Author: Krisztian Molnar

ARG Redefined

After failing to properly explain in class what an Alternate Reality Game (ARG) is, I figured I should brush up on my knowledge about ARGs. So after a few hours of browsing ARGs that I was familiar with, like the Beast and Perplexcity, I began to formulate a definition for ARGs. I wasn’t long into defining this genre when I realized why I had failed to define it before. I failed because it’s almost impossible to define a genre that is in its infancy, since it evolves with every one of its new installments. There are, however, some basic formulas that have remained the same every since the Beast was released in 2001.

ARG is basically an interactive and non-linear narrative based game that uses the real world as its platform. Unlike traditional narrative that is told through one medium, ARG is told through every conceivable form of media (websites, e-mails, digital audio or video, movies, books, text messages, phone calls etc.), and as such it evolves with every interaction it has with players. For instance, the design team behind Perplexcity was observing and reacting live to the behaviors of its players, and thus only the beginning and the end of the game was predetermined. Of course the word “beginning” and “end” has a new meaning in ARG, because once the game begins it can’t be paused, and once it ends it can’t be continued — Perplexity began in April 2005 and ended in February 2007.

Perhaps the easiest way to imagine how an ARG works is to watch The Game, where Michael Douglas lives through a form of ARG experience. Some may disagree with this comparison, since in the movie Douglas interacts with the “game’s” actors, but they are wrong to disagree, because if we research the design behind Perplexcity, then we can see that 42 Entertainment actually hired real actors to interact with the players of Perplexcity. The players even had to publish a book in order to advance in the game — the book is entitled Tales From The Third Planet, and can be bought online via Lulu — and thus the amount of player interaction with real people in The Game is the same as it is in Perplexcity.

For more information about ARGs visit the website of the company that had created this genre (http://www.42entertainment.com).

Counter-Cultural “Implementation”

“Implementation is a novel about psychological warfare, American Imperialism, sex, terror, identity, and the idea of place,” says Nick Montfort and Scott Rettberg. As interesting and relevant as such themes are I think that “Implementation” is less about the short novel’s themes, then it’s about how such themes are disseminated — which interestingly enough can be a theme in itself.

If it was about the theme of psychological warfare — as some people say it’s — then why did the authors decided to use a white backdrop instead of a red one? If I would see a piece of red paper on an airplane — one gentleman from Europe decided that KLM’s interior was in for a redecoration — with a beginning phrase that says “Terror is easier to sell then shoes,” then I would say that “Implementation’s” theme was more than adequately conveyed. However, “Implementation” as it is draws no attention to itself, let alone to its themes, since unless I was looking for a small white sheet of paper there is no way that I can find it in downtown New York or Tokyo.

As I said before, I believe that the true message of the work comes from the way it’s delivered — like a virus through the internet. If we look at the work from that context, then its theme is not about American Imperialism anymore, but instead about how a counter-cultural movement begins and works. Perhaps I interpreted “Implementation” that way, because I still remember how graffiti spread all over the world, and like a virus, evolved to fit every nation’s need in protesting the direction their culture was heading. The same way, if we look at the individual images in “Implementation” from different countries, we can see that they evolve and are placed on different symbolic institutions.

Seeing a white piece of paper with a short phrase from “Implementation” in front of the Louvre, where a wealth of traditional art is kept, reminded me of the counter-cultural movement in art. What is art? A piece of paper placed on a wall, or Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa? I guess it’s up to us to decide.

“Nippon,” Deconstructing Binaries Leads To Harmony

Perhaps it was due to Thelonious Monk’s pleasant Bebop Jazz song – by the name of “Japanese Folk Song” (“Kojo No Tsuki”) – why I was able to endure Young-Hae Chang Heavy Industries’s “Nippon.” Perhaps it was because I can read Japanese kanji that I had decided to read through a flickering art that was about 15 to 17 min longer than it should have been. Regardless as to why I read through “Nippon,” I have to say that I’m glad that I did. “Nippon” ended up being a piece of art that through deconstructing binaries revealed that the relationship between code and texts is based on harmony.

YHCHI’s “Nippon” is about the thoughts and feelings of a group of business man and woman in an after-hours brothel-bar, wherein woman practice the worlds oldest profession. I have to say that I found the tale quite boring, because the nameless characters, like the lust’ inspiring musician, were typical archetypes that readers find in any literature that deals with human lust.

The narrative is definitely not where “Nippon” shines, however, that is not to say that it doesn’t have anything to offer. One aspect of “Nippon’s” archetypal narrative that I liked was how the world that its plot revolves around can be envisioned to be anywhere – even though the title “Nippon” is another way of saying “Japan” – since the plot is confined to a single room in a single night in an unknown city. I also liked that the narrative, like in “Bust Down The Doors,” was alternating between first and third point of view, and shifting its perspectives between that of a man and woman.

I think “Nippon’s” purpose was not to criticize global corporate capitalism, which the narrative so aptly did, but to ask readers to read between the visible line that divides the language on screen and the hidden line that divides language and codes. YHCHI’s Nippon is about the presentation and deconstruction of binaries.

The opening of “Nippon” (“IT’S WRONG”) and its conclusion (“IT’S WRONG, ALL WRONG, AND YET IT’S ALL SO RIGHT”) is only the beginning of that deconstruction. The conceptualization of division in the English and Japanese language, characters and alphanumeric writing, East and West, black and white, code and language also follows that process. By illustrating different binaries that not only work, but also depend on one another in “Nippon,” YHCHI proves that the relationship between them is rather harmonious instead of chaotic. It’s a relationship that benefits both code and text. I believe that it’s in this deconstruction that “Nippon” truly shines and can be seen as unique piece of art.

My Lost Blog About Physcial vs. Mental Interactivity

When some people think of an interactive art form, they intuitively think of literature and painting in a digital format. They think that as long as an art form can be physically interacted with through their laptop’s keyboard or mouse it has to be interactive – like ergodic literature and cybertext. People often forget that there is a different type of interactivity, one that has been around for thousands of years, and as such predates and is the precursor for the digital era’s physical interactivity. As Scott McCloud had proved it in the context of comic books, there is a sort of mental interaction between people and a given art.

While McCloud didn’t spend a lot of time on addressing the issue of interactivity with his concept of closure, he did inadvertently question the novelty of the interactive digital art forms. After all how can interactivity be a novel idea if it has been around for thousands of years in the form of various arts – albeit in a different form?

It’s not a novel idea, however, some people forget that because they take their psyche’s gift for granted. They believe that in a book words and sentences give rise to what they envision – which is true in a sense – but forget about how their psyches contributes to what they see. If reading was not interactive than we would all envision a book’s events the same way, but are there any two people who had read the same book and in the end had imagined the events the same way? I don’t think so. Not unless they have an identical psyche – a prospect that is impossible.

Andre Bazin, a renowned French theorist from the 20th century, had argued that nothing can be more interactive than reading a book, because the reader is part of the book and the book is part of the reader, due to the reader’s gift to convert words into unique images. Thus interactivity is not a novel idea, only the concept of physical interactivity is.

Comic Book As A Genre

I grew up on graphic novels and mangas, however, I never read a book about the theories behind the conventions of the art form. I knew about the phenomenon of having a detailed background in mangas with simplified characters, but I had no idea that artists had named that concept “masking.” Thus I enjoyed Scott McCloud’s “Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art,” because it allowed me to develop a deeper appreciation and respect for a genre that I love – a genre that for far too long had suffered from self-esteem issues.

I do disagree with McCloud on one point, however, namely the one where he tries to define comics as juxtaposed pictorial and other images in a deliberate sequence intended to convey information and to produce an aesthetic response in the viewer. McCloud should have used this definition to define a different word. One that encompasses everything from scroll paintings and mangas to graphic novels and comics.

Yes, I believe that the word “comics” should only designate a genre and be part of that word – whatever that word may be. Why, because of the connotation that the word “comics” had developed over the years. When you say the word “comics,” 90% of the people will be thinking of the same thing: one of Marvel’s or D.C.’s comic books. Not of Frank Miller’s graphic novel and certainly not of Kentaro Miura’s manga, and if you dare to compare it to one of Gu Kaizhi scroll paintings, then you are bound to fail. Trying to alter a preconception that had developed about comics in the past four decades is almost impossible.

When artists, like Frank Miller, feels offended when someone does not refer to him as graphic novelists, and when Barns&Nobles and Borders barely sells any Marvel or D.C. comic books, but is filled with hundreds of mangas – under the title of “manga” – it’s time to declare comics a separate genre. Let’s leave Spiderman and Batman to their own devices, and see if they can help the world of comic books to become as respected as their film adaptations – or enjoy the prestige of graphic novels and mangas.

Learn How To Unlearn What You Have Learned

While reading Michael Joyce’s “Afternoon” I felt like I was being pushed by the author to leave behind all the preconceptions I  have about reading and interpreting a text. Perhaps that is why I failed to conceptualize the story when I initially read it, since I was desperately searching for the different pieces of the story in order to find out what it’s about, instead of enjoying the journey. However, once I left my inclination to search for any form of order in “Afternoon” – an impossible task, since “Afternoon” has numerous characters that live inside different times/spaces – I began enjoying the fragments of the various stories.

I believe Joyce has a smile on his face every time he thinks about how “Afternoon” and its lexias ask the reader to learn how to unlearn what they have learned about reading a text in order to enjoy his story.

A story that is about Peter who may have seen is his ex-wife and their son die in a car crash, but which is from a thematic perspective is predominantly about sex and death. If you don’t believe me, than explore Nausicaa and Lolly’s relationship – “Olympus” is a good lexia to begin with – or find out if there was or wasn’t a love quadrangle between Peter, Nausiica, Werther and Lolly.

If I’m to be honest I was less concerned with the story’s theme, than with “Afternoon’s” declaration of war on closure. Yes, we discussed closure in class, but only after I had found out that the last page in “Afternoon” reads: “Work in Progress” – so does every link leading out of it – did I begin to think that the purpose of this story was prove that there can be closure without ending a story. I certainly felt that there was closure in “Afternoon,” since I was at peace with the development of the story’s different fragments, and with the fact that it will never end – as the line ”Work in Progress” proves.

Then again, do we truly want closure? If we do there wouldn’t be dozens of prequels and sequels for all the movies and books that we love. I for one like the idea of having closure without, well, having closure in the traditional sense of the word. I think we always had this concept in our lives and “Afternoon” only points that out for us.

You had me at, “Why did you do that?”

Over the years interactive fiction had blessed me with a variety of different feelings, like anger, frustration and delight, but I don’t think that this genre had ever disturbed me. That is, before I read “The Baron.”

The game’s premise and prose may sound cliché at first to people who read interactive fiction. There is a girl that was abducted by an “evil” baron and you as the father have to save her. On your quest you encounter a dragon in a bone filled cave – a cave and a dragon that is interestingly the beginning and the end of the tale – a forest filled with danger, a village, and of course, a ruined castle. So what is so disturbing about “The Baron” that the author had to write a disclaimer and a warning for it?” After all, it’s only a tale that is full of clichés and propagates a fairly linear plot. The answer to this question lies in the representation and consequences of your decisions.

When I was in the forest and I encountered the wolf, I decided to kill her, even though deep down I knew that she was only protecting her son. I killed her, because I knew that “my daughter” was in danger, and the fastest way to save her was to kill the wolf. I thought that trading wolf’s life for my daughter’s was a reasonable choice. I was wrong. After typing “kill wolf,” I not only had to read in gruesome detail as I killed her, but I was confronted by a gargoyle as to why I did it? That’s when the game became disturbingly intriguing, because by then it was not about the protagonist anymore, but rather it was about me. I, like the protagonist, had personal stake in the tale.

Perhaps that is why it feels wrong to place “The Baron” into the interactive fiction genre, since it offers so much more then traditional interactive fictions – like self-reflection by questioning our true selves. That is why “The Baron” had me at “Why did you do that?” and that is why I will keep an eye on this evolving genre from now on. Now lets get back to “The Baron…”

Interactive Illusion

I used to like interactive fiction in the beginning of the 90’s, when a lack of good graphics allowed me to explore games that were founded purely on texts, and when I was naïve enough to think that in these games I was deciding the fate of the protagonist – when you are not even brushing your first decade in life that can happen.

Reading Photopia brought back interesting memories from my youth, like when I read underground interactive fiction about people and institutions that I knew – I’m quiet sure that there is a few out there about GMU too – or when I almost threw out my PC because I was frustrated with a riddle. Sadly, it also brought back memories as to why I don’t read them anymore.

Interactive fiction is fun as long as you can delude yourself into believing that you are deciding the outcome of the story. Photopia is especially fun in that regard, because of its engaging story and its elusive theme about free will – a theme that was perhaps raised by Adam Cadre in order to convey a message about the limits of interactive fiction. However, at the end of the day the fact that Photopia has a predetermined ending, regardless of what I do, and has no gaming aspect whatsoever will not bring me back intro the brethren of interactive fiction.

When I say that the ending is predetermined regardless of what I do, I literally mean that it’s predetermined. If you don’t believe me, then try to develop your character based on your decisions. You are going to fail in the first page. I know, because I had tried to “pull” Rob away from the wheel, “punch” him, and finally “kill” him before he kills somebody, but I failed. I always arrived at the same red light and red planet, and had to salvage the same seed the same way – I initially thought that the red planet will provide me with some gaming experience, and help me forget about “determinism,” but I as I later found out I was wrong.

While Photopia may have reinforced my belief as to why I don’t read interactive fiction, it also helped me to see how interactive fiction evolved from text to graphic based games. It helped me to appreciate games like Shenmue I-II, KOTOR I-II, Jade Empire, and Mass Effect even more. I may not be an interactive fiction fan anymore, but Adam Cadre’s Varicella – you can find this game on his website along with other interesting ones (http://adamcadre.ac/if.html) – did consume a few of my hours with its puzzles. I couldn’t help myself. Damn you Adam Cadre!

“Everything has a beginning and an end…” OK Liliana, but what happens between them?

In Olia Lialiana’s ”My Boyfriend Came Back from The War” there is only one certainty – besides that the reader will initially be confused by her art – and that is that every reader will read the same lines in the beginning and in the end of the piece. “My boyfriend came back from the war. After dinner they left us alone.” is how the work begins, and with her name and year of publication (1996) is how the work ends. Did I ruin the tale of a returning soldier for you? Don’t worry I didn’t, since you as a reader decide what occurs between the beginning and the end, and how you interpret those occurrences. Thus after reading Liliana’s net art you will conceptualize the work in your own way, and trust me, it’s likely that your interpretation is going to be one of a kind.

“My Boyfriend Came Back from The War” is a net art that uses graphic interchange format in order to deliver a personal tale through said and unsaid expressions. What is being said and what is left unsaid? It’s decided by you. In fact, everything is decided by you! Liliana only places you into the piece. A piece where one region of the page presents the “boyfriend’s” presence through alternating images, and where the remaining frames serve as the venue for the conversation. An internal and external conversation that can be realized in a lot of ways, but which unlike other web literature, has an end – I use the word “lot,” since I have no idea as to all the possible ways the conversation can be realized.

If everything is decided by the reader, what is the purpose of this work? I think the meaning is once again, like in Firefly, is not in the words, but the way they are presented, and if the presentation indicates anything, then it’s that we are free to do what we will. Let’s not think about what the author intended! Once again the focus is not on the writer, but on the reader. If you read some of the remixed piece of “My Boyfriend Came Back from The War” – liked the one that reminds me of Christopher Nolan’s “Memento” by going backwards in time – you will definitely get the idea that this work focuses on the reader’s and not the writer’s imagination.

“Firefly,” a 180 Degree Turn for Poetry

I respect poetry as I respect every art form, however, lately I haven’t been impressed with what poetry had to offer. Perhaps it’s my fault, since poetry is not what I prefer to read. With that said, I enjoyed reading Deena Larsens’ “Firefly,” because it gave me a different perspective on this literary genre. She had proven to me that a dying art, like poetry, can not only be reinvented by simply allowing the reader to be part of the poem, but that it can also be for everybody – that it does not have to bear the 21st century’s stigma of elitism. Thus regardless if you like poetry or not, “Firefly” is for you!

“ Firefly” is a six stanza poem that defies traditional poetry by being interactive, and by merging a variety of representational styles. It has five alterable lines in any given stanza placed in front of different pictures. While this poem has a variety of line sequences, it only has seven pictures to go with them. This may sound bad – I certainly thought, “How amazing it would be if there was a different picture for every line variation” – but realizing that such a concept would require over 90,000 pictures, I figured that I should be content with the poem as it’s. After all I failed to find any two lines that produced a nonsense stanza. Don’t believe me? Then knock yourself out Neo, and delve into this Matrix.

Poetry prides itself on being able to create vivid images with a few words, and so I found it interesting that Larsens decided to put pictures behind her words that corresponded to the overall feeling of her original poem. Why did she do it when it lessened the enigma surrounding the conventional evocative meaning of the poem? Perhaps because this digital poem’s evocative meaning comes not from its words, but rather from its digital presentation, and if this presentation tells us anything, then it’s that this poem is not about the author, but it’s about the reader. Larsens freed poetry from its shackles by giving the reader the chance to forgo the task of trying to figure out the poet’s elusive intention – who can know another man’s thoughts anyways – and let the reader decide what the poem is about. In Larsens’ poem, for once, the reader can become the poet.