Oh, December. That most wonderful time of the year, when everyone argues about holiday greetings, politics, and whether or not this terrible weather is really just some career-risking global conspiracy designed to piss off people who really like plastic. Oh, and also, everyone with a website or a YouTube channel that mentioned video games somewhere along the way starts rattling off their games of the year. Ah, yes, that magical capstone piece in which we talk again about all those games we’ve already been talking about all year long! What a joy! What a thing to wait for! Or, if you’re the resident hater (unofficial NYMG title), it’s time to crank up those sigh muscles and start heaving.
It’s not just because I found Witcher 3 boring, and Rise of the Tomb Raider unsatisfying. Not because I feel so little motivation to play Fallout 4 that I still haven’t bothered to create a character. Not just because GTAV, despite huge efforts to shake up the formula, is still GTA. Not because I thought Bloodborne a brilliant concept and beginning, but short of the Souls series, or because MGSV, despite its soaring moments, is also deeply flawed on fundamental levels, or because even the game I probably thought about and talked about the most, Life Is Strange, also suffered at times. I don’t expect games to be perfect (though I could do with a little better, particularly in some very glaring areas). It’s just that so often, it feels so easy. So predictable.
(I told you I’m the hater, the one who hates everything. Though I really did love Life Is Strange.)
There are a lot of things I notice with the flood of Game of the Year announcements. I start looking at who picks what, and when, and where, and I am reminded of the importance of considering subjectivity, of finding reviewers with whom you can connect. I’m reminded that I abhorred reviewing games when I had to do it, and find it marginally more interesting now that I can do it with much more freedom and far less pressure. I look again at the lists, at sites and staffers at the biggest-name places, and the sameness of it all, from game selections to wording, troubles me a little. Sure, there are are other reviewers and writers, or surprise titles, or people who buck the system unexpectedly, but hey, across the board, there’s a lot of “here are some major flaws with mechanics/pace/narrative/structure/bugs with this game you expect us to say good things about, so boy! what a great experience.”
That doesn’t sound like a great experience. But then, neither does a horde of angry readers beating down the door, yelling because you dared say nice things about a “walking simulator” and didn’t slap 8+ on the latest edition of Shoot Shit, Like Aliens or Zombies or Brown People Or Whatever. Even this is a game. Major websites exist to pander a little, and to make enough money to sustain. It is what it is, and mostly, it’s not going to change. And should it, even? What exactly is a great experience? What’s a nine? What flaws in guaranteed-not-perfect games can you overlook, and which can’t you? There’s no one answer, and clearly, there are a lot of people who really get serious about Shoot Shit, Like Aliens or Zombies or Brown People Or Whatever, Now in New Exotic Locales. But games like Journey are getting mentions, too, and Her Story, and people will talk about tiny offbeat indie games and I will continue to preach from the mount about Life Is Strange (even with flaws) for some time to come. We all have different tastes (though we can all probably agree on Super Mario Maker), and that’s okay. It’s good. The industry is vast, and indies can answer what the big guys don’t. Like each game, it’s not perfect, but it’s what we’ve got.
I love games. When I find a game I do adore, I will pour untold hours into it. I will dream about it. I will sneak away from responsibilities for just a few more minutes here or there. Just one more level. Just let me do this one thing. But as I get older, I also find I have less patience for the things that are, for me, unacceptable flaws. Those flaws vary from experience to experience; there’s no consistency, and there doesn’t have to be, because I don’t play for anyone but myself. Years ago, I decided not to bother finishing books or movies that didn’t engage me, and it’s much the same with games. There are just too many options. Why force myself to ignore the huge (but convenient) inconsistencies in Rise of the Tomb Raider so I can run and jump and climb and shoot and change Lara’s clothes? I can do (most of) those things in other games. So I will. No hard feelings.
This is the pleasure of not reviewing for a job. My job is different; my frame for analysis lives somewhere else, and I’m as interested in what’s said about games, and by whom, as I am in the games themselves. Sometimes even more so. I’m deeply fascinated by everything that’s been said about Witcher 3 and Tomb Raider, though my hours clocked on both are short and ain’t likely to get longer. The games we talk about, and what we say, is as important to me as the time I plugged into those two playthroughs of Until Dawn, or my hundreds of hours with my partner in Don’t Starve Together. So I’ll read all the GotY pieces, and I’ll watch some of the videos, and I’ll trash talk everything on our podcasts, as I do, but that’s my way in. We all have one, if we want it. That’s always my end-of-year magic, that we’ve survived another year, that we’ve persevered, as hobbyists and enthusiasts, that we’ve called for change in this and that and we’ve seen seeds sown. That we still all have something to play, no matter our tastes.
Hey, I never said being a hater meant I was a total jerk. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
