"An oil painting of a tree by Jacob van Ruisdael with a filter applied to make half of the painting appear pixelated"

Throughout history, each generation is always absolutely terrified of what emerges after their own time. We see it all throughout, with the Greek elders worried about the impact of literature on laziness; or the 15th century fears that the printing press would eliminate the human interaction associated with your news. Of course, moving into our more modern era these arguments arise from every direction: rock and roll, late-night talk shows, “demonic” trading card games. Each and every one of these developments or pieces of entertainment are initially reviled and embargoed, lamented for how dangerous and disgusting they are to our children. Of course, eventually the generation that is familiar with these pastimes mature and come to realize, hey, maybe they aren’t so bad after all. This is the dreaded cycle that plagues us as humans; we are often too terrified of new ideas that we cannot see the value in them, and within that we often miss the valuable stories and experiences that come with them.

Although, before we discuss more on the fear of new media, I feel it is necessary to define what media should do as a whole—as art. The idea of what “art” is can be most easily broken down into three parts. The first, is that art reflects the creator in some way. Whether it is a starving artist sharing their pain in the form of canvas, or a woman dreaming up a magical story while on a train ride, every piece of art traces back to the creator in some way. Perhaps in The Scream, we can see the internal mental breakdown of Mr. Munch; art is like a pleasant disease that takes a deep root in the creator. Secondly, art must present something—and mean something—to each consumer that indulges in it. A childhood story is best when it brings back a deep memory, and a piece of artwork that evokes a feeling or emotion in the receiver possesses power like nothing else in the world. At times, the author’s input and the receiver’s output may not necessarily align, but those small nuances in translation make each experience all the more personal. Third and finally, art must “capture” something, even if it’s not physical. To elaborate, art must retain and preserve an idea, a movement, an event, a time-period, an emotion, or even just a dream. Art serves as our oldest history lesson—as well as the most impactful. Overall, media is art on three different fronts: the artist, the curator, and the world.

With these principles in mind, we can see just how art stretches itself across every medium. Physical art is of course the easiest, which actually contains an object or perspective frozen in time and open for interpretation. But we also have more mediums to showcase art, with the modern-day definition stretching to include all types of literature, music, and film. All of these positions are well deserved, but the examiner within myself can’t help but feel that something is missing, and we are missing out on the quality of a new medium—a medium that’s only young but technologically profound and innovative.

To put it bluntly, we must stop ignoring videogames and their place as art.

I can already hear the crimes of “hearsay!” ringing from accredited scholars everywhere, but allow the messenger to speak before he is shot. I believe the world, and the art-culture critiques of the world, are truly missing out by excluding interactive software from the conversation about art. The fears that come with a new technology or development are nothing new, but we must move past them to see the immense worth that this medium can—and has—already created! Therefore, I have hand-selected some of these most artful titles available that fit the three principals of art, to prove how videogames function as a medium and do so absolutely uniquely. In order to do so, we are going to be working under a metaphorical pretense that we have with us a perfect author, director, or creator (they can take the persona of a Stephen King or Quentin Tarantino type, whomever you prefer). Therefore, we are looking solely for experiences and stories that CANNOT be replicated by a book, film, or television series; each title must stand alone as to why videogames are great for art. I implore you to read on with an open mind, and move past your conception of basic arcade joysticks and coin slots: these titles are far beyond what you may be familiar with.

The initial title I would like to bring to light is the title Dark Souls, developed by company FromSoftware, with producer Hidetaka Miyazaki at the helm. Dark Souls is a series acclaimed for its mechanical design and punishing gameplay—only we aren’t here to discuss those details. To summarize the story; Dark Souls is about the conflict between light and dark, only twisted a bit from normal. In the title, the gods and lords of the world were given the souls of light, while humans were given a single soul of dark, split into shards to create humanity. The gods used their power to create an age of fire, where civilization flourished under them. However, the humans that worshiped them grow weaker in the meantime, losing their humanity and becoming “hollow.” The power of the gods soon began to fade, and they will lose their power if the fire of the world is not rekindled. Therefore, the main character, a miserable hollow—or the player—, must go on a journey to find gods of old, often slaying them in the process, until they find the source of the fire: either to reignite it or snuff it out. But this could just as easily be a stellar book with our metaphysical perfect narrator, what makes Dark Souls as a game—and art piece—unique?

Dark Souls relies intensively on minimalism to make its points; there are less than spoken words and conversations than the feature article in a newspaper editorial. Instead, most of the tale of Souls is inferred and discovered throughout the game. One of the largest places the story unfolds is actually in the simple three-four line descriptions of equipment the player collects as they travel—a detail many wouldn’t even realize. Furthermore, actually connecting that along with interlaid symbolism on doors and statues, as well as the placement and meaning of the bosses you fight, makes Dark Souls as much of a story as a treasure hunt. In fact, it took the fan base of the title nearly two years following its release to actually compose the epic tale together, which happens because this unique deliver style could only happen in a video game, where the details are for you to find, not absorb. This, however, ignores one of the greatest boons of the title and that is how it connects its narrative alongside the gameplay (so I suppose we are discussing the mechanics, now aren’t we?). As stated earlier, in Dark Souls humankind is regressing to a primal state, and literally losing their humanity. They are cursed as this happens and they die only to be born again as undead, in a never-ending cycle of loss. The player themselves experiences this first hand, as the game punishes the player for dying—which occurs often. Therefore, when the player eventually succumbs to their failure and preemptively quits the journey, they too have “hollowed,” just as the story describes. This meta-narrative is something that can only be gleamed from a videogame, walking away from a book or film doesn’t necessary instill a connection to the theme. Our first title Dark Souls shows what I believe is the strongest way videogames tell stories and experiences as art: with a minimalist approach relying on the player to ponder the minute details given, and also the meta-commentary that can be interwoven by the blend of player involvement—or gameplay—and narrative.

Therefore, it is no surprise my second notch on the pole also is outstanding at both of those qualities: minimalism and meta-ism. This next title is Hotline Miami, developed by Dennaton Games, a small partnership of two designers. Hotline Miami, like Souls, is known for its immense difficulty, but also its extreme over the top violent aesthetic, all wrapped up in a 1980’s package theme package. Hotline Miami’s story is nearly as mythological as the previous, instead featuring an unknown protagonist named “Jacket,” who received messages on his answering machine with vague instructions for errands to run. These are assignments issues to Jacket to head to local sects of Russia Mafia activity and eliminate them all singlehandedly, with a lot of brutality along the way. In this the player hardly gets any information, but is thrown into the midst and expected to “ride or die,” trying to understand what’s going on. Details of the plot are unveiled in cryptic questions and riddles, aimed as much at the person behind the screen as the one on it. Events begin to lose their pacing and stop being coherent, all the while accompanied by bursts of white TV static. Eventually, the player learns much of this miss-matched narrative all took place within the protagonist mind while they were under comatose from a head wound, recovering just in time to take on the leader of the Russian Mafia. Again, we have to ask, what makes this unique?

Well of course we have the basis of the story itself, which throws the consumer in with little regard for their questions and begins to unravel as they progress, only the details become muddled overtime. This is nothing special, but the underlying is what changes things. While it sounds like a juicy violent chaos spree, Hotline Miami is actually a tale about the horrors of war, and how violence only leads to more violence and suffering. Throughout the minimalist plot painted prior, we learn that Jacket’s operations and assignments stem from his PTSD from his previous military career. Going untreated and unaided, he turned to back to violence in a world he couldn’t understand—one of Russia-America friendship. This information can only be gleamed from the bizarre questions, symbols painted throughout levels, and comparison of in-game and real-world dates throughout the title. Therefore, Hotline Miami again delivers a very minimal yet impact experience, asking the player to look for their secrets and refusing to answer any worries. In this, it shows how videogames often ask for the consumer to take an extra “step,” which only makes the story that much more impact and personal; you worked for it. Hotline Miami, also illustrates its meta-narrative them even more successfully than Dark Souls: that being that violence only brings violence.

In the gameplay, you are put through rooms full of mafia men with little equipment or aid, forced to take them down with a myriad of makeshift weapons and brutal executions. At first the player is horrified and disgusted about what they must do to survive, but that is quickly forgotten. The difficulty in Miami is off the rails, and a single misstep from the player is all it takes to be forced back and restart the entire process again. Therefore, as player frustration builds, they ignore how vile and gory their actions are. They are no longer slowed down or pause as Jacket bashes in the skull of a Russian with a baseball bat, they are focused on the next around the next corner. In this all, the player grows blind to the violence around them through their own violent actions; they become the problem, while 80’s synth beats pump in their ears and the score counter begs them to continue their carnage for bonuses. When each level ends, a daunting yet chilling soundtrack is played, while the player and Jacket must wander back to the start. They go through their trail of blood they have left, and are forced to face their actions: a meta commentary on how violence takes control of us all and we don’t notice until it is much, much too late. Hotline Miami, shows us a lot about how violent we can be, as long as we get frustrated and given a direction. Again, this title also demonstrates how well a videogame can tell a story as art, utilizing minimalism and meta-narratives to make you ask yourself: “Do you like hurting people?”

The last title I want to touch on is one that was quite the phenomenon, reaching cult-classic status soon after it was released. In fact, it was even give as a gift to the Pope during the year of mercy, as the title demonstrates forgiveness and the impact of our actions. This title is Undertale, released solely by Toby Fox in 2015. I consider Undertale to be the prime example of how videogame storytelling is best served, and you will soon know why. Again, a quick summary for the story, Undertale is all about choices and your own will. The main character is a human child who has fallen into an underground full of kooky and unique monsters, and must find their way to the surface again. Although along the way they—and the player—are given the choice of fighting their way out, or trying to find more peaceful resolutions to their conflict. The story features a variety of endings (themed “neutral,” “pacifist,” and “genocide.”) that create a wholly unique experience for each person who plays it. Obviously Undertale already succeeds due to the fact that most books or films will not have multiple endings, but can it go further?

Undertale is a very personal story, given that your actions directly influence the outcome and characters in the game. However, the title also holds a huge amount of literal depth; nearlty every action committed by the character has some eventual tie, or is brought up again by another character. This helps the whole world feel connected, and the consumer responsible for each good or bad action they choose. Undertale again features minimalist storytelling, but at this point the reader is surely familiar with the idea of picking up snippets and connecting them outside the bounds of the playing field. Undertale differs from most titles, however, as its meta-narrative is completely and utterly bonkers. One of the quirks in the game is something called ‘Determination,” which is said to be something wholly human in nature. When a human is “Determined,” they cannot be stopped by any monster, or other force for that matters. Unbeknownst to the player, this idea of Determination is what allows them to do every action in the game, including even just saving and reloading the game when you fail!

Final Thoughts

Overall, videogames have a great deal of more merit than we give them credit. They are more than seemingly simple 0’s and 1’s, and deserve to have their recognition as art. It does seem strange to admit or accept, especially for those who are used to critiquing words and frames instead of pixels on a screen, but I digress, it is important for us to recognize their worth. We saw how just defining what art and media does for us as humanity changes our perspective on what art can be, then we explored together. Even with the overbearing pressure of our “perfect” narrator we still managed to find three titles: Dark Souls, Hotline Miami, and Undertale, which all prove the power of this storytelling technique. If there is anything I could do with this rather long essay, I hope it’s the recognition that every way we share a story or experience or lesson is valuable. I hope that videogames begin to receive better acclaim as art pieces, but we should maintain appreciate for any new media form that grows in the future. As we progress through life as critical thinkers, curators, and creators; we should remember to experience the story, not fixate on the box it is delivered in.