Is all the shooting just fun and games?
Real life is casting a shadow over a violence-obsessed genre
Shooters. That’s what the most ubiquitous genre of video games are colloquially called. They are the reason critics constantly say that video games are obsessed with guns.
Since the early ’90s when titles like “Doom” and “Wolfenstein 3-D” popularized gun-based games seen from a first-person perspective, shooters have dominated.
The bestselling video game of 2015? “Call of Duty: Black Ops III.” The bestselling game of 2014? “Call of Duty: Advance Warfare.” Four of the five bestselling games in May of this year? Shooters.
It’s a gun-obsessed medium mirroring a gun-obsessed society. But as mass shootings become an increasingly regular part of the news cycle, it’s fair to ask: Did the industry create a monster?
When the genre rose to prominence, one of its architects says the goal was simply to create some scares and some laughs.
“We were in our 20s, so it was the perfect age for that,” says John Romero, the legendary game designer whose credits include genre-making shooters “Wolfenstein 3-D,” “Doom” and “Quake.” But why so violent? “I loved watching horror movies,” he says. “The fact that we could make something like a horror movie, but make it interactive and repeatable, was something we had never seen. We totally thought it was awesome when we made it happen. So we kept amping it up.”
Guns, though, almost weren’t the weapon of choice for Romero and his collaborators.
“We made two first-person shooters before we made ‘Wolfenstein’ that were not good,” Romero says. “We were still exploring what is fun to do in first person. Rescuing scientists? Using a tank to kill monsters? Shooting fireballs at orcs? Finally settling on World War II weapons just gave us better feedback and sound effects and everything than the other stuff did. It just feels better when you’re holding a weapon.” But is it healthy? “It’s super cathartic,” Romero says. “It’s a totally different kind of entertainment. It’s unique. When do you ever play against friends and call them the worst names ever and you’re just joking and having fun?”
Of course, what started as fun and, well, games among a group of gore-hungry young dudes has now overtaken an entire industry. And this has led to cringe-worthy moments for the still-growing medium. At this year’s Electronic Entertainment Expo in Los Angeles, the trade show that is arguably the industry’s biggest close-up, most mainstream titles emphasized kill-or-be-killed gameplay, be it the realistic grit of WW1 in “Battlefield 1,” “Days Gone’s” zombie bloodbath or gruesome creatures in “Gears of War 4.”
Business as usual, sure, but this year’s E3 occurred just days after the massacre at an Orlando, Fla., nightclub that left 49 people dead. Violence surrounds us, in our digital worlds and in our real one, and suddenly it felt like too much. Even the supposedly still coming virtual reality revolution is adding gun-like peripherals, just in case it wasn’t clear your virtual avatar is indeed holding a gun.
There is, however, a growing nuance to many video games. The independent movement, in particular, brings us risk-taking titles almost weekly. Games such as “Gone Home,” “Prison Architect,” “Firewatch” and “Oxenfree” explore serious — and often emotional — terrain. Gun-based titles aren’t excluded. This year’s “Uncharted 4,” for instance, turns a film interactive and uses violence as a metaphor to explore larger themes of addiction and commitment.
And while politicians or cultural watchdogs like to single out video games as a motivating factor for real-world violence, Romero doesn’t buy it.
“People love playing video games with guns because target practice is really fun when you hit the target,” he says. “You know that what you’re doing in a game isn’t real. It’s a fantasy. We didn’t look at it like, ‘We shouldn’t make this.’ What we thought was, ‘Why would we stop?’ Nobody was conflicted. We were not religious. We were just making entertainment that we hadn’t seen before and we totally loved.”
And games aren’t just toys, he says.
“It’s an art form,” he continues. “It’s artistic expression. It’s a form of entertainment. People know that’s what entertainment is.”
While Romero concedes that not every game player wants “crazy first-person shooters,” recent releases show the genre is at least attempting overtures to new audiences. Or maybe shooters are just getting better at winning over the unconverted.
There are still military-esque blowouts — the aforementioned “Battlefield 1” and a sequel to “Titanfall” among them — but they’re no longer the norm. Today, the star of the genre is “Overwatch,” the team-based shooter whose tone is more “Guardians of the Galaxy” than urban warfare.
Outlandish characters are the center of the show — there are cowboys, robots, Grim Reapers, a woman with the power to alter weather. All of them come with individual weapons and a smile.
And though I still prefer to play with the chat functions off — strangers, in shooters, aren’t always the most hospitable of folks — I’m charmed every time “Overwatch” drops me into a game map that’s set in a cartoonish version of Hollywood Boulevard.
Lesson learned: Diverse characters — and space guerrillas — make a shooter more palatable. “Overwatch,” instead of anger or fear, emphasizes silliness. And then there’s “Superhot.” “Superhot” may not like you. The game may not even like firstperson shooters, as it completely upends the idea of what they’re supposed to do. Instead of quick reflexes and fast action, “Superhot” places a premium on stillness. Time, in the game, only moves when the player moves, allowing bullets to linger in midair.
With security camera-like cuts and abstract figures — enemies are red blurs that shatter like fine porcelain — “Superhot” imagines a frightening future in which everyone is an anonymous target.
And it taunts. Are video games too violent? “Superhot” answers the question by implying it’s too late to close this Pandora’s box. Midway through the game, a statement flashes on the screen: “Try to disconnect.”
Some battles have already been lost.