“Reviving the Gamer Spirit: Rediscovering Our Community Roots”

I used to be passionate about video games; I truly did. There was a period when I would queue at Gamestop or the nearest gaming store, coffee in hand, eagerly awaiting the clock to strike 12am.

Midnight launches were incredible and exhilarating. I once adored video games, yet now I find them tedious, and nothing appears to captivate my attention sufficiently to alleviate that tedium. Certainly, there are a few flickers, tiny sparks of optimism that forthcoming releases might somehow rekindle that youthful enthusiasm I once had for gaming. (I’m looking at you right now, Casey Hudson), but as of now, I can genuinely state that nothing recently released has truly astounded me.

Let me clarify this for a moment; there have been bright instances, moments if you will, that have piqued my interest for a while. Lately, it seems either I’m disengaging or the gaming industry is, as one of us is no longer wholeheartedly invested in this partnership.

There are some anomalies to this current disenchantment that I perceive as pervading the realm; Baldur’s Gate 3, for instance, is a title that has been so prosperous that its player base has only expanded since its full launch in 2023.

This is also a game whose success has prompted other studios to assert that gamers shouldn’t anticipate this level of RPG, suggesting it was an outlier? Why? Why shouldn’t players expect an immersive, gratifying, and replayable experience from a game on which they are spending 70 to, in some circumstances, over 100 dollars?

Why shouldn’t we expect innovative interpretations of traditional mechanics? Why should we accept mere imitations of tired clichés or iterations of the same game, just under another name because the studio no longer possessed the rights to the original? Yes, I’m pointing my finger at you Callisto Protocol.

Studios have grown complacent or cozy, depending on your perspective. Instead of pushing the limits of what games can offer, they’ve chosen to focus on remasters and remakes, a strategy that has proven effective in certain instances. Titles like Dead Space and the Final Fantasy VII remake spring to mind, but in most cases, these revamped editions of older games feel like little more than a cash grab.

The flip side of this issue is the likelihood that studios have become fearful of or indifferent to their audience. After all, how would you feel if each time you attempted something innovative or introduced a new character to a franchise, your social media was inundated with death threats and other unpleasant messages?

Honestly, given the volume of hostility studios have received from anonymous keyboard “alphas” out there, I’d be astounded if there aren’t individuals within the gaming industry who said, “screw this” and sought out less stressful occupations. I mean, why bother creating something if the only reward for your effort is a continuous onslaught of venom from a group of incels with nothing else to occupy their time?

At some juncture, we gamers need to stand up and start countering the nonsense. Developers already face enough challenges from corporate executives and shareholders who don’t seem to grasp that when you hasten a game to meet its initially stated release date, you’re essentially undermining your investment.

Game development takes time; a notion that seems to have eluded many of these larger publishing houses. I long for the days when a developer’s response to the question “when will this be released?” was simply “when it’s ready.”

Blizzard was infamous for this approach, and I cherished every moment of it. Sure, we’d grumble about the absence of a date, but at least we knew that when the game finally arrived, it would be around 99.9999% polished. Nowadays, we see titles launched that are incomplete, buggy, and all require a 15-gigabyte update patch upon release.

Shareholders and corporate executives aren’t the only ones who need to grasp that the development process requires time. We as gamers must comprehend this too and, to be frank, calm down a bit.

There are absolutely no justifiable reasons under the sun that a writer, level designer, digital artist, or anyone involved in the game development process should receive death threats simply because some jerk dislikes the main character being a woman, or the prevailing trend of dismissing any game that doesn’t feature a white, square-jawed, lone wolf male protagonist as “woke.”

Video games are for everyone, and everyone deserves the chance to experience and relish their fantasies. If you’re that fixated on a game that fulfills your criteria of all protagonists being heterosexual white males, then the door is wide open for you to create your own game. But these attacks on developers for producing diverse games must genuinely cease; it’s becoming stale, folks—very, very stale.

So how do we recover from this downward spiral the industry appears to be in? It won’t be simple, and everyone involved, from the ground up, undoubtedly has their responsibilities to fulfill, beginning with us, the fans. The vitriol, death threats, and complete disrespect for the individuals behind the scenes who create the games we adore must come to an end. As fans, we ought to be supporting these developers rather than tearing them down due to decisions made by someone in a boardroom. Developers don’t set launch dates; those who don’t understand how long it genuinely takes to produce a thoroughly polished game set launch dates—a fact made evident by the frequent delays of AAA titles for “polishing” purposes. We as fans need to respond with some empathy, and extend a bit of support, rather than instantly seizing torches and pitchforks. Honestly, at the end of the day, it boils down to the simple adage of treating people with respect, because if we as fans persist with the threats, malice, and negativity that some individuals hurl at the creators of these games, eventually, they will cease making them.

Now, addressing the studios and publishers—stop pursuing GTA and Fortnite numbers; knock it off. Those games are anomalies and have truly captured lightning in a bottle. Your companies should regard those titles the same way you instructed us to regard Baldur’s Gate 3. Seriously, the large publishing houses urgently need to reassess what they consider “successful.” For instance, it’s estimated that the budget for the 2023 Deadspace remake was around 30 to 40 million (this is an estimate; it turns out, unless you are part of the team, determining the actual budget can be quite challenging). The game sold 2 million copies globally at a price of 60 USD, leading Motive to generate an 80 to 90 million dollar profit for EA with the remake, yet EA deemed that a failure. To me, that is utterly ludicrous.

Alongside reevaluating what constitutes a successful game, publishers need to abandon the practice of specific launch dates. Instead of saying “November 2025,” just state “coming in 2025.” Then, as development progresses, you can narrow the date down a bit more or, in lieu of a launch date, opt for early access, enabling your development teams to genuinely refine their games and collaborate with the fanbase. I keep referencing BG3, but their approach was effective, and it worked exceptionally well.

For this gamer, it all ties back to the notion that we once were a community—a family, an inclusive group who reveled in diving into our fantasies and action dreams for a spell while celebrating each other’s triumphs and creations. Video games have always been, and continue to be, our outlets; now it appears we’ve forgotten that on both sides of the equation.

Perhaps it’s time we strive to remember that.

 

 

Featured image credited to nikita kachanovsky