Post Script

EA’s handling of the most coveted IP on the planet has been poor, but could anyone else do better?

Back in January, reports emerged that Andrew Wilson, CEO of Electronic Arts, wasn’t particularly happy with his company having the rights to make Star Wars videogames, and never had been. It’s easy enough to see that being the case. The deal was inked before he took his seat in the big chair, negotiated by former CEO John Riccitiello, who now holds the same role at Unity, and Frank Gibeau, ex-head of EA Labels and now CEO of Zynga. While it’s hard to see winning the videogame rights to one of the biggest names in entertainment as anything but a positive, Star Wars was never an ideal fit for a company whose business is built on annual iterations to big-name sports games, and a new Battlefield every other year.

EA’s brief forays outside its wheelhouse over the last couple of generations have hardly set the world alight critically or commercially. Under Wilson, the publisher’s emphasis on highly monetisable servicegames has only intensified – and little wonder, given FIFA’s Ultimate Team mode brings in a billion dollars a year. Yet Wilson’s reported concern is not solely rooted in how Star Wars fits the EA business model; it is also, perhaps even more so, a problem with Star Wars itself.

Working with such a big licence as this brings a set of unique pressures. There is an expectation of lavish production values, ubiquitous marketing and a colossally high quality bar. There is also a much bigger, and far broader, volume of eyeballs on a Star Wars game than there is on a FIFA, Madden or Battlefield. When the new FIFA makes another billion dollars with its hybrid of fruit machine and sticker album, no one really bats an eyelid. The audience is used to it, the media doesn’t really care about it, and the shareholders are too busy lighting cigars with hundreds to even consider the ethics of it all. When EA did the same with Star Wars, as it did with the miserable, lootboxinfested Battlefront II, the outcry was enormous, and widespread. Indeed, it was the game that prompted governments around the world to begin investigating, and in some cases legislating against, one of the financial cornerstones of EA’s entire business.

So, yes, you can see why Wilson might not be particularly enamoured with a licence he inherited, that is a poor fit for the business he wants to run, and indeed threatens its very core. Equally, you can imagine that Disney has been less than delighted with EA’s stewardship of the brand so far. Since the deal was agreed in 2013 it has yielded the bare-bones Battlefield reskin, Star Wars Battlefront; its somewhat more fleshed-out, but immeasurably more controversial, 2017 sequel; the likeable, though flawed Fallen Order; and a handful of forgettable mobile games. Meanwhile, EA’s MMO The Old Republic, released in 2011, trundles on, all but forgotten. A planned singleplayer actionadventure to be directed by Uncharted co-creator Amy Hennig – on paper at least, EA’s greatest shot at Star Wars greatness – was canned, primarily because EA decided to make it in one of the most expensive cities on the planet.

Yet the deal, currently at least, runs until 2024. While it might seem a safe assumption that neither party will be particularly keen on extending it, it’s hard to identify a better home. There aren’t many game companies that operate at EA’s scale, after all, and among those that do, how many inspire confidence that they’d really do a better job? Activision Blizzard may have the money, but it is going through an awkward transition: the Eric Hirshberg era saw it focus on a small number of highly lucrative franchises – Call Of Duty, World Of Warcraft, Destiny, Skylanders – and all are now either on the wane or already gone. Despite its profile, it lacks an internal studio network, and almost all of the handful it does own are too busy on the Call Of Duty carousel. Blizzard could do wonders with the licence, you’d fancy, but it is not exactly fleet of developmental foot, and both Activision and Disney would probably expect more than one game in a decade.

Ubisoft has the resources, at least: its rolling, 24/7 development schedule is the envy of the industry. But it also works to a formula, and while it could probably knock out three or four Assassin’s Creed- style lightsaber games in ten years, the idea doesn’t exactly set the pulse racing. And beyond that, who is there? Perhaps a global juggernaut such as Tencent could give it a go, though it’s more of an investor than it is a publisher. A platform holder would surely pay through the nose for it – there would be no finer competitive advantage than this as we embark on a new console generation – but exclusivity doesn’t seem right for such a colossal IP.

Perhaps, then, the best licensing deal that Disney could make when the sun sets on its relationship with EA would be no deal at all – or rather, no long-term one. We don’t need a decade of Ubisoft Star Wars games, but we’d quite like one of them. Perhaps Activision could carve out some free time for the COD teams to put something together, or give a team at Blizzard ten years and see what emerges from it. See what Tencent’s financial might could bring to the table, and perhaps also give smaller creators a shot in between the tentpole blockbusters. There are few things more deflating than a disappointing Star Wars game, primarily because the potential is so enormous. Perhaps sharing this most coveted of videogame licences a little wider will one day see it fulfilled.

There is a much bigger, and far broader, volume of eyeballs on a Star Wars game than there is on a FIFA, Madden or Battlefield