While
the
emphasis in traditional
game theory has been on the rule formations and zone demarcations that
distinguish games from play, mobile games tend to deliberately and
thoughtfully blur the lines, not just between games and play but
between a game and an experience, as well as between places of play
(the “magic circle”) and places of everyday life.
Mobile
games often create moments of liminality as they are driven by the idea
of playing with and within everyday spaces, technologies, and objects.
In this brief paper, I will discuss these boundaries and the liminality
of mobile games to date, and focus on one particularly difficult
ethical area- that of player and non-player participation.
The concepts of play and game are complexly intertwined. According to Johan Huizinga (1950), games can be found on a continuum between the two poles of ludus and paidia. Ludus (frequently understood as a pure game) is characterized by the corseting of exuberance with deliberate and arbitrary conventions that require the player to demonstrate effort, skill, patience, or intellect. Chess is often upheld as a pure ludus game. Paidia (or pure play), on the other hand, is characterized by a shared, ritualistic principle that is found in gaiety and improvisation, as is the case with children’s games, with less rigorous boundaries and rules guiding moments and places of play.
Confusion often arises when discussing the play of games. For the purposes of this essay, I am discussing games in the sense of ludus and play as a verb to describe people who are taking part in games. When I refer to the magic circle, I am describing the place where a particular game takes place, with the “formalized nature of the game mak (ing) the magic circle explicit” (Salen and Zimmerman, 2004, p. 99) rather than the physical constraints of a location necessarily. Within the magic circle, it is the arbitrary rules of the game that direct actions and behaviors, and entry into the magic circle is predicated upon acceptance of these rules. When a player breaks the rules or cheats, there is a total breakdown of the magic circle, indicating that for game theorists the boundaries around games are rigid.
Further evidence for this understanding of firm boundaries is provided by seminal games theorist Huizinga, who argues that rules are important as they are what bind the play world and determine what is acceptable in the boundaries of the game. When they are challenged, the play world collapses. Both Huizinga and Roger Caillois (1967) conceive of play occurring within certain limits of time and space, with a distinct beginning and end, and within its own designated spaces, such as playgrounds, tennis courts, bowling alleys, and stages. These spaces become what Huizinga calls “temporary worlds” (p. 10). Elliot Avedon’s (1971) definition of games includes the conceptualization of them as being “confined by rules” (p. 405). For Salen and Zimmerman (2004), game design is somewhat more fluid, and can be driven by the mathematical logic of rules or by the experiential and social schema that foregrounds the player’s interactions with the game and the other players. Ludology, the label which currently largely denotes those who study video games, is preoccupied by questions of rule structures and game spaces, and ludologists claim that video games are constructed upon these mechanisms rather than those powered by representational, visual, or textual engines. In other words, the rigidity of boundaries is an understanding and conceptualization of games that has prevailed even in current game literature.
Liminality, on the other hand, is a concept that refers to states of ambiguity, imperceptibility, intermediacy, and, as Vincent Mosco (2004) describes it, a “sense of betwixt and between” (p. 32). Victor Turner in The Ritual Process (1966) introduced the idea of the “liminal moment”, which are instants of passage which allow the emergence of new cultural signs, symbols, and meanings. One classic example of a liminal moment is that of a wedding ceremony, which allows for the passage between single life and married life and all their attendant cultural baggage. The liminal, then, is a concept tied to ritual, which has in turn been linked to games by their formal similarities, especially in terms of the set of structures that demarcate each (see Huizinga, 1950). Just as liminal moments are engendered by moments of passage between ritual, they are also created when the boundaries that constitute the magic circle are shaken or transgressed.
Mobile games, which are conceptually driven by the idea of playing with and within everyday spaces, technologies, and objects, may create moments of liminality. Instead of remaining entrenched in the prevailing understanding of games as structured by limits, boundaries, demarcations, and confinements, mobile games tend to leave behind the familiar and ritualistic cultural symbols and meanings contained within the magic circle and traverse into new terrains of gaming.
Indeed, mobile gaming is very rarely about simply playing games on mobile devices. Even the exploration of mobility is only one basic element of the majority of these. Rather, many of these games act as entryways into thinking about quotidian elements of everyday life in novel ways. As Julian Bleeker (2006) noted in his presentation on “Pervasive Electronic Games” (as recapped on the “We Make Money Not Art” blog), pervasive games can bring awareness to oft-ignored objects and subjects, ranging from debris to welfare housing developments, and inspire new perspectives on people, objects, experiences, and places typically taken for granted.
They can also allow people to take back spaces they feel have perhaps become too sterile, political, or commercial to truly interact with, in ways that are less illegal and more playful than, say, vandalism. In other instances, like the MDCN Mont Royal game in development, these games allow players to discover more about their environment in new ways that are more engaging than a tour or a touristic brochure. In many ways, these fluid games tend to not only operate with shifting boundaries but act to shift the boundaries of the real world for players.
Nevertheless, the generation of these liminal moments in gaming through the shifting of boundaries come with an attendant set of complex ethical questions, especially in relation to the inclusion of non-players in a game. In his presentation at CHI 2006, Stuart Reeves used the example of the game “Uncle Roy All Around You” to argue that mobile games played in public challenge the frames that are part of the traditional game. He argued, as others have, that what makes mobile gaming interesting is exactly how it pushes the boundaries of gaming, the “frame of the game”.
In the proceedings to this presentation (Benford et. al., 2006), the authors refer to a novel design framework in computer-human interaction in which the primary user is the performer and those who spectate the game the secondary users. By spectators, the authors refer not simply to those who watch moments of the game but those who become implicated in it through the primary user, such as those that are asked for directions or, indeed, if they are the mysterious Uncle Roy. Within this framework, the secondary user plays an important role in the play of the game, and their impact is argued to depend upon whether they “hide, transform, reveal or even amplify different combinations of the performers’ manipulations of the interface and their subsequent effects” (p. 7, author’s emphasis).
This framework, and the extension that
the authors propose, operates
under the understanding that there is indeed a transition between being
a spectator and a performer. Yet, the concept of the performance frame,
the primary concept the authors’ focus on, is meant to be a
contract between performers and spectators that resembles that implicit
understanding between the same roles in theatre. According to the
authors, this unspoken contract is reinforced by a set of rituals,
conventions, and structures both physical and intellectual that allow
for continuous feedback between the performer and the spectator. In
addition, based on the above-described understanding of the magic
circle of play, the authors propose framing roles for the performer and
the spectator, conceiving of the former as a frame constructor and the
latter as a frame interpreter.
Clearly, this game and design framework
challenges the boundaries that
underlie classical game theory. Not only does playing a game on city
streets without any visible mark of your status as game player rather
than citizen challenge the concept of a demarcated “play
world” distinct from the world of productive work, the
inclusion
of non-players and the understanding of them as able to become pulled
into the game runs in direct opposition to the theorization of play as
free but set, pleasurable but kept intact by the acquiescence of all
players to the arbitrary perfection of the play world.
These secondary players do not commit to the magic circle, and their very inclusion contradicts the assertion that play cannot be forced upon you. Outside of the ethical questions the implication of unaware players begs, game designers must question whether they are assuming the pleasure of these players when for them the decision to enter the magic circle is not as a transparent as it is for the primary user. These conceptualizations also beg the question of the differences between the impromptu audience of a street game and the spectators of theatre. How can the creators of pervasive mobile games create the needed structures, rituals, and conventions that will convey to audiences their role in the game?
Benford et. al do distinguish between
audience members and bystanders,
noting that spectators in the audience are aware that there is
performance frame and are interpreting the actions of players as
performance, while bystanders are not aware of or are aware to only a
limited degree, of a performance. This difference, however, is not
supported by any external structures in this framework, it is simply a
chance distinction based on the individual circumstances of each
person. The authors also note that game designers must address the
increased possibilities of such spectators due to the situation of
these games in public settings, and this is where they begin to blur
the lines of the magic circle. Instead of proposing methods by which to
address and accommodate the differences in knowledge and perhaps even
willingness between non-players, they argue that these disparities
offer up novel potentialities for manipulation of the performance
frame.
These manipulations include extending
the fictional world of the game
by implanting deliberate boundary ambiguities into the game and by
“implicating or even involving bystanders” (p. 8)
in play.
This includes structurally allowing players to turn to non-players for
game content (as in when a game instructs a player to query a random
person). Another tactic is the reverse, wherein the real world expands,
with bystanders being played by performers, and items that are
suggested to belong to others actually belong to the game designers.
Benford et. al are not ignorant of the
risks in what they propose in
their manipulation of the performance frame. They note the variety of
uncomfortable situations this may lead to for the non-player, including
humiliation and annoyance, as well as the inappropriate actions the
player may take, not realizing that these non-players are being
unwittingly included in the action. This awareness, however, does not
deter the authors from discussing the excitement and dramatic tension
generated by playing with non-game or supposedly non-game elements, an
understanding of the status of non-players as akin to that of inanimate
objects, which can be highly empowering to manipulate.
They conclude their discussion of this
framework with the argument that
the risks surrounding the blurring of the boundary between performer
and spectator can be managed by the “safety harness of
careful
orchestration” (p.10). By this the authors refer to the
manner by
which the game designers lead their players through the world and
manage their interactions, both through initial design and through a
behind-the-scenes control room. It is vital to note that their safety
harness is built solely for their participants.
Benford and his colleagues are not alone
in their sentiments towards
bursting the membrane between player and non-player. Montola and Waern
(2006) write that pervasive mobile games hold a “social
expansion” potential, by which they are referring to the
ability
to include non-players within the game. They note that this may lead to
“very engaging experiences” (p. 1), but neglect to
mention
for whom. Their argument is also flawed in that they do not distinguish
between accidental spillovers such as someone being disturbed by a cell
phone ring and someone deliberately being followed by a game player.
Instead, they argue that in the socially expanded game, the lines
between spectator and bystander are totally blurred, and not even the
players may know who has explicitly acquiesced to the magic circle of
the game and who is simply waiting for a bus.
While later in their paper the authors
state that all players must feel
that it is acceptable to leave the game, they also find that many
people when being invited into the game may not realize for a great
deal of time that they are involved in a game. Thus, if a game intrudes
upon a person within a public space, they may refuse and then
presumably leave the place, but it is acceptable within this framework
that the person not be aware of a game for some time. If the non-player
does not know she is in a game, it is not for her a game at all, and it
is very important for designers to consider whether it is acceptable to
subject someone to an experience that is likely to feel somewhat akin
to either a Candid Camera-type prank or an experiment.
To conclude, it is evident that the
mutable magic circle that
characterizes mobile gaming presents a number of questions for the
designers of these games. And yet what is absent from these discussions
of boundaries, frames, and participation are explorations into ethics.
Ethically, theoretical discussions into the nature of the symbolic or
suggestive structures that surround these public performances are
insufficient. While playing with everyday life and pedestrian objects,
technologies, and practices can be enlightening, empowering, and
enriching, and can expand the ritualistic spaces of play to include
nearly any zone, play must still be a state that is entered into
explicitly. Just as an artist may not use the likeness of a passerby
for her work (or so we are taught within university production
courses), game designers cannot ethically decide to utilize random
people as pawns in their games. Of course, when games are played out in
public spaces where a variety of activities may be taking place
concurrently, it is inevitable that they may attract attention or
alternately have a player interact with a non-player.
The distinction that is vital here
however is the nature of this as
unscripted in the design of the game. A striking similarity in the two
articles we have seen arguing for non-player inclusion is their
consistent focus on the primary, aware players and their enjoyment
rather than on the implicated non-player. The way these people and
their involvement is not questioned ethically is a shocking lack. A
variety of the games that have been posted to the EMU resource nest for
reference, such as <Tag>, CatchBob!, Feeding Yoshi, and
Pac-Manhattan, play with the boundaries between play and non-play
spaces, taking back or imbuing new meaning into city streets, urban
monuments, wi-fi hot spots, and university campuses. On the other hand,
they all operate successfully without the intrusive implication of
non-players. While a young man eagerly feeding his Yoshi may
accidentally bump into a passerby, this is not a desired effect,
scripted moment, or intentional activity. It is possible but not
scripted.
The inclusion of non-players into a game
is conscious design choice
just as much as the disruption of the flow of traffic around her was
intentional in Jenny Chowdhury’s The
Cell Atlantic Cell Booth
video. The difference between art and gaming cannot be more explicit
than in this instance, and it highlights the fallacy of Benford et al.
(2006) in suggesting that mobile game players are just like mimes who
implicate their audience in their acts. Perhaps over time this will
change, but currently there are simply no structures and no conventions
for the audiences of pervasive mobile games, which means that these
"unwitting" secondary participants may never
understand
what is happening when they are being drawn into a mobile gaming. In
sum, while breaking frames is one of the motivating factors in many
mobile game projects, and while the magic circle may become more
liminal in these instances, the boundary between player and non-player
must remain intact for all ethical designers.
Avedon, E. and Sutton-Smith, B. (1971). The study of games. New York: Wiley.
Benford, S., Crabtree, A., Reeves, R., Flintham, M., Drozd, A., Sheridan, J. G., & Dix, A. (2006). The frame of the game: Blurring the boundary between fiction and reality in mobile experiences. In Proceedings of SIGCHI Conference on Human Factors in Computing Systems (CHI), Montreal, Canada.
Bleeker, J. (2006). Pervasive electronic games.
O’Reilly
Emerging Technology Conference, San Diego, CA. Recap at We Make Money Not Art.
Caillois, R. (1967). Les jeux et les hommes: Le masque et le vertige. Paris: Gallimard.
Huizinga, J. (1950). Homo ludens: A study of the play element in culture. Boston: Beacon Press.
Montola, M. & Waern, A. (2006). Participant
roles in socially
expanded games. Third
International Workshop on Pervasive Gaming Applications.
Mosco, V. (2004). The
digital sublime: Myth, power, and cyberspace.
Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press.
Salen, K. and E. Zimmerman. (2004). Rules of play: Game design fundamentals. Cambridge. Mass.: MIT Press.
Turner, R. (1966). The
ritual process: Structure and antistructure.
Chicago: Aldine.
<Tag> Scripting Presence Project
Alison
Harvey is a second year MA student in Media Studies at
Concordia
University. Her current areas of research include narratology, video
game history and theory, virtual communities, digital cultures, and new
media. She is currently writing her thesis.
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