EVEN TODAY, THERE MIGHT BE SOME OF YOU WHO HAVE NEVER played Missile Command in its original arcade cabinet form but are familiar with the game because of its appearances in popular culture, perhaps as Easter eggs in movies or YouTube videos, or as releases of the game on home consoles over the years. It might have been the bright, colorful visuals, or it might have been the blisteringly fast gameplay, which today’s games just can’t match, but many people familiar with gaming culture at some point in the last few decades have been drawn to Missile Command at one point or another. It doesn’t matter if you’re five or fifty; the game is accessible to anyone, breaking through age and cultural barriers. Dave Theurer’s message transcended generations and found a way to live on far beyond the cabinet that once contained it decades ago. Even as interest in arcade games has diminished as mobile gaming, next-generation internet-connected consoles, and virtual reality have taken over as the gaming media of choice for a new generation of gamers, Missile Command has maintained its presence and position as an undeniable staple of gaming past.
Just as games were cycled out for newer, more advanced titles when they were no longer popular in arcades, gaming has evolved to a place where most games don’t stick around for more than a few weeks. You might find an online gaming community you can really sink your teeth into and stretch that out to a few months, maybe even a year, but for the most part, games aren’t meant to be long-term commitments. They’re made in a way where content is meant to be consumed and discarded. The game developers already have your sixty dollars; why should they need to keep you entertained years later? Now, with widespread use of the internet, there are definitely some games that have found a way to stand the test of time, with MMOs (massively multiplayer online games) like World of Warcraft and long-standing franchises like Halo and Uncharted stretching their existence out over several iterations to ensure that they’re always delivering exactly what their fans are looking for. But you no longer have to create one thing that can be replayable for as long as the game exists. You can choose to update the content later, changing certain elements around, or even turn it into a whole new game.
Games are no longer fighting for a player’s money one quarter at a time like they once were, but as technology has advanced, we’ve been given something much more meaningful in exchange. These leaps forward in what’s possible have allowed us to tell much deeper stories within games than when Missile Command was being developed in 1979. Though it was one of the first titles to really tell a story, that didn’t mean much for most players. They knew what they were experiencing, but it wasn’t as easy to put it all together in their head. Developers were reliant on the players to figure it out themselves, especially when it came to arcade titles that weren’t in an ideal environment for reading through line after line of text to get a backstory. Since games were so new, it didn’t really matter. In the golden era of arcade gaming, there was so much experimentation happening that players were more focused on what was new and exciting rather than diving really deep into any one game. It wasn’t like you paid for a cabinet and took it home. If you didn’t connect with a game, you’d simply not give it another quarter and move to the next machine; no harm, no foul.
Just as there were people calling games nothing but a waste of time, there were plenty of people on the other side saying back then that games were going to be the next major art form. I don’t blame a single person for being skeptical when movies and books were so direct with their plots. Then again, a painting doesn’t tell you how to feel about it. It simply exists and lets you handle the rest. This was the style that most arcade games followed at the time. They wanted to do more, but were competing for limited attention in a suboptimal environment. It wasn’t ideal, but that was okay. It allowed players to create their own stories, which was much easier to connect with than trying to understand a deeper narrative when they really only cared about getting that high score.
Arcades were quick, high-energy places. If you connected with a machine, you could find yourself there for hours, but you still probably said to yourself, “Hmm, I wonder why this frog is trying to cross such a busy road in the first place.” This began to change with the popularization of home consoles, as developers and players alike started to realize how important the story could become to the success of the medium. It was no longer about short sessions, and gaming began to shift away from low-variance, high-replayability titles. Players didn’t want something so fast in this environment; they wanted to spend hours working toward a singular goal. Now that they didn’t have to worry about anyone kicking them off the games (because they were on their own televisions), players wanted to save that princess for real—it became less about high scores and more about actually winning. While it was once good enough to beat their friends and hold the high score, they were now battling against the game itself, fighting for absolute dominance.
Yet as this shift occurred, forcing many games to become nothing more than remnants of the past, Missile Command was still there. It resonated with players, standing the test of time, just as its creator Dave Theurer had intended, even when similar games fell by the wayside. Others had focused on gimmicks that played well at the arcade but were quickly outpaced by technological innovations. One week yours was the only game in the arcade with a steering wheel, but the next week something new came in that was different, and you were left out in the cold, wishing gameplay had been more of a priority. As with anything, there are always winners and losers—more the latter than the former in the arcade business—but Theurer had done everything he possibly could to keep Missile Command from falling prey to the losing fate. He and his team at Atari were doing everything right with a color monitor, a unique concept, and a new control method, but Theurer knew that this wouldn’t be enough for the game to reach its full potential, or to create the legacy he so daerly wanted for it. The game’s message was important: he knew that nothing would be worse than pouring himself so heavily into a project only to have it fade out of consciousness when the hottest new game came out.
Theurer’s creation needed gameplay that players couldn’t get anywhere else—and that’s exactly what ended up setting Missile Command apart in the long run. It looked pretty, and it was fun to use the trackball, but none of that would matter if the game wasn’t fun to play. And yet, nearly forty years later, Missile Command is as popular as ever, a fan favorite in the resurgent “barcade” community. It had done its job back in 1980, pushing players to the upper limits of their playing ability, with memorable and terrifying gameplay that entered the American consciousness just when it was needed most. Nuclear war was everywhere, but the threats had been there for so long that many forgot just how powerful of a predicament we’d found ourselves in. Though that threat may have passed (even as a new one has entered), that feeling can’t easily be shaken, and a strong lust for the vibrant culture of the 1980s has allowed that nostalgia to return with Missile Command in the driver’s seat. Stumbling across it in a bar, emotions come flooding back. What had been such a fun experience during a horrifying time was now allowed to stand alone, absent from the implications it brought with it at the time. Instead of it being a horrifying reminder of how close we came to nuclear disaster, players are treated to that memory of fun, asking themselves, “Do I still have it?” with a smile, clutching a pint.
Though arcades have been declining since the late 1980s, there’s still a large appetite from gamers who grew up during the golden era of arcade gaming to experience the classics they once dumped their entire allowances into. This has manifested in the form of arcade bars—including the originator, Barcade—that began to take hold in the early 2000s and have been exploding in popularity, with hundreds of iterations popping up all over the United States. These aptly named establishments often feature some of the largest selections of classic arcade games in the area, and their bar business allows them to fund an otherwise declining market. For many gamers who don’t have the dedication or patience that Tony Temple does, arcade bars are the best way to get a group of friends together and relive the days of old with a few rounds of Missile Command and a beer in hand. In fact, they have become so popular that they’ve started a resurgence in arcade gaming culture as a whole, resulting in the development of new arcade games, like Killer Queen, specifically catered to party-like atmospheres.
Dave Theurer stepped away from games in search of something different. He said his piece and made the games he wanted to make—he was good without continuing to force his ideals. He wanted to open the eyes of those who needed it most and find solace in others who resonated with his beliefs, and he did just that. He took a chance on his dreams to break the mold of what was being done at the time, pushing others to continue to follow his path even after his time in the industry was done. It’s been decades since the Cold War ended, but the saying “Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it” has never rung more true. Theurer created something so genuine that, despite its creation for a very specific point in time, it’s just as relevant as ever.
As an industry, video gaming does a great job of recognizing forward-facing talent, but often misses out on some of the most powerful and artistic creators simply due to the scale of people required to make games actually happen. Theurer’s sole accolade within the industry sums up his contributions nicely: he was a pioneer. He wanted to create things that were fun, but he wanted to push the industry forward while doing so. He wanted to leave his mark through the games he created, not because he was screaming the loudest.
Through the creation of these legendary games, Theurer found his creative output. He was lucky for this to occur when it did—he thrived on Atari’s open culture, which he classified as “a rich environment to freely explore ideas and develop new games,” when talking about Atari in his Pioneer Award acceptance speech at the 2012 Game Developers Conference. He was a man on a mission, serving as a reincarnation of Nolan Bushnell’s original vision for what he wanted Atari to be focused on: fun and innovation.
In each one of his projects, Theurer pushed the envelope, looking to improve on what was commonplace at the time. Most games were monochromatic; he’d make the game full color. Most games used a joystick; he’d use a trackball. Most games were two-dimensional; he’d find a way to make the first 3-D game. Without these innovations, there was nothing to distinguish Theurer and his team from the dozens of other game developers creating arcade titles at the time. He wanted always to raise the bar, using his own work to show other game developers what was possible, even if it didn’t always appear to be at first.
Without the dual principles of fun and innovation, Theurer believed that there wasn’t much left to gaming. If you focused on the two of those, everything else would fall in line. It’s somewhat ironic that narrative isn’t one of those principles considering the importance he put on the message of Missile Command, but the game’s success is proof enough of the truth in this mission statement.
When I interviewed him for this book, Theurer had one chief concern. He was scared; scared that, for as much as these games had haunted him, they might have the same effect on others. He had gone through such a powerful and challenging time that he had no choice but to fully remove himself from it later on. He lives a different life now, one without the fear that comes with nuclear war. He has kids and a quiet life; prior to my contacting him, he hadn’t discussed the game in years, and didn’t want his kids to think that he was any less a person for having experienced what he had during the creation of Missile Command. He didn’t care how he looked to everyone else. As with everything he did, he just wanted to ensure that he didn’t cause anyone else harm in the process.
In this I saw the Dave Theurer who made Missile Command, the Theurer who wanted nothing more than to create a better world for those around him. I saw a man whose selfless actions haunted him, and the man who hoped others wouldn’t have to experience the same nightmares he did. I saw a father who wanted nothing more than to create the best possible world for his children, and their children, and their children’s children.
Looking back on it, I think he did just that. Through Missile Command he taught a generation that war is not the answer, that there are other avenues of survival. Through Tempest he showed players that they could defeat their greatest fears no matter what form they came in. Through his actions, he taught me what it meant to be a creator, a protector, and a teacher. His impact on this industry is immeasurable, and we are in his debt for the spirit of innovation, relentless passion, and ability to do what’s best for the player.
Spec Ops: The Line asks us, “Do you feel like a hero now?” I would say that such a word isn’t strong enough to characterize Dave Theurer.
MORE THAN THIRTY years after the release of both Missile Command and Tempest, Theurer would reflect on his accomplishments during his acceptance speech for the Pioneer Award in 2012, calling Atari a “dream environment.” Atari had been a place that allowed his creativity to thrive without the concerns that usually come within large companies. Despite Atari’s move toward becoming more formal and corporate, he felt it was a world free from bureaucracy and politics—unlike anything he’s found since.
Despite his complaints about the bonus program, Theurer was never in it for the money. Ever since he first played Pong in 1974, he had been captivated by the idea of creating a game so fun that people wouldn’t want to stop playing. He wanted to create something enjoyable, refined just to the point where you felt as if you could play forever if there was a way to do so.
He knew this would be tough to accomplish, but he put in the work, playing “the game over and over thousands of times myself,” through which he was able to find the best way to “smooth out the gameplay, eliminate the boring parts, and add surprising elements to keep things exciting.” This was the basis for all of Theurer’s creations—awe and excitement around every corner. He didn’t know the best way to make a game—no one did—but he knew the best way to make games that he would want to play, and he hoped everyone else would feel the same way. Solutions weren’t always evident, and they required endless trial and error, but “at some point, I would feel the right thing to do, almost reflexively.”
Though he eventually left the gaming industry, he looks back fondly on his time at Atari, calling the process “the most productive and fulfilling that I’ve experienced in my career.” He’s moved on, he’s focusing on other things, but his passion for innovation and the industry he helped to create remains just as strong as it was in 1980.
Ralph Baer is often referred to as the father of video games, with Nolan Bushnell earning the title of the father of arcade games. Others came before and many more came after, but Theurer’s impact has rarely been replicated. He innovated, doing what many believed to be impossible, pushing the boundaries of what had been done before in the pursuit of excitement. He taught us that games didn’t have to be simple sports clones focused on replicating reality, but could instead be a vision of what’s to come. He also shared his message, showing that games didn’t need to be focused exclusively on entertainment, but could double as a commentary on the state of the world at the time—thus proving that the debate for games as art doesn’t rely solely on their sensory qualities. But, most important, he gave us diversion when we needed it most.
He might not go down in history as the father of modern gaming, but he most certainly will as the cool uncle whose crazy ideas and wild passion for fun inspired the next generation to break the mold and do something great.