Games Aren't Numbers

How many times have you played world 1-1 of Super Mario Bros? How about 2Fort in Team Fortress (2)? Shot a plasmid in BioShock just for the fun of it? For some reason we like doing things over, and over, and over, and over. When we repeat something we gain a new satisfaction that we didn’t in all the previous times. Musicians can sing a single short verse continuously for five minutes, and then we compulsively listen to it dozens of times. Every day we recite prayers that our ancestors thousands of years ago also recited every day. Maybe it’s nature’s way of keeping us compatible with life’s daily routines. Maybe we’re just crazy.

I’ve spent some time mulling over the idea myself, primarily in the context of my own game I’ve been gradually developing. It’s a given that the players are going to repeat the game or repeat portions of the game (hopefully, if they enjoy it!). I want each replay to feel welcome in my game, even encouraged. One way I’ve addressed this issue is possibly the most obvious—I’ve made the content dynamic so each new situation is truly a new situation. This is an extremely basic technique though; I want to go deeper into the nuances of the gameplay and content so I can emphasize the details which are enriched most by multiple play-throughs. What exactly these details are is not easy at all to define. I’m not sure if I myself have any idea at all. I’m forced to trust my instincts and keep on pondering whether or not I’m actually on a right track, or if I’m just shooting in the dark.

Linear action games, from Super Mario Bros to Half Life 2, are notorious for their rigid levels. I can’t count how many times I’ve died, reappeared at my last save, walked once again into the exact same scripted situation, repeated all of my previous actions and predictably died again. I’ll repeat the process again for the nth time wondering what I could possibly be doing wrong. Eventually, finally, I outwit the AI by finding the only possible weakness in its defense. Sometimes this feels euphoric. I’m a genius for that moment. I’m a modern day John Henry; no machine can defeat me. However sometimes I feel nothing. I haven’t defeated the machine; I’ve become the machine. I’ve spent so much time carefully calculating my actions to the exact moments and rhythm that my brain is all logic and no emotions. I’m Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, I’ve dated Andie MacDowell thousands of times and now I’ve finally created the perfect date. I’ve won, but, just as in the movie, she rejects me anyway. The romance and the logic are incompatible. I don’t love the game anymore. John Henry also died after his victory, as the legend goes.

Super Metroid, a non-linear action game, is an enormous mosaic made of a few basic tiles. Its world is elaborate but the moment-to-moment events of the game are variations of the same formula, namely shooting things. The only times when Samus isn’t shooting something it’s suddenly a big deal—a sign that this room is special. I’ve never thought Super Metroid’s shooting was particularly compelling. Its mechanics were simple and unoriginal. The reason why I play the game is because its world is incredible. Every time that I see a film like Alien and just wish I could get lost in its fantasy land, I can always just load up one of Samus’ adventures and have exactly that: an alien planet there for me to explore without any of that plot or other nonsense films like to throw on top of it. So what if Super Metroid was just a giant world to explore, with no bugs or bats in each room for target practice? It would be the distilled essence of what makes a Metroid game for me, and it would also be very boring. A world can’t simply exist for itself. It needs another purpose, even if that purpose is shooting bugs repeatedly for hours on end. I’ve never gotten bored with playing Super Metroid. It’s a game I can always return to. Even though I’ve long since seen everything its caverns offer, I still enjoy shooting things. I could do that forever if I had to.

When I was stumped on a puzzle in Braid I would sometimes sit and watch the clouds sail by, wondering how I could possibly reach that last jigsaw piece. By watching the animation loop continuously the solution would miraculously dawn upon me. Sometimes I would jump back and forth on platforms or monsters, continuously rewinding and replaying the actions. I was patient. I knew that somewhere in this level laid the answer I sought. If I kept trying my options then either I would stumble upon it or it would reveal itself to me. Either way I was having fun. I was at peace, just bouncing back and forth, back and forth. The revelation I sought could come whenever it wanted.

What fascinates me the most about mindless repetition in games is that it seems so illogical. I can see the reason to play an entire game again; you can try different options or discover details or possibilities you may have missed. But to zoom so far down into a single minute, or second of gameplay, or even less, and run the sequence again and again simply seems ridiculous. Yet I’ve done it, and so have thousands and thousands of other gamers. Why do we have a compulsive desire to repeat the same simple actions ad nauseam? Why does it satisfy us? I’m sure the answer can be found through repeated studies and discussions.