REPETITION
Introduction
While any individual play session of a given game may feature particularly unique elements and moments, almost all games and the pleasures associated with their play are reliant upon the mechanic of repetition and replay. Rarely does one play a game just once, and repetition is often necessary in learning a given game. For instance, a beginning checkers player may engage in multiple contests in order to fully learn the rules and develop effective play strategies. In almost all games, a player practices his or her play through actions of repetition, both in specific drills (such as a tennis player hitting balls against a wall) and more commonly through playing and replaying the game itself. More than video games, many non-digital games such as sports or less structured games such as “tag” often offer a far greater degree of variability due to their play within the “real world” and exposure to a potentially infinite number of variables that are frequently unrepeatable; environmental factors, energy levels, and moods all may continuously shape and alter each player’s game strategies and movement through the arena of play. It should be noted that some non-digital games such as chess and other tabletop games may limit these variables and can be repeatable in a manner similar to video games, as discussed below. Video games place an even greater emphasis on the function of repetition and replay than non-digital games as the player must familiarize himself/herself not only with the rules, but also with increasingly complex control and interface systems in order to master game environs, which often demand multiple navigational attempts through particularly challenging areas within the game. Torben Grodal argues that video games demonstrate an “aesthetic of repetition,” wherein much like the skills that we must repeat to develop and master in everyday life (i.e. walking or riding a bike), video games demand that the player engage in “repetitive rehearsal” of the controls and game mechanics in order to master them (2003, p. 148). For example, a player of Super Mario Bros. (Nintendo, 1985) must learn the spatial and temporal patterns of the game in order to successfully navigate its levels and challenges. Games such as Dance Dance Revolution (Konami, 1998) and Guitar Hero (Activision, 2005) emphasize repetition as a form of mastery, rating a player’s “performance” by the accuracy with which s/he is able to emulate and mimic the game’s prompts; complex musical games such as Rocksmith (Ubisoft, 2011), in which players use real musical instruments, more closely emulate the more complex mode of repetition found in real-world mastery. Other games encourage players to re-visit and re-explore specific areas with new capabilities or powers or to replay through them in their entirety in order to fully “complete” them. Furthermore, several recent video games incorporate elements of replay in their core game mechanic by allowing the player to actively control and navigate temporal structures within the game.
Time, Repetition, and Pleasure in Video Games
The role of repetition in video games is strongly linked to that of time. As Mark J. P. Wolf reminds us: “as in the cinema, temporal structures are a central element of a video game’s experience” (2001, p. 90). Jesper Juul points out that time in video games is typically chronological, which differentiates games from other narrative forms. He states: “The prevalence of unchronological time in traditional narratives is afforded by the fixed nature of events. Because the story in a sense has already happened, the events can easily be presented in nonchronological order for aesthetic effect” (2004, p. 141). Thus, while films and novels may employ a temporal sequence that shifts backward and forward in time, games generally rely on a temporal structure that is far more linear and sequential in its nature. Juul notes that game time has largely been unidirectional and linear, suggesting that while other established forms of narrative have demonstrated a capacity for non-sequential temporal sequences, the fixity of these narratives’ “past events” allow for this structuration. Thus it may be easier for a film or novel to represent a narrative in non-sequential order, as the events have already happened; in the case of games, the narrative is unfolding in game time during play and thus is always happening “in the present.” Juul proposes that this mapping between the time in the player’s “real world” and the time in the game world emphasizes this present: “In this way, there is a basic sense of now when you play a game; the events in a game, be they ever so strange and unlike the player’s situation, have a basic link to the player” (2004, p. 134). Thus, whether the game constantly emphasizes speedy reactions in real time (as in the case of an action game or sports game) or if it instead slows time to a turn-based structure (such as in a strategy game such as chess), the significance of the player’s action at the moment of their play is linked to the “now.” Much like Juul’s emphasis on the present in gameplay, Barry Atkins contends that the player’s focus is always upon that which is yet to happen. Atkins suggests that video games place the player’s attention on “what happens next if I,” shifting the focus from a traditionally-unfolding narrative to one in which the player is the center of the narrative and always future-oriented (2006, p. 137). In this fixation on the future, the player’s recognition of and familiarity with the patterns of the game environment can play a significant role in his/her success.
Given that video games are inherently computational structures, it is helpful to build from Juul’s description of the game as a “state machine” (a term he borrows from computer science), in which the system’s functional state and output are determined by the player’s input (2004, pp. 132–133). In the most rudimentary sense, games are rule-based systems governed by changes in states. Video games process data input by the player in accord with these rules and output a change in the game state in response to these data. In turn, the player inputs more data, and the loop continues, with the player constantly responding to changing game states. Successful play of a game requires proper response to the game’s state, and it should be noted that even non-digital games are almost entirely state machines in which a state or finite set of conditions exists and then is altered by the player’s or players’ play. Consider a game of chess. To begin play, the pieces for both sides are arranged in a pre-determined pattern on opposite sides of a board. When the first player moves a piece, the board and game’s state changes in a discrete fashion, altering both the configuration of pieces upon the board, but also the resultant possible moves (as defined by the rules of the game); a game’s capacity for repetition is linked to these discrete changes in the game’s state. In chess, one may replay famous matches (or portions thereof) by replicating the precise moves or “states” within in the game. There are a finite number of types of pieces in a chess game and a similarly limited number of places that they may occupy and thus a game of chess may be precisely repeated. The state machine model also offers predictability: a particular input, when combined with the current “state,” should produce the same output.
To varying degrees, most video games demonstrate essential elements of predictability in both their play and the behavior of their non-player characters (NPCs), which are controlled by artificial intelligence (AI) routines. This predictability is strongly linked to the pleasures of play, from video games with the most rudimentary AI behaviors to those that are the most multifarious. For example, if, via observation from play or replay of a game, a player can predict that the aliens in Space Invaders (Taito, 1978) will constantly move from left to right, then s/he may plan his/her actions accordingly. Similarly, a player of Halo (Bungie, 2001) will learn that certain NPCs use cover and hide behind elements of the game landscape (such as boulders) to better protect themselves when the player is assaulting and then conversely become more aggressive when the player is not attacking, allowing him/her to develop better play strategies, through what Grodal terms “repetitive learning processes” (2003, p. 153). As he describes, this process of learning these mechanics of a game progress through the stages of unfamiliarity and challenge (the player first must learn the game and strategies requisite for its play), to mastery (here, the player grows accustomed to the game world and achieves a level of immersion in his/her play due to this familiarity), and finally to automation (the player’s play becomes mechanical as the game world becomes overly predictable, often resulting in the player ceasing to play the game) (2003, p. 148). The ways in which the player learns the play mechanics of a game differ considerably between video game genres, as do the methods by which game genres use repetition; puzzle games with fairly simple controls and play mechanics such as Tetris (Alexey Pajitnov, 1984) engender a rapid degree of mastery and automation while genres with more complex mechanics may require the player to play and replay such games many times in order to master them.
In “Beyond the Pleasure Principle,” Sigmund Freud argues for the relationship between repetition and pleasure: “repetition, the re-experiencing of something identical, is clearly in itself a source of pleasure” (1920, p. 36). Freud associates the pleasures of repetition to his observations of a childhood game based on the anxieties and pleasures provoked by the dual processes of disappearance and return of a familiar object. In his/her desire to successfully navigate a game space, a player must persistently replay the section in order to perfect his/her play and gain mastery over the space; this connection between mastery and pleasure further supports Grodal’s “aesthetic of repetition” at work in the video game. Similarly, Wolf suggests that the tendency of games to loop obstacles (such as in the case of the repeating traffic pattern through which a player must guide a frog in Frogger (Konami, 1981)) is indicative of the need for the player’s familiarity with and mastery of both spatial and temporal structures within a game (2001, p. 81). The player’s mastery is thus linked to predictability in game behavior and its patterns of movement through repeated play; platform games including Donkey Kong (Nintendo, 1981) and Super Mario Bros. often prominently feature predictability in the movement of NPCs, platforms, and hazards.
Industrial Strategies in Arcade and Home Video Games
Industrial practices have emphasized repetition as a means of helping to both introduce consumers to video games and to allow players to learn how to play them. Many video games are fundamentally built around challenges of physical dexterity or logical problem-solving. Players must typically manipulate an interface, such as a gamepad or joystick and several buttons, to control an avatar or sequence of events presented on an electronic screen. The player must inevitably complete trials that range from the rudimentary (i.e. move a character from one game space to another) to the considerably more conceptually complex (i.e. solve a puzzle to acquire an object from one game space that may only be used in conjunction with several other objects to overcome another obstacle). Video games commonly privilege exact and dexterous manipulation of game elements—most often, the player character’s avatar—in order to succeed within the game’s system of scoring and play. In order to reduce player frustration, games that require such exacting control often incorporate mechanisms to accommodate the learning curve inherent to the variations of their interfaces and play mechanics. Through these mechanisms, a player is given more time to learn the mechanics of play within a given game, rather than immediately ending the game upon a player’s mistake. Perhaps the most readily apparent paradigm of this type of mechanism is the notion of “lives” or “tries” in a game, which were popularized by early arcade video games such as Space Invaders and can be traced to earlier electromechanical games and pinball games. This mechanism effectively allows the player several (most commonly, three) attempts within the same particular game instance. If a player fails to navigate a particular section (for example, being caught by a ghost in a game of Ms. Pac-Man (Bally-Midway, 1982), a “life” is deducted from the player and the game’s state is reset to an earlier moment or difficulty level at which the player lost the life. In some games, players may be awarded bonus lives for reaching specific goals within the game such as accumulated point totals, effectively rewarding the player for precise play and extending the length of his/her game. In addition to alleviating player frustration, the development of this game mechanic can also be read as an industrial strategy, given its popularity in arcade games in which players must pay each time they play a game. The video game’s incorporation of repeated attempts as a core mechanic thus clearly evinces repetition’s function as industrial strategy.
It should be noted that as games became increasingly popular in domestic settings on personal computers and home consoles, more nuanced mechanisms for extending play became prevalent, and were occasionally linked to the emergence of other game genres such as role-playing games (RPGs). The first-person shooter (FPS) Castle Wolfenstein 3D (id Software, 1992) allocates the player only one life, but instead employs a heath meter that fluctuates upward and downward respectively based on injuries sustained and healed by the player’s avatar. As a player learns the mechanics of play and attempts the navigation of the game’s spaces, his/her avatar may be gradually injured (in lieu of being killed outright), allowing the player to learn how to better negotiate the game and manage his/her avatar’s virtual health state. While arcade games often function by a player inserting coins to play, home games are most typically purchased outright by the player for a far greater amount of money. The pronounced difference in cost between games designed for arcade and home markets has effected an assessment of the price of the purchase of a game for the home as measured against its long-term recreational use-value; this valuation of a game’s potential for pleasurable return on investment is termed “replay value,” by which a game’s potential for continued play after its completion is measured. As such, games designed for arcade settings tend to demonstrate broadly dissimilar tendencies toward average length of play, while games designed for domestic settings (which are thus sold to the consumer) are characterized by significantly longer investments of player time and a pronounced propensity toward game designs that incorporate a degree of finality and completion; this tendency toward games that can be “finished” has placed an increased emphasis on “replay value” for home games as a means to increase the player’s desire to play the game again after it is has been completed—and thus increasing its perceived recreational use-value.
Given the linkage between a game’s perceived replay value and the likelihood of its purchase by a player, varied game design and industrial strategies have emerged as a means of increasing a game’s replay value. Perhaps the most common method of adding “replay value” to a game is via the addition of a multiplayer mode, effectively adding the indefinite variability of the actions of other players to the game’s play mechanics. Another technique of adding replay value establishes set rules of play and then randomly generates the content of the game in an attempt to effect a unique play experience each time the game is played (within the confines provided by the game rules). Such an approach could be compared to a sporting event—the rules and regulations of a given match are pre-determined, but each instance or game played of the sport results in a relatively unique outcome. An early example of such a game is Rogue (1980), a game first developed by students Ken Arnold, Michael Toy, and Glenn Wichman on large computer mainframes found in research institutions. Each time the fantasy dungeon-exploring game Rogue is played, it randomly generates the maps and the challenges that the player will face, producing a unique game experience each time. Consequently, Rogue is an example of enormous replay value—the game proved so successful that the developers released a commercial version of Rogue in 1983. The replay value that is the product of Rogue’s style of generative content and can be clearly traced to later, far more financially successful games such as Diablo (Blizzard, 1996) and Spore (Maxis, 2008).
Super Mario Kart (Nintendo, 1992), an example of a fairly simple go-kart racing game, allows players to record their lap times on the game’s race courses. Players may then compete against existing records on the track, which are recorded as “ghosts” against which the player races. Here, the player replays sections of the game (in this case, race courses) in order to directly challenge his/her previous navigational attempt of these same spaces. The player’s desire for perfection is thus inscribed into the play of the game itself, with each successful iterative navigation overtly evincing Freud’s proposed “instinct towards perfection.” In this sense, the play of the player is recorded to augment and supplement subsequent replay—rendering replay as a central component of play. Other games make use of this variation of repetition in distinct yet analogous fashion, placing a pronounced emphasis on sectional mastery as a means of advancement. Gran Turismo (Polyphony Digital Inc./Sony, 1998), another racing game, incorporates timed portions that reward players with incremental bonuses and rewards for completing sections within specified time requirements. Similarly, the practice of obliging the player to repeatedly navigate spaces until s/he can perfect that space is evident in games such as FPS Call of Duty (Infinity Ward, 2003). Rather than using the mechanic of providing a player multiple lives with which to traverse a large gamespace, Call of Duty instead supplies its player only one opportunity to negotiate a space, but instead limits the size of the space and automatically saves the player’s progress through a larger game space at regular intervals. As the player’s progress through each game level is regularly recorded, s/he must only start at the last point at which the game saved if his/her character is killed. In particularly challenging areas of the game, the player is thus compelled to repeat the same section over and over until s/he can successfully navigate it. Again, processes of trial and error are privileged in games such as these, as the player must iteratively attempt different strategies in successive replays of specific portions. While somewhat dissimilar to the sectional replay engendered in Super Mario Kart, repetition in games such as Call of Duty is all but compulsory; repetition thus functions in related but unique fashions in these examples from genres of the racing game and the FPS.
Games that explicitly or implicitly encourage the replay of their entire text can effectively multiply the amount of play time with minimal financial investment in terms of game development costs; this tactic is more common in more narrative-oriented games such as adventure games or RPGs. For instance, if a game involves the exploration of a haunted house that concludes when a player navigates all of the rooms in a house, allowing the player to restart the game by exploring the same house with some degree of variation would be far cheaper to incorporate than designing another house for the player to explore. A player of Resident Evil (Capcom, 1996) who has completed the game is “rewarded” with the opportunity to replay the same game with a different costume for the player character (or as a character with the same attributes but a different visual representation). Other games offer more varied experiences in their comprehensive replay. For instance, Hero’s Quest: So You Want to Be a Hero (Sierra On-Line, 1989) allows the player to choose one of three different types of character when s/he initially starts to play, and each type of character allows the player access to different areas of the game and pre-determined sequences. Later games such as System Shock 2 (Irrational Games/Looking Glass Studios, 1999) and Deus Ex (Ion Storm, 2000) incorporate RPG elements and let the player assign his or her character’s specific skills and attributes and develop them through play, solving the puzzles in each game in different fashions as the player chooses (i.e. sneaking past a guard with a stealthy character versus confronting the same guard with a more aggressive character); these games’ designs provide for an inherent flexibility in problem-solving, permitting players to replay the game and complete it with different play strategies on successive replays. Similarly, in Dead Rising (Capcom, 2006) players may restart the game with the same developed version of their character—thus allowing players the benefit of controlling a more capable character immediately rather than tediously developing the character from scratch once again. In these ways and others, game developers may add more replay value to a game by encouraging the player to re-experience the same game in new ways.
“Instant” Replay
The use of repetition as a core game mechanic is further—and far more complexly—evinced in games such as Jonathan Blow’s Braid (Number None/Microsoft, 2008). The centrality of replay to Braid’s core mechanic is made plain by the player’s sustained capacity for rewinding time throughout the game; at any instance, the player may choose to replay his/her actions by rewinding time and adjusting their actions. It should be noted this game mechanic can be found in earlier games such as Blinx: The Time Sweeper (Microsoft, 2002) and Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (Ubisoft, 2003). In Braid, this interaction with the past is furthered in different levels of one of the game’s worlds, each of which employs a different temporal play mechanic. Rather than merely focused on the now and the near-future as Juul and Atkins suggest is common in video game play, the player instead finds himself/herself in a dialogic relationship with the present, future, and past. Grodal’s “aesthetic of repetition” gains new significance as actions and behaviors of the past shape the present, but these past interactions become charged via the player’s ability to actively engage and interact with them.
Braid thus marks a profound shift in the role of repetition in the play of video games; by weaving repetition so tightly into the navigation of the game’s environs and the solution of its puzzles, replay effectively becomes the central component of its play. The player’s comprehension of, interaction with, and eventual mastery of Braid’s variable temporal behaviors and structures are all required in order to solve the game’s puzzles and to progress through its levels. Braid compels the player to un-learn familiar spatiotemporal constructs and representations in order to successfully navigate both the game’s spaces, but also its times. This shifts the core game mechanic of the platformer from one of spatial navigation to one of temporal navigation, boldly intimating possibilities for novel ludic and narrative structures made possible by interactive technologies.
References
Atkins, B. (2006). What are we really looking at? The future-orientation of video game play. Games and Culture, 1(2), 127–140.
Freud, S. (1920). Beyond the pleasure principle. In The standard edition of the complete psychological works of Sigmund Freud (pp. 7–64). London: The Hogarth Press and the Institute of Psycho-Analysis.
Grodal, T. (2003). Stories for eye, ear, and muscles: Video games, media, and embodied experiences. In M. J. P. Wolf & B. Perron (Eds.), The video game theory reader (pp. 129–155). New York: Routledge.
Juul, J. (2004). Introduction to game time. In P. Harrigan & N. Wardrip-Fruin (Eds.), First person: New media as story, performance and game (pp. 131–142). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press.
Wolf, M. J. P. (2001). Time in the video game. In M. J. P. Wolf (Ed.), The medium of the video game (pp. 77–91). Austin, TX: University of Texas Press.