Sometimes an instruction as simple as "Press X" in a video game can lead to something profoundly familiar, profoundly intimate.
Not limited by what can actually be represented on screen, interactive fiction can stretch the limits of creators' (and players') imaginations as well as create deeper narrative interaction.
Bioshock Infinite is problematic because, unlike the battle for Hyrule or Jacinto, the massacre at Wounded Knee actually happened, as did violence against interracial couples. It becomes extraordinarily uncomfortable for a game to treat enemies as obstacles to be removed with a gun in the context of actual, still relevant wars.
A level doesn’t change. It's predictable, so it's easier to gauge how my skills and knowledge have grown.
Papers, Please conveys the insidious weight of bureaucracy, one passport at a time.
We follow that disembodied tutorial voice without ever asking why. And even when we don't, when we insist on attempting to ignore those prompts, we find that ultimately we are chained to the elements necessary to drive the plot of Bioshock Infinite (or any game) forward.
I don’t know if there is a more complex, divisive part of fan culture than cosplay. The fact that it is an artform that trades on the use of people’s bodies’ means that it’s treading into murky political waters by its very definition.
From whether we can stand a huge helping of Disney Princess behavior to considering what lurks behind that doorway to the infinite, the Moving Pixels podcast explores the infinite possibilities of Bioshock Infinite.
Booker gets the narrative short shrift compared to the city, and as a result, the game’s final moments suffer.
Tiny design choices in all games help build readable, compelling, and realistic worlds and systems. For designers who care, it’s the small stuff that makes all the difference.