Lord of the Rings leading the sale charts and Spider-Man, Harry Potter and The Simpsons all crowding out other games from the shelves.

But a game is not a story. It is a space for interaction and exploration, a space that may be dressed as a medieval world or a vast alien planet, occupied by human-like characters or small yellow blobs. Games require a very different form of engagement from film. Do nothing in the cinema and the story will continue without you. Press no buttons in a game and the action pauses, at least until a character turns up and kills you.

Self-direction

The digital technology that supports film is now very similar to that used for gaming, but the end results are very different. The emotion felt by the audience at the end of Annie Hall was put there by Woody Allan. The sense of achievement my son felt when he completed Halo 3 in hero mode came from inside him, facilitated by developers Bungie - but not created by them.

This difference has provoked a wide-ranging debate online, much of it spurred by a blog entry from RJ Layton, a student at the film school at the University of Southern California.

Studio-system parallels

In a provocative post titled "movies suck" this experienced gamer expressed his profound frustration with the view that "film is something that videogames should aspire to", telling games developers that "instead of trying to make a video game that accomplishes things that films do, why not make a video game that accomplishes things films were never able to?"

Game developers could model their industry on Hollywood, but we should not assume that there are any necessary parallels between the two or even that the games developers of tomorrow would want to find themselves in the same situation as today's struggling, undervalued and exploited independent film-makers. In the fragmented multimedia online world we are currently creating, the space for gaming may owe more to web development and virtual worlds than the old media style of the film industry.

Gaming and me

When I was younger I played Doom and Quake, years ago, on Network Systems but I was never a hardcore gamer. In the eighties, there was a game I liked - an adventure text-based game, called Unix.

About four years ago my son got an Xbox and he insisted I played on Halo with him.

What I want for Christmas...

If I were to get a game for Christmas, I would like a preview of Halo Wars, which is a multiplayer game due out next summer.

Bill Thompson is a technology critic and a trustee of the Cambridge Film Trust

This article first appeared in the 17 December 2007 issue of the New Statesman, Christmas and New Year special 2007

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Tweeting terror: what social media reveals about how we respond to tragedy

From sharing graphic images to posting a selfie, what compels online behaviours that can often outwardly seem improper?

Why did they post that? Why did they share a traumatising image? Why did they tell a joke? Why are they making this about themselves? Did they… just post a selfie? Why are they spreading fake news?

These are questions social media users almost inevitably ask themselves in the immediate aftermath of a tragedy such as Wednesday’s Westminster attack. Yet we ask not because of genuine curiosity, but out of shock and judgement provoked by what we see as the wrong way to respond online. But it is still a question worth answering. What drives the behaviours we see time and again on social media in the wake of a disaster?

The fake image

“I really didn't think it was going to become a big deal,” says Dr Ranj Singh. “I shared it just because I thought it was very pertinent, I didn't expect it to be picked up by so many people.”

Singh was the first person to share a fake Tube sign on Twitter that was later read out in Parliament and on BBC Radio 4. The TfL sign – a board in stations which normally provides service information but can often feature an inspiring quote – read: “All terrorists are politely reminded that THIS IS LONDON and whatever you do to us we will drink tea and jolly well carry on thank you.”

Singh found it on the Facebook page of a man called John (who later explained to me why he created the fake image) and posted it on his own Twitter account, which has over 40,000 followers. After it went viral, many began pointing out that the sign was faked.

“At a time like this is it really helpful to point out that its fake?” asks Singh – who believes it is the message, not the medium, that matters most. “The sentiment is real and that's what's important.”

Singh tells me that he first shared the sign because he found it to be profound and was then pleased with the initial “sense of solidarity” that the first retweets brought. “I don't think you can fact-check sentiments,” he says, explaining why he didn’t delete the tweet.

Dr Grainne Kirwan, a cyberpsychology lecturer and author, explains that much of the behaviour we see on social media in the aftermath of an attack can be explained by this desire for solidarity. “It is part of a mechanism called social processing,” she says. “By discussing a sudden event of such negative impact it helps the individual to come to terms with it… When shocked, scared, horrified, or appalled by an event we search for evidence that others have similar reactions so that our response is validated.”

The selfies and the self-involved

Yet often, the most maligned social media behaviour in these situations seems less about solidarity and more about selfishness. Why did YouTuber Jack Jones post a since-deleted selfie with the words “The outmost [sic] respect to our public services”? Why did your friend, who works nowhere near Westminster, mark themselves as “Safe” using Facebook’s Safety Check feature? Why did New Statesman writer Laurie Penny say in a tweet that her “atheist prayers” were with the victims?

“It was the thought of a moment, and not a considered statement,” says Penny. The rushed nature of social media posts during times of crisis can often lead to misunderstandings. “My atheism is not a political statement, or something I'm particularly proud of, it just is.”

Penny received backlash on the site for her tweet, with one user gaining 836 likes on a tweet that read: “No need to shout 'I'm an atheist!' while trying to offer solidarity”. She explains that she posted her tweet due to the “nonsensical” belief that holding others in her heart makes a difference at tragic times, and was “shocked” when people became angry at her.

“I was shouted at for making it all about me, which is hard to avoid at the best of times on your own Twitter feed,” she says. “Over the years I've learned that 'making it about you' and 'attention seeking' are familiar accusations for any woman who has any sort of public profile – the problem seems to be not with what we do but with who we are.”

Penny raises a valid point that social media is inherently self-involved, and Dr Kirwan explains that in emotionally-charged situations it is easy to say things that are unclear, or can in hindsight seem callous or insincere.

“Our online society may make it feel like we need to show a response to events quickly to demonstrate solidarity or disdain for the individuals or parties directly involved in the incident, and so we put into writing and make publicly available something which we wrote in haste and without full knowledge of the circumstances.”

The joke

Arguably the most condemned behaviour in the aftermath of a tragedy is the sharing of an ill-timed joke. Julia Fraustino, a research affiliate at the National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START), reflects on this often seemingly inexplicable behaviour. “There’s research dating back to the US 9/11 terror attacks that shows lower rates of disaster-related depression and anxiety for people who evoke positive emotions before, during and after tragic events,” she says, stating that humour can be a coping mechanism.

“The offensiveness or appropriateness of humor seems, at least in part, to be tied to people’s perceived severity of the crisis,” she adds. “An analysis of tweets during a health pandemic showed that humorous posts rose and fell along with the seriousness of the situation, with more perceived seriousness resulting in fewer humour-based posts.”

The silence

If you can’t say anything nice, why say anything at all? Bambi's best friend Thumper's quote might be behind the silence we see from some social media users. Rather than simply being uncaring, there are factors which can predict whether someone will be active or passive on social media after a disaster, notes Fraustino.

“A couple of areas that factor into whether a person will post on social media during a disaster are issue-involvement and self-involvement,” she says. “When people perceive that the disaster is important and they believe they can or should do something about it, they may be more likely to share others’ posts or create their own content. Combine issue-involvement with self-involvement, which in this context refers to a desire for self-confirmation such as through gaining attention by being perceived as a story pioneer or thought leader, and the likelihood goes up that this person will create or curate disaster-related content on social media.”

“I just don’t like to make it about me,” one anonymous social media user tells me when asked why he doesn’t post anything himself – but instead shares or retweets posts – during disasters. “I feel like people just want likes and retweets and aren’t really being sincere, and I would hate to do that. Instead I just share stuff from important people, or stuff that needs to be said – like reminders not to share graphic images.”

The graphic image

The sharing of graphic and explicit images is often widely condemned, as many see this as both pointless and potentially psychologically damaging. After the attack, BBC Newsbeat collated tens of tweets by people angry that passersby took pictures instead of helping, with multiple users branding it “absolutely disgusting”.

Dr Kirwan explains that those near the scene may feel a “social responsibility” to share their knowledge, particularly in situations where there is a fear of media bias. It is also important to remember that shock and panic can make us behave differently than we normally would.

Yet the reason this behaviour often jars is because we all know what motivates most of us to post on social media: attention. It is well-documented that Likes and Shares give us a psychological boost, so it is hard to feel that this disappears in tragic circumstances. If we imagine someone is somehow “profiting” from posting traumatic images, this can inspire disgust. Fraustino even notes that posts with an image are significantly more likely to be clicked on, liked, or shared.

Yet, as Dr Kiwarn explains, Likes don’t simply make us happy on such occasions, they actually make us feel less alone. “In situations where people are sharing terrible information we may still appreciate likes, retweets, [and] shares as it helps to reinforce and validate our beliefs and position on the situation,” she says. “It tells us that others feel the same way, and so it is okay for us to feel this way.”

Fraustino also argues that these posts can be valuable, as they “can break through the noise and clutter and grab attention” and thereby bring awareness to a disaster issue. “As positive effects, emotion-evoking images can potentially increase empathy and motivation to contribute to relief efforts.”

The judgement

The common thread isn’t simply the accusation that such social media behaviours are “insensitive”, it is that there is an abundance of people ready to point the finger and criticise others, even – and especially – at a time when they should focus on their own grief. VICE writer Joel Golby sarcastically summed it up best in a single tweet: “please look out for my essay, 'Why Everyone's Reaction to the News is Imperfect (But My Own)', filed just now up this afternoon”.

“When already emotional other users see something which they don't perceive as quite right, they may use that opportunity to vent anger or frustration,” says Dr Kirwan, explaining that we are especially quick to judge the posts of people we don’t personally know. “We can be very quick to form opinions of others using very little information, and if our only information about a person is a post which we feel is inappropriate we will tend to form a stereotyped opinion of this individual as holding negative personality traits.

“This stereotype makes it easier to target them with hateful speech. When strong emotions are present, we frequently neglect to consider if we may have misinterpreted the content, or if the person's apparently negative tone was intentional or not.”

Fraustino agrees that people are attempting to reduce their own uncertainty or anxiety when assigning blame. “In a terror attack setting where emotions are high, uncertainty is high, and anxiety is high, blaming or scapegoating can relieve some of those negative emotions for some people.”

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.