In Defence of Derivative Games

 

If you stick with this blog, as I post more frequently you’ll begin to see that I respect straight-talking, honest people in the video games industry. Well, Zynga’s Dan Porter was at least being honest, if not especially admirable, when he reportedly said, “Zynga is often accused of copying games, which is mostly true”. Not surprisingly, this bone-headed statement generated controversy, and this in turn got me thinking about the issue of derivative game design. With its connotations of a lazy, cynical creative process, no criticism is more damning than calling a game derivative. But is a derivative game always a bad one?

 

Certainly, a derivative approach to game design is perceived as a growing problem. Beyond mechanics lifted from other shooters, Medal of Honour: Warfighter had little to show for itself besides multiple ways of breaking down doors. Even franchises previously seen as innovative are borrowing key features from elsewhere, with 343 Industries receiving criticism for appropriating Call of Duty’s perks system for the multiplayer in Halo 4. Not only was this change seen as unnecessary, by adding features from other games, fans felt 343 had muddied the waters, detracting from the feeling that Halo 4 was a truly unique experience.

The problem seems to be one of balance. Games like Warfighter are criticised not because they are derivative, but because they are derivative at the expense of innovation. All but the most ground-breaking and left field games are going to be derivative in some way, and to a certain extent this can be beneficial. Recurring mechanics allow gamers to easily manage the transition from game to game within a given genre. When you begin a new platformer, the ability to jump is your comfort blanket, a reliable constant ensuring you aren’t overwhelmed as you deal with whatever novel features the developers have added. A problem arises, however, when a developer decides to afford the player more comfort than they need, presenting an overabundance of familiar mechanics rather than taking the risk of interspersing them with fresh ones.

Braid is Jonathan Blow’s response to the problem of derivative games. At first glance, Braid appears extremely derivative itself. However, when you first take damage and the game allows you to wind back time, it becomes clear that there is far more to the experience than simple regurgitation. As you progress further, it becomes ever clearer that Blow has packed the game with established tropes not out of laziness, but in order to deconstruct them. In World 4, for example, Braid plays with the unwritten rule that progress in 2D platformers is achieved by moving towards right of the screen. Blow takes this to an absurd extreme: move to the right and time moves normally, but move to the left and time runs in reverse. This is the formula throughout the whole game; ideas that are derivative of other games appear, only to be reworked in unexpected ways that are not only fun, but also make you question existing conventions in platform game design. A derivative approach to design was therefore crucial to Blow’s vision for Braid.

While Braid is derivative for artistic reasons, the bland conformity of Spec Ops: The Line seems to have more to do with publisher pressure than the aims of its developer, Yager. Controlling Captain Martin Walker, you spend the majority of Spec Ops camped behind cover, shooting nondescript enemies whose A.I. would struggle to beat you at noughts and crosses, let alone outflank you. In this respect, Spec Ops is almost indistinguishable from dozens of other third-person shooters.

So far, so much like every other shooter (Picture: Spec Ops: The Line)

However, Spec Ops’ derivative mechanics are offset by a truly original narrative. Where most shooters present their protagonists as unambiguous heroes, Spec Ops has you questioning Walker’s mission from the outset. You will experience and even commit horrible acts in Spec Ops, and this soon begins affecting Walker’s psyche. This is displayed in many ways, most strikingly when he goes from calmly executing downed enemies to screaming obscenities and bludgeoning them with his rifle. By the final act, Walker is apparently hallucinating, and loading screen hints cryptically assure you that “you are still a good person”. Spec Ops’ brave engagement with the psychological implications of war is at odds with the derivative shooting, and it’s tempting to wonder what could have been had Yager had the opportunity to offer up unique gameplay alongside its story. However, as well as allowing Spec Ops to exist at all, I would argue that the derivative nature of Spec Ops’ mechanics helps its narrative work without being overwhelming. Returning to my previous analogy, Spec Ops’ derivative mechanics are your comfort blanket. The familiarity of ducking behind cover for a quick reload anchors you as a player. It’s a moment where you know what’s happening and can influence the outcome in a narrative that otherwise allows neither of those luxuries. The stark contrast between the mundane predictability of the shooting and shocking unpredictability of the story also adds to the game’s overall impact. For numerous reasons, then, Spec Ops: The Line couldn’t be the game it is without being deeply derivative in some ways.

It seems, then, that derivative game design, like many things, isn’t a problem in and of itself. Instead, it’s a question of moderation. Don’t expect derivative games to go away. As publishers and developers alike become more risk averse, games that are derivative of other, successful games will seem more and more like a safe, sensible option. We can always rely on independent developers like Jonathan Blow to find innovative ways to critique derivative design. The real question is whether other developers, forced by publishers to be derivative in some ways, will follow Yager’s example and be creative in others. 

Note: Language related articles like this one will usually be posted on a Friday.

@ludolinguist