I started reviewing videogames professionally in 1993, when Genesis and SNES roamed the earth. Over the next 15 years I worked for magazines and websites like GamePro, GamesRadar, Official Xbox Magazine, and World Of Warcraft Official Magazine, while freelancing for Wired, PC Gamer, and many others. In an attempt to guide the next generation of reviewers, I wrote and published Critical Path: How to Review Videogames For A Living in February. Ask away!
Well, let's differentiate between "journalism" and "reviews." I don't think a review should ever be a casual, on-the-surface look at a game. I think you need to go deep, but it's about what you are analyzing -- the artistic elements or the value proposition. Other forms of criticism are the same way -- some folks write and read movie reviews as artistic commentary on the work, other people just want to know if it's worth their time and money this weekend. It's very difficult to say one approach is better than the other, because both have merit and value -- but neither is a surface scan. Both require deep thought and careful creative analysis to be worth anything. For the larger realm of "journalism," some of my favorite pieces (that I've read and that I've written) have been personality focused. I had a fantastic conversation with Cliff Bleszinski between Gears 2 and 3 where we talked not about either game so much as his place in the industry, and his accidental role as one of the five or six game designers people could actually name. Feature-length pieces that show you insight into a developer or what makes them tick, or offer a look at a trend that affects gaming as a whole...I think those are valuable too. But again, they don't strike me as casual or on the surface just because they are less product-focused. So I guess the takeaway is never do casual on-the-surface looks at games and call it a form of journalism. :)
Sure -- but it might not be in those obvious A/V categories. At some point we're going to hit a visual threshhold where it just doesn't matter if games look better, or the improvements made will be less obvious. So the innovation has to come from things like gameplay and concept and big ideas, I think. We know spaceships can blast aliens; we know dudes can beat each other up; we know one hero can save the world. But when you consider how many interesting topics books and movies cover that games currently do not, you realize there's tons of room for growth. The world of gaming is not limited to simulations of both real and imagined worlds and activities; I think we're going to see "better" come from "more thought-provoking" in the long haul. And those thought-provoking games can absolutely come with photorealistic graphics, surround sound, and tangible 3D worlds -- but those can't be the focus in and of themselves.
It's a big community; I think there's some of both. The negative gamer stereotype is not going away; you could argue that's because of cruel jokes being so common and tolerated, or you could argue that it's because they are based in fact. The very thin distinction is that the South Park guys are themselves huge WoW fans and players; they are equal opportunity offenders, so they are making fun of themselves along with everybody else they make fun of. So some gamers took that episode as an offense, and some took it as a signifying self-mocking. I laughed. I also laughed at the "Guitar Queer-O" episode they did. Would it be worth the time and energy to get offended anyway?
It can take the fun out, if you let it. One of the worst but most common problems with the job is that the people who do it can become cynical -- they forget why they loved games and they start actively hating games. I think this is because before you get the job, your strongest memories are your best memories -- you remember the games that made you feel the greatest highs, and then you wind up with a job where there are many more mediocre to bad games than there are transcendent ones, and that's what you spend most of your time writing about. It's very easy to start focusing on the negative, and then believe that nothing can ever be good again. So that factors into how you start seeing games as a chore instead of the escape that they once were. I touched on this in one of the other answers, but it's really a personal path at that point -- you have to will yourself not to turn into a jaded jerk. You have to remind yourself that games are fun, and even if the last three weren't, the next one very well may be. In the book, I suggest that you have to leave yourself open to be amazed. (This is part of the free Kindle you can get from Amazon, by the way, if you want to read that part.) Gaming only really felt like a chore when I had to work weekends. It might seem like "Oh, poor baby, you have to play a game this weekend" -- but when that game isn't a good one, or might be plagued by pre-release bugs, then it really does become a chore. You start wishing you could paint the house or rake the leaves instead. It's frustrating enough to have to replay a level over and over because you can't figure out how to get past a part or beat a boss; it's extra frustrating when the reason you are restarting is because the console crashes due to a software error...and that's something you cannot fix as the reviewer. But your responsibility is to hit that deadline, so now you have to call your editor, who has to call the company, and you're in limbo until it's all worked out...but the clock is still ticking. That really, really makes it feel like a chore, to have a responsibility that you cannot fulfill. I don't think I ever fantasized about going back to being a "civilian gamer," as you put it, but I did constantly remind myself how other "normal" people saw and played games. I regularly discussed games with friends outside of the industry, gamers who did the normal thing of buying three, maybe four games a year and sampling the rest by borrowing from friends or renting. They didn't get to play as many games as I did, but they had more of an investment in the game they played, in both time and money. So I always felt like I needed to ground myself in reality, and remember that when I write, I am writing for people other than myself. My experience is valid, but I have to incorporate the audience's expectations and needs, too. If you lose sight of your audience, you can no longer do them any good.
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I think the earlier answer about Combat Cars being one of the worst games I ever reviewed counts here -- a top-down 16-bit racer with no minimap. No prediction of where the turns are coming, so it was just one wall after another. You were expected to learn the tracks by trial and error and then memorize them. Fail.
I believe there are certain elements that all gamers feel are valuable, so I draw on them: an engaging story, a sense of progression and advancement, an abundance of experiences that elicit interesting emotional responses. Pretty graphics, cool music -- they're part of the mix, but they're not as important as what the game does to you or for you. All gamers do not hold all those elements as equally important, nor do all games do not try to incorporate all those elements -- no big story to Tetris, for instance. So while a lot of games have similar goals or components and a lot of gamers expect similar things when they play a game, I've never found a way to truly approach it scientifically, with empirical accuracy. You are evaluating both art and science -- storytelling and emotional resonance, plus technical aptitude -- so you can't use only one or the other to build an opinion. I have worked from templates in the past that leaned heavily toward to the science side -- more like checklists. Rate the graphics; rate the sound; rate the controls. The trick became how to express those elements in a description of the overall experience -- to drop in phrases about those specific things in the discussion of what the game offers as a whole, which strikes me as a more artistic endeavor. Reviewing is analytical writing, but if it feels analytical when you read it, you are doing the audience a disservice. They don't want scientific data so much as personal insight into how that game might make them feel if and when they choose to play it, or even buy it. And if you are dealing with feelings, I think the whole thing leans more toward art. Value is tricky, because some people want X amount of hours of gameplay for Y dollars. Other people don't care about the length of an experience, but how it affects them. I'm one of those people who loved Portal from the first day I sat down to review it. I knew going in it was going to be a 3 to 4 hour experience. Didn't bother me at all -- the quality of those three hours was so amazing and surprising and joyful to me that I still smile every time I think about the game. Whereas I've played 15-hour games where I was begging the thing to end already. Yet some people felt Portal was too short to be worth their money (even though watching a non-interactive theatrical movie for roughly the same money is a shorter experience!). There is an inherent money-is-time value for them, and if the campaign of a $60 single-player game isn't at least 10 hours, they feel ripped off. Sometimes 10 isn't even enough. And if they can burn through a $60 game in 6 hours? It often does not matter how good those six hours are; they walk away angry. The value is not there. But it might have been for me. So I can't quantitatively evaluate the overall value of a game for someone who has different values. I can absolutely say "this is what I found valuable, based on this criteria," and then they can determine if that matches what is valuable to them as well. That's how a review is supposed to work -- here's my opinion, and how I came to it; use it as you form your own.
Not much nostalgia is good for reviews; remember, you have to review the game in front of you, not the game that came before it. I expect the reviewer to be familiar with the series so they can accurately assess how it's different from previous chapters, since you can assume the audience will have experience with the series too. My editor was concerned that I would not be objective enough with my review of the Xbox 360 Ghostbusters game, since I am a huge fan and nostalgia weighs heavily on me. I was able to split my duties as a reviewer with my love as a fanboy, and it turned out that my review score was not only on par with other people who reviewed it, but the developer later told me that 8 out of 10 "sounded about right." As a fan, I have to say, 9.5 -- but that's fueled by nostalgia and feeling appreciated for my emotional investment in the franchise. Ultimately, you have to respect the past, but you're reviewing the present. And we all know that the past looks better over time, and you only really remember the high points. Play the game in front of you expecting it to be the game in front of you; the experience you had before is a different experience.
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