Journal articles on the topic 'Video Game Protagonist'

Assassin’s Creed is a historical fiction video game developed and published by Ubisoft. This video game has been so far considered as one of the most violent video games. Assassin’s Creed III is the third sequel of which plot is set in a fictional history of real world events and follows the centuries-old conflict between the Assassins and the Templars. Based on this study, the plot, characters, characterization, and scenes in Assassin’s Creed III are deemed to be able to give positive teachings to the young generation, despite the fact that there are violent and sadistic scenes in the story. Haytham Kenway, who is “evil” protagonist in Assassin’s Creed Forsaken, is portrayed as an expert in using weapons, since he was kid. Separated from his family, Kenway was taken by mysterious mentor, who trained him to be the most deadly killer. Comparisons with classic characters such as Oedipus, Hamlet, or Indonesian legendary character Sangkuriang are intentionally made to sharpen the analysis. The finding of this study is that heroic value might be found in either protagonist or antagonistic characters, whose roles involved numerous violent actions. Comments from the official website and social media which claim that Assassin’s Creed has brought negative impacts on the consumers might not be totally true.

The subjective shot as used in film and FPS video games is analyzed. In film, the subjective shot involves an alignment of two conflicting POVs (protagonist and spectator) and so is generally problematic. By providing game-enabled agency, the subjective shot is employed successfully in FPS games. Being John Malkovich and Peeping Tom both use a special case of the subjective shot, with the merging of three looks. This provides the spectator with a vicarious sense of agency comparable to that of an FPS game, rendering the subjective shot non-problematic in these films.

Abstract. This study examines the effect of interactivity on the attribution of responsibility for the character’s actions in a violent video game. Through an experiment, we tested the hypothesis that identification with the main character in Grand Theft Auto IV mediates the effect of interactivity on attributions of responsibility for the main character’s antisocial behavior. Using the framework of the fundamental attribution error, we demonstrated that those who actually played the game, as opposed to those who simply watched someone else playing it, identified with the main character. In accordance with the theoretical expectation, those who played the game and came to identify with the main character attributed the responsibility for his actions to external factors such as “living in a violent society.” By contrast, those who did not interact with the game attributed responsibility for the character’s actions to his personality traits. These findings could be viewed as contrasting with psychological research suggesting that respondents should have distanced themselves from the violent protagonist rather than identifying with him, and with Iyengar’s (1991) expectation that more personalized episodic framing would be associated with attributing responsibility to the protagonist.

Generally, male video game characters represent a hegemonic masculinity based on a patriarchal system that shows as a protagonist and dominant a white, western, heterosexual, wealthy male, disabled man and anti-ecologist. Videogames are one of the most consumed entertainment industry products worldwide. For students, video games are spaces where to find their masculine identity. Therefore, education must include video games. Video games are used as an educational resource for the improvement of the teaching-learning process of students. However, the aim of this study is to propose a didactic method untitled VIGLIAM (acronym for Video Games Literacy from Alternative Masculinities). From this method, firstly, students deconstruct critically the hegemonic masculinity of the characters in video games. Secondly, students build critically and creatively alternative masculinities that promote a fairer and more equal society. From this way, students develop empowering and empathetic skills from categories as gender, race, class, sexual orientation, body and nature. In short, this research is part of masculinities studies in the area of education and it is fundamental in the light of the emergence of posmachism that arises given the possibility of the loss of male privilege.

This creative project is a written adaptation of a video game entitled Digimon story Cyber Sleuth: Hacker’s Memory (2017). This adaptation will retell a story from the aforementioned video game title about an alternate Japanese society where technology has evolved so much that people can dive into a cyber space called EDEN. By using a set of computers and a special device called Digivice. In this virtual cyberspace, a physical manifestation can be achieved by having a virtual account and many people at the beginning of the story have been using EDEN for years to do many things. The story begins with a young man who lost his virtual account. In order to get his account back he has to get involved in the world of hackers which are individuals who are able to temper the programming codes of EDEN just like how it used to be in regular computers to achieve a certain purpose. In this involvement the protagonist also encounters creatures known as Digimon which will then play a major role in the story moving forward. The protagonist also meets a hacker group called Hudie which the protagonist ends up joining in order to gain support in searching for his missing account. The theme of this adaptation is how a missing a virtual identity ends up shaping another identity for the main protagonist. This adaptation also serves as a journey for the main protagonist who at the beginning falls under the category of “hacker” which is a bad term into a “hero” at the end. Key words: Virtual, cyber space, hacker, mental data, avatar, account, identity.

The article concentrates on a specific tendency that can be observed in some video games created in recent years. This trend is that more and more video games present an intimate perspective and focus on the individual experience of the protagonist. The author of the article approaches the phenomenon in question mainly from the interpretative and genological perspective, since video games are not a media form commonly identified with the expression of intimate, formative or identitycreating experiences. The author starts with an analysis of the reasons why video games and intimistic texts are commonly perceived as very distant genre forms. Then he analyzes those video games that represent the intimistic tendency: Bury me, my Love (The Pixel Hunt, 2017), A Normal Lost Phone (Accidental Queens, 2017) and Wanderlust: Travel Stories (Different Tales, 2019). The analysis leads to the following conclusions: what is common for all the three discussed games is i.a. a particularly important role of the text as the basic semiotic material in which the game is realized. Even though Interfejsy intymności this concentration on the word is not a necessary condition of intimistic poetics – it definitely helps introducing such a dimension into the work. What is more, two of the three discussed games use the strategy of remediating a smartphone. In both cases, the creators designed new interfaces modeled on the real ones and turned navigating on the phone screen into basic game mechanics. This, in turns, means that intimistic tendencies in video games stimulate reaching for new genre forms. This process of remediation is possible mainly because modern intimacy has shifted very clearly towards the digital, and smartphones have become its basic tool. This phenomenon, which the author of the article calls ‘intimacy 2.0’, is a result of the fact that: (a) contemporary culture is deeply anchored in the digital and its interfaces, and (b) the importance of smartphones in everyday communication and media consumption has been growing enormously in recent years. The final conclusion of the paper is as follows: all the discussed games use an intimate perspective to evoke empathy, which was not a typical video game design goal. This is especially interesting, given the fact, that all the analyzed games remain primarily commercial products that are driven by the laws of the market.

This article closely examines the representation of adoptive motherhood in Telltale Games’ The Walking Dead video game series. It builds off previous research which has examined The Walking Dead: Season One as an example of a ‘dadified’ game to explore the ways adoptive motherhood is represented throughout the series. More specifically, this article focuses on the series’ protagonist, Clementine, as she develops from a daughter-figure to a mother-figure. Overall, this article argues that although TWD has been discussed primarily as a dadified game and much of the extant literature on the series has focused on Lee as a father-figure, TWD series can also be read as a ‘momified’ narrative. While there are several problematic aspects in the way Clementine is portrayed, the series is notable in that it explores adoptive maternity, centralizes the experiences of non-white characters, and reinforces the message that family is not limited to blood relations. Because of its centralization of Clementine – a young, potentially queer, adoptive mother of colour – TWD series should be considered as a maternal narrative, rather than only categorized as another dadified series.

Faith, the protagonist of Mirror’s Edge, marks an empowered female character that is not hypersexualized, and the decision to employ a first-person perspective (thereby subverting any gaze offered by a third-person view) supports this design objective through gameplay. But despite Faith’s welcome debut on the main stage of commercial gaming, the game raises more significant questions through its engagement with the multifarious concept of “fluidity” or “flow,” which is integral to both the gameplay of Mirror’s Edge and the themes in it. Is Faith’s flow—in line with radical critical moves in literary history and cultural theory of the late 20th century to gender this trope—essentially or inevitably feminine, or for that matter, feminist? Does the game ultimately avoid, perpetuate, or contest the gendered discourses that it evokes? What can its simulations of a fictional mind in action tell us about our own? This article draws on cognitive, feminist, and narrative theoretical frameworks to question what the concept of fluidity means for a video game that mobilizes it through both narrative design and gameplay.

Gris, an independent Spanish video game, explores the expressive possibilities of this creative medium through a story that is, on one hand, a symbolic representation of the psychological process of the protagonist, and, on the other hand, a foundational narrative about the loss and recovery of identity. This title employs the expressive tools of the history of art to build its aesthetic proposal; in particular, it is categorically placed in the line of surrealism as an artistic current. The analysis of this elements is realized through fundamental notions of rhetoric and poetics, referencing authors such as Helena Beristáin and Carmen Bobes, and the narrative hermeneutics of Paul Ricoeur, as well as theoretical perspectives that allow building bridges of analysis between literature and the visual arts.

In this article I describe the implicit conceptualization of social order which exists in Death Stranding — localized in both the setting and the mechanics of the game — and compare it with the conceptualization of Thomas Hobbes’s “Leviathan”. First, the theoretical tension between Death Stranding and “Leviathan” is traced: the speculative conceptualization of the Leviathan and the procedural conceptualization of Death Stranding are compared by clarifying the role that the concepts of action, authorization, right and sovereignty play in Hobbesian theory and the video game. Sec­ondly, the theoretical tension between the political and natural capacities of the Sovereign according to Hobbes is explicated; with the help of mate­rial from Death Stranding, a variant of its resolution is proposed, suggest­ing the conceptualization of the Sovereign-without-a-body: an instance devoid of physical capacity and materiality, yet still capable of maintaining social order as a product of its activity. Subsequently, attention is paid to the mechanics of state expansion in Death Stranding: I describe and analyze how the Sovereign-without-a-body’s messenger — the protagonist of the video game — interacts with people outside the Sovereign’s zone of influ­ence, convincing them to consent to return to the commonwealth. This theoretical move makes it possible to supplement Hobbes’s binary scheme of the state of nature and commonwealth with a third concept — the state of memory, in which the memory of the Sovereign turns out to be a deci­sive factor influencing whether the commonwealth will be restored to its former boundaries. By explicating the Hobbesian theory of imagination, I demonstrate that — in the state of memory — the Sovereign is contingent, not fully defined, and virtual.

Will humankind ever be able to live underwater? To answer this question from the perspective of visual media studies, I analyze narrative and expressive means used for positive representation of underwater experiences in several examples of screen media. My examples are principally different by origin and yet united by their highly enjoyable effect of immersion into underwater worlds. My primary focus is on Amphibian Man (1928), a cult early science fiction novel by Alexandr Belyaev adapted for screen in 1962 in the USSR.I also explore its unintentionally close contemporary reproduction in The Shape of Water (2016), which even led to accusations in plagiarism. The third example is a contemporary independent video game ABZU by Giant Squid (2016), which replays the same theme of amphibian human existence in a positive light. These cases present a surprisingly rare view of a safe, friendly and interactive marine world, approached by the protagonist who can breathe underwater. I apply the posthumanist lens to find out that, surprisingly, aquatic cyborgs seem to be underrated by the queer thought (Haraway, 2015, 2016); I conclude that the model of ‘queer ecologies’ may become the needed development.

Omega Quintet (Idea Factory International, 2014), a role-playing video game released for the Sony PlayStation 4, centers around the concept of weaponizing musical entities and apparatuses to combat threats in a dystopian universe. Omega Quintet weaponizes music literally, supernaturally, and economically, both inside and outside of the game narrative. In this article, we interpret these types of weaponization as an extended allegory for consumption. On one level, the surface narrative denotes sound as a murder tool, on another level the player enables violent consumption of these tools, and yet another level reveals the weaponization of agency within a gendered labor market. The story of Omega Quintet is set in a dystopian Japan overrun by monsters known as the BEEP. Protagonist Takt and his childhood friend, Otoha, join an organization that develops special idols known as Verse Maidens to fight the BEEP. Surviving members of humanity provide the fan base for the Verse Maidens. The Verse Maidens depend on fan support to fuel their powers. Battles in Omega Quintet feature an assortment of musical weaponization. Examples include Sound Weapons as the main conduit for physical attacks, Verse Maidens’ unique songs to play during extended attack sequences known as Live Mode, and special joint attacks known as Harmonic Chains. The battles take the commodification of idols to such an extreme that they are simultaneously consumed and used as weapons. Presented as a duality of fragility and strength, beauty and brutality, art and war, the Verse Maidens are consumed in a complex system of cultural and narrative implications.

This article explores construction and representation of masculinity in the “survival horror” video-game series Silent Hill. Noting the dominance of traditional male characters and masculine themes within the video-game medium, the Silent Hill franchise is seen as deviating from this assured, aggressive, and unexamined machismo. The series' protagonists are instead nondescript, flawed, domesticated men—unstable, angst-ridden, and unreliable in a manner that interrogates the dominant mode of masculine gameplay. The problematic nature of video-game interactivity and identity, the extent to which gameplay can exist independent of playable protagonists, and the gendering of video-game goals and objectives are considered. Despite conforming to certain masculine activities—fighting, collecting weaponry, exploring and dominating space—Silent Hill complicates such aspects through the game avatars' unremarkable abilities, limiting supplies, frantic combat styles, frustrating spatial progress, experiences of entrapment, and a pervading sense of helplessness, exemplified by the games' often deterministic linear structures. Overall, this article argues that the games encourage critical distance from the male game characters, the rescue missions they attempt and often fail, the monstrous images of femininity they imagine, and the voyeuristic practices in which they engage.

This article explores the gendered narrative in the video game Assassin’s Creed III: Liberation. Using this game as its main case study, it addresses the question in which ways the game developers have conceptualized gender, race, and gender performance in the video game. It does so from an intersectional point of view. After establishing Assassin’s Creed III: Liberation as a prime example of the trend to include more female characters in games during recent years, I will argue that this game includes a complex rhetoric that not only perpetuates stereotypical notions regarding gender, but also fails to acknowledge issues regarding its main protagonist’s skin color in the historical reality the game wishes to emulate.

Encounters with animals are common in video games, where they are often included to add realism to the gameworld. Encounters with animal subjectivity, however, are not. The anthropocentric nature of video games means that animals are often environmental objects, and sometimes resources, but only occasionally characters, and rarely protagonists. As a consequence, there is no encounter with the animal presence, and often no shared gaze: The look of the animal is instead transformed into something wholly antagonistic (such as in Horizon Zero Dawn), wholly submissive (as in Far Cry Primal) or absent entirely (Red Dead Redemption). Even when video game animals are designed with the intention of “appreciating” the animals, the privileging of their panoptic human spectators just as often results in their objectification.

The evolutionary trajectory of digital journalism has been fuelled by the convergence of visual storytelling unique to documentary filmmaking with the graphics and procedural rhetoric of digital games. The reciprocal influences between gaming and documentary forms coalesce in this new highly engaging interactive journalism. This research demonstrates how game mechanics, design and logics combine with cinematic storytelling conventions in documentary games published since 2014. As forms of civic engagement more intimate and immersive than traditional print and broadcast journalism, documentary games leverage alternative depictions of violence for social critique. Case studies examine products of independent developers including the documentary games We Are Chicago by Culture Shock Games and iNK Stories’ 1979 Revolution: Black Friday along with its related vérité virtual reality experience, Blindfold. These cases represent major advances in the activist depiction of oppressed populations in narrative documentary journalism. All these projects feature atypical video game protagonists anathema to those of mainstream games.

The indie survival horror game genre has given rise to some of the most famous game streamers on YouTube, especially titles like Amnesia: The Dark Descent (Frictional Games 2010), Slender: The Eight Pages (Parsec Productions 2012), and Five Nights at Freddy’s (Scott Cawthon 2014). The games are strongly focused on horror tropes including jump scares and defenceless protagonists, which lend them to displays of overemphasised emotional reactions by YouTubers, who use them to build their online personas in a certain way. This paper retraces the evolution of the relationship between horror games and YouTube personas, with attention to in-game characters and gameplay mechanics on the one hand and the practices of prominent YouTube personas on the other. It will show how the horror game genre and related media, including “Let’s play” videos, animated fanvids, and “creepypasta” stories have influenced prominent YouTuber personas and resulted in some changes in the common processes of persona formation on the platform.

Many teenagers’ free time is almost entirely devoted to video games. Unlike reality, in the virtual environment, adolescents feel themselves as protagonists by interacting with people and objects that are very far from the current living environments. Several authors in the literature have highlighted the risks associated with an intensive use of these technologies and the negative consequences for health. To make the gaming experience as exciting as possible, these applications are equipped with sound environments that stimulate attention and aggression. This study describes the noise exposure measurement activities for video game users. The damage caused by noise depends on both the acoustic power and the exposure time. For this reason, different noise exposure scenarios produced by video games have been simulated. The results show that the daily levels of exposure to noise are close to the limits imposed by the legislation. A game exceeds the lower exposure limit for two different time exposures. In the case of 4 h of exposure, the lower exposure limit is exceeded, although the other 4 h of rest have been passed in an environment with low background noise (46.0 dBA). The results suggest limiting the set sound level appropriately and to reduce users’ exposure times.

Abstract Empathetic perspective-taking is one of the main psychological mechanisms behind audiences’ engagement with narrative (Coplan 2004; Eder 2006). What happens, however, when a story confronts with a character whose emotions, motivations, and beliefs we fail to understand? This paper examines the phenomenon of “unreadable minds” (Abbott 2008) from a transmedial perspective: how do audiences relate to a character who defies all attempts at making sense of his or her identity despite being the main focus of a narrative? My case studies - the novel American Psycho (1991) by Bret Easton Ellis and the video game Hotline Miami (Dennaton Games 2012) - foreground two such characters: by calling attention to the opaqueness of their protagonists, they heighten the audiences’ interest in - and puzzlement at - their identity. In my comparative analysis I explore two dimensions that contribute to audiences’ sense of unknowability of the protagonists: the hallucinations and delusions experienced by both characters (an instance of what Bernaerts [2009] calls “narrative delirium”); and their extreme violence, which raises unanswered ethical questions. While bringing out the continuities between American Psycho and Hotline Miami, I also highlight how the interactivity of Hotline Miami makes the central paradox of relating to an unknowable character even more salient for the audience. In this way, I show that the video game medium has reached a level of interpretive complexity that can stand the comparison with literary fiction.

“God is dead,” declared philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, “… and we have killed him” (1887)—a proclamation that numerous video game protagonists could aptly say by journey's end. The prominent god-slayer trope in video game storylines casts the gameworld's god(s) as the final boss, to be slain by players, inviting connection to real-world religious ideas. Adequate scholarly attention has not been given to the musical features of the god-slayer trope—specifically, the bosses’ unique battle tracks—to discover what the music's meaning contributes to the trope. Quantitative analysis of video games featuring the god-slayer trope reveals that the bosses’ battle tracks may strategically combine rock and sacred music topics for significant semiotic effect. This article explores the meanings associated with rock and sacred music topics, using analytic methods from the burgeoning field of musical semiotics. By invoking music-theoretic work in topic theory (Monelle 2006, Hatten 2004), agential modalities (Tarasti 1994), and virtual agency (Hatten 2018), I argue that the rock and the sacred music topics initially appear to conflict—but the trope serves as a hermeneutic premise for a meaningful and productive synthesis uniquely fit for the narrative god-slayer trope. Xenoblade Chronicles (2010) forms a striking case study, with its tracks “Zanza” and “The God-Slaying Sword” exemplifying the sacred-rock trope and its semiotic meaning in relation to the game's plot—a narratively apt battle hymn for the game's god-slaying protagonists. Using a cultural-historical lens, the conclusion explores connections between the narrative god-slayer trope and the descent of Japan's god-emperor from divinity to humanity.

Ideas enter our mind, a realisation can dawn on us, and we should let bad news sink in. This article argues that experimental narrative can destabilise this widespread tendency to describe mental processes through spatial metaphors. My case studies are J. G. Ballard's short story ‘The Terminal Beach’ (1964) and Dear Esther (2012), an arthouse video game developed by The Chinese Room. These narratives develop and literalise metaphors for mind by foregrounding the continuity between the physical space of the setting (an island) and the protagonists’ existential predicament. Going beyond a dualistic reading of the ‘mind as space’ metaphor, these texts construct spaces that are more than a symbol for the characters’ mental processes: narrative space is causally linked to mind in neurophysiological terms (in Ballard's short story), or extends the protagonist's emotional meaning-making (in Dear Esther). This set-up is unsettling, I contend, because it raises deep questions about the relationship between subjective experience and material realities. By exploring these narratives and their ramifications, the article seeks to open a conversation between the cognitive humanities and the ‘nonhuman turn’ in contemporary literary studies.

The Gothic engages its audiences in the constant play by evoking the same anxieties in its audience and its protagonists. Furthermore, it could be argued that transgressions are its immanent feature. The supernatural elements, with the strong emphasis on the ghosts, often create the feeling of the uncanny, which, defined by the mixing of the familiar with unfamiliar, is not unknown to the video game genre. In the paper I offer a close reading of Oxenfree (2016), demonstrating the Gothic elements featured in the game, concentrating on how the uncanny manifests through the use of the audiovisual glitch.

Artikkeli tutkii poliittisten ideologioiden esittämistä Disco Elysium -pelissä (Viro 2019) epäonnistumisen tematiikan kautta. Virolaisen indie-peliyhtiö ZA/UM:n kehittämässä, fiktiiviseen maailmaan sijoittuvassa roolipelissä pelaajan tehtävänä on selvittää poliittisesti motivoitunut lynkkaus Revacholin kaupungin telakka-alueella. Tehtävää vaikeuttaa protagonistin ennen pelin alkua ottama humalaputki, jonka jäljiltä hän ei kykene muistamaan nimeään, persoonaansa tai edes maailmaansa. Artikkeli kysyy, miten absurdin humoristinen mutta synkkä peli rakentaa kuvauksia erilaisista poliittisista ideologioista (kommunismista, fasismista, kapitalismista ja sentrismistä) ja mahdollistaa pelaajan kanssakäymisen näiden ideologioiden kanssa epäonnistumisen kautta. Artikkeli pohtii epäonnistumista sekä pelimekaanisena että pelin maailmaan rakennettuna temaattisena elementtinä. Lähipeluun avulla se tuottaa analyysia pelin esittämästä maailmasta ja sen pelillisistä ratkaisuista ja kontekstualisoi sitten löydöksiään suhteessa pelin kehittäjien näkemyksiin työstään sekä pelin vastaanottoon kriitikoiden parissa. Artikkeli väittää, että pelimekaanisten ratkaisuidensa avulla peli esittää epäonnistumisen kautta näkemyksiä kuvailemistaan ideologioista ja rakentaa samalla laajempaa maailmankuvaa, jonka keskiössä on epäonnistumisen oma ideologisuus. Disco Elysium and the political ideology of failure The article explores the portrayal of political ideologies in the video game Disco Elysium (2019) through the thematic of failure. Developed by an Estonian indie game company ZA/UM, the role-playing game sets player in a fictive world and tasks him with solving a politically motivated lynching at the industrial harbor district of the city of Revachol. The mission is hindered by the protagonist’s drinking binge prior to the start of the game, which has caused him to forget his name, persona and even his world. The article questions how the absurdly humorous and yet dark game constructs its depictions of political ideologies (communism, fascism, capitalism, and centrism) and enables the player to interact with these ideologies through the notion of failure. The article examines failure as both a game mechanical and a thematical element built into the game’s world. Through the method of close-playing, it produces analysis of the world produced by the game as well as its game mechanical decisions. It then contextualizes its findings in relation to the pronouncements of the game developers regarding their work as well as the game’s reception among critics in international gaming media. The article argues that through its game mechanical decisions, the game uses failure to create arguments regarding the political ideologies it depicts. It uses these arguments to create a wider worldview, at the heart of which lies an ideology of failure.

The Assassin’s Creed video game series incorporates real-world historical elements. While some historically derived musical elements are referenced from the time period and geographic setting of the game, in the first game of the series, Assassin’s Creed 1 (2007), these historical snippets are subsumed within a modern musical setting emphasizing digital sound. The effect is a bleeding-over of ancient with modern that mirrors the plot of the game. This new spin on the time travel narrative creates a disconnect for the player and invokes disruption in a number of ways: through plots, visual distortions and sound/music effects. Musically, disruptions invoke a sense of aural discomfort in the player, which mimics aspects of the game narrative such as the protagonist’s physical distress. In order to better understand the interrelationship between these components, this article uses graphic transcriptions to categorize the musical, visual and narrative functions into fiction, interface and hypervisual/hypersonic components.

Contemporary narrative video games still owe a debt to notions of plotting and characterization inherited from realist novels, even as they demonstrate how digital technologies are driving the development not merely of new fictional forms but also new conceptions of identity and subjectivity. This article expands upon these claims through analyses of three texts. Published in 1888 and revised in 1908, Henry James’s novella The Aspern Papers follows a protagonist obsessed with laying his hands on a long-dead Romantic poet’s archive; released in the 21st-century, Christine Love’s (2012) Analogue: A Hate Story and Fullbright’s (2017) Tacoma imagine technologically advanced posthuman futures in order to pose questions about datafication, identity, and the terms on which the past remains accessible in the present. Considered together, they shed light on longer generic traditions, the relationship between literature and video games, and the ethical and epistemological issues raised by new technologies.

The contemporary scenario gradually points out how children are occupying the virtual space. Among the busy environments, there is YouTube, where the little ones claim to listen your voices through the experiences shared on the platform, whether about games, toys, school activities, games and indication of films. Therefore, in this article, we seek to understand how children's video productions on YouTube contribute to childhood learning and protagonism. Therefore, we interviewed a young youtuber and her father/responsible Family member, in order to approach them that could assist in a deep understanding about listening to the child's perception /interlocutor in audiovisual production and access to digital technologies. Hence, the results show that the video platform has become a space for children to teach, create and learn in order to share with their peers the playful experiences of their dynamics that permeate digital.

Background Physical activity is crucial for child obesity prevention and intervention. Narratives embedded in active games can increase children’s physical activity. Objective Little is known about the narrative characteristics that would motivate children to exercise. We attempted to fill the gaps in understanding regarding narrative design for active video games. Methods In this exploratory study, four animated narratives of different genres were professionally generated. Children (N=41) between the ages of 8 and 12 years were interviewed to identify their preferences. Sessions were digitally recorded, transcribed, and analyzed using exploratory thematic analysis. Results Findings revealed that the children rated the dystopian science fiction story as their favorite across all weight, race, and gender groups. The physical activity-friendly narrative strategies included virtuous characters, extraordinary character actions, interesting plots, super powers, and engaging cliffhangers. Alternatively, information not related to physical activity, difficult-to-follow plot lines, passive protagonists, and repetitive narrative tropes were less appealing for physical activity. Conclusions This research provides preliminary evidence that narratives have characteristics that may increase child physical activity when playing active games. Future empirical studies should verify and test these design principles.

RESUMENEn la diegética narrativa del cine, las series televisivas o los videojuegos, asistimos en la actualidad a una masiva difusión de imágenes impactantes, acciones violentas y violaciones de paradigmáticos parámetros. Las más variadas personificaciones del mal son las protagonistas, desarrollando un extraordinario potencial para alimentar su poderoso ego, envolviendo su presencia en concretas iconografías que lo convierten en nuevo héroe. Al hilo de un elenco de conocidas producciones, pretendemos desentrañar algunos apuntes iconográficos sobre estos personajes. Sus caracterizaciones, funciones y acciones quedarán contrastadas con las influencias, constantes y contaminaciones existentes en la formulación de su imagen icónica y en el fundamento de su ‘propia lucha’. Una aproximación en la que interaccionan la historia del arte, la antropología y la sociología.ABSTRACTIt only takes a quick glance at movies, television series or video games to realize that we are being fed a massive dissemination of shocking images, violent acts and violations of classic standards. A plethora of representations of evil have become the protagonists by taking advantage of certain iconographies that make them look like heroes, thus developing an extraordinary potential for feeding their powerful egos. Our purpose is to highlight some of these archetypal features by considering a range of renowned productions. We intend to match the profles, functions and deeds of these characters to their infuences, the patterns they follow and the corruption lying behind their recognizable appearances, as well as the reasons for their personal crusades. In order to do this, we will be using the history of art, anthropology and sociology as main tools.

This article explores how to use science fiction, particularly texts centered on android protagonists, to open up discussions of marginalization, race, and oppression in the introductory literature classroom. In response to the hateful rhetoric directed toward asylum seekers, this author developed an entire course around personhood and rights. She first examines how, in particular sci-fi works, paranoia and prejudice compel citizens to delineate between kinds of personhood. She then illuminates how students were invited to make parallels between the othering that the androids endure and historical and present-day examples of human rights abuses. After a semester of examining and debating these issues, students selected an android or robot in a television show, film, or video game of their choice and first assessed how the android’s personhood was delimited by human and then articulated why humans placed these boundaries on the android. Throughout the article, the author explains the kinds of texts she used for the course, the assignment students were tasked with, and how the course broached other issues of power dynamics, such as consent and disability rights.

Kalimán is a Mexican superhero that has circulated Orientalist eugenic values for over fifty years across Latin America. Although Indian, and wearing traditional Indian subcontinental clothing, distinguishable only by a jewel-encased “K” on his turban, Kalimán is a muscular, blue-eyed, and white character. He was created in 1963 as the main protagonist of a radio series that spawned a comic magazine in 1965, two films in 1972 and 1976, and animations and video games in the early 2010s, in a massive process of remediation that has guaranteed a solid mark in the cultural patrimony of the Americas. Since Kalimán incarnates impulses of punishment and desire over racially contaminated brown and black characters, his undisturbed, easy-to-access, and enduring presence provides evidence of deeply ingrained anti-Asian violence in Latin American popular culture, as well as the urge to develop a critical look at graphic violence traditions which continue to be treasured.

RESUMO: O presente artigo baseia-se numa pesquisa de campo que objetivou oferecer subsídios pedagógicos à utilização de tecnologias digitais no processo de ensino-aprendizagem da língua inglesa, em duas turmas de 5º ano do Ensino Fundamental de uma escola pública municipal em Campinas, São Paulo, Brasil. Com base na perspectiva da pedagogia da infância, que concebe a criança como protagonista e também (re)produtora de conhecimentos, foram realizadas atividades com vídeos do YouTube, jogos online, músicas, entre outros objetos de aprendizagem. Da mesma forma, observações, entrevistas e questionários foram feitos com as professoras e os alunos envolvidos na pesquisa. Com base nessa pesquisa-ação, foram analisados aspectos referentes às contribuições de alguns recursos digitais no ensino e na aprendizagem da língua inglesa no Ensino Fundamental (ciclo I) e obtiveram-se dados que permitiram conhecer: a importância da aprendizagem na infância de um idioma estrangeiro nos dias atuais, principalmente o inglês, e de que forma as tecnologias digitais podem tornar o aprendizado mais contextualizado, significativo, motivando as crianças para a aprendizagem do idioma, num cenário em que possam ser (cri)ativas.PALAVRAS-CHAVE: língua inglesa; tecnologias na educação; ensino de línguas; aprendizagem; infância. ABSTRACT: The present article is based on a field research that aimed to provide educational subsidies for the use of digital technologies in teaching and learning process of English language, in two classes of the fifth grade from the elementary school, at the public school located in Campinas, São Paulo, Brazil. Based on the perspective of childhood pedagogy, which conceives the child as the protagonist and also (re)productive of knowledge, activities were carried with YouTube videos, online games, music, and many other learning objects. Likewise, observations, interviews and questionnaires were made with teachers and students involved in the research. Based on the action research, we analyzed aspects related to the contribution of some digital resources in teaching and learning of English at elementary school and we obtained many elements that allowed us to know the importance of learning a foreign language in the childhood nowadays, mainly English, and how new technologies can make learning more contextualized, meaningful, motivating children for language learning in a context in which they can be (cri)ative.KEYWORDS: English language; technology in education; language teaching; learning; childhood.

Gamification allows for the implementation of experiences that simulate the design of (video) games, giving individuals the opportunity to be the protagonists in them. Its inclusion in the educational environment responds to the need to adapt teaching–learning processes to the characteristics of homo videoludens, placing value once again on the role of playful action in the personal development of individuals. The interest that has arisen in studying the implications of gamification processes in the different educational stages, in order to determine their impact and suitability, has led to an increase in scientific publications. With the intention of studying the presence and implications of gamification in teacher training as a methodological principle implemented in the teaching–learning process, both in its initial and permanent stages, this systematic review of the literature identifies those instructional design models applied in the field of gamification, as well as its educational significance. Thus, the need to introduce gamified practices in the field of teacher training is observed, providing an experiential learning that allows teachers to apply this methodology in a relevant way in their professional development, based on their own experience.

El terrorismo, en todas sus manifestaciones, afecta a todos. El uso de Internet para promover fines terroristas va más allá de las fronteras nacionales, lo que amplifica el efecto potencial sobre las víctimas. Las nuevas tecnologías han creado un nuevo campo de batalla, creando unos nuevos retos a los que enfrentarse. En el ciberespacio, las respuestas que han dado las autoridades nacionales e internacionales han sido diferentes, teniendo especial protagonismo las políticas antiterroristas, infiltración y monitorización por parte de los servicios de inteligencia, de actividades y comunicaciones con objeto de prevenir acciones terroristas y recabar pruebas que puedan ser utilizadas judicialmente, y contraterroristas, mediante la creación de mandos especializados como el español Mando Conjunto de Ciberdefensa. La promoción de la retórica extremista, que fomenta los actos de violencia, también es una tendencia común en toda la gama, cada vez mayor, de plataformas basadas en Internet que hospedan contenido generado por los usuarios. Contenidos que antes podrían haber sido distribuidos a un público relativamente limitado, en persona o a través de medios físicos como discos compactos -(CD)- y discos de video digital -(DVD), han ido pasando cada vez más hacia Internet. Los contenidos pueden distribuirse ahora usando una amplia gama de herramientas, tales como sitios web especiales, salas virtuales de charla y foros, revistas en línea, plataformas de redes sociales, como Twitter y Facebook, y sitios web populares de videos y de intercambio de ficheros, como You-Tube y Rapidshare, respectivamente. El uso de los servicios de indización, como los buscadores de Internet, también hace que sea más fácil descubrir y obtener contenido relacionado con el terrorismo. El anonimato relativo que ofrece Internet a los terroristas para promover sus causas o facilitar sus atentados, sumados a complejas cuestiones relacionadas con la ubicación, retención, incautación y presentación de los datos relacionados con Internet, hacen que la cooperación internacional eficaz y oportuna entre los organismos encargados de hacer cumplir la ley y los servicios de inteligencia, sea un factor cada vez más importante para el éxito de la investigación y el enjuiciamiento de muchos casos de terrorismo.

Cyborgs, fembots and posthumans: electronic dance music and the biopolitics of fucking machinesIn the technophilic West, netizens, infomorphs and the audio digerati triumphantly-if-precociously herald this as the dawn of disembodiment. These reality hackers dream in binary code. They yearn to manufacture human-alien hybrids, ethical androids and genetically programmed clones. They already engineer digital soul divas, aural cyborgs, Nintendo's voluptuously overdrawn robo-bimbos, and the supernaturally and surgically perfect bodies purchased at Lasers R' US. They share the meat-hating philosophies of the cyber-protagonists of Neuromancer, Snow Crash and Software. They willingly computerise their passions via text sex, MUD-based gender masquerades, naughty newsgroups, techno-fetishistic video games, virtual reality-based erotic escapades, and pornosonic digital samples. Nonetheless, it seems that for the rest of us to join these intrepid cybernauts in their Age of immaterial Information, our too-solid bodies must first be anaesthetised with utopian visions and sounds of an incorporeal future. So electronic dance music, popular culture and modern science inject the flesh with fantasies of immortality, limitless pleasures, and unadulterated agency. With their tax-funded market research and their potent techno-imaginings, entertainment systems, netters, digital dance music producers, and radically hopeful scientists prepare human matter to be dematerialised and devoured byte by agonising byte. In other words, they passionately fabricate the human-machine hybrid also known as the cyborg, the fembot and the posthuman. These techno-organic entities traverse the space between desire and dread; their indeterminate forms simultaneously destabilise and reconfigure the dualistic limits of liberal humanist subjectivity. Each incarnation plots the feared consequences and perplexing possibilities of boundary transgressions between the human and the machine quite differently.

This paper examines the Japanese dating simulator video game, Tokimeki Memorial Girl’s Side, the first female protagonist version in the Tokimeki Memorial series. Analysis of the game mechanics, characterisations, player options and their results demonstrate that the game assumes and reinforces a range of cultural norms and social expectations in relation to gender performativity, courting and dating, relationships and intimacy. I discuss how the gameplay actively produces particular heteronormative perspectives on how girls and young women should enact femininity if they are to avoid being alone at the end of the game, and, for that matter, in life.

This article focuses on the recent film adaptation of the 2013 Tomb Raider video game. Its main goal is to show that, despite the significant changes that the plot undergoes when transitioning from video game to feature film, the adaptation remains faithful to the conservative gender politics of its ludic source text, in the sense that in both the game and the film Lara must struggle to maintain patriarchal order. While in the game the female protagonist has to fulfil her late father’s unfinished archaeological (in fact colonial) project and redeem his name, in the film she has to compensate for her father’s masculinity crisis. The resolution of the plot coincides with a resolution of the crisis of masculinity, which reinstates the gender power relations privileging masculinity. Furthermore, this article shows that Lara’s struggle to re-establish patriarchy in the film’s storyworld coerces her to adopt a colonial attitude with respect to otherness. By performing phallic masculinity, Lara Croft acts as an agent of colonialism whose intervention in foreign territories and cultures is rendered by the film providential for the emancipation of the native populations.

Introduction: Game Culture and GenderAs texts with the potential to help mediate specific forms of identity, video games are rich and complex sites for analysis. A tendency, however, still exists in scholarship to treat video games as just another kind of text, and work that explores the expression of masculine identity persists in drawing from cinematic analysis without proper consideration of game design and how these games are played (Triana). For example, insights from studies into horror cinema may illuminate the relationship between players and game systems in survival horror video games (Habel & Kooyman), but further study is needed to explore how people interact with the game.This article aims to build towards a scholarly definition of the term “Power Fantasy”, a concept that seems well established in wider discourse but is not yet well theorised in the scholarly literature. It does so through a case of the most recent reboot of Doom (2016), a game that in its original incarnation established an enduring tradition for high-action Power Fantasy. In the first-person shooter game Doom, the player fills the role of the “Doom Guy”, a faceless hero who shuttles between Earth and Hell with the sole aim of eviscerating demonic hordes as graphically as possible.How, then, do we begin to theorise the kind of automediation that an iconic game text like Doom facilitates? Substantial work has been done to explore player identification in online games (see Taylor; Yee). Shaw (“Rethinking”) suggests that single-player games are unexplored territory compared to the more social spaces of Massively Multiplayer Online games and other multiplayer experiences, but it is important to distinguish between direct identification with the avatar per se and the ways in which the game text mediates broader gender constructions.Abstract theorisation is not enough, though. To effectively understand this kind of automediation we also need a methodology to gain insights into its processes. The final part of this article, therefore, proposes the analysis of “Let’s Play” videos as a kind of gender identity performance which gives insight into the automediation of dominant masculine gender identities through Power Fantasy video games like Doom. This reflexive performance works to denaturalise gender construction rather than reinforce stable hegemonic identities.Power Fantasy and Gender IdentityPower Fantasy has become an established trope in online critiques and discussions of popular culture. It can be simply defined as “character imagines himself taking revenge on his bullies” (TVTropes). This trope takes on special resonance in video games, where the players themselves live out the violent revenge fantasy in the world of the game.The “power fantasy” of games implies escapism and meaninglessness, evoking outsize explosions and equally outsized displays of dominance. A “power gamer” is one who plays with a single-minded determination to win, at the expense of nuance, social relationships between players, or even their own pleasure in play. (Baker)Many examples apply this concept of Power Fantasy in video games: from God of War to Metroid: Prime and Grand Theft Auto, this prevalent trope of game design uses a kind of “agency mechanics” (Habel & Kooyman) to convince the player that they are becoming increasingly skilful in the game, when in reality the game is simply decreasing in difficulty (PBS Digital Studios). The operation of the Power Fantasy trope is also gendered; in a related trope known as “I Just Want To Be a Badass”, “males are somewhat more prone to harbour [the] wish” to feel powerful (TVTropes). More broadly, even though the game world is obviously not real, playing it requires “an investment in and commitment to a type of masculine performance that is based on the Real (particularly if one is interested in ‘winning’, pummelling your opponent, kicking ass, etc.)” (Burrill 2).Indeed, there is a perceived correlation (if not causation) between the widespread presence of Power Fantasy video games and how “game culture as it stands is shot through with sexism, racism, homophobia, and other biases” (Baker). Golding and van Deventer undertake an extended exploration of this disconcerting side of game culture, concluding that games have “become a venue for some of the more unsophisticated forms of patriarchy” (213) evidenced in the highly-publicised GamerGate movement. This saw an alignment between the label of “gamer” and extreme misogyny, abuse and harassment of women and other minorities in the industry.We have, then, a tentative connection between dominant gameplay forms based on high skill that may be loosely characterised as “Power Fantasy” and some of the most virulent toxic gender expressions seen in recent times. More research is needed to gain a clearer understanding of precisely what Power Fantasy is. Baker’s primary argument is that “power” in games can also be characterised as “power to” or “power with”, as well as the more traditional “power over”. Kurt Squire uses the phrase “Power Fantasy” as a castaway framing for a player who seeks an alternative reward to the usual game progression in Sid Meier’s Civilisation. More broadly, much scholarly work concerning gameplay design and gender identity has been focussed on the hot-button question of videogame violence and its connection to real-world violence, a question that this article avoids since it is well covered elsewhere. Here, a better understanding of the mediation of gender identity through Power Fantasy in Doom can help to illuminate how games function as automedia.Auto-Mediating Gender through Performance in Doom (2016) As a franchise, Doom commands near-incomparable respect as a seminal text of the first-person shooter genre. First released in 1993, it set the benchmark for 3D rendered graphics, energetic sound design, and high-paced action gameplay that was visceral and deeply immersive. It is impossible to mention more recent reboots without recourse to its first seminal instalment and related game texts: Kim Justice suggests a personal identification with it in a 29-minute video analysis entitled “A Personal History of Demon Slaughter”. Doom is a cherished game for many players, possibly because it evokes memories of “boyhood” gaming and all its attendant gender identity formation (Burrill).This identification also arises in livestreams and playthroughs of the game. YouTuber and game reviewer Markiplier describes nostalgically and at lengths his formative experiences playing it (and recounts a telling connection with his father who, he explains, introduced him to gaming), saying “Doom is very important to me […] this was the first game that I sat down and played over and over and over again.” In contrast, Wanderbots confesses that he has never really played Doom, but acknowledges its prominent position in the gaming community by designating himself outside the identifying category of “Doom fan”. He states that he has started playing due to “gushing” recommendations from other gamers. The nostalgic personal connection is important, even in absentia.For the most part, the critical and community response to the 2016 version of Doom was approving: Gilroy admits that it “hit all the right power chords”, raising the signature trope in reference to both gameplay and music (a power chord is a particular technique of playing heavy metal guitar often used in heavy metal music). Doom’s Metacritic score is currently a respectable 85, and, the reception is remarkably consistent between critics and players, especially for such a potentially divisive game (Metacritic). Commentators tend to cite its focus on its high action, mobility, immersion, sound design, and general faithfulness to the spirit of the original Doom as reasons for assessments such as “favourite game ever” (Habel). Game critic Yahtzee’s uncharacteristically approving video review in the iconic Zero Punctuation series is very telling in its assessment of the game’s light narrative framing:Doom seems to have a firm understanding of its audience because, while there is a plot going on, the player-character couldn’t give a half an ounce of deep fried shit; if you want to know the plot then pause the game and read all the fluff text in the character and location database, sipping daintily from your pink teacup full of pussy juice, while the game waits patiently for you to strap your bollocks back on and get back in the fray. (Yahtzee)This is a strident expression of the gendered expectations and response to Doom’s narratological refusal, which is here cast as approvingly masculine and opposed to a “feminine” desire for plot or narrative. It also feeds into a discourse which sees the game as one which demands skill, commitment, and an achievement orientation cast within an exclusivist ideology of “toxic meritocracy” (Paul).In addition to examining reception, approaches to understanding how Doom functions as a “Power Fantasy” or “badass” trope could take a variety of forms. It is tempting to undertake a detailed analysis of its design and gameplay, especially since these feed directly into considerations of player interaction. This could direct a critical focus towards gameplay design elements such as traversal and mobility, difficulty settings, “glory kills”, and cinematic techniques in the same vein as Habel and Kooyman’s analysis of survival horror video games in relation to horror cinema. However, Golding and van Deventer warn against a simplistic analysis of decontextualized gameplay (29-30), and there is a much more intriguing possibility hinted at by Harper’s notion of “Play Practice”.It is useful to analyse a theoretical engagement with a video game as a thought-experiment. But with the rise of gaming as spectacle, and particularly gaming as performance through “Let’s Play” livestreams (or video on demand) on platforms such as TwitchTV and YouTube, it becomes possible to analyse embodied performances of the gameplay of such video games. This kind of analysis allows the opportunity for a more nuanced understanding of how such games mediate gender identities. For Judith Butler, gender is not only performed, it is also performative:Because there is neither an “essence” that gender expresses or externalizes nor an objective ideal to which gender aspires, and because gender is not a fact, the various acts of gender create the idea of gender, and without those acts, there would be no gender at all. (214)Let’s Play videos—that show a player playing a game in real time with their commentary overlaying the on screen action—allow us to see the performative aspects of gameplay. Let’s Plays are a highly popular and developing form: they are not simple artefacts by any means, and can be understood as expressive works in their own right (Lee). They are complex and multifaceted, and while they do not necessarily provide direct insights into the player’s perception of their own identification, with sufficient analysis and unpacking they help us to explore both the construction and denaturalisation of gender identity. In this case, we follow Josef Nguyen’s analysis of Let’s Plays as essential for expression of player identity through performance, but instead focus on how some identity construction may narrow rather than expand the diversity range. T.L. Taylor also has a monograph forthcoming in 2018 titled Watch Me Play: Twitch and the Rise of Game Live Streaming, suggesting the time is ripe for such analysis.These performances are clear in ways we have already discussed: for example, both SplatterCat and Markiplier devote significant time to describing their formative experiences playing Doom as a background to their gameplay performance, while Wanderbots is more distanced. There is no doubt that these videos are popular: Markiplier, for example, has attracted nearly 5 million views of his Doom playthrough. If we see gameplay as automediation, though, these videos become useful artefacts for analysis of gendered performance through gameplay.When SplatterCat discovers the suit of armor for the game’s protagonist, Doom Guy, he half-jokingly remarks “let us be all of the Doom Guy that we can possibly be” (3:20). This is an aspirational mantra, a desire for enacting the game’s Power Fantasy. Markiplier speaks at length about his nostalgia for the game, specifically about how his father introduced him to Doom when he was a child, and he expresses hopes that he will again experience “Doom’s original super-fast pace and just pure unadulterated action; Doom Guy is a badass” (4:59). As the action picks up early into the game, Markiplier expresses the exhilaration and adrenaline that accompany performances of this fastpaced, highly mobile kind of gameplay, implying that he is becoming immersed in the character and, by performing Doom Guy, inhabiting the “badass” role and thus enacting a performance of Power Fantasy:Doom guy—and I hope I’m playing Doom guy himself—is just the embodiment of kickass. He destroys everything and he doesn’t give a fuck about what he breaks in the process. (8:45)This performance of gender through the skilled control of Doom Guy is, initially, unambiguously mediated as Power Fantasy: in control, highly skilled, suffused with Paul’s ‘toxic meritocracy. A similar sentiment is expressed in Wanderbots’ playthrough when the player-character dispenses with narrative/conversation by smashing a computer terminal: “Oh I like this guy already! Alright. Doom Guy does not give a shit. It’s like Wolf Blascowicz [sic], but like, plus plus” (Wanderbots). This is a reference to another iconic first-person shooter franchise, Wolfenstein, which also originated in the 1980s and has experienced a recent successful reboot, and which operates in a similar Power Fantasy mode. This close alignment between these two streamers’ performances suggests significant coherence in both genre and gameplay design and the ways in which players engage with the game as a gendered performative space.Nonetheless, there is no simple one-to-one relationship here—there is not enough evidence to argue that this kind of gameplay experience leads directly to the kind of untrammelled misogyny we see in game culture more broadly. While Gabbiadini et al. found evidence in an experimental study that a masculinist ideology combined with violent video game mechanics could lead to a lack of empathy for women and girls who are victims of violence, Ferguson and Donnellan dispute this finding based on poor methodology, arguing that there is no evidence for a causal relationship between gender, game type and lack of empathy for women and girls. This inconclusiveness in the research is mirrored by an ambiguity in the gendered performance of males playing through Doom, where the Power Fantasy is profoundly undercut in multiple ways.Wanderbots’ Doom playthrough is literally titled ‘I have no idea what I’m Dooming’ and he struggles with particular mechanics and relatively simple progression tools early in the game: this reads against masculinist stereotypes of superior and naturalised gameplay skill. Markiplier’s performance of the “badass” Doom Guy is undercut at various stages: in encountering the iconic challenge of the game, he mentions that “I am halfway decent… not that good at video games” (9:58), and on the verge of the protagonist’s death he admits “If I die this early into my first video I’m going to be very disappointed, so I’m going to have to kick it up a notch” (15:30). This suggests that rather than being an unproblematic and simple expression of male power in a fantasy video game world, the gameplay performances of Power Fantasy games are ambiguous and contested, and not always successfully performed via the avatar. They therefore demonstrate a “kind of gender performance [which] will enact and reveal the performativity of gender itself in a way that destabilizes the naturalized categories of identity and desire” (Butler 211). This cuts across the empowered performance of videogame mastery and physical dominance over the game world, and suggests that the automediation of gender identity through playing video games is a complex phenomenon urgently in need of further theorisation.ConclusionUltimately, this kind of analysis of the mediation of hegemonic gender identities is urgent for a cultural product as ubiquitous as video games. The hyper-empowered “badass” digital avatars of Power Fantasy video games can be expected to have some shaping effect on the identities of those who play them, evidenced by the gendered gameplay performance of Doom briefly explored here. This is by no means a simple or unproblematic process, though. Much further research is needed to test the methodological insights possible by using video performances of gameplay as explorations of the auto-mediation of gender identities through video games.ReferencesBaker, Meguey. “Problematizing Power Fantasy.” The Enemy 1.2 (2015). 18 Feb. 2018 <http://theenemyreader.org/problematizing-power-fantasy/>.Burrill, Derrick. Die Tryin’: Video Games, Masculinity, Culture. New York: Peter Lang, 2008.Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble. 10th ed. London: Routledge, 2002.Ferguson, Christopher, and Brent Donellan. “Are Associations between “Sexist” Video Games and Decreased Empathy toward Women Robust? A Reanalysis of Gabbiadini et al. 2016.” Journal of Youth and Adolescence 46.12 (2017): 2446–2459.Gabbiadini, Alessandro, Paolo Riva, Luca Andrighetto, Chiara Volpato, and Brad J. Bushman. “Acting like a Tough Guy: Violent-Sexist Video Games, Identification with Game Characters, Masculine Beliefs, & Empathy for Female Violence Victims.” PloS One 11.4 (2016). 14 Apr. 2018 <http://journals.plos.org/plosone/article?id=10.1371/journal.pone.0152121>.Gilroy, Joab. “Doom: Review.” IGN, 16 May 2016. 22 Feb. 2018 <http://au.ign.com/articles/2016/05/16/doom-review-2?page=1>.Golding, Dan, and Leena van Deventer. Game Changers: From Minecraft to Misogyny, the Fight for the Future of Videogames. South Melbourne: Affirm, 2016.Habel, Chad, and Ben Kooyman. “Agency Mechanics: Gameplay Design in Survival Horror Video Games”. Digital Creativity 25.1 (2014):1-14.Habel, Chad. “Doom: Review (PS4).” Game Truck Australia, 2017. 22 Feb. 2018 <http://www.gametruckaustralia.com.au/review-doom-2016-ps4/>.Harper, Todd. The Culture of Digital Fighting Games: Performance and Practice. 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Extracts of the interview of Max Musau and Marc Rigaudis by Faustine Ngila Nation Newspaper Nairobi KENYA … Max Musau, former head of innovation at United States International University Africa (USIU) in Nairobi and Marc Rigaudis former Film Production director at the same university have teamed up to develop a video game to get the conversation of climate change and futurism active -- even among the young.Dubbed Jiwe Studios, the online game downloadable from the web is the meeting point of literature and technology, equipping children with digital skills as they play a game based on the current geo-political happenings, where Africa has become the battleground.… In Marc Rigaudis’s screenplay titled Usoni (Swahili for ‘the future’), he paints a picture of a Global North ravaged by the effects of climate change, forcing populations to seek refuge in the Global South – Africa.In his 160-page piece of art, Ophelia, the protagonist, initially from the El-Molo community in Kenya, runs away from her Paris home, and starts to trace her way back to her motherland...In an apocalyptic vision in 2063, Rigaudis foresees that Europe is covered by a black cloud and the sun has disappeared. Following a chain of catastrophes mainly caused by human abuse, Mother Nature reacts in a grand finale with all the volcanoes erupting, blocking the sun, blocking life. People from the North have to escape to the South, to Africa, where the sun still shines. A pure analogy with what is happening nowadays with many Africans trying to cross the Mediterranean sea and too often losing their life because the African sun which burns their skin is not shining for them! A replica of what is happening now but in complete reverse.

Introduction Ever-enduring advancements in science and technology promise to offer solutions to problems or simply to make life a bit easier. However, not every advancement has only positive effects, but can also have undesired, negative ramifications. This article will take a closer look at Deus Ex: Human Revolution (DXHR), a dystopian video game which promises to put players in the position of deciding whether the science of human enhancement is a way to try to play God, or whether it enables us “to become the Gods we’ve always been striving to be” (Eidos Montreal, “Deus Ex: Human Revolution”). In this article I will argue that DXHR creates a space in which players can virtually witness future technologies for human performance enhancement without the need to alter their own bodies. DXHR is special particularly in two respects: first, the developers have achieved a high credibility and scientific realism of the enhancement technologies depicted in the game which can be described as being “diegetic prototypes” (Kirby, “The Future Is Now ” 43); second, the game directly invites players to reflect upon the impact and morality of human enhancement. It does so through a story in line with the cyberpunk genre, which envisions not only the potential benefits of an emergent technology, but has an even stronger focus on the negative contingencies. The game and its developers foresee a near-future society that is split into two fractions due to human enhancement technologies which come in the form of neuro-implants and mechanical prosthetics; and they foresee a near-future setting in which people are socially and economically forced to undergo enhancement surgery in order to keep up with the augmented competition. DXHR is set in the year 2027 and the player takes control of Adam Jensen, an ex-SWAT police officer who is now the chief of security of Sarif Industries, one of the world's leading biotechnology companies that produce enhancement technologies. Augmented terrorists attack Sarif Industries, abduct the head scientists, and nearly kill Jensen. Jensen merely survives because his boss puts him through enhancement surgery, which replaces many parts of his body with mechanical augmentations. In the course of the game it becomes clear that Jensen has been augmented beyond any life-saving necessity that grants him superhuman abilities and allows him to find and defeat the terrorists, but the augmentations also challenge his humanity. Is Jensen a human, a cyborg, or has he become more machine than man? DXHR grants players the illusion of immersion into a virtual world in which augmentations exist as a matter of fact and in which a certain level of control can be practiced. Players take up the role of a character distinctly more powerful and capable than the person in control, exceeding the limits of human abilities. The superior abilities are a result of scientific and technological advancements implying that every man or woman is able to attain the same abilities by simply acquiring augmentations. Thus, with the help of the playable character, Adam Jensen, the game lets players experience augmentations without any irreparable damages done to their bodies, but the experience will leave a lasting impression on players regarding the science of human enhancement. The experience with augmentations happens through and benefits from the effect of “virtual witnessing”: The technology of virtual witnessing involves the production in a reader’s mind of such an image of an experimental scene as obviates the necessity for either direct witness or replication. Through virtual witnessing the multiplication of witnesses could be, in principle, unlimited. (Shapin and Schaffer 60) In other words, simply by reading about and/or seeing scientific advancements, audiences can witness them without having to be present at the site of creation. The video game, hereby, is itself the medium of virtual witnessing whereby audiences can experience scientific advancements. Nevertheless, the video game is not just about reading or seeing potential future enhancement technologies, but permits players to virtually test-drive augmentations—to actually try out three-dimensionally rendered prototypes on a virtual body. In order to justify this thesis, a couple of things need to be clarified that explain in which ways the virtual witnessing of fictional enhancements in DXHR is a valid claim. Getting into the Game First I want to briefly describe how I investigated the stated issue. I have undertaken an auto-ethnography (Ellis, Adams, and Bochner) of DXHR, which concretely means that I have analytically played DXHR in an explorative fashion (Aarseth) trying to discover as many elements on human enhancement that the game has to offer. This method requires not only close observation of the virtual environment and documentation through field notes and screenshots, but also self-reflection of the actions that I chose to take and that were offered to me in the course of the game. An essential part of analytically playing a game is to be aware that the material requires “the activity of an actual player in order to be accessible for scrutiny” (Iversen), and that the player’s input fundamentally shapes the gaming experience (Juul 42). The meaning of the game is contingent upon the contribution of the player, especially in times in which digital games grant players more and more freedom in terms of narrative construction. In contrast to traditional narrative, the game poses an active challenge to the player which entails the need to become better in relation to the game’s mechanics and hence “studying games … implies interacting with the game rules and exploring the possibilities created by these rules, in addition to studying the graphical codes or the narration that unfolds” (Malliet). It is important to highlight that, although the visual representation of human enhancement technologies has an enormous potential impact on the player’s experience, it is not the only crucial element. Next to the representational shell, the core of the game, i.e. “how game rules and interactions with game objects and other players are structured” (Mäyrä 165), shapes the virtual witnessing of the augmentations in just an important way. Finally, the empirical material that was collected was analyzed and interpreted with the help of close-reading (Bizzocchi and Tanenbaum 395). In addition to the game itself, I have enriched my empirical material with interviews of developers of the game that are partly freely available on the Internet, and with the promotional material such as the trailers and a website (Eidos Montreal, “Sarif Industries”) that was released prior to the game. Sociotechnical Imaginaries In this case study of DXHR I have not only investigated how augmented bodies and enhancement technologies are represented in this specific video game, but also attempted to uncover which “sociotechnical imaginaries” (Jasanoff and Kim) underlie the game and support the virtual witnessing experience. Sociotechnical imaginaries are defined as “collectively imagined forms of social life and social order reflected in the design and fulfillment of nation-specific scientific and/or technological projects” (Jasanoff and Kim 120). The concept appeared to be suitable for this study as it covers and includes “promises, visions and expectations of future possibilities” (Jasanoff and Kim 122) of a technology as well as “implicit understandings of what is good or desirable in the social world writ large” (Jasanoff and Kim 122–23). The game draws upon several imaginaries of human enhancement. For example, the most basic imaginary in the game is that advanced engineered prosthetics and implants will be able to not only remedy dysfunctional parts of the human body, but will be able to upgrade these. Apart from this idea, the two prevailing sociotechnical imaginaries that forward the narrative can be subsumed as the transhumanist and the purist imaginary. The latter views human enhancement, with the help of science and technology, as unnatural and as a threat to humanity particularly through the power that it grants to individuals, while the former transports the opposing view. Transhumanism is: the intellectual and cultural movement that affirms the possibility and desirability of fundamentally improving the human condition through applied reason, especially by developing and making widely available technologies to eliminate aging and to greatly enhance human intellectual, physical, and psychological capacities. (Chrislenko et al.) The transhumanist imaginary in the game views technological development of the body as another step in the human evolution, not as something abhorrent to nature, but a fundamental human quality. Similar ideas can be found in the writings of Sigmund Freud and Arnold Gehlen, who both view the human being’s need to improve as part of its culture. Gehlen described the human as a “Mängelwesen”—a ‘deficient’ creature—who is, in contrast to other species, not specialized to a specific environment, but has the ability to adapt to nearly every situation because of this deficiency (Menne, Trutwin, and Türk). Freud even denoted the human as a “Prothesengott”—a god of prostheses: By means of all his tools, man makes his own organs more perfect—both the motor and the sensory—or else removes the obstacles in the way of their activity. Machinery places gigantic power at his disposal which, like his muscles, he can employ in any direction; ships and aircraft have the effect that neither air nor water can prevent his traversing them. With spectacles he corrects the defects of the lens in his own eyes; with telescopes he looks at far distances; with the microscope he overcomes the limitations in visibility due to the structure of his retina. (Freud 15) Returning to DXHR, how do the sociotechnical imaginaries matter for the player? Primarily, the imaginaries cannot be avoided as they pervade nearly every element in the game, from the main story that hinges upon human enhancement over the many optional side missions, to contextual elements such as a conference on “the next steps in human evolution” (Eidos Montreal, “Deus Ex: Human Revolution”). Most importantly, it impacts the player’s view in a crucial way. Human enhancement technologies are presented as controversial, neither exclusively good nor bad, which require reflection and perhaps even legal regulation. In this way, DXHR can be seen as offering the player a restricted building set of sociotechnical imaginaries of human enhancement, whereby the protagonist, Adam Jensen, becomes the player’s vessel to construct one’s own individual imaginary. In the end the player is forced to choose one of four outcomes to complete the game, and this choice can be quite difficult to make. Anticipation of the Future It is not unusual for video games to feature futuristic technologies that do not exist in the real world, but what makes DXHR distinct from others is that the developers have included an extent of information that goes beyond any game playing necessity (see Figures 1 & 2). Moreover, the information is not fictional but the developers have taken strategic steps to make it credible. Mary DeMarle, the narrative designer, explained at the San Diego Comic-Con in 2011, that a timeline of augmentation was created during the production phase in which the present state of technology was extrapolated into the future. In small incremental steps the developers have anticipated which enhancement technologies might be potentially feasible by the year 2027. Their efforts were supported by the science consultant, Will Rosellini, who voluntarily approached the development team to help. Being a neuroscientist, he could not have been a more fitting candidate for the job as he is actively working and researching in the biotechnology sector. He has co-founded two companies, MicroTransponder Inc., which produces tiny implantable wireless devices to interface with the nervous system to remedy diseases (see Rosellini’s presentation at the 2011 Comic-Con) and Rosellini Scientific, which funds, researches and develops advanced technological healthcare solutions (Rosellini; Rosellini Scientific). Due to the timeline which has been embedded explicitly and implicitly, no augmentation appears as a disembodied technology without history in the game. For example, although the protagonist wears top-notch military arm prostheses that appear very human-like, this prosthesis is depicted as one of the latest iterations and many non-playable characters possess arm prostheses that appear a lot older, cruder and more industrial than those of Jensen. Furthermore, an extensive description employing scientific jargon for each of the augmentations can be read on the augmentation overview screen, which includes details about the material composition and bodily locations of the augmentations. Figure 1: More Info Section of the Cybernetic Arm Prosthesis as it appears in-game (all screenshots taken with permission from Deus Ex: Human Revolution (2011), courtesy of Eidos Montreal) More details are provided through eBooks, which are presented in the form of scientific articles or conference proceedings, for which the explorative gamer is also rewarded with valuable experience points upon finding which are used to activate and upgrade augmentations. The eBooks also reflect the timeline as each eBook is equipped with a year of publication between 2001 and 2022. Despite the fact that these articles have been supposedly written by a fictional character, the information is authentic and taken from actual scientific research papers, whereby some of these articles even include a proper scientific citation. Figure 2: Example of a Darrow eBook The fact that a scientist was involved in the production of the game allows classifying the augmentations as “diegetic prototypes” which are “cinematic depictions of future technologies … that demonstrate to large public audiences a technology’s need, benevolence and viability” (“The Future Is Now” 43). Diegetic prototypes are fictional, on-screen depictions of technologies that do not exist in that form in real life and have been created with the help of a science consultant. They have been placed in movies to allay anxieties and doubts and perhaps to even provoke a longing in audiences to see depicted technologies become reality (Kirby, “The Future Is Now” 43). Of course the aesthetic appearance of the prototypes has an impact on audiences’s desire, and particularly the artificial arms of Jensen that have been designed in an alluring fashion as can be seen in the following figure: Figure 3: Adam Jensen and arm prosthesis An important fact about diegetic prototypes—and about prototypes (see Suchman, Trigg, and Blomberg) in general—is that they are put to specific use and are embedded and presented in an identifiable social context. Technological objects in cinema are at once both completely artificial—all aspects of their depiction are controlled—and normalized as practical objects. Characters treat these technologies as a ‘natural’ part of their landscape and interact with these prototypes as if they are everyday parts of their world. … fictional characters are ‘socializing’ technological artifacts by creating meanings for the audience, ‘which is tantamount to making the artifacts socially relevant’. (Kirby, “Lab Coats” 196) The power of DXHR is that the diegetic prototypes—the augmentations—are not only based on real world scientific developments and contextualized in a virtual social space, but that the player has the opportunity to handle the augmentations. Virtual Testing Virtual witnessing of the not-yet-existent augmentations is supported by scientific descriptions, articles, and the appearance of the technologies in DXHR, but the moral and ethical engagement is established by the player’s ability to actively use the augmentations and by the provision of choice how to use them. As mentioned, most of the augmentations are inactive and must first be activated by accumulating and spending experience points on them. This requires the player to make reflections on the potential usage and how a particular augmentation will lead to the successful completion of a mission. This means that the player has to constantly decide how s/he wants to play the game. Do I want to be able to hack terminals and computers or do I rather prefer getting mission-critical information by confronting people in conversation? Do I want to search for routes where I can avoid enemy detection or do I rather prefer taking the direct route through the enemy lines with heavy guns in hands? This recurring reflection of which augmentation to choose and their continuous usage throughout the game causes the selected augmentations to become valuable and precious to the player because they transform from augmentations into frequently used tools that facilitate challenge and reduce difficulty of certain situations. In addition, the developers have ensured that no matter which approach is taken, it will always lead to success. This way the role-playing elements of the game are accentuated and each player will construct their own version of Jensen. However, it may be argued that DXHR goes beyond mere character building. There is a breadth of information and opinions on human enhancement offered, but also choices that are made invite players to reflect upon the topic of human enhancement. Among the most conspicuous instances in the game, that involve the player’s choice, are the conversations with other non-playable characters. These are events in the game which require the player to choose one out of three responses for Jensen, and hence, these determine to some extent Jensen’s attitude towards human enhancement. Thus, in the course of the game players might discover their own conviction and might compose their own imaginary of human enhancement. Conclusion This article has explored that DXHR enables players to experience augmentations without being modified themselves. The game is filled with various sociotechnical imaginaries of prosthetic and neurological human enhancement technologies. The relevance of these imaginaries is increased by a high degree of credibility as a science consultant has ensured that the fictional augmentations are founded upon real world scientific advancements. The main story, and much of the virtual world, hinge upon the existence and controversy of these sorts of technologies. Finally, the medium ‘videogame’ allows taking control of an individual, who is heavily augmented with diegetic prototypes of future enhancement technologies, and it also allows using and testing the increased abilities in various situations and challenges. All these elements combined enable players to virtually witness not-yet-existent, future augmentations safely in the present without the need to undertake any alterations of their own bodies. This, in addition to the fact that the technologies are depicted in an appealing fashion, may create a desire in players to see these augmentations become reality. Nevertheless, DXHR sparks an important incentive to critically think about the future of human enhancement technologies.References Aarseth, Espen. “Playing Research: Methodological Approaches to Game Analysis.” DAC Conference, Melbourne, 2003. 14 Apr. 2013 ‹http://hypertext.rmit.edu.au/dac/papers/Aarseth.pdf›. Bizzocchi, J., and J. Tanenbaum. “Mass Effect 2: A Case Study in the Design of Game Narrative.” Bulletin of Science, Technology & Society 32.5 (2012): 393-404. Chrislenko, Alexander, et al. “Transhumanist FAQ.” humanity+. 2001. 18 July 2013 ‹http://humanityplus.org/philosophy/transhumanist-faq/#top›. Eidos Montreal. “Deus Ex: Human Revolution.” Square Enix. 2011. PC. ———. “Welcome to Sarif Industries: Envisioning a New Future.” 2011. 14 Apr. 2013 ‹http://www.sarifindustries.com›. Ellis, Carolyn, Tony E. Adams, and Arthur P. Bochner. “Autoethnography: An Overview.” Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung 12.1 (2010): n. pag. 9 July 2013 ‹http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/1589/3095›. Freud, Sigmund. Civilization and Its Discontents. Aylesbury, England: Chrysoma Associates Limited, 1929. Iversen, Sara Mosberg. “In the Double Grip of the Game: Challenge and Fallout 3.” Game Studies 12.2 (2012): n. pag. 5 Feb. 2013 ‹http://gamestudies.org/1202/articles/in_the_double_grip_of_the_game›. Jasanoff, Sheila, and Sang-Hyun Kim. “Containing the Atom: Sociotechnical Imaginaries and Nuclear Power in the United States and South Korea.” Minerva 47.2 (2009): 119–146. Juul, Jesper. “A Clash between Game and Narrative.” MA thesis. U of Copenhagen, 1999. 29 May 2013 ‹http://www.jesperjuul.net/thesis/›. Kirby, David A. Lab Coats in Hollywood. Cambridge, Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2011. ———. “The Future Is Now : Diegetic Prototypes and the Role of Popular Films in Generating Real-World Technological Development.” Social Studies of Science 40.1 (2010): 41-70. Malliet, Steven. “Adapting the Principles of Ludology to the Method of Video Game Content Analysis Content.” Game Studies 7.1 (2007): n. pag. 28 May 2013 ‹http://gamestudies.org/0701/articles/malliet›. Mäyrä, F. An Introduction to Game Studies. London: Sage, 2008. Menne, Erwin, Werner Trutwin, and Hans J. Türk. Philosophisches Kolleg Band 4 Anthropologie. Düsseldorf: Patmos, 1986. Rosellini, Will, and Mary DeMarle. “Deus Ex: Human Revolution.” Comic Con. San Diego, 2011. Panel. Rosellini Scientific. “Prevent. Restore. Enhance.” 2013. 25 May 2013 ‹http://www.roselliniscientific.com›. Shapin, Steven, and Simon Schaffer. Leviathan and the Air Pump: Hobbes, Boyle and the Experimental Life. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985. Suchman, Lucy, Randall Trigg, and Jeanette Blomberg. “Working Artefacts: Ethnomethods of the Prototype.” The British Journal of Sociology 53.2 (2002): 163-79. Image Credits All screenshots taken with permission from Deus Ex: Human Revolution (2011), courtesy of Eidos Montreal.

The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (CD Projekt Red, 2019) is an award-winning role-playing video game (RPG); the third instalment of The Witcher game series inspired by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski’s fantasy novels. Centring upon the protagonist Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher 3 has been praised for developing a complex, authentic, and immersive game environment that combines magic and fantasy elements within a broadly medieval setting. A central aspect of the game’s success is its soundtrack – the fusion of music, sound, and voice – which further contributes to building the game’s overall narrative and the complex construction of its central characters.&nbsp;This paper explores how The Witcher 3’s soundtrack constructs identity, focusing in particular on its use of neo-medievalist signifiers and its contrasting representations of masculinity and femininity. Neo-medievalist sounds are a central concept in building the game’s identity; these sounds draw on folkloristic elements surrounding the choice of instrumentation and the recurrence of folk music throughout the game’s narrative, thus increasing the player’s immersion within The Witcher 3’s world. Regarding gender, female vocalisations are used within the soundtrack to add depth and emotion to male characters – particularly Geralt of Rivia, who due to his mutations lacks in conventional emotional capabilities. Despite the inclusion and emphasis of female voices on the soundtrack, the placement of women in influential roles is limited through other musical scoring techniques, which effectively reduces the agency of these characters, thus suggesting an imbalanced treatment towards gender. Through exploring these aspects, I argue that the soundtrack is a crucial part of how gender and identity are constructed throughout The Witcher 3, further exploring how these elements affect the player’s overall in-game immersion.

Introduction Amidst ecological collapse and environmental catastrophe, humankind is surrounded by indications that our habitat is turning against us in monstrous ways. The very environments we live within now evoke existential terror, and this state of ecological monstrosity has permeated popular media, including video games. Such cultural manifestations of planetary catastrophe are particularly evident in video game monsters. These virtual figures continue monsters’ long-held role in reflecting the socio-cultural anxieties of their particular era. The horrific figures that monsters present play a culturally reflexive role, echoing the fears and anxieties of their social, political and cultural context. Media monsters closely reflect their surrounding cultural conditions (Cohen 47), representing “a symptom of or a metaphor for something bigger and more significant than the ostensible reality of the monster itself” (Hutchings 37). Society’s deepest anxieties culminate in these figures in forms that are “threatening and impure” (Carroll 28), “unnatural, transgressive, obscene, contradictory” (Kearney 4–5), and abject (Kristeva 4). In this article I ask how the appearance of the monstrous within contemporary video games reflects an era of climate change and ecological collapse, and how this could inform the engagement of players with discourse concerning climate change. Central to this inquiry is the literary practice of ecocriticism, which seeks to examine environmental rather than human representation in cultural artefacts, increasingly including accounts of contemporary ecological decay and disorder (Bulfin 144). I build on such perspectives to address play encounters that foreground figures of monstrosity borne of the escalating climate crisis, and summarise case studies of two recent video games undertaken as part of this project — The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (Nintendo EPD) and The Last of Us Part II (Naughty Dog). An ecocritical approach to the monsters that populate these case studies reveals the emergence of a ludic form of ecological monstrosity tied closely to our contemporary climatic conditions and taking two significant forms: one accentuating a visceral otherness and aberrance, and the other marked by the uncanny recognition of human authorship of climate change. Horrors from the Anthropocene A growing climate emergency surrounds us, enveloping us in the abject and aberrant conditions of what could be described as an ecological monstrosity. Monstrous threats to our environment and human survival are experienced on a planetary scale and research evidence plainly illustrates a compounding catastrophe. The United Nations Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), a relatively cautious and conservative body (Parenti 5), reports that a human-made emergency has developed since the Industrial Revolution. The multitude of crises that confront us include: changes in the Earth’s atmosphere driving up global temperatures, ice sheets in retreat, sea levels rising, natural ecosystems and species in collapse, and an unprecedented frequency and magnitude of heatwaves, droughts, flooding, winter storms, hurricanes, and wildfires (United Nations Environment Programme). Further human activity, including a post-war addiction to the plastics that have now spread their way across our oceans like a “liquid smog” (Robles-Anderson and Liboiron 258), or short-sighted enthusiasm for pesticides, radiation energy, and industrial chemicals (Robles-Anderson and Liboiron 254), has ensured a damaging shift in the nature of the feedback loops that Earth’s ecosystems depend upon for stability (Parenti 6). Climatic equilibrium has been disrupted, and growing damage to the ecosystems that sustain human life suggests an inexorable, entropic path to decay. To understand Earth’s profound crisis requires thinking beyond just climate and to witness the interconnected “extraordinary burdens” placed on our planet by “toxic chemistry, mining, nuclear pollution, depletion of lakes and rivers under and above ground, ecosystem simplification, vast genocides of people” which will continue to lead to the recursive collapse of interlinked major systems (Haraway 100). To speak of climate change is really to speak of the ruin of ecologies, those “living systems composed of many moving parts” that make up the tapestry of organic life on Earth (Robles-Anderson and Liboiron 251). The emergency that presents itself, as Renata Tyszczuk observes, comprises a pervasiveness, uncertainty, and interdependency that together “affect every aspect of human lives, politics and culture” (47). The emergence of the term Anthropocene (or the Age of the Humans) to describe our current geological epoch (and to supersede the erstwhile and more stable Holocene) (Zalasiewicz et al. 1036–7; Chang 7) reflects a contemporary impossibility with talking about planet Earth without acknowledging the damaging impact of humankind on its ecosystems (Bulfin 142). This recognition of human complicity in the existential crisis engulfing our planet once again connects ecological monstrosity to the socio-cultural history of the monstrous. Monsters, Jeffrey Jerome Cohen points out, “are our children” and despite our repressive efforts, “always return” in order to “ask us why we have created them” (20). Ecological monstrosity declares to us that our relegation of greenhouse gases, rising sea levels, toxic waste, species extinction, and much more, to the discursive periphery has only been temporary. Monsters, when examined closely, start to look a lot like ourselves in terms of biological origins (Perron 357), as well as other abject cultural and social markers that signal these horrific figures as residing “too close to the borders of our [own] subjectivity for comfort” (Spittle 314). Isabel Pinedo sees this uncanny nature of the horror genre’s antagonists as a postmodern condition, a ghoulish reminder of the era’s breakdown of categories, blurring of boundaries, and collapse of master narratives that combine to ensure “mastery is lost … and the stable, unified, coherent self acquires the status of a fiction” (17–18). In standing in for anxiety, the other, and the aberrant, the figure of the monster deftly turns the mirror back on its human victims. Ecocritical Play The vast scale of ecological collapse has complicated effective public communication on the subject. The scope involved is unsettling, even paralysing, to its audiences: climate change might just be “too here, too there, too everywhere, too weird, too much, too big, too everything” to bring oneself to engage with (Tyszczuk 47). The detail involved has also been captured by scientific discourse, a detached communicative mode which too easily obviates the everyday human experience of the emergency (Bulfin 140; Abraham and Jayemanne 74–76). Considerable effort has been focussed upon producing higher-fidelity models of ecological catastrophe (Robles-Anderson and Liboiron 248), rather than addressing the more significant “trouble with representing largely intangible linkages” between micro-environmental actions and macro-environmental repercussions (Chang 86). Ecocriticism is, however, emerging as a cultural means by which the crisis, and restorative possibilities, may be rendered more legible to a wider audience. Representations of ecology and catastrophe not only sustain genres such as Eco-Disaster and Cli-Fi (Bulfin 140), but are also increasingly becoming a precondition for fiction centred upon human life (Tyszczuk 47). Media artefacts concerned with environment are able to illustrate the nature of the emergency alongside “a host of related environmental issues that the technocratic ‘facts and figures’ approach … is unlikely to touch” (Abraham and Jayemanne 76) and encourage in audiences a suprapersonal understanding of the environmental impact of individual actions (Chang 70). Popular culture offers a chance to foster ‘ecological thought’ wherein it becomes “frighteningly easy … to join the dots and see that everything is interconnected” (Morton, Ecological Thought 1) rather than founder before the inexplicability of the temporalities and spatialities involved in ecological collapse. An ecocritical approach is “one of the most crucial—yet under-researched—ways of looking into the possible cultural impact of the digital entertainment industry” upon public discourse relating to the environment crisis (Felczak 185). Video games demand this closer attention because, in a mirroring of the interconnectedness of Earth’s own ecosystems, “the world has also inevitably permeated into our technical artefacts, including games” (Chang 11), and recent scholarship has worked to investigate this very relationship. Benjamin Abraham has extended Morton’s arguments to outline a mode of ecological thought for games (What Is an Ecological Game?), Alenda Chang has closely examined how games model natural environments, and Benjamin Abraham and Darshana Jayemanne have outlined four modes in which games manifest players’ ecological relationships. Close analysis of texts and genres has addressed the capacity of game mechanics to persuade players about matters of sustainability (Kelly and Nardi); implicated Minecraft players in an ecological practice of writing upon landscapes (Bohunicky); argued that Final Fantasy VII’s plot fosters ecological responsibility (Milburn); and, identified in ARMA III’s ambient, visual backdrops of renewable power generation the potential to reimagine cultural futures (Abraham, Video Game Visions). Video games allow for a particular form of ecocriticism that has been overlooked in existing efforts to speak about ecological crisis: “a politics that includes what appears least political—laughter, the playful, even the silly” (Morton, Dark Ecology 113). Play is liminal, emergent, and necessarily incomplete, and this allows its various actors—players, developers, critics and texts themselves—to come together in non-authoritarian, imaginative and potentially radical ways. Through play, audiences are offered new and novel modes for envisioning ecological problems, solutions, and futures. To return, then, to encounters with ecological monstrosity, I next consider the visions of crisis that emerge through the video game monsters that draw upon the aberrant nature of ecological collapse, as well as those that foreground our own complicity as humans in the climate crisis, declaring that we players might ourselves be monstrous. The two case studies that follow are necessarily brief, but indicate the value of further research and textual analysis to more fully uncover the role of ecological monstrosity in contemporary video games. Breath of the Wild’s Corrupted Ecology The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (Nintendo EPD) is a fantasy action-adventure game in which players adopt the role of the games series’ long-running protagonist, Link, and explore the virtual landscapes of fictional Hyrule in unstructured and nonlinear ways. Landscape is immediately striking to players of Breath of the Wild, with the game using a distinctive, high-definition cel-shaded animation style to vividly render natural environments. Within the first ten minutes of play, lush green grass sways around the player’s avatar, densely treed forests interrupt rolling vistas, and finely detailed mountains tower over the player’s perspective. The player soon learns, however, that behind these inviting landscapes lies a catastrophic corruption of natural order, and that their virtual enemies will manifest a powerful monstrosity that seems to mirror Earth’s own ecological crises. The game’s backstory centres around the Zelda series’ persistent antagonist, Ganon, and his use of a primal form of evil to overwhelm a highly evolved and industrialised Hyrulian civilisation, in an event dubbed the Great Calamity. Hyrule’s dependency on mechanical technology in its defences is misjudged, and Ganon’s re-appearance causes widespread devastation. The parallel between Hyrule’s fate and humankind’s own unsustainable commitment to heavy industry and agriculture, and faith in technological approaches to mitigation in the face of looming catastrophe, are immediately recognisable. Visible, too, is the echo of the revenge of Earth’s climate in the organic and primal force of Ganon’s destructive power. Ganon leaves in his wake an array of impossible, aberrant creatures hostile to the player, including the deformed humanoid figure of the Bokoblin (bearing snouts, arrow-shaped tails, and a horn), the sand-swimming spike-covered whale known as a Molduga, and the Stone Talus, an anthropomorphic rock formation that bursts into life out of otherwise innocuous geological features. One particularly apposite monster, known simply as Malice, is a glowing black and purple substance that oozes its way through environments in Hyrule, spreading to cover and corrupt organic material. Malice is explained by in-game introductory text as “poisonous bogs formed by water that was sullied during the Great Calamity”—an environmental element thrown out of equilibrium by pollution. Monstrosity in Breath of the Wild is decidedly ecological, and its presentation of unstable biologies, poisoned waters, and a collapsed natural order offer a conspicuous display of our contemporary climate crisis. Breath of the Wild places players in a traditional position in relation to its virtual monsters: direct opposition (Taylor 31), with a clear mandate to eliminate the threat(s) and restore equilibrium (Krzywinska 12). The game communicates its collection of biological impossibilities and inexorable corruptions as clear aberrations of a once-balanced natural order, with Hyrule’s landscapes needing purification at the player’s hands. Video games are driven, according to Jaroslav Švelch, by a logic of informatic control when it comes to virtual monsters, where our previously “inscrutable and abject” antagonists can be analysed, defined and defeated as “the medium’s computational and procedural nature makes monstrosity fit into databases and algorithms” (194). In requiring Link, and players, to scrutinise and come to “know” monsters, the game suggests a particular ecocritical possibility. Ecological monstrosity becomes educative, placing the terrors of the climate crisis directly before players’ avatars, screens, and eyes and connecting, in visceral ways, mastery over these threats with pleasure and achievement. The monsters of Breath of the Wild offer the possibility of affectively preparing players for versions of the future by mediating such engagements with disaster and catastrophe. Recognising the Monstrosity Within Set in the aftermath of the outbreak of a mutant strain of the Cordyceps fungus (through exposure to which humans transform into aggressive, zombified ‘Infected’), The Last of Us Part II (Naughty Dog) is a post-apocalyptic action-adventure game. Players alternate between two playable human characters, Ellie and Abby, whose travels through the infection-ravaged states of Wyoming, Washington, and California overlap and intertwine. At first glance, The Last of Us Part II appears to construct similar forms of ecology and monstrosity as Breath of the Wild. Players are thrust into an experience of the sublime in the game’s presentation of natural environments that are vastly capacious and highly fidelitous in their detailing. Players begin the game scrambling across snowbound ranges and fleeing through thick forests, and later encounter lush grass, rushing rivers, and wild animals reclaiming once-urban environments. And, as in Breath of the Wild, monstrosity in this gameworld appears to embody impurity and corruption, whether through the horrific deformations of various types of zombie bodies, or the fungal masses that carpet many of the game’s abandoned buildings in a reclamation of human environments by nature. Closer analysis, however, demonstrates that the monstrosity that defines the play experience of The Last of Us Part II uncannily reflects the more uncomfortable truths of the Anthropocentric era. A key reason why zombies are traditionally frightening is because they are us. The semblance of human faces and bodies that remain etched into these monsters’ decaying forms act as portents for our own fates when faced with staggering hordes and overwhelmingly poor odds of survival. Impure biologies are presented to players in these zombies, but rather than represent a distant ‘other’ they stand as more-than-likely futures for the game’s avatars, just as Earth’s climate crisis is intimately bound up in human origins and inexorable futures. The Last of Us Part II further pursues its line of anthropocentric critique, as both Ellie and Abby interact during the game with different groupings of human survivors, including hubristic militia and violent religious cultists. The player comes to understand through these encounters that it is the distrust, dogmatism, and depravity of their fellow humans that pose immediate threats to avatarial survival, rather than the scrutable, reliable, and predictable horrors of the mindless zombies. In keeping with the appearance of monsters in both interactive and cinematic texts, monsters’ most important lessons emerge when the boundaries between reality and fiction, human and nonhuman, and normality and abnormality become blurred. The Last of Us Part II utilises this underlying ambiguity in monstrosity to suggest a confronting ecological claim: that monstrous culpability belongs to us—the inhabitants of Earth. For video game users in particular, this is a doubly pointed accusation. As Thomas Apperley and Darshana Jayemanne observe of digital games, “however much their digital virtuality is celebrated they are enacted and produced in strikingly visceral—ontologically virtual—ways”, and such a materialist consideration “demands that they are also understood as objects in the world” (15). The ecological consequences of the production of such digital objects are too often taken for granted, despite critical work examining the damaging impact of resource extraction, electronic waste, energy transfer, telecommunications transfer, and the logics of obsolescence involved (Dyer-Witheford and de Peuter; Newman; Chang 152). By foregrounding humanity’s own monstrosity, The Last of Us Part II illustrates what Timothy Morton describes as the “weirdly weird” consequences of human actions during the Anthropocene; those uncanny, unexpected, and planetarily destructive outcomes of the post-industrial myth of progress (Morton, Dark Ecology 7). The ecocritical work of video games could remind players that so many of our worst contemporary nightmares result from human hubris (Weinstock 286), a realisation played out in first-person perspective by Morton: “I am the criminal. And I discover this via scientific forensics … I’m the detective and the criminal!” (Dark Ecology 9). Playing with Ecological Monstrosity The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and The Last of Us Part II confront players with an ecological form of monstrosity, which is deeply recursive in its nature. Players encounter monsters that stand in for socio-political anxieties about ecological disaster as well as those that reflect humanity’s own monstrously destructive hubris. Attention is further drawn to the player’s own, lived role as a contributor to climate crisis, a consequence of not only the material characteristics of digital games, but also their broader participation in the unsustainable economics of the post-industrial age. To begin to make the connections between these recursive monsters and analogies is to engage in the type of ecological thought that lets us see the very interconnectedness that defines the ecosystems we have damaged so fatally. In understanding that video games are the “point of convergence for a whole array of technical, cultural, and promotional dynamics of which [players] are, at best, only partially aware” (Kline, Dyer-Witheford, and de Peuter 19), we see that the nested layering of anxieties, fears, fictions, and realities is fundamental to the very fabric of digital games. Recursion, Donna Haraway observes in relation to the interlinked failure of ecosystems, “can be a drag” (100), but I want to suggest that playing with ecological monstrosity instead turns recursion into opportunity. An ecocritical approach to the examination of contemporary videogame monsters demonstrates that these horrific figures, through their primordial aesthetic and affective impacts, are adept at foregrounding the ecosystemic nature of the relationship between games and our own world. Videogames play a role in representing both desirable and objectionable versions of the world, and such “utopian and dystopian projections of the future can shape our acts in the present” (Fordyce 295). By confronting players with viscerally accessible encounters with the horror of an aberrant and abjected near future (so near that it is, in fact, already the present), games such as Breath of the Wild and The Last of Us Part II can critically position players in relation to discourse and wider public debate about ecological issues and climate change (and further research could more closely examine players’ engagements with ecological monstrosity). Drawing attention to the symmetry between monstrosity and ecological catastrophe is a crucial way that contemporary games might encourage players to untangle the recursive environmental consequences of our anthropocentric era. Morton argues that beneath the abjectness that has come to define our human co-existence with other ecological actors there lies a perverse form of pleasure, a “delicious guilt, delicious shame, delicious melancholy, delicious horror [and] delicious sadness” (Dark Ecology 129). This bitter form of “pleasure” aptly describes an ecocritical encounter with ecological monstrosity: the pleasure of battling and defeating virtual monsters, complemented by desolate (and possibly motivating) reflections of the ongoing ruination of our planet provided through the development of ecological thought on the part of players. References Abraham, Benjamin. “Video Game Visions of Climate Futures: ARMA 3 and Implications for Games and Persuasion.” Games and Culture 13.1 (2018): 71–91. Abraham, Benjamin. “What Is an Ecological Game? Examining Gaming’s Ecological Dynamics and Metaphors through the Survival-Crafting Genre.” TRACE: A Journal of Writing Media and Ecology 2 (2018). 1 Oct. 2021 <http://tracejournal.net/trace-issues/issue2/01-Abraham.html>. Abraham, Benjamin, and Darshana Jayemanne. “Where Are All the Climate Change Games? Locating Digital Games’ Response to Climate Change.” Transformations 30 (2017): 74–94. Apperley, Thomas H., and Darshana Jayemane. “Game Studies’ Material Turn.” Westminster Papers in Communication and Culture 9.1 (2012). 1 Oct. 2021 <http://www.westminsterpapers.org/article/10.16997/wpcc.145/>. Bohunicky, Kyle Matthew. “Ecocomposition: Writing Ecologies in Digital Games.” Green Letters 18.3 (2014): 221–235. Bulfin, Ailise. “Popular Culture and the ‘New Human Condition’: Catastrophe Narratives and Climate Change.” Global and Planetary Change 156 (2017): 140–146. Carroll, Noël. The Philosophy of Horror, or, Paradoxes of the Heart. New York: Routledge, 1990. Chang, Alenda Y. Playing Nature: Ecology in Video Games. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2019. Cohen, Jeffrey Jerome. “Monster Culture (Seven Theses)”. Monster Theory: Reading Culture. Ed. Jeffrey Jerome Cohen. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1996. 3–25. Dyer-Witheford, Nick, and Greig de Peuter. Games of Empire: Global Capitalism and Video Games. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2009. Felczak, Mateusz. “Ludic Guilt, Paidian Joy: Killing and Ecocriticism in the TheHunter Series.” Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds 12.2 (2020): 183–200. Fordyce, Robbie. “Play, History and Politics: Conceiving Futures beyond Empire.” Games and Culture 16.3 (2021): 294–304. Haraway, Donna J. Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene. Durham: Duke UP, 2016. Hutchings, Peter. The Horror Film. Harlow: Pearson Longman, 2002. Kearney, Richard. Strangers, Gods and Monsters: Interpreting Otherness. London: Routledge, 2002. 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New York: Routledge, 2012. Nintendo EPD. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. Kyoto, Japan: Nintendo, 2017. Parenti, Christian. Tropic of Chaos: Climate Change and the New Geography of Violence. New York: Nation Books, 2011. Perron, Bernard. The World of Scary Video Games: A Study in Videoludic Horror. London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2018. Pinedo, Isabel. “Recreational Terror: Postmodern Elements of the Contemporary Horror Film.” Journal of Film and Video 48.1 (1996): 17–31. Robles-Anderson, Erica, and Max Liboiron. “Coupling Complexity: Ecological Cybernetics as a Resource for Nonrepresentational Moves to Action.” Sustainable Media. Ed. Nicole Starosielski and Janet Walker. New York: Routledge, 2016. 248–263. Spittle, Steve. “‘Did This Game Scare You? Because It Sure as Hell Scared Me!’ F.E.A.R., the Abject and the Uncanny.” Games and Culture 6.4 (2011): 312–326. Švelch, Jaroslav. “Monsters by the Numbers: Controlling Monstrosity in Video Games.” Monster Culture in the 21st Century: A Reader. Eds. Marina Levina and Diem-My T. Bui. New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2013. 193–208. Taylor, Laurie N. “Not of Woman Born: Monstrous Interfaces and Monstrosity in Video Games.” PhD Thesis. University of Florida, 2006. 1 Oct. 2021 <http://ufdcimages.uflib.ufl.edu/uf/00/08/11/73/00001/taylor_l.pdf>. The Last of Us Part II. Naughty Dog. San Mateo, California: Sony Interactive Entertainment, 2020. Tyszczuk, Renata. “Cautionary Tales: The Sky Is Falling! The World Is Ending!” Culture and Climate Change: Narratives. Eds. Joe Smith, Renata Tyszczuk, and Robert Butler. Cambridge: Shed, 2014. 45–57. United Nations Environment Programme. “Facts about the Climate Emergency.” UNEP – UN Environment Programme. 1 Oct. 2021 <http://www.unep.org/explore-topics/climate-change/facts-about-climate-emergency>. Weinstock, Jeffrey Andrew. “Invisible Monsters: Vision, Horror, and Contemporary Culture.” The Ashgate Research Companion to Monsters and the Monstrous. Eds. Asa Simon Mittman and Peter J. Dendle. Abingdon: Routledge, 2013. 275–289. Zalasiewicz, Jan, et al. “Stratigraphy of the Anthropocene.” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A: Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences 369.1938 (2011): 1036–1055.

Bracketed by a quotation from famed 1950s West German soccer coach S. Herberger and the word "Ende", the running length of the 1998 film Run Lola Run, directed by Tom Tykwer, is 9 minutes short of the official duration of a soccer match. Berlin has often been represented, in visual art and in cinematic imagery, as the modern metropolis: the Expressionist and Dadaist painters, Walter Ruttmann, Fritz Lang and Rainer Werner Fassbinder all depicted it as the modernising city. Since the '60s artists have staged artworks and performances in the public space of the city which critiqued the cold war order of that space, its institutions, and the hysterical attempt by the German government to erase a divided past after 1990. Run Lola Run depicts its setting, Berlin, as a cyberspace obstacle course or environment usually associated with interactive video and computer games. The eerie emptiness of the Berlin of Run Lola Run -- a fantasy projected onto a city which has been called the single biggest construction site in Europe -- is necessary to keep the protagonist Lola moving at high speed from the West to the East part of town and back again -- another fantasy which is only possible when the city is recast as a virtual environment. In Run Lola Run Berlin is represented as an idealised space of bodily and psychic mobility where the instantaneous technology of cyberspace is physically realised as a utopia of speed. The setting of Run Lola Run is not a playing field but a playing level, to use the parlance of video game technology. Underscored by other filmic devices and technologies, Run Lola Run emulates the kinetics and structures of a virtual, quasi-interactive environment: the Berlin setting of the film is paradoxically rendered as an indeterminate, but also site specific, entertainment complex which hinges upon the high-speed functioning of multiple networks of auto-mobility. Urban mobility as circuitry is performed by the film's super-athletic Lola. Lola is a cyber character; she recalls the 'cyberbabe' Lara Croft, heroine of the Sega Tomb Raider video game series. In Tomb Raider the Croft figure is controlled and manipulated by the interactive player to go through as many levels of play, or virtual environments, as possible. In order for the cyber figure to get to the next level of play she must successfully negotiate as many trap and puzzle mechanisms as possible. Speed in this interactive virtual game results from the skill of an experienced player who has practiced coordinating keyboard commands with figure movements and who is familiar with the obstacles the various environments can present. As is the case with Lara Croft, the figure of Lola in Run Lola Run reverses the traditional gender relations of the action/adventure game and of 'damsel in distress' narratives. Run Lola Run focusses on Lola's race to save her boyfriend from a certain death by obtaining DM 100,000 and delivering it across town in twenty minutes. The film adds the element of the race to the game, a variable not included in Tomb Raider. Tykwer repeats Lola's trajectory from home to the location of her boyfriend Manni thrice in the film, each time ending her quest with a different outcome. As in a video game, Lola can therefore be killed as the game unwinds during one turn of play, and on the next attempt she, and also we as viewers or would-be interactive players, would have learned from her previous 'mistakes' and adjust her actions accordingly. The soundtrack of Run Lola Run underscores the speed and mobility of Berlin by means of the fast/slow/fast rhythm of the film, which proceeds primarily at the pace of techno music. This quick rhythm is syncopated with pauses in the forward-moving action brought on by Lola's superhuman screams or by the death of a protagonist. These events mark the end of one turn of 'play' and the restart of Lola's route. Tykwer visually contrasts Lola's linear mobility and her physical and mental capacity for speed with her boyfriend Manni's centripetal fixity, a marker of his helplessness, throughout the film. Manni, a bagman-in-training for a local mafioso, has to make his desperate phone calls from a single phone booth in the borough of Charlottenburg after he bungles a hand-off of payment money by forgetting it on the U-Bahn (the subway). In a black and white flashback sequence, viewers learn about Manni's ill-fated trip to the Polish border with a shipment of stolen cars. In contrast to his earlier mobility, Manni becomes entrapped in the phone booth as a result of his ineptitude. A spiral store sign close to the phone booth symbolizes Manni's entrapment. Tykwer contrasts this circular form with the lines and grids Lola transverses throughout the film. Where at first Lola is also immobilised after her moped is stolen by an 'unbelieveably fast' thief, her quasi-cybernetic thought process soon restores her movement. Tykwer visualizes Lola's frantic thinking in a series of photographic portraits which indicates her consideration of who she can contact to supply a large sum of money. Lola not only moves but thinks with the fast, even pace of a computer working through a database. Tykwer then repeats overhead shots of gridded pavement which Lola follows as she runs through the filmic frame. The grid, emblem of modernity and structure of the metropolis, the semiconductor, and the puzzles of a virtual environment, is necessary for mobility and speed, and is performed by the figure of Lola. The grid is also apparent in the trajectories of traffic of speeding bikes, subway trains,and airplanes passing overhead, which all parallel Lola's movements in the film. The city/virtual environment is thus an idealised nexus of local, national and global lines of mobility and communication.: -- OR -- Tykwer emphasised the arbitrariness of the setting of Run Lola Run, insisting it could easily have been set in any other urban centre such as New York City or Beijing. At no point does the film make explicit that the space of action is Berlin; in fact the setting of the film is far less significant than the filmic self-reflexivity Tykwer explores in Run Lola Run. Berlin becomes a postmodernist filmic text in which earlier films by Lang, Schlöndorff, von Sternberg and Wenders are cited in intertextual fashion. It is not by chance that the protagonist of Run Lola Run shares the name of Marlene Dietrich's legendary character in von Sternberg's The Blue Angel. The running, late-20th-century Lola reconnects with and gains power from the originary Lola Lola as ur-Star of German cinema. The high overhead shots of Run Lola Run technologically exceed those used by Lang in M in 1931 but still quote his filmic text; the spiral form, placed in a shop window in M, becomes a central image of Run Lola Run in marking the immobile spot that Manni occupies. Repeated several times in the film, Lola's scream bends events, characters and chance to her will and slows the relentless pace of the narrative. This vocal punctuation recalls the equally willful vocalisations of Oskar Matzerath in Schlöndorff's Tin Drum (1979). Tykwer's radical expansions and compressions of time in Run Lola Run rely on the temporal exploitation of the filmic medium. The film stretches 20 minutes of 'real time' in the lives of its two protagonists into the 84 minutes of the film. Tykwer also distills the lives of the film's incidental or secondary characters into a few still images and a few seconds of filmic time in the 'und dann...' [and then...] sequences of all three episodes. For example, Lola's momentary encounter with an employee of her father's bank spins off into two completely different life stories for this woman, both of which are told through four or five staged 'snapshots' which are edited together into a rapid sequence. The higher-speed photography of the snapshot keeps up the frenetic pace of Run Lola Run and causes the narrative to move forward even faster, if only for a few seconds. Tykwer also celebrates the technology of 35 mm film in juxtaposing it to the fuzzy imprecision of video in Run Lola Run. The viewer not only notes how scenes shot on video are less visually beautiful than the 35 mm scenes which feature Lola or Manni, but also that they seem to move at a snail's pace. For example, the video-shot scene in Lola's banker-father's office also represents the boredom of his well-paid but stagnant life; another video sequence visually parallels the slow, shuffling movement of the homeless man Norbert as he discovers Manni's forgotten moneybag on the U-Bahn. Comically, he breaks into a run when he realises what he's found. Where Wim Wenders's Wings of Desire made beautiful cinematographic use of Berlin landmarks like the Siegessäule in black and white 35 mm, Tykwer relegates black and white to flashback sequences within the narrative and rejects the relatively meandering contemplation of Wenders's film in favour of the linear dynamism of urban space in Run Lola Run. -- OR -- Tykwer emphasised the arbitrariness of the setting of Run Lola Run, insisting it could easily have been set in any other urban centre such as New York City or Beijing. Nevertheless he establishes the united Berlin as the specific setting of the film. While Run Lola Run does not explicitly indicate that the space of action is Berlin, viewers are clear of the setting: a repeated establishing shot of the Friedrichstrasse U-Bahn stop, a central commuting street near the Brandenburg Gate in the former East Berlin which has undergone extensive reconstruction since 1990, begins each episode of the film. The play between the locality of Berlin and its role as the universal modernist metropolis is a trope of German cinema famously deployed by Fritz Lang in M, where the setting is also never explicitly revealed but implied by means of the use of the Berlin dialect in the dialogue of the film1. The soundtrack of Run Lola Run underscores the speed and mobility of Berlin by means of the fast/slow/fast rhythm of the film which proceeds primarily at the pace of techno music. Techno is also closely identified with the city of Berlin through its annual Techno Festival, which seems to grow larger with each passing year. Quick techno rhythm is syncopated with pauses in the forward-moving action brought on by Lola's superhuman screams or by the death of a protagonist. Berlin is also made explicit as Tykwer often stages scenes at clearly-marked street intersections which identify particular locations or boroughs thoughout east and west Berlin. The viewer notes that Lola escapes her father's bank during one episode and faces Unter den Linden; several scenes unfold on the banks of the river Spree; Lola sprints between the Altes Museum and the Berlin Cathedral. Manni's participation in a car-theft ring points to the Berlin-focussed activity of actual Eastern European and Russian crime syndicates; the film features an interlude at the Polish border where Manni delivers a shipment of stolen Mercedes to underworld buyers, which has to do with the actual geographic proximity of Berlin to Eastern European countries. Tykwer emphasised the arbitrariness of the setting of Run Lola Run, insisting it could easily have been set in any other urban centre such as New York City or Beijing. Nevertheless he establishes the united Berlin as the specific setting of the film. While Run Lola Run does not explicitly indicate that the space of action is Berlin, viewers are clear of the setting: a repeated establishing shot of the Friedrichstrasse U-Bahn stop, a central commuting street near the Brandenburg Gate in the former East Berlin which has undergone extensive reconstruction since 1990, begins each episode of the film. The play between the locality of Berlin and its role as the universal modernist metropolis is a trope of German cinema famously deployed by Fritz Lang in M, where the setting is also never explicitly revealed but implied by means of the use of the Berlin dialect in the dialogue of the film1. The soundtrack of Run Lola Run underscores the speed and mobility of Berlin by means of the fast/slow/fast rhythm of the film which proceeds primarily at the pace of techno music. Techno is also closely identified with the city of Berlin through its annual Techno Festival, which seems to grow larger with each passing year. Quick techno rhythm is syncopated with pauses in the forward-moving action brought on by Lola's superhuman screams or by the death of a protagonist. Berlin is also made explicit as Tykwer often stages scenes at clearly-marked street intersections which identify particular locations or boroughs thoughout east and west Berlin. The viewer notes that Lola escapes her father's bank during one episode and faces Unter den Linden; several scenes unfold on the banks of the river Spree; Lola sprints between the Altes Museum and the Berlin Cathedral. Manni's participation in a car-theft ring points to the Berlin-focussed activity of actual Eastern European and Russian crime syndicates; the film features an interlude at the Polish border where Manni delivers a shipment of stolen Mercedes to underworld buyers, which has to do with the actual geographic proximity of Berlin to Eastern European countries. Yet the speed of purposeful mobility is demanded in the contemporary united and globalised Berlin; lines of action or direction must be chosen and followed and chance encounters become traps or interruptions. Chance must therefore be minimised in the pursuit of urban speed, mobility, and commications access. In the globalised Berlin, Tykwer compresses chance encounters into individual snapshots of visual data which are viewed in quick succession by the viewer. Where artists such Christo and Sophie Calle had investigated the initial chaos of German reunification in Berlin, Run Lola Run rejects the hyper-contemplative and past-obsessed mood demanded by Christo's wrapping of the Reichstag, or Calle's documentation of the artistic destructions of unification3. Run Lola Run recasts Berlin as a network of fast connections, lines of uninterrupted movement, and productive output. It is therefore perhaps not surprising that Tykwer's idealised and embodied representation of Berlin as Lola has been politically appropriated as a convenient icon by the city's status quo: an icon of the successful reconstruction and rewiring of a united Berlin into a fast global broadband digital telecommunications network4. Footnotes See Edward Dimendberg's excellent discussion of filmic representations of the metropolis in "From Berlin to Bunker Hill: Urban Space, Late Modernity, and Film Noir in Fritz Lang's and Joseph Losey's M." Wide Angle 19.4 (1997): 62-93. This is despite the fact that the temporal parameters of the plot of Run Lola Run forbid the aimlessness central to spazieren (strolling). See Walter Benjamin, "A Berlin Chronicle", in Reflections. Ed. Peter Demetz. Trans. Edmund Jephcott. New York: Schocken, 1986. 3-60. See Sophie Calle, The Detachment. London: G+B Arts International and Arndt & Partner Gallery, n.d. The huge success of Tykwer's film in Germany spawned many red-hair-coiffed Lola imitators in the Berlin populace. The mayor of Berlin sported Lola-esque red hair in a poster which imitated the one for the film, but legal intercession put an end to this trendy political statement. Brian Pendreigh. "The Lolaness of the Long-Distance Runner." The Guardian 15 Oct. 1999. I've relied on William J. Mitchell's cultural history of the late 20th century 'rebuilding' of major cities into connection points in the global telecommunications network, City of Bits: Space, Place, and the Infobahn. Cambridge: MIT P, 1995. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Claudia Mesch. "Racing Berlin: The Games of Run Lola Run." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.3 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php>. Chicago style: Claudia Mesch, "Racing Berlin: The Games of Run Lola Run," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 3 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Claudia Mesch. (2000) Racing Berlin: the games of Run Lola run. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(3). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0006/speed.php> ([your date of access]).

The computer game is perhaps the fastest growing and most quickly evolving cultural leisure technology in the western world. Invented as a form just under 40 years ago with the creation of Space War at MIT, computer and video games collectively account for hundreds of billions of dollars in sales across the world. And yet critical analysis of this cultural form is still in its infancy. Perhaps the sheer speed of the development of games may account for this. Thirty years ago, strategy games were screens of text instructions and a prompt where you could type a weather forecast. Today pretty much all games are flawlessly shaded and rendered polygons. The technology of film has barely changed at all in the same period. In any case, the critical study of games began in the eighties. The focus initially was on the psychology of the gamer. Most game players were children and teenagers during this period, and the focussing of their leisure time on this new and strange computer technology became a source of extreme moral panic for educators, parents and researchers alike. Later, research into the cultures of gaming would become more nuanced, and begin to detail the semiotics and narrative structures of games. It is in that kind of frame that this article is positioned. I want to look closely at a particular strategy game series, The Settlers. Firstly, however, a description of the strategy game genre. Strategy games put the player into a simulated inhabited environment and give the player almost total control over that environment and its simulated inhabitants. The strategy game has many genres, including the simulation game and the god game, but the sub-genre I will focus on in this paper is the real-time strategy game. The game requires the player to develop a functioning economy, geared around the production of weapons and armies, which are sent out to combat neighbouring tribes or armies. Real-time games typically give greater tactical control of the armies to the player, and slightly less detailed economic control. The aim is basically to amass as much gold or whatever as possible to buy as many troops as possible. However, the game I am about to discuss is, in addition to being a simple game of war, a very interesting simulation of economic and logistical constraints. The Settlers is series of fantasy computer strategy games developed by the German game design firm Blue Byte. The three extant Settlers games can be considered an evolution of game design rather than a continuing narrative, so, given the time constraints, for the purposes of this paper I will address only one game in the series, the most recently released title, The Settlers 3. The Settlers 3 tells the story of three expansionist empires, the Romans, the Egyptians, and the Asians, who have been thrust onto an uninhabited continent by the gods of their peoples to determine who is the fittest to survive. In other words, the game is founded from the beginning on a socio-Darwinian premise. In each level of the game, the settlers of each tribe must, under their player's direction, build an efficient and well maintained colony with a fully operating economy in order to achieve a set objective, which is usually to wipe out the opposing tribes by building up a large army, though it may be also to amass a predetermined level of a particular resource. Each level begins with about twenty settlers, a small guard hut to define the limits of the borders and a barely adequate supply of wooden planks, stone slabs and tools with which to begin to construct the economy. The player chooses building types from a menu and places them on the screen. Immediately the appropriate number of settlers walk across the landscape, leaving visible tracks in their wake, to pick up tools and supplies in order to construct the building. Typically, the player will order the construction of a woodcutter's hut, a sawmill, a stone cutter and a forester to ensure the steady flow of the basic construction materials to the rest of the colony. From this point more guard huts and towers are constructed to expand into new territory, and farms are built to feed the miners. Once constructed, the mine produce coal, gold and ore, which is sent down to the smelters to make iron bars (to make swords and tools) and gold bars (to pay the troops). Luxuries such as beer and wine are produced as a sacrifice to the gods. This results in rewards such as magical spells and promotion of the soldiers. Occasionally, incursions of enemy troops must be dealt with -- if they take a guard tower in battle, the borders, represented by lines of coloured flags, shrink, leading to the collapse and destruction of any building outside the boundaries. Finally, sufficient swords, bows and spears are produced, the soldiers are promoted, and they set off to pillage and destroy their neighbours' territory. If the previously mentioned enemy incursions were frequent enough, the final conflict where the player's warriors brutally annihilate the enemy is tremendously satisfying. The problematics of that particular game construct are left as an exercise for the audience. When territory is taken, the villages of the enemy go up in smoke and their resources are left lying on the ground, for the settlers to pick up and use for the benefit of the player. One of the things that make the game so fascinating to play is the complexity of the simulation. It must be said right away that the game employs many abstractions to make it playable and not utterly boring. For instance, only the miners out of all the settlers actually need food, and the mechanism by which new settlers are actually created is a bit vague (you construct a building called a "residence", and when it's completed, new setters simply troop out. And there only seem to be male settlers, unless you play the Amazons). Nonetheless, the game still quite explicitly details things most games of its type gloss right over. Unlike most games, pulling out all the stops in production just leads to bottlenecks where the transportation infrastructure can't get the goods to their destinations. Production levels have to be carefully monitored and throttled back where necessary to ensure the smooth flow of resources from A to B, C and D. Resources themselves -- coal lumps, gold bricks, fish, loaves of bread, swords --are modelled individually: you can actually track the process whereby an individual sheaf of wheat is harvested, picked up by a settler, carried off to the mill, turned into flour, sent to the bakery, made into a loaf of bread, and delivered to the coal miner for consumption. With its attention to the gritty detail of getting stuff from one place to the next, The Settlers is one of the very few truly logistically precise strategy games. Before I begin the analysis proper, I want to introduce some key terms that I'll be using a bit idiosyncratically in this paper. I'll be talking about gameplay quite a bit. Gameplay is a bit of a sliding signifier in the discourse of gaming theory -- loosely speaking it's that indefinable something that gets a player heated up about a game and keeps them playing for days on end. But here I want to be more precise. I'll offer a strategic definition. Gameplay is a way of quantifying the operations of a kind of economy of desire that operates between the player and the game itself. This economy has, as its constitutive elements, such factors as attention span, pleasure, ratio of novelty to repetition. These elements are in constant circulation in a game and the resulting economy is responsible for a good deal of the dynamism of the experience: in other words, the gameplay. What I want to focus on in this paper is what comes from the precise moment where two, quite central impulses of gameplay are in perfect balance, just before the first surrenders its grasp and the second takes over. The first impulse of play consists of two elements -- the visual presentation of the game, i.e. the pretty pictures that draw you in, and the narrative pretext of the story, the thing that gives what you are doing some kind of sense. It is on these two elements that classical ideological analysis of gameplay is typically founded. For instance, the archetypal platform game where all the female characters are helpless maidens who only exist as a way of getting the masculine protagonist into the action. The second impulse of gameplay is what might be called the "process", the somewhat under-theorised state where the visual trappings of the game and the motivating story line have slipped into the background, leaving only the sense of seamless integration of the player into the game's cybernetic feedback loop. The visual presentation and narrative pretext of The Settlers draws the player into a familiar fantasy of pre-modern existence. Presented to the player is a beautifully rendered virgin wilderness, filled with rolling hills, magnificent mountain ranges and vast forests, resounding with the sounds of the stream and brook, and the rustling of the wildlife. Into this wilderness the player must project an empire. That empire will consist of an elaborately detailed network (and I use the term deliberately) of cottage industries, labourers, paths, commodities, resources, defensive structures and places of worship. Real-world economic activities are consummately simulated as complex flows of information. The simulation is always fascinating to watch. Each node in this network, be it a fisherman's hut, a bakery, or a smelter, is exquisitely rendered, and full of picturesque, yet highly functional, animation. For instance, the process of a fisherman leaving his hut, going to a stream, setting his line, and catching a fish is visually expressive and lively, but it also is a specific bottleneck in the production process -- it takes a finite time, during which the carrier settlers stand around waiting for produce to deliver. This, then, is the game's crucial dialectic. What is depicted is a visually sumptuous, idyllic existence, but on closer inspection is a model of constant, uninterrupted, backbreaking labour. There are not even demarcations of day and night in the game -- life is perpetually midday and the working day will last forever. To put it less simply, perhaps, the game purposefully reifies the human social condition as being a reflexively structured mechanism of economic production under the guise of an ideologically idyllic pastoral paradise. It positions the player as not merely complicit in this mechanism but the fundamental point of determination within it. The balancing moment then is the point where the player begins to ignore or take for granted the visual lushness of the game's graphics and to focus instead on the underlying system, to internalise the lessons of the game -- the particular ideological and discursive assumptions about how economic and political systems successfully operate -- and to apply these lessons to the correct playing of the game, almost like a transition between REM dream-state sleep and deep sleep. And the analogy to sleep is not entirely specious -- critics and players alike have noted the way time stops when you play a game, with whole nights and days seemingly swallowed up in seconds of game time. The type of focus I am describing is not an interpretative one -- players are not expected to gain new insights of meaning from the act of playing at this new level of intensity, instead they are simply to blend their thoughts, actions and reactions with the dynamic processes of the game system. In a sense, a computer game is less a textual form than it is a kind of tool: in the same way proficient word processor users becomes so fluent in the operations of their software that the trappings -- toolbars, menus, mouse -- become secondary to the smooth continuous process of churning out words. Such a relationship does not exactly inspire thoughtful contemplation about the repressive qualities of Microsoft's hegemonic domination of office software, and the similar relationship with the computer game makes any kind of reflexivity about the gameplay's cultural referents seem simply counterproductive. It's an interesting dilemma for the theorist of gaming -- the point at which the underlying structure comes most clearly into focus during the state of play/analysis is also the moment when one is most resistant to the need to draw the wider connections. In this paper, I've tried to take a suggestive approach, to point out some of the ways that ideological assumptions about culture and production can be actualised in a simulated environment. And hopefully, I've also pointed out some of the pitfalls in a purely ideological analysis of games. Games are never just about the ideology. A nuanced analysis from a cultural studies point of view must also take into account the quite complex ways games not only articulate certain ideologies but they also complicate them. Beyond that, analysis must take into account the ways that games go beyond the paradigm of textuality and begin to take on the aspect of being whole systems of symbolic manipulation and transmission. It is only at this point that any kind of comprehensive and theoretically precise engagement with games as cultural texts and processes can be seriously begun. References Crawford, Chris. The Art of Computer Game Design. Berkeley, California: Osborne / McGraw-Hill, 1984. Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly. Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience. New York: HarperCollins, 1990. Fleming, Dan. Powerplay: Toys as Popular Culture. Manchester and New York: Manchester UP, 1996. Freidman, Ted. "Making Sense of Software: Computer Games and Interactive Textuality." CyberSociety: Computer-Mediated Communication and Community. Ed. Steven G. Jones. Thousand Oaks: Sage, 1995. 73-89. Virilio, Paul. War and Cinema: The Logistics of Perception. Trans. Patrick Camiller. London and New York: Verso, 1989. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Nick Caldwell. "Settler Stories: Representational Ideologies in Computer Strategy Gaming." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3.5 (2000). [your date of access] <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0010/settlers.php>. Chicago style: Nick Caldwell, "Settler Stories: Representational Ideologies in Computer Strategy Gaming," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3, no. 5 (2000), <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0010/settlers.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Nick Caldwell. (2000) Settler Stories: Representational Ideologies in Computer Strategy Gaming. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 3(5). <http://www.api-network.com/mc/0010/settlers.php> ([your date of access]).

Abstract The aim of this paper is to make sense of a characteristic feature of interactive fictions, such as video game fictions, adventure books and role playing games. In particular, I describe one important way consumers of interactive fiction ‘take on the role’ of a fictional character and are ‘involved’ in the story. I argue that appreciative engagement with such works requires imagining being someone else and imagining parts of the story in a self-locating manner. In short, consuming works of interactive fiction involves imagining the story from the protagonist’s perspective.

Until the 1980s research into computer technology was developing outside of a context of media culture. Until the 1970s the computer was seen as a highly effective calculator and a tool for the use in government, military and economic life. Its popular image from the 1940s to 1950s was that of a calculator. At that time the computer was a large machine which only white lab-coated engineers could understand. The computer was studied as a technical instrument, not from the viewpoint of the user. The peculiar communication between the user -- engineers at this point -- and the machine was described in caricatures like those in Electric Media (Brown & Marks 100). Many comics handled the issue of understanding. In one cartoon one engineer asks another: "Do you ever feel that it is trying to tell us something?" And in Robert Sherman Townes's novel "Problem of Emmy", the computer (Emmy) acts out of control and prints the words: "WHO AM I WHO AM I WHO AM I?". In these examples the man-machine relationship was taken under consideration, but the attitude towards the relationship was that of a master-tool way. The user was pronouncedly in control and the machine just a passive tool. After the 1980s the image of the computer was turning into that of a playful toy and a game machine, thanks to the game houses' and marketing departments' efforts. Suddenly the player was playing with the computer, and even fairly often got beaten by it. That definitely raises feelings towards the machine! The playing situation was so intensive that the player did not often pay any attention to the interface, and the roles were not so clear anymore. This was a step towards the idea of natural communication between human and machine. Later science fiction influenced depictions of virtual reality, and haptic interfaces mediated the ideas into reality. In this paper I will discuss the man-machine relationship from the viewpoint of interface design. My expertise is in electronic games, and thus I will use examples from the game industry. This paper is a sidetrack of RAID -- Research of Adaptive User Interface Design, which was going on at the University of Lapland, Finland in 1995-1999. The RAID project was about research into adaptive interface design from the viewpoint of media archaeology, electronic games, toys and media art. Early Visions Already in the 1960s, MIT professor J.C.R. Licklider wrote about man-machine symbiosis. He saw that "man machine symbiosis is an expected development in cooperative interaction between men and electronic computers". He believed that it would lead to a new kind of cooperative partnership between man and machine (9). Licklider's visions are important, because the relationship between man and machine was seen generally differently at those days. At the time of the first mainframe computers in the 1940s, man and machine were seen as separate entities from the viewpoint of data processing. The operator put in data to the machine, which processed it by its own language which only the machine and very few engineers could understand. Fear -- a fearful affection -- has affected the development of machines and the idea of man-machine relationships throughout the decades. One reason for this is that the ordinary person had no contact to the computer. That has led to fears that when cooperating with the machine, the user will become enslaved by it, or sucked into it, as in Charlie Chaplin's film Modern Times (1936). The machine captivates its user's body, punishes it and makes its movement impossible at the end. Or the machine will keep the body's freedom, but adapt its functions to work by the automatic rhythm: the human body will be subordinated to the machine or made a part of it. What Is the Interface? In reality there still is a mediator between the user and the machine: the interface. It is a connector -- a boundary surface -- that enables the user to control the machine. There has been no doubt who is in charge of whom, but the public image of the machine is changing from "computer as a tool" to "computer as an entertainment medium". That is also changing the somewhat fearful relationship to the computer, because such applications place the player much more intensively immersed in the game world. The machine as a tool does not lose its meaning but its functionality and usability are being developed towards more entertainment-like attributes. The interface is an environment and a structural system that consists of the physical machine, a virtual programming environment, and the user. The system becomes perfect when all its parts will unite as a functional, interactive whole. Significant thresholds will arise through the hapticity of the interface, on one hand questioning the bodily relationship between user and machine and on the other hand creating new ways of being with the machine. New haptic (wearable computing) and spatial (sensors in a reactive space) interfaces raise the question of man-machine symbiosis from a new perspective. Interfaces in a Game World In games the man-machine relationship is seen with much less emotion than when using medical applications, for example. The strength of electronic games is in the goal-oriented interaction. The passivity of older machines has been replaced by the information platform where the player's actions have an immediate effect in the virtual world. The player is already surrounded by the computer: at home sitting by the computer holding a joystick and in the arcades sometimes sitting inside the computer or even being tied up with the computer (as in gyroscope VR applications). The symbiosis in game environments is essential and simple. During the 1980s and 1990s a lot of different virtual reality gear variants were developed in the "VR boom". Some systems were more or less masked arcade game machines that did not offer any real virtuality. Virtuality was seen as a new way of working with a machine, but most of the applications did not support the idea far enough. Neither did the developers pay attention to interface design nor to new ways of experiencing and feeling pleasure through the machine. At that time the most important thing was to build a plausible "virtual reality system". Under the futuristic cover of the machine there was usually a PC and a joystick or mouse. Usually a system could easily be labelled as a virtual theater, a dome or a cabin, which all refer to entertainment simulators. At the beginning of the 1990s, data glasses and gloves were the most widely used interfaces within the new interaction systems. Later the development turned from haptic interfaces towards more spatial ideas -- from wearable systems to interaction environments. Still there are only few innovative applications available. One good example is Vivid Group's old Mandala VR system which was later in the 1990s developed further to the Holopod system. It has been promoted as the interface of the future and new way of being with the computer. As in the film Modern Times so also with Holopod the player is in a way sucked inside the game world. But this time with the user's consent. Behind the Holopod is Vivid Group's Mandala VGC (Video Gesture Control) technology which they have been developing since 1986. The Mandala VGC system combines real time video images of the player with the game scene. The player in the real world is the protagonist in the game world. So the real world and the game world are united. That makes it possible to sense the real time movement as well as interaction between the platform and the player. Also other manufacturers like American Holoplex has developed similar systems. Their system is called ThunderCam. Like Konami's Dance Dance Revolution, it asks heavy physical involvement in the Street Fighter combat game. Man-Man and Man-Machine Cooperation One of the most important elements in electronic games has been reaction ability. Now the playing is turning closer to a new sport. Different force feedback systems combined with haptic interfaces will create much more diverse examples of action. For example, the Japanese Konami corporation has developed a haptic version of a popular Playstation dance game where karaoke and an electronic version of the Twister game are combined. Besides new man-machine cooperative applications, there are also under development some multi-user environments where the user interacts with the computer-generated world as well as with other players. The Land of Snow and Ice has been under development for about a year now in the University of Lapland, Finland. It is a tourism project that is supposed to be able to create a sensation of the arctic environment throughout the year. Temperature and atmosphere are created with the help of refrigerating equipment. In the space there are virtual theatre and enhanced ski-doo as interfaces. The 3-D software makes the sensation very intense, and a hydraulic platform extends the experience. The Land of Snow and Ice is interesting from the point of view of the man-machine relationship in the way that it brings a new idea to the interface design: the use of everyday objects as interfaces. The machine is "hidden" inside an everyday object and one is interacting and using the machine in a more natural way. For example, the Norwegian media artist Stahl Stenslie has developed "an 'intelligent' couch through which you communicate using your body through tactile and visual stimuli". Besides art works he has also talked about new everyday communication environments, where the table in a café could be a communication tool. One step towards Stenslie's idea has already become reality in Lasipalatsi café in Helsinki, Finland. The tables are good for their primary purpose, but you can also surf the Internet and read your e-mail with them, while drinking your tea. These kind of ideas have also been presented within 'intelligent home' speculations. Intelligent homes have gained acceptance and there are already several intelligent homes in the world. Naturally there will always be opposition, because the surface between man and machine is still a very delicate issue. In spite of this, I see such homogeneous countries as Finland, for example, to be a good testing ground for a further development of new man-machine interaction systems. Pleasure seems to be one of the key words of the future, and with the new technology, one can make everyday routines easier, pleasure more intense and the Internet a part of social communication: within the virtual as well as in real world communities. In brief, I have introduced two ideas: using games as a testing ground, and embedding haptic and spatial interfaces inside everyday objects. It is always difficult to predict the future and there are always at least technology, marketing forces, popular culture and users that will affect what the man-machine relationship of the future will be like. I see games and game interfaces as the new developing ground for a new kind of man-machine relationship. References Barfield, W., and T.A. Furness. Virtual Environments and Advanced Interface Design. New York: Oxford UP, 1995. Brown, Les, and Sema Marks. Electric Media. New York: Hargrove Brace Jovanovich, 1974. Burdea, G., and P. Coiffet. Virtual Reality Technology. New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1994. Greelish, David. "Hictorically Brewed Magazine. A Retrospective." Classic Computing. 1 Sep. 1999 <http://www.classiccomputing.com/mag.php>. Huhtamo, Erkki. "Odottavasta Operaattorista Kärsimättömäksi Käyttäjäksi. Interaktiivisuuden Arkeologiaa." Mediaevoluutiota. Eds. Kari Hintikka and Seppo Kuivakari. Rovaniemi: U of Lapland P, 1997. Jones, Steve, ed. Virtual Culture: Identity and Communication in Cybersociety. Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage, 1997. Kuivakari, Seppo, ed. Keholliset Käyttöliittymät. Helsinki: TEKES, 1999. 1 Sep. 1999 <http://media.urova.fi/~raid>. Licklider, J.C.R. "Man-Computer Symbiosis." 1960. 1 Sep. 1999 <http://memex.org/licklider.pdf>. Picard, Rosalind W. Affective Computing. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT P, 1997. "Return of the Luddites". Interview with Kirkpatrick Sale. Wired Magazine June 1995. Stenslie, Stahl. Artworks. 1 Sep. 1999 <http://sirene.nta.no/stahl/>. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Sonja Kangas. "From Haptic Interfaces to Man-Machine Symbiosis." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.6 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9909/haptic.php>. Chicago style: Sonja Kangas, "From Haptic Interfaces to Man-Machine Symbiosis," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 6 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9909/haptic.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Sonja Kangas. (1999) From haptic interfaces to man-machine symbiosis. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(6). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9909/haptic.php> ([your date of access]).

Joyce, William. The Fantastic Flying Books of Morris Lessmore. Shreveport, LA: Moonbot Books, 2011. iPad app. It seems strange that a story that expresses such love towards books as physical objects was first produced as an award-winning animated short film, and then adapted into an “interactive narrative experience” for the iPad. The protagonist, Morris Lessmore, is transported via hurricane to another land where he encounters a young woman held aloft by a flock of anthropomorphized flying books. One book leads him to a house full of more books, where he ends up living. He takes care of the books, and lends them to drab, black-and-white people who bloom into full colour (à la Wizard of Oz) as soon as they receive their reading material. Finally, as an old man, he is whisked away by the books, and the book that he wrote is used to draw a young girl into the house to take over his role as caretaker.It is usually the fate of new media to be unfavourably compared to more established media forms, but in this case, Morris Lessmore also suffers from being an adaptation rather than an original work. This iPad version seems uncomfortably caught between the fluidity and liveliness of the original animated film and the sequential narrative of a traditional picture book. Like a video game adaptation of a major motion picture in which the player re-enacts a simple replay of the movie plot, many of the interactive features of this book app seem contrived, acting as tacked-on gimmicks rather than being truly integrated with the story as a unique experience. However, that does not mean that the narrative experience is entirely without merit. The animation (taken directly from the film) looks amazing on the iPad’s vibrant screen, and finding the hidden “Easter eggs” on each page is quite entertaining for all ages. Moonbot Studios also gets extra credit for its inventive use of the iPad’s touch interface - readers will enjoy swiping, coloring, dragging, and even playing the piano on the screen, even if these activities are sometimes tangential to the narrative itself. Despite its shortcomings, Morris Lessmore stands out as exceptional in comparison to other picture book apps currently available for the iPad. As a final incentive, it is very reasonably priced; for only $4.99 at the iTunes Store, the app is much less than your average print picture book (although there’s not much chance of finding it at your local library).Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Dale StorieDale Storie is Public Services Librarian at the John W. Scott Health Sciences Library at the University of Alberta. He has a BA in English, and has also worked in a public library as a children's programming coordinator, where he was involved with story times, puppet shows, and book talks.

ABSTRACTThe introduction of new technologies in society has created a need for interactive contents that can make the most of the potential that technological advances offer. Serious games as educational games are such content: they can be defined as video games or interactive applications whose main purpose is to provide not only entertainment but also training and enhancing skills in areas such as health, marketing, education, etc. The game was associated with childhood and youth but serious games search for promoting, strengthening and giving added value to the teaching and learning process for all ages. One of the most crucial factors for successful educational games is their ability to maintain an individual learner’s motivation and interest by adapting the individual learning and gaming experience to each learner’s needs, preferences, goals, and abilities. For this reason, Serious Games need tutoring and dynamization. The aim of this paper is to analyze a specific experience success in the use of Serious Games for training. It details how this serious game can enhance different skills in each of the phases of the game. This Serious Game was used to promote innovation among High School students and students at Vocational Training Centres. The users must manage a supermarket trying to get the best results possible by taking a series of both strategic and operational decisions. Through an econometric regression model, we have analyzed the results of its use by a group of High School students and Vocational Training School students.RESUMENLos Serious Games son juegos cuyo fin va más allá del mero entretenimiento y persiguen transmitir contenidos, valores, potenciar habilidades y competencias e incluso servir como herramienta de marketing al utilizarse como medio publi-citario. En los últimos años, las TIC han ido tomando protagonismo en el ámbito educativo y formativo y los Serious Games están jugando un papel fundamental como herramientas formativas. El juego anteriormente se asociaba a las etapas de la infancia y la juventud pero los Serious Games pretenden potenciar, reforzar y dar un valor añadido importante al proceso de enseñanza y al proceso de aprendizaje para todas las edades. No obstante, para que los Serious Games alcancen todo su potencial como herramienta en el proceso de aprendizaje, es necesario complementarlos con una buena tutorización y dinami-zación que guíe dicho aprendizaje. Sin duda, sin la labor tutorial, los Serious Games pierden eficacia en su objetivo de poten-ciar el aprendizaje. El objeto de estudio del presente trabajo es analizar una experiencia de éxito concreta en el uso de los Serious Games para el ámbito formativo. En él se detalla cómo a través de un juego que se ha utilizado entre los alumnos de Bachillerato y Formación Profesional se pueden potenciar diferentes competencias en cada una de las fases del mismo. En él, el usuario debe gestionar un supermercado tratando de obtener los mejores resultados posibles tomando una serie de decisio-nes tanto estratégicas como operativas. A través de un modelo econométrico de regresión de elaboración propia analizaremos los resultados obtenidos en su utilización por un grupo de estudiantes de Formación Profesional y Bachillerato. Contacto principal: noemi.pena@ehu.es

This study investigates how culture and priming 3- to 7-year-old children ( N = 186) with third-party social exclusion affects their subsequent inclusion of out-group members. Children in societies that tend to value social independence (Germany, New Zealand) and interdependence (Northern Cyprus) were randomly assigned to minimal groups. Next, they watched video stimuli depicting third-party social exclusion (exclusion condition) or neutral content (control condition). We assessed children's recognition of the social exclusion expressed in the priming videos and their understanding of the emotional consequences thereof. We furthermore assessed children's inclusion behaviour in a ball-tossing game in which participants could include an out-group agent into an in-group interplay. Children across societies detected third-party social exclusion and ascribed lower mood to excluded than non-excluded protagonists. Children from Germany and New Zealand were more likely to include the out-group agent into the in-group interaction than children from Northern Cyprus. Children's social inclusion remained unaffected by their exposure to third-party social exclusion primes. These results suggest that children from diverse societies recognize social exclusion and correctly forecast its negative emotional consequences, but raise doubt on the notion that social exclusion exposure affects subsequent social inclusion.