A Notch Too High

"Life is really simple, but men insist on making it complicated."
-Confucius

The first step towards recovery is to admit there is a problem. So, we found it fitting to first design an outline of the problem itself through what we've been referring to as the "barrier analysis." A barrier, as you already know, is an object whose intention is to obstruct your way. In our case, the model for game complexity barriers can be divided into three distinct categories: Interface barriers, logical barriers, and perceptual barriers. Any of these three barriers can impede someone's enjoyment of a game if they are severe enough. Before going any further, it might be wise to explain what each of these barriers are.

Logical Barrier

A logical barrier, in this model, can be defined as any type of intricate design that is in some way related to the in-game mechanics. By this we mean what you would consider to be the actual core "game play" without necessarily considering the look of the game itself or even what you're controlling it with. For example, in the original Super Mario Bros. jumping onto and into blocks would be considered one of the "logical design" elements of the game.

So the question is: how would you erect Logical Barriers through the use of in-game design? Or perhaps more importantly, how do you avoid these barriers? The answer will become apparent after we look at the progression of the modern game design.

In the beginning, game design was composed of only a handful of mechanics. Video games like pong consisted of simple rules, such as "bounce ball past opposite paddle." These earliest titles represented probably the simplest game concepts that we will ever see. Still, it's no surprise that many considered this to be so straightforward that the amount of expected usage was questionable. The amount of variables at play compared to a real game of ping-pong, which incorporates a fair deal of physical finesse to play properly, are quite limited.

Not soon after Pong came a number of arcade titles that had capability for movement and action simultaneously. Moving and acting opened many doors to potential "gameplay" structures, one being the most famous of all - Super Mario Bros. By today's standards, Super Mario Bros. is incredibly simple in design. In terms of "rules" and logical design, you simply tried to navigate your avatar (Mario) from the left-most area of the level to the furthest area on the right. In between you could walk, run, and jump. Those were the basic verbs to describe his actions, and they could be used in a number of entertaining ways. You could jump onto enemies, you could jump over bottomless pits, and could even jump into brick blocks. No matter how you look at it, the game was basically comprised of running and jumping to an ever-increasing level of challenge. For something so simple in concept, it's quite amazing just how much mileage players got from the game. Super Mario Bros. was arguably the staple of simple-yet-complex gameplay mechanics for the eighties.

After a healthy run of simple concept games in the eighties, came the first instances of the modern complex game with the Super Nintendo Entertainment System (SNES). Those who were not already playing games on a regular basis could probably already envision a carnival sign above the game consoles at the local department store reading "You must be this experienced to play." Games that used to be about running and jumping now had x amount of new features to boast in the newest iteration of the given game series. Mario was no longer limited to just running and jumping (and for the sake of the argument, there were small variations even on the original Nintendo Entertainment System for Mario and friends.) Mario was now about running, jumping, flying, running up walls, riding an animal, eating enemies and fruit with said animal, hitting switches, solving puzzles, spinning a cape, and more. In other games, you had equally complex game structures that, more often than not, were actually used as bragging points when advertising a game.

A few years later came the advent of the third dimension and all its associated problems. Now, games didn't just move a character left to right, but rather in any direction and even at variable speeds. But the complexity didn't stop there. The games would make you even deal with seeing where you wanted to move to. So not only were players asked to move their character in a completely analogue environment and perform actions from the laundry-list of featured moves, but they were now asked to control what was dubbed a "camera" and adjust it toward where they wanted to look. Needless to say, in-game complexity made a vastly considerable jump with the move to 3D in the late 90s. What followed it - that is, the generation we're in at this very moment - has been more of the same. Only this time with even more complexity added to the mix.

So what makes the video game industry think it is so special that it can just continue on without concern for the fundamental complexity of its rules and design? Board games do not typically enjoy this luxury. Take one of my favorite board games - Go. In Go, you are presented only a handful of basic rules and actions, most of which could be explained in about a minute. From these basic rules, the game becomes naturally more complex through logic and strategy, rather than from increasing the amount of "rules." The result is a game that can often ramp up in difficulty as you, the player, decide to think about strategy and pattern-recognition in more intelligent ways. So a game that is comprised of an open board, two different colors of "stones", and only a couple rules would take a lifetime to master since as you become better you begin to form personal strategies and patterns. A stark contrast to the often complex, yet shallow video games released on a daily basis.

Something foul is afoot. The video game industry can't get away with this forever. Ramping up logical complexity is not the answer to creating fun and meaningful entertainment. It can be a useful tool for the game designer, but games with simple rules can be equally entertaining. However, the logical barrier has a close brother who is often a partner in crime.

Interface Barriers

We could define "interface," in the context of a videogame, as anything tangible that comes between a player's action and the appropriate reaction on the television screen. In simple terms, interface is the game controller, mouse, or keyboard. Earlier we took a look at the progression of the modern controller. We saw how a two button joystick has evolved into the complex many-buttoned controllers of today. But is this evolution good or bad? What makes an interface more accessible?

On a day-to-day basis, we as human beings interface with or operate an enormous amount of objects and other people. When you wake up in the morning, you "operate" your dresser. By grabbing the handle and pulling it towards you, only then can you choose your attire for the day. A shower will require turning knobs until the desired temperature is reached. Making breakfast may require you to open a fridge by pulling a handle, press a button on a toaster to make your toast, and perform a number of tasks with your coffee maker (should you be a coffee drinker). When you're finally on your way out the door, you need to strap your shoes on by tying the laces, and zipping up your jacket. Before you have even left your house, you've already used a plethora of objects in very specific ways. But that is only a representation of the volume of interfaces or operations you must complete. But what happens when these operations are not engineered to be user-friendly or even functional at all? Frustration.

Here in Ottawa, Ontario, the public transportation company OC Transpo runs the local bus and train systems. One year, after retiring the old clunker model of busses, they brought in new models with a motion sensor to open the side doors. On the door read the words "wave hand under beam to open door." Directly above was a green light showing where this motion sensor was located, to notify people where this "beam" projected from. The feedback from this new model was terrible. Many people would still push on the door or step on the ground hard thinking it would open the door. Still others would wave their hand in the wrong place. To make matters worse, the reaction time for the waving was not instantaneous. After the sensor picked up the motion it would take a solid three seconds before the door began to open. Shortly after, OC Transpo decided to replace the doors in exchange for a simpler interface - a yellow bar with a sign that read "push bar to open." And since pushing something is more natural to us than, say, waving your hand under an invisible beam, the citizens' response was positive.

Another example of a failure in interface was demonstrated by the N-Sider staff in Los Angeles during the 2004 Electronics Entertainment Exposition. With not much time to spare before the upcoming Nintendo conference, we raced to the subway in an attempt to arrive on time. Once there, we were faced with a crisis - in order to board the train you needed a pass from a machine however none of the machines would accept our bills! There was not even a human attendant to solve our plight. At this point the problem felt almost insurmountable. In the end we ended up running the same bills through the machine about fifty times until they finally decided to cooperate and hand over a pass. The ridiculousness of the situation was the idea that we had money in our hands, yet a machine stood in our way because it was designed improperly. Had there been an attendant in the flesh our passage would surely have been granted without hesitation.

With a video game, it's much more difficult to discern between what is "working" and what is "failing." We know that video game systems will not fail on a mechanical level, for the most part, but have instead treaded on a new type of failure: over complication. Why was it deemed necessary to have more and more buttons and "functionality" added to the basic game interface? Often times logical design (and subsequently, logical barriers) go hand-in-hand with barriers through interface. If a controller has many buttons it is because it must facilitate the many features the game has to offer. At least that is the designer's reasoning.

One of the main problems with interface in the realm of video games could be said to be the lack of any variation. There are little to no options available for a simple console controller, for instance. In subjects like music, you have a wide range of interface options and complexity to choose from. For example, try to play Mary Had a Little Lamb on the piano. To do so, you simply memorize the notes and tap the appropriate keys with your finger one after the other. On a guitar, however, the situation is certainly different. For every note you not only have to pluck the according string, but must also use your left hand to hold down that same string at the right "fret". So while you're playing the same song in both instances, one is obviously much trickier to complete when interacting with the instrument. For video games, there is nary a "piano option" to be found.

Perceptual Barriers

Here is where we tread into more abstract grounds. If you can impede a person's enjoyment of a game through the structure of the game and through the interface it has, then you can certainly create a barrier with the game's image. So in our model, perceptual barriers can be anything derived from a game's theme or "presence."

A great example of a perceptual barrier surfaced quite recently in the form of a title named "Kuma/War." In the title you are asked to complete campaigns based on recent conflicts. One of these missions was even Operation Red Dawn, which saw both the capture of Saddam Hussein subsequently slaying of his sons Uday and Qusay. Now while this game could have featured the most polished engine and game mechanics yet seen by the world, the prospect of simulating the murder of Saddam's sons is rather sickening.

Obviously this is a very extreme example, but it is one that gets the point across bluntly. The question is - do people really want to kill, be killed, use deadly weapons, and otherwise surround themselves with dark and "unpleasant" themes? That is where the perceived image of games comes in. Let's take a look at some interesting photographs depicting the changing face of game themes and art.

Over the years, the image surrounding the industry has been increasingly dark and violent. The image could be easily seen as one that is also commonly associated with angsty growing teenagers. Sure, there are the SpongeBob Squarepants titles with bright colors, but they are both in the minority and often times have poor logical design. After all, why would companies pour resources into lighthearted games if they aren't selling?

Too much of anything is unhealthy. It wouldn't be reaching to say that it's time the industry put the crack pipe down for a moment and realize that the image it's putting out on an annual basis is contributing to the limited audience. Guns and violence in a game can be fine in moderation. Nobody is arguing that. But if people think this is the only way to make an entertaining product, they best get their head out from beneath the sand and look at other entertainment industries. Why do you think it is that Pixar is making boat-loads of cash right now? Is it because they made an "X-treme" movie with a male lead that has a five O'clock shadow and spews one-liners? No. They are successful because they found a way to appeal to both adults and kids at the same time without insulting either crowd in doing so. Another great example is the films from famed animator Hazao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli. The movie Spirited Away is an animated feature that can appeal to people of all ages because it tries to see who it can include in its scope, rather than who it can ostracize.

"We must measure our goodness, not by what we don't do, what we deny ourselves, what we resist, or who we exclude. Instead, we should measure ourselves by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include." - Pere Henri, Chocolat( screenplay by Robert Nelson Jacobs)

Nobody is asking the industry to turn upside-down and head the other direction. Instead, there simply needs to be viable options for those who will obviously not find the common themes appealing. And by viable I mean those options that are not insulting to the audience through poor entries. Titles from Nintendo, for instance, have made great strides in trying to both include a broad audience and at the same time make the experience one of grand quality. But one company cannot balance the scale alone.