And it affirms something to which I’ve long attested:

…the film critic’s pathetic lot – to forever claw and scratch for recognition by other film critics, since no one else – namely those other film students who went on to actually make films – gives a damn.

What is art?

This question is one that has been debated perhaps since the beginning of human history – indeed I would venture a guess that even the cave painters Ebert mentions in his post argued the validity of those works, unaware as to how they would inform historians of the social context in which they were created.  It is only at the modern heights of arrogance that could one claim to be able to answer this age-old question with any certainty.  And it is hardly possible to be any more arrogant than making a universal truth claim, let alone one expected to hold for eternity. The whole thing is laughable.

I have argued in the past that video games are the ultimate form of expression, and what is art if not expression?  Indeed video games are a convergence of art from just about every medium – audio, visual, literary – and their social impact is ever-increasing.  Ebert makes his statement by observing video footage of a few games offered up as art, already prepared to deny the possibility.  Aside from the sheer fallacy of denying art as a form of expression, there is also the matter of his evaluation not being made from the proper standpoint.  As I argued in the above-linked essay, what sets video games apart from film, television, music, books, and other mediums is their interactivity.

That one thing [that sets video games apart from other media] is interactivity. You can rip a page out of a book in frustration as a story takes an unfavorable turn, or you can yell your lungs out at movie screen as the stupid teenage girl wanders down the dark hallway alone towards the lurking killer, but chances are that you’re not going to change anything. In a video game, however, a person is given a measure of control over the characters and environment presented.

To evaluate any video game without playing it is as dubious as evaluating a piece of music by only reading the lyrics or reading the sheet music, or evaluating the merits of a film based on – insert laughter here – a critic’s review.

If the art is expression argument alone doesn’t validate video games’ status as an art form, then allow me to speak from a more personal place, because is not the meaning of art in any context entirely subjective?  I can attribute to two single moments in the games Chrono Cross (Playstation) and Lunar: Eternal Blue (Sega CD), the abstracts that would expand to become the cornerstone of my personal philosophy.  The former, in that one moment, had me question how color could correspond to sound, and the latter had me considering the relationship between creation and destruction, which I would later come to understand more abstractly as two forms of change.  In that art has often sparked philosophical inquiry and introspection – for the creator and the audience – video games clearly fit the bill.

Furthermore, my ethics – manifest in my sense of justice – if not founded in, was certainly bolstered by the lofty ideals of good vs. evil I found in video games as a child.  The evolution of video game conflicts from black and white conceptualizations of good and evil in the “old school” to the shades of gray now explored through the tough moral choices players have to make in the “new school” not only showcases video games’ increasing complexity, but also their increasing relevance to the real world.  Art, as a medium, is nothing without its flexibility, and its ability to evolve as a reflection of the surrounding social atmosphere.

My inspiration to write came from video games as well, at first little more than an emulation or reworking of video game plots, but soon thereafter the expression of a burgeoning imagination, forged in outlandish worlds and impossible situations.  Video games spoke to me in ways that other mediums simply did not, and if we are measuring art in terms of social or personal impact, then Ebert’s claim is not only false for me, but a personal slight to me and others like me, for whom games have been either a subtle or direct influence.  His claim invalidates me, personally – dismissing the countless hours in which I was visually, aurally, physically, and emotionally invested and engaged – as frivolous, or a waste of time.

This is saying nothing of how it invalidates the creators of video games – themselves musicians, painters, 3D modelers, programmers, writers, choreographers, actors, and more – each of which, outside the context of the video game itself, Ebert could hardly argue were not artists.

So, on what sort of project, exactly, could established artists from many different fields come together, only to miraculously create something that is not art?

To propose that such a project could even exist is to stand at the very apex of stupidity.

For someone who is without a doubt – no matter how one chooses to define art – not an artist himself, and one who has never been touched by the myriad forms of expression contained within a video game, Ebert only proves himself incapable of making such a judgment.  He also proves, for his increasing detachment from an evolving media culture, his sheer cultural irrelevance.

Mass Effect 2 is every bit the middle game of a trilogy.  It lacks the impact of the first game – the introduction to a galactic-scale conflict, the first look at a thoroughly conceived sci-fi universe, that first unnerving dialogue with Sovereign.  And it necessarily reserves all of the big surprises for the finale.

For those who did not play the first Mass Effect, this game amounts to little more than a pretty-top notch shooter built on the pretext of a galactic recruitment drive, with a meaty chunk of story seemingly added on as an afterthought.  That is to say that there seemed to be no connection between the quests to acquire Commander Shepard’s teammates and the greater adventure.  In terms of story, there were few surprises – the only “big” revelation completely underwhelming, and the one intriguing bit of lore development – the bit about the Geth – left mostly unexplored.

Back in October of 2007, when BioWare fans first heard that the company had been acquired by Electronic Arts, there was a collective sigh of dismay – or perhaps even a roar of indignation.  The fear was that creativity and originality would be traded for whatever best fit EA’s business model.

Mass Effect 2 provides case in point.

Everything was streamlined, dumbed down, simplified for the “casual gamer”, who the big-wigs in marketing assume have the attention span of gerbils.  Casual gamers, surely, could not be bothered with such tiresome things as inventory management or deep character customization.  Strangely, though, it was determined that the casual gamer would not find it at all tedious to drag a slow-roaming cursor across planet after planet to collect resources – a rough equivalent to earning money, although there is already a money system in place.

The galactic codex remains in tact for fans who want to soak up every last detail about the Mass Effect universe, and Bioware kept the elaborate dialogue trees  – albeit within a weaker narrative.  But Mass Effect 2 is entirely a shooter, with some RPG elements thrown in, as opposed to the original game, which was an RPG with shooter mechanics.

So why has the balance shifted?

Probably because the sales figures of games like Halo and Gears of War suggest that the market is fertile for more of the same. And if EA was going to put its formidable capital and marketing power behind the franchise (e.g. higher production values and the 2 minute television spot during the NFC Championship Game), then there needed to be some serious risk vs. rewards calculations.

Mass Effect gained the role-playing genre even more ground in the collective attention of the mainstream – it was a game that almost everyone could enjoy.  The critical acclaim was near-unanimous.  But clearly its success wasn’t enough for a company that has proven that it is safer and more profitable to churn out the same game year after year (Madden) than to take risks on things like creativity and originality.

Furthermore, the sparse narrative in Mass Effect 2 highlights another aspect of EA’s business model – the focus on downloadable content (DLC).  This game provides us with a sort of main course – maybe even only the meat of the entree – and undoubtedly within a few weeks or months we’ll have a chance to purchase the sides, the drink, the dessert, and perhaps the appetizer after the fact.

I say all of this knowing full well that I’ll be amongst the first to snatch up every bit of DLC the moment it is released – hoping beyond hope that they’ll serve to fill in some of ME2’s missing details.  So, if nothing else, it does represent a strong business model.

In spite of all of this, I can say that I did enjoy Mass Effect 2 – but perhaps only because it allowed me to return to the universe I had come to know and love in the first game, to once again take the reins of Commander Shepard and save the galaxy from certain peril.  As a standalone game it does just enough right to as a shooter and as a basic RPG to hold its own in the market, and to enroll a new corps of casual gamers into the franchise.  As the middle game in a trilogy, it does just enough to satisfy fans’ two-year hunger.

So overall is Mass Effect 2 a success?  Certainly.  Is it everything I expected?  Not even close.

Let me start by telling you the faults of the game, just to get them out of them way, and make room for what’s great about it.  The combat sucks.  There’s just no way around it.  Fortunately, there is very little of it.  Future games might want to take a hint or two from Indigo Prophecy (aka Fahrenheit), and just have quick time based fighting or something.  This is an adventure game, afterall, and it should stay purely adventure, as there is no room for anything else.

What’s great – the story.  It is completely mind-blowing.  I don’t mean that as a cliche, but literally mind-blowing, because it will really make you think – about life, about purpose, about reality.  The game touches on themes from Indigenous Australian mythology, and does so brilliantly, adding a new dimension to the twin-world lore of the Longest Journey franchise – dreams being the common thread that connects the two worlds, and also their origin.  Without getting too much into the philosophy of Dreamfall, let me just say that if for no other reason, then you must play this game for the story.  Decidedly mature, but never gratuitous, and blurring the boundary between fantasy and science fiction, Dreamfall’s narrative would be screen worthy, but for the fact that it is too large to be contained in a single film, and would probably be butchered on television.  So the interactive medium was the correct choice to tell this story.

The characters are complex, three-dimensional, complete with virtue and vice.  April Ryan from TLJ returns, but she is no longer the idealistic starving artist who went on the save the world.  Now she is a jaded, cynical, and bitter woman driven by revenge.  She seems both noble and selfless in how she fights for her cause, but in reality she is bent – even if only subconsciously – on self-destruction.  Saving the world, it seems, creates a void in purpose after the fact.

Kian is a man of both unshakable faith and honor.  He has committed himself to the word of his Goddess, which he believes is aligned with the will of the Six Empresses of his kingdom, a belief that is easily protected within his home city, insulated from the reality of the outside world.  Once abroad, however, and faced with the grim truth of what his Empire does in the name of the Goddess, he questions not his faith, but the politics of his leaders.  It is a strange sort of thing to play as a character who is killing the allies of another of the playable characters and watching as he comes to grips with his purpose.

Zoe.  Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.  There is so much to say about the new main character – but in a few words, she is a dreamer who has lost the ability to dream.  Like the other characters she questions her purpose in life, and has become restless, lazy, uninspired, and bored.  So when her closest friend goes missing, she jumps at the opportunity to search for him, not out of some altruistic instinct, but out of a personal desire to rekindle her sense of purpose.  Along the way she discovers that she is tied into the very nature of the twin worlds, that she has some affinity to the Dreaming.

Although most of the game is played as Zoe, there is enough of April and Kian to add plenty of variety and alternate perspectives, creating a truly three-dimensional narrative.

Dreamfall is probably better described as an interactive story than a video game, and so a warning to action gamers and even RPG-players, this is a game purely driven by its plot and characters, with everything else merely an excuse to keep you involved.  For me and other adventure game lovers, it is perhaps the crowning achievement of the genre, an example of how a video game can be art – indeed, interactive literature.

Of lesser importance to the overall product, but worth mentioning is that the visuals are excellent – not the high poly count of current gen games, but rendered in a style that somehow allows it to remain timeless.  Clean, simple character models with no muddy textures, and gorgeous environments that showcase top-notch art direction.  From the bright and clean quasi-futuristic middle-eastern look of Casablanca to the esoteric and hauntingly beautiful City of the Dark People, there is plenty to look at in Dreamfall.  The only shortcoming here is that the environments aren’t larger, because here is truly a world that you’d like to spend a few hours just exploring.

As for sound – the music is mostly ambient, and falls into the background, present enough to create an atmosphere, peaking at critical story points, but never intrusive.  Of greater importance is the quality of the voice acting, which does justice (at least in English) to an incredible script.  The believability of the characters is enhanced not only by what they say, but HOW they say it.

There is so much to love about this game, I could spend another ten paragraphs singing its praises, but I’ll spare you.  Let me just summarize it all by saying that this is the single greatest adventure game that I have ever played, and a contender for my favorite game of all time.  If you do not agree after your first playthrough, I’d recommend waiting awhile and giving it another go, perhaps after dabbling in a little of the underlying mythology.

I give Dreamfall my highest recommendation.

According to a biography written by Detroit journalist Michael Betzold, the enmity between Kevorkian and the world started at an early age and grew steadily over the next half-century. The biography chronicles a boy who acted out against his disenchantment with school by shooting spitballs and who early on rejected the Christian tradition in which he was raised. Like the iconic high school intellectual, he steered clear of sports and the social scene, instead engaging in more cerebral pursuits. It seems almost like a science fiction cliché how he would go on in his adult years to become something quite akin to a mad scientist, like Victor Frankenstein or Dr. Strangelove.

© Jack Kevorkian

Just as his actions flew in the face of America’s legal system and its underlying Christian moral foundation, Kevorkian’s paintings present a scathing indictment of the greater society. One of his pieces, entitled “Brotherhood”, displays a fabric made of human faces – diverse as if to say no one is exempt from this judgment – and centered by the face of Satan, who Kevorkian names as humanity’s “real god”. The title itself is meant to be ironic. Kevorkian seems to suggest that any show of solidarity between people is superficial, concealing the more real feelings of “distrust and suspicion” and hatred prevalent throughout society. Perhaps the real irony, though, is that the painting and the thoughts it represents are of the same cynical character that he criticizes in his fellow humans.

© Jack Kevorkian

A second piece, “For He is Raised” is a blatant attack on the faith he rejected in his youth. It depicts Jesus Christ being pulled up from out of an Easter egg by white bunnies, who seem as surprised to find him there as he is disturbed by the ordeal. The message here seems to be that for all of the exaltation of Christ as divinity, the holiday celebrating his resurrection has become distorted and even blasphemous – laden with bastardized pagan rituals and imagery. This is ironic, considering Christianity’s well-documented animosity towards paganism throughout history. Worse still, religious reverence appears to have been withdrawn and replaced with spectacles of consumerism – baskets of colored eggs, parades, and perhaps a perfunctory nod to the resurrection. But the painting is hardly a cry for more genuine devotion to Jesus, as Kevorkian probably couldn’t care less; it is more likely a critique of the religion itself as well, in how easily its values can be substituted for meaningless pomp and circumstance.

© Jack Kevorkian

A third painting, called “Genocide”, shows a man seated at a dinner table with two military helmets serving as bowls filled with bullets and crosses. The silverware he holds look more like medieval weapons, and the salt and pepper shakers are shaped like missiles. Most alarming is that the main course is The Individual’s own severed head. Behind him is some kind of Romanesque centurion, reaching around to hold his wrist; this is Mars, the god of war, guiding his actions. The beheaded man, of course, is humanity, the head on the plate representing their seeming inclinations to destroy (or in Kevorkian’s own words “devour”) themselves. The bullets and crosses could be seen as the “sustenance” for war – as religion is often a motivation, and ammunition is a medium for delivering death. The Individual being headless and having his hand guided by Mars seems to hint at the sort of unseeing fanaticism with which many humans approach war – driven by less-than-conscious forces like the will to evolve. Kevorkian calls war “worse than evil”, and perhaps as a nod towards his other painting, blames humanity’s current state of “brotherhood”. In true Kevorkian fashion, he painted the frame with blood – his own and outdated plasma from blood banks – perhaps for sheer shock value, or to lend the piece some additional “authenticity”.

Kevorkian’s status as a social pariah appears to be as much his own doing as it is a result of media crucifixion. His paintings could be seen as either a somber acceptance of this status, or a seething response to it. Despite his fascination with death, he also shows a clear reverence for life, and his cynicism masks a more deep-seated compassion and romanticism. It is common for romantics to feel a sense of separation from the rest of society, where that society fails to live up to their lofty expectations. Jack Kevorkian’s life may have been spent mostly at odds with society, but one can only hope that in the time leading to his death he will find a way to reconcile his cynical view of humanity with his idealistic hopes for them.