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Pranks
like situations and flash mobs first amuse, or distract, or disturb
just like any other gag. But they also dig down into the very
conventions of their subjects, laying them bare in mockery and
derision. Dada pranks art to uncover its affectations. Television
parodies like The Daily Show and The Colbert Report prank
broadcast shows to undermine those show's pretenses.
Some
games attempt to do something similar to the very conventions of
gameplay. One is Myfanwy Ashmore's Mario Battle No. 1, a hack
of the Super Mario Bros. NES cartridge in which all platforms,
enemies, and objects have been removed, resulting in an empty expanse
with no goals and no challenges. When time runs out, Mario dies.
By
laying the architecture of the game bare, Mario Battle No. 1
invites the player to ask deeper questions in their absence: where do
the Goombas come from? Do they serve Bowser willingly?
But
Mario Battle No. 1 is more art object than video game prank;
it is not really playable as a game, at least in the same way The
Daily Show is viewable as television. A better example of a
game convention prank is Syobon Action, a Japanese platformer
also known in the West as Cat-Mario or simply "Mario from
Hell."
The game is playable, challenging, and enjoyable, but it
is constructed in a way that defies every expectation of Mario-style
platform conventions.
In
Syobon Action, the floor sometimes falls away unexpectedly. An
invisible coin-box appears as the player attempts to jump a chasm,
hurtling him down into it instead.
A bullet fires from an unseen
source off-screen just in time to knock the player from the most
direct trajectory across an obstacle. Hidden blocks trap the player
if he doesn't take a counter-intuitive path. Spikes randomly extrude
from some surfaces after the player steps on them.
The
genius of the game -- and what makes it a prank -- is that it
systematically disrupts every expected convention of 2D platform
gameplay. Instead of making many approaches to a problem work
equally, the game demands that the player undertake bizarre and
arbitrary routes. It punishes rather than rewards collection.
In
addition to coins and power-ups, enemies sometimes pop out of
question-mark blocks.The rules change: sometimes a mushroom acts as
a power-up, other times it turns the player into a robot that crashes
through the floor and dies. The game takes control away from the
player and uses carefully timed trickery to make decisions that would
be reasonable in the original game require complete rethinking.
For
example, the game preserves the end-level flagpole characteristic to
Super Mario Bros, but in perverse distortion. Just as the
player jumps off the ledge toward the flagpole, a long projectile
streaks across the screen; the only way to avoid it is to backtrack
onto the ledge again to jump over it.
After successfully mounting the
flagpole, the game takes control of the player character and moves it
toward the castle, just as in Super Mario Bros. But a
carefully timed enemy falls from the sky, colliding with and killing
the player. Success comes only when the player jumps over the
flagpole, avoids the resulting enemy, and then backtracks to complete
the level.
Complex
pranks like the jelly stapler, the foil-wrapped office, and the
unconventional platformer are amusing when witnessed and annoying
when experienced. But they are also political. By mocking the rules
we don't otherwise question, they possess carnivalesque qualities;
they allow us to suspend our ordinary lives and to look at them from
a different perspective.
It's possible to pass Syobon Action
off on a friend as a legitimate Mario clone, only to laugh
uproariously when things start to go wrong. This is the
garlic-flavored gum usage of the game. But it's also possible to let
Syobon Action prank you willingly, as a player, to stop and
reflect on the conventions of platform play that have become so
familiar that they seem second nature.
Like Tim's stapler gag mocks
the values of office productivity, Syobon Action indicts the
specialized language of video game geekery. This is the Dadaist usage
of the game.
Tomorrow's
Gamepranks
As
video games expand in influence and application, the opportunity to
prank friends, coworkers, housemates, and family members in video
game form will surely increase. But part of the momentum required to
carry out a prank is in its customization.
Parking Wars is a
commercial effort, funded by A&E as an advergame to promote a
television series of the same name. But Syobon Action is an
independent title, a curiosity produced for its own sake and at great
effort. The future of video game pranks relies on a number of
literacies that are not yet well-developed. Video game pranksters
must have the know-how to make games and to integrate prankish ideas into them.
Despite
current trends toward "user-generated" games based on
templates and wizards, a much deeper fluency with game conventions,
tools, and craft will be required for video game pranks to become a
going concern. They are commercially inviable in large part, but
socially meaningful, worth the effort even if they disappear, like
the Jell-O that melts when Gareth retrieves his stapler.
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Another game included was the 'infamous' Desert Bus mini-game, which was basically a prank on anyone who played it. You drive a bus (that constantly veers a little to one side) from Tuscon to Vegas. The bus goes at a constant speed and takes 8 hours to get to Vegas. When you get there, you get 1 point and turn around having to do the entire drive again. Hilarious.
Creating pranks with the hope of making people think a little about video games while being entertained, we always wonder if one aspect is not hiding the other. The prank and the game mechanism it plays on go hand in hand, and the more accepted, the more conventional the mechanism is, the more direct and efficient the comical effect of the prank is. The problem is that some conventions seem to be imprinted so deeply in our gamer's mind, so natural, so invisible that, even with a prank to underline them, people seem to hardly go a step further and question them. Currently we let our 'sabotages' speak for themselves and we keep our confidence in the pranks' ability to convey a message, but we are considering adding notes to share and discuss what we are trying to do, should this confidence waver.
I once had an NPC that would teleport players to good dungeons, but his text warned them that he was "just learning" and he had a randomized chance of shooting a player all over the map. (He was an ongoing theme in the MMO, not the brightest wizard around).
Another time we introduced a magic ring that changed attributes--not always good. Strangely, players would enjoy the prank if it was done in the proper spirit (never too harsh and with an inkling of what was to come--those are the best!).
Having just played Eternal Darkness, that's the first thing I thought of when I read this article. Another similar example is the Psycho Mantis fight in Metal Gear Solid.
As for the future of pranks in games, I'd like to see them target people who pirate games. Perhaps if any members of a team have any downtime they could add a prank to a version which they could then proliferate via torrents and P2P networks (sort of like those fake versions of mp3s that record companies put out for a while). If cleverly done, those versions could work as a demo of the game and maybe encourage people to buy the real version.