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Videogame Content

Game, Text, or Something Else?

Mia Consalvo

What does it mean to study a videogame, without asking players how or why they play? If we study videogames, is the meaning in the representations the game offers us, in its narrative or story, in the gameplay we enact, or in some combination of those? And if we can agree on where the “meaning” resides, how do we go about figuring out that meaning? This chapter is an exploration of past and current studies of videogame content. It explores what scholars have said in relation to games and their meaning, but it also discusses the various methods those scholars have used, including their challenges and limitations. It does so in order to explore the particularities of studying games – to give the reader a better sense of the history of videogame content, but also a better understanding of how that content was found, and how one might go about conducting one's own study. It raises some questions for the reader to consider, and also points to areas that need further attention from scholars of videogames. It does so by reviewing what has been done so far, discussing the limitations of various approaches, and offering two case studies of how an analysis of game content could look. Overall, though, it should leave the reader with one central question to consider: How do games make meaning, and how can we go about finding the meanings that arise when people play videogames?

Analyzing Videogame Content

Studies of videogame content have been conducted since at least the 1980s, as researchers have tried to understand the images, actions, and themes prevalent in games as they progressed over time. A little-known study from 1985 (cited in Provenzo, 1991) helped establish a baseline for later research, finding that “in a sample of 100 video arcade games, [researcher Terri] Toles determined that 92 percent of the games did not include any female roles, and that of the remaining 8 percent of the games, 6 percent had females assuming ‘damsel in distress’ roles and 2 percent in active roles. [...] in the case of the two females who do take active roles, neither is a human – one being a Mama Kangaroo attempting to retrieve her child and the second a feminized blob, Ms. Pac Man” (Provenzo, 1991, p. 61).

Two better-known books on the topic, both released in 1991, provided additional overviews of content in games and helped set the agenda for future research programs. Eugene Provenzo's Video Kids: Making Sense of Nintendo (1991) was an analysis of popular Nintendo games for the NES system. To study the games, Provenzo utilized multiple methods: analyzing the 10 most popular games of the time according to Nintendo Power magazine; reviewing their instruction manuals; and looking at advertising and reviews for those games. Additionally he conducted a content analysis of the box covers of another 47 games, as well as employing surveys and open-ended interviews with young game players. Provenzo (1991) found that in most games he studied, “violence and aggression [...] become the only viable operative principle by which the player can function. They become a substitute for personal reflection and contextual judgment” (p. 127). Furthermore, “gender bias and stereotyping are evident throughout the games included in the Nintendo system” (p. 100).

Marsha Kinder provided a somewhat more sympathetic reading of Nintendo games in her own book, Playing with Power in Movies, Television and Video Games (1991), exploring the links between various popular entertainment options for children, including cartoons, videogames, movies, and television. Using a psychoanalytic framework, Kinder argued that while gender stereotypes were indeed present in games, the games could also have a beneficial effect on the relations between fathers and sons, such that “the games can help boys deal with their rebellious anger against patriarchal authority” (1991, p. 104). Such studies by Provenzo and Kinder were meant to provoke parents and potential researchers interested in media to consider the possible long-term as well as short-term effects of game images and gameplay on youth. Perhaps foreshadowing the rise of the serious games movement a decade later, Provenzo argued: “games become powerful teaching machines and instruments of cultural transmission” (1991, p. 75).

Content Analyses of Games

As games continued to flourish and expand in complexity – both in terms of graphical realism and in the scope of what was technically possible for gameplay – researchers continued to concentrate on a few areas of content, most notably how gender and gender roles were represented in games. Thus, much research that shaped the field and perceived knowledge of videogame content concentrated on how male and female characters were portrayed in games, and, for female characters, how often (if at all) they appeared, and in what sorts of roles. In their findings, researchers from the 1990s and early 2000s found a fairly consistent picture of those characters. For example, in one of the most widely cited studies of the time, Dietz (1998) found that there were no female characters in over 40% of the games she sampled, and when women were present, they were generally portrayed as the “damsel in distress” or were sexualized via their appearance or clothing. Beasley and Collins-Standley (2002) similarly found that females were absent from the majority of the 47 randomly selected games they analyzed, and there was a significant sex bias in how male and female characters were portrayed.

Researchers continuing to study gender and sexual representations in games have generated consistent findings since those early studies. In 2009 Downs and Smith analyzed videogame characters in 60 top-selling games, again finding that female characters were underrepresented, and those that did appear were significantly more likely to be shown as partially nude, wearing sexually revealing clothing, and possessing an unrealistic body image. Following that, in 2007 Jansz and Martis studied the introductory movies in a non-random sample of a dozen popular games, finding again that female characters were portrayed as hypersexualized and as sex objects, albeit with a few in leadership roles.

Taking a broader approach than just gender, the Children Now group (2001) commissioned a study that examined the 10 top-selling games created for each of the six videogame consoles available in the United States at the time (Dreamcast, Game Boy Advance, Game Boy Color, Nintendo 64, Playstation and Playstation 2) as well as games for personal computers. The researchers conducted a macro-level analysis examining game characteristics such as genre, rating, game elements, and levels of sexual and violent content, as well as a micro-level analysis that “identified each unique character and examined such characteristics as gender, race, role and the character's ability to commit and be a victim of violence” (2001, p. 28). The study reported similar findings with past research: violence was a predominant feature, with 89% of games featuring some sort of violence; and with no punishment for killing in any games, and the killing by player-controlled characters being almost always justified. With regards to gender, males continued to dominate in terms of both total characters in the sample and being 73% of player-controlled characters. Female characters again behaved in stereotypical ways and were often hypersexualized. In some of the first findings concerning race, the study found that more than half of all human characters were White, with Latino/a characters being nonexistent and Native Americans “essentially invisible” (2001, p. 22). The most usual site of diversity was sports games, but even in that genre portrayals were problematic, as “African Americans were most likely to display aggressive behaviors” compared to characters of other races (2001, p. 23).

Content analyses of gameplay content have continued, as researchers attempt to determine macro trends across larger numbers of games. One of the more recent such projects obtained sales data from NPD and analyzed the 150 top-selling games (from March 2005 to February 2006) across nine platforms, with the results weighted according to actual game sales (Williams, Martins, Consalvo, & Ivory, 2009). The researchers looked for representations of gender, race, age, primary versus secondary character status, as well as game rating and console specifications. The results were remarkably consistent with past findings: there was a “systematic over-representation of males, whites and adults, and a systematic under-representation of females, Hispanics, Native Americans, children and the elderly” (2009, p. 815). More specifically, “Hispanics and Native Americans did not appear as a primary character in any game, they existed solely as secondary characters” (2009, p. 825). Furthermore, the study found that only 10.45% of primary characters (those that drive the action) were female – suggesting a decline in the number of playable female characters in games over the past several years – the Children Now (2001) study had identified 27% of playable characters as female. There are two potential explanations for that shift – one is that the number of female playable characters has actually declined over time (a downward trend of more than 16%); the second is that the Williams et al. study is a more accurate accounting of female primary characters as it takes account of game sales rather than simple percentages of game characters. Thus, the actual number of female playable characters may have remained constant, but the new study weighted findings in terms of the games that individuals actually played. More such studies will be needed to determine the better answer.

Researchers have also explored the content surrounding videogames, such as ads for games in magazines, and the cover art on videogame boxes. Those sources have generated similar findings, demonstrating that ads and box art often feature scantily clad female characters and male heroes that are aggressive and central to the story (Burgess, Stermer, & Burgess, 2007; Dill & Thill, 2007). Interestingly, such images have become so standardized that some companies have used such images to promote games that have nothing to do with the images depicted. The company Evony, developers of the online strategy game Evony: Age II, used suggestive images of scantily clad women to advertise its game, leading to complaints about the truthfulness of its advertising (Johnson, 2009).

Qualitative Analyses of Games

Qualitative researchers have also studied the content of videogames, although of necessity they usually limit themselves to smaller samples, sometime focusing on a specific game or series. One of the most analyzed series has been the Tomb Raider franchise featuring Lara Croft. A female version of Indiana Jones, Croft explores distant lands in order to find treasures as well as fend off the competition and hostile locals – whether animals or humans (Kennedy, 2002; Mikula, 2003; Schleiner, 1998). Other gender researchers have focused on games featuring the television heroine of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Krzywinska, 2003; Labre & Duke, 2004). Much of this type of work pays attention to the sexualization of the central female character, but also spends time analyzing the gameplay of the various titles, going beyond findings of violence to explore how powerful female figures might be meaningful for female players in their abilities to shape and control the worlds around them.

Most of this past work on content has focused on visual representations in videogames, along with discussion of gameplay mechanics as they also relate to content. This has formed the bulk of analysis, although newer approaches are emerging. For example, Jorgensen (2007) has done important work studying sound in games, exploring how it contributes to narrative and world building, and how it can be key to successful gameplay. While sound was originally quite primitive in early games (usually relying on MIDI files), more recent games feature orchestral scores, popular musical artists, voice acting, and complex audio cues. We need much more study of sound in games, and how it contributes to our experiences of playing.

Another key area for study is the space of games – both in terms of the spatial narratives being constructed and analyses of how space itself is constructed in games. So far, Aarseth (2009) has explored the world of Azeroth, arguing that while promotional rhetoric for World of Warcraft (WoW) emphasizes a large world ready for exploring, in actuality the geographical space of Azeroth is quite small, in order to better facilitate player and avatar movement through the world, as well as to keep terrain varied enough to hold player interest. In a broader study of space, Nitsche (2008) explores the architecture as well as player use of game spaces, concluding “game spaces have become part of our cultural spheres” but that “the cultural significance of a game space is instantiated by localized player activity” (p. 244).

Limitations of Past Approaches

While larger quantitative studies (usually content analyses of top-selling titles) can give us a broad picture of what images appear in games, those findings are limited by a few factors. First, in order to cover such a large number of titles, exhaustive play is sacrificed for breadth. Most often, game titles that are “analyzed” are not studied in any depth – either one introductory level is played, or the introductory movie is studied, or the first 10–30 minutes of the game are recorded and then analyzed. There is no way to know for sure if these time frames or excerpts are truly representative of the games played, as there is rarely material taken from the various games' mid-points or endings for additional analyses. Thus it's important to remember that not all of the game content has been studied, and the characters and events that appear later in the games will most likely not be included in the analysis.

In contrast, qualitative studies can provide the depth and detailed level of analysis that larger-scale studies cannot, but must limit themselves to making claims about a single title, or perhaps a series of titles. Such studies also tend to take gameplay into account in more subtle ways than content analyses can provide – often providing meaningful distinctions between different kinds of player actions, for example, as well as game genre conventions that can make a large difference in how players perceive particular games. For example, Carr (2003) points out how both Planescape Torment and the Silent Hill series of games use a horror theme along with a similar model of spatial navigation to drive player action. But particular gameplay mechanics make the experience of playing those games very different: while Planescape Torment “refuses to be hurried, the nerve-wracking Silent Hill urges the player from point to point, puzzle to solution, and onwards to a resolution. [...] Silent Hill [...] wants to frighten its players.”

Another challenge for analyzing videogame content is the constantly changing nature of the technologies and platforms available for games, which can profoundly shape the scope of the visuals, the audio, potential interactions with non-playable characters, as well as gameplay mechanics themselves. Thus, studying the first Final Fantasy game on the NES system is quite different from examining Final Fantasy XIII on Sony's Playstation 3. In addition to having graphics that are magnitudes of order more sophisticated, the games themselves are quite different – there is a full audio score and voice acting to consider in the latest version, and enemies in Final Fantasy XIII will react in more sophisticated ways than in the original game. There are more hidden objects and events to uncover, as well as mini-games and references to past game objects. Thus to be able to speak with any certainty even about one series of games – the Final Fantasy franchise – a researcher must keep studying each new release.

Related to the technological developments just mentioned, games have also grown in complexity in another area – branching paths, or multiple storylines or endings. Some games, such as The Sims, actually do not have endings and thus have multiple pathways that the player can decide are successful or failures, but increasingly even games with a linear progression offer multiple solutions to various challenges, as well as a multitude of endings, in order to increase the replayability of the game in question.

That broadening of content has interested as well as vexed game studies researchers, who question just how much of a game must be played in order to fully understand and critique it. While not as much of an issue with content analyses that focus on the first few minutes of a game, for qualitative researchers intent on completing a game to study it, the question becomes: What does it mean to complete a game? Is it only to play through once to the end? But what if there are multiple endings or pathways to one or more endings? Game researchers must ask themselves what they are trying to achieve with their analysis – if they wish to understand the game in its totality, then they must indeed play through as many elements and options in the game as possible. This may demand dozens of hours of play, just for a single title.

Likewise, game researchers have questioned how much of their own effort must go into that gameplay. Scholars have debated whether or not it is acceptable to cheat in a game in order to reach certain content (Aarseth, 2003; Kucklich, 2007), or simply to cheat in order to gain the knowledge of how that particular action (or set of actions, if the game is complex) might impact gameplay. Thus, it might be one thing to use a cheat code to advance to a certain level in a game if one has already played through the game once, to then explore other avenues or choices offered in the game. And it might be another issue if the researcher chooses to engage in griefing¹ a multiplayer game, in order to see how the game proceeds, and how other players react to that deviance (Myers, 2009). These are questions that must be considered when doing any in-depth analysis of a game, as they can impact in fundamental ways how the researcher plays the game, what her resulting experience is thus like, and then what the analysis itself is focused on.

Some other challenges for doing analyses of game content can relate to issues of access – if researchers want to study a wide range of games across various consoles, they must have access to those consoles, as well as the games themselves. With new console and PC game prices at approximately US$60, that can mean a sizable investment in a set of games. While the number of contemporary consoles has now shrunk a bit from past numbers (Playstation 3, Wii, Xbox 360), there are still handhelds (PSP, 3DS, DSi) to consider along with entirely new platforms for games, such as different mobile phone platforms (the iPhone, Blackberry, Palm OS, and Google's Android open source platform), Flash games, Shockwave games, SNS games (on sites such as Facebook and MySpace) as well as browser-based online games and downloadable games. Some games appear across multiple platforms, forcing researchers to question which version of a game to use for analysis, or to include all versions in a study. There are also games that have appeared using Twitter as a platform, and ARGs and mobility-centered games that can cross platforms or use non-electronic platforms entirely. Thus platform is a consideration that continues to be relevant in studying game content.

Finally, although game publishers have always had global releases of games, they are increasingly attempting to simultaneously ship localized versions of the games they create. Games can be released in one locale only, in a few selected regions, or in many languages across multiple countries and regions. While some games may have only minor modifications across those areas, other games, such as those in the Phoenix Wright series, are subject to extensive modification. While one researcher may not be interested in how games shift in content as they cross international borders, others might find that to be their primary area of interest. Thus, having access to various international versions of games, systems to run them, and the language and cultural abilities to interpret them, might also be necessary for gaining a fuller understanding of a game's content.

Case Study I: The Sims and Queerness

As a way of understanding some of the challenges associated with studying game content, I'd like to discuss my experiences with analyzing the computer game The Sims and several of its add-on expansion packs. I started the study intent on exploring how the game represented sexuality – in prior playthroughs of the game I was struck with how open the system was to allowing the creation of heterosexual, gay, and lesbian Sims (Consalvo, 2002). Thus I set about exploring in a more systematic way how the affordances and constraints of the game influence the ways players could enact sexuality (if not queerness itself) in The Sims.

The Sims is the bestselling PC game of all time – it (“it” includes its many iterations: The Sims, The Sims 2, The Sims 3, console and handheld versions, expansion packs, and the ill-fated online version, The Sims Online) has sold more than 125 million copies globally, has been translated into more than 22 languages, and is available in more than 60 countries. It is most often described as a type of digital dollhouse, with players given the option to create multiple Sims, Sim households, to control and direct their lives, as well as the ability to create and modify game elements that players can then share with others, and to use the game as a platform for storytelling.

One of the immediate challenges such a game presents, aside from whether to even consider it a game, is its open-endedness. This is not a game like Dream Chronicles or Dragon Age, with a discernible endpoint, unambiguous goals, and (relatively) straightforward challenges for the player. Instead, the game allows the player to create challenges for herself, whether they are to successfully raise a Sim family, or to creatively kill Sims; to build mansions; to tell soap opera-like stories; to create fashions and objects to enhance the Sim universe; or to create challenges such as the “homeless Sim” challenge that was famously chronicled on a blog (Burkinshaw, 2009).

In approaching the game, the question of exactly how to analyze content became a central concern for me. There was no overarching storyline in The Sims, and gameplay options seemed to be multiple and varied – perhaps varying greatly from player to player. At the time there were few models for doing any sort of game analysis, and more traditional forms of textual analysis relied on narrative structures that didn't seem present.

Thus to get a sense of the game and its approach to sexuality, I devised my own methods for study. First, I simply played the game. I created multiple households, consisting of a variety of Sim configurations. There were traditional families, groups of friends, gay and lesbian couples (with and without children), as well as individuals living alone. I assigned them multiple goals, including career advancement, romance, being social, accumulating wealth, and creating or advancing families. They acquired money and greater resources, while some of them were purposeful failures. I purchased and had them use as many objects as possible, to see what options they could or could not employ with them. They also were social (and occasionally antisocial) to see what friendships, romances, and enemies would result.

After doing all of this, I created a systematic approach to mapping the game, which drew from activities and elements I observed during gameplay, and which I thought could be used by other game researchers as a way to systematically approach the study of games (Consalvo & Dutton, 2006). First, I created an inventory database for all objects I employed in the game. That included non-interactive as well as interactive objects. Objects were catalogued according to cost, interactivity, what types of interact options the object offered (sit, nap, eat, sleep in, etc.), and how those options changed according to particular variables, including how many Sims could use the object, the mood and relationship status of the Sims using the object, as well as whether or not users were children and/or adults. Thus, I could differentiate the significance of the “love tub,” which would only allow adult Sims to embrace in it, from less interactive objects such as plants and chairs.

Next, I analyzed the interface of the game, which was defined as “any on-screen information that provides the player with information concerning the life, health, location or status of the character(s), as well as battle or action menus, nested menus that control options such as advancement grids or weapon selections, or additional screens that give the player more control over manipulating elements of gameplay” (Consalvo & Dutton, 2006). Of particular note with The Sims is the Sim creation screen. While players are given the option to choose Sim gender, shade, age (child or adult), and appearance, there is no check-off box or choice given for sexuality. Yet Sims can be sexual in the game, in ways the players wish them to be. Thus the game does not force such options onto players but allows sexuality to be expressed (or not) as a form of activity chosen by players, rather than a fixed part of identity.

The next piece analyzed was larger and more dynamic – mapping interactions within the game. While Sims themselves speak Simlish (which is gibberish to humans), they are able to engage in actions with other Sims, and it is important to see what sorts of interactions are available to them; this can vary based on their relationship with the other Sims, their personality, their age, and their mood. Thus I could study how the interaction options changed for two Sims as they moved from being strangers to acquaintances, then friends and perhaps either lovers or a married couple with children. I could also contrast those options with Sims that were enemies, or how interaction options differed between two child Sims versus two adult Sims.

Lastly, I explored the gameplay itself, perhaps the most open-ended of my categories. While this area could be quite different depending on the type of game chosen, here I looked for elements such as emergent behavior, avatar presentation, and the overall look and feel of the game world. With The Sims, one of the more interesting elements of emergence occurred when Sims would engage in social interactions that their owners did not intend – so a gay Sim (as constructed by the player) might start flirting with a female Sim, or in the case of Robin Burkinshaw's (2009) Homeless Sim challenge, when the daughter Alice finally received a paycheck for her first job, she indicated that she wished to donate the money to charity, even though she herself still slept on the streets.

Overall, these four components can give researchers a more systematic way to study videogame content. However, it is important to recognize that these elements are not equally important in all games; thus, a game with few if any inventory items will have a much smaller Object Inventory to analyze, while a game with detailed and rich dialogue will require a much greater investment in mapping that interaction. We will also likely see the development of greater refinements to these tools as games and their genres become more specialized – we already need something more focused for studying Massively Multiplayer Online Games (MMOGs). Yet this study does provide one guide, and also indicates the multiple levels of complexity involved when a researcher wishes to study videogame content.

More Recent Work

One of the more systematic attempts to gather a collection of deep game analyses is the edited volume Well Played (Davidson, 2009). Contributions come from a variety of sources, including game scholars from different disciplines as well as professional game designers. Many of the pieces are descriptive of games, discussing their narratives and gameplay mechanics and what makes these games “good” in some way. For example, Noah Falstein's (2009) discussion of the turn-based strategy game Advance Wars is an excellent analysis of the gameplay system implemented by the designers, and he talks at great length about how the game is an almost perfectly balanced system of opposing and defending military units. Yet such pieces don't really tell us much more about the game's larger meanings, or how they might compare with other similar games.

Other game designers take a more ambitious approach, such as Nick Fortugno's (2009) study of the action-adventure title Shadow of the Colossus. Again we find a discussion of the story and mechanics, but Fortugno is also intent on demonstrating how the game's story and gameplay elements work together to create a game that models tragedy successfully. And Fortugno is also successful in his own argument, showing how the game creates a sense of futility in the player's actions in elegant ways. He writes about how the game exploits a player's sense of what a game normally expects (follow a game's direction to kill specified monsters), by revealing through the monsters' actions and the game's ending how that did not help the player fulfill the larger goal of rescuing a lover from danger.

Game scholars also explore specific games in depth, including Isbister's (2009) personal account of her delight playing Parappa the Rappa, Squire, Durga, and Devane's (2009) discussion of a multiplayer session of Civilization, and Gee's (2009) account of his time trying to be the “best Solid Snake” he could be in Metal Gear Solid 4. One of the more detailed and theoretically informed studies is Rusch's (2009) analysis of Silent Hill 2. She carefully demonstrates how the game's storyline and its gameplay work in tandem to model the process of psychotherapy. She explains that the game is similar to the therapeutic process in that “therapy can be understood in terms of a journey with the obstacles in the way – be they mere roadblocks, lock and key puzzles, or monsters – representing mental or emotional blockages that have to be overcome in order to find the source of the trauma” (2009, p. 252).

Likewise, Fernandez-Vara explores The Secret of Monkey Island, particularly how puzzles are central to the game's design. She argues “puzzles in videogames should help us know more about the gameworld, the fictional world where the game is taking place. [...] puzzle solving reveals that Melee Island is becoming a tourist attraction of sorts – since the pirates cannot make a profit from their usual trade, they make a living out of aspiring pirates, who will pay for lessons in swordfighting. The ‘treasure’ that Guybrush digs up is a t-shirt, and he gets another t-shirt when he defeats the Sword Master as proof of his accomplishment” (2009b, p. 346).

Such approaches show how three elements are needed to deeply analyze a game – an understanding of surface representations, usually involving the story or narrative; an accounting of the game's mechanics and how those also help shape the experience of play; and finally the usefulness of theory in allowing the analysis to make broader claims about a game's relationship with culture. Without theory, the analysis can feel more like a description or a review – it's unbounded from the larger conversation about culture, and cannot contribute. Good analyses using theory show how games connect with other forms of media, other aspects of culture, and how they are evolving our understandings of complicated concepts such as gender, identity, exploration, and failure, to name just a few.

The Case of MMOGs

Analyzing single-player or offline multiplayer games can be difficult enough, but there is a special challenge in studying the content of online multiplayer games – particularly virtual world spaces such as MMOGs. Much of the research on such spaces has focused on the players and how they interact with one another and with the game worlds (Boellstorf, 2008; Dibbell, 2006; Taylor, 2006). Yet there has been some work studying the worlds and content found in MMOGs, detailing such elements as gendered representation of avatars (Corneliussen, 2009), raced images (Higgin, 2009; Nakamura, 2009), the content of quests (Walker-Rettberg, 2009), the corporate structure of activities that the games demand (Rettberg, 2009), how death is constructed (Klastrup, 2009), fashion as aesthetic and gameplay element (Tosca & Klastrup, 2009), and the larger mythologies of the worlds themselves (Krzywinska, 2009).

One of the challenges of doing such research is that the meaning of an MMOG's content is shaped in large part by its players. MMOGs don't provide many ways for players to create much content (unlike a virtual world such as Second Life), apart from a few that allow the creation of add-on player modifications (mods) to the game's user interface (UI). But players form communities that come to value and interact with content in ways that can change the meanings of that content over time, and not always in ways that developers have expected or intended.

For example, Dutton (2009) investigated a particular player activity in Lord of the Rings Online (LoTRO) – studying those who wished to play female dwarves. In the fiction of the game (referred to as Lore), itself drawn from the larger canon of Tolkien's mythological franchise, female dwarves were seldom seen outside dwarf communities, leading to the assumption that all publicly encountered dwarves were male. And in LoTRO, the avatar choice for dwarf is just that – a singular choice – rather than the more normal male/female choice found with all other races in the game. While the option itself is unmarked (simply named “dwarf”), the images suggest the only option is a male dwarf. Yet some players have objected to that limitation, arguing for the ability to play a female dwarf.

While some have been content to lobby the developer (Turbine), others have taken matters into their own hands – actively creating “female” dwarves on their own. To do so, most choose the lightest skin option available, as well as options for the neatest and least facial hair offered (Dutton, 2009). Players also will use the varied clothing options in the MMOG to dress their avatars in either dresses or a feminine manner; and they also give their dwarves female-sounding names. Thus, they have reconfigured the content to serve their own interests and desires, rather than waiting for Turbine to (perhaps) listen to their protests and make appropriate changes (or not). While such activities are not particularly widespread, and there exists debate among players about whether or not such actions are appropriate, it does suggest the need to take player actions in MMOGs (if not all videogames) into account when studying content – as players themselves can be quite active in modifying (if not creating outright) what is considered central to such games.

Related to that, but more obviously focused on player-generated content, is research that studies mods to various videogames. While much research in relation to mods focuses on the motivations of modders as well as the value of their creations to the game industry (Postigo, 2007; Sotamaa, 2009), some research has also examined the creations themselves. Thus Sihvonen (2009) explored the world of mods for The Sims, analyzing the varying levels of player creativity in such creations, as well as arguing for the need to look beyond traditional genres of study in this area – mainly first-person shooters and strategy games. She writes that such artifacts can both reinscribe dominant ideologies and challenge them. Additionally, her textual analysis of mods created by individual players shows us the partial truths and contested meanings that reside in mediated forms, as well as in the intentions of creators – both professional and amateur.

Such studies raise key questions about the study of user-generated content. While I will not go into further discussion of research that investigates such content, it is important to remember that such content can be of equal if not greater importance to players – particularly if games offer players tools or simply encourage the creation of elements such as objects, maps, artwork, or storylines that can generate significant meaning for those who encounter them. Players can also serve as co-creators of games, and their contributions are key to keep in mind when we think about the elements that comprise any game. Thus, understanding how content functions can be a moving target – one must usually explore the player community as well, to see how they are interpreting various content, how it is actually being used (or ignored), as well as how it changes over time.

Case Study II: Phoenix Wright

As mentioned earlier, one of the more enduring themes in the study of videogame content has been exploring the prevalence of gender stereotypes, which have been fairly easy to find across genres, years, and game platforms. One of the most hyped targets for study has been Lara Croft of the Tomb Raider series. Game scholars (as well as some game critics) have protested her unrealistic proportions. Critics also argue that rather than giving women the option to play as a hero of their own gender in a videogame, Croft mainly serves as eye candy for (straight) male players, a mannequin-like figure who doesn't talk back, nor even have any love interests in the games from which to detract from the player's alleged interest in her as a sexual object (Fantone, 2003).

Yet such critiques focus mainly on the representation of Lara, rather than her role as a tool for the player (as controllable avatar) to traverse the game's environmental challenges, argues game theorist Espen Aarseth (2004). In a protest against the “colonization” of game studies by those in film and media studies, Aarseth (2004) instead advocates for studying the ludic aspect of such games, writing, “the dimensions of Lara Croft's body, already analyzed to death by film theorists, are irrelevant to me as a player, because a different-looking body would not make me play differently. When I play, I don't even see her body, but see through it and past it.”

But feminist (and other) game theorists argue that such a position is itself deeply gendered, with Aarseth's dismissal of the visual importance of Croft reinscribing “stereotypical gender formations where the ‘hardcore,’ abstract, formal, mathematical systems privileged by these approaches to games are masculinized while the ‘casual,’ material, visual content, and non-essential aspects of games are feminized” (Soderman, 2009). Moulthrop (2004) writes that “Lara Croft's physique may consist of raw data but it cannot be treated as such for critical purposes. While one may look past or through the avatar body during play, the significance of games as cultural forms goes beyond the player's time in the loop.”

Both Aarseth's position and that of his critics have merit – representations in games do matter, but they are not the only aspects of content that can make meaning in a game. Clearly, gameplay and its affordances are central to understanding games, yet the challenge is how to convey that in doing actual game analysis. It cannot be an either/or proposition, with representations or gameplay being the sole focus of a study, if a researcher wishes to truly understand a game. But what would such an analysis look like? As a way to go beyond discussion of surface representations (without of course dismissing their importance), I'd like to talk about a game I have previously analyzed (Consalvo, 2009), the 2008 Nintendo DS title Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney.

Phoenix Wright does not easily fit traditional game genre descriptions. As the title suggests, it lets the player assume the role of an attorney – more specifically, the new defense attorney Phoenix Wright – trying to prove various clients innocent of the charges against them. This occurs through investigation of crime scenes for clues and information and questioning potential witnesses, culminating in courtroom performances where the player as Phoenix must not only show her client is innocent, but also figure out (as well as prove) who actually committed the crime, ultimately forcing a confession from the real perpetrator. That's the story, anyway, and there are interesting things that could be said about the visual representations the game offers, but more relevant here is the gameplay itself, and the way that it encourages the player to view evidence, as well as how to play the game.

Drawing from earlier work on The Sims and methodological tools for studying games as texts, we can examine objects and their particular role in the game as one way into that deeper analysis (Consalvo, 2002; Consalvo & Dutton, 2006). But rather than completing an exhaustive object inventory, however, it can also be instructive to determine how objects function in the logic of the game, especially in contrast with another key element of gameplay – interrogating witnesses. As I mentioned, the player can investigate crime scenes as part of the game, and will find (as well as receive) items that are key for later parts of the game. Some items are fairly mundane – crime reports, photographs, ID cards; others are specific to the scene, such as a spear used for a murder, or a clocklike statue used to hit someone on the head. Others appear useless at first glance, such as a trading card or a dinner plate with a steak on it, but these objects do have important uses. Thus, for example, a witness may not be willing to give testimony unless you bribe him or her with a particularly coveted object (such as that trading card), but the card was only obtained via another character, who gave it to you in exchange for something else, another mundane object you acquired in your investigation. Thus, objects can serve as a sort of currency in the game – something not immediately obvious if one looks at the visual representations of the objects only, rather than both their appearance and their function in the game.

Objects are also key elements during the testimony parts of court trials. Witnesses often lie while on the stand (and have been instructed to do so by the prosecuting attorney), and their lies must be exposed through the judicious presentation of evidence to the contrary. But while individuals may lie or dissemble, evidence speaks for itself and is never shown to be false. Thus, objects have even greater currency in the game than spoken testimony, privileging evidence over speech as more valuable in getting to a successful verdict (and thus winning a game). Again, this is something that might not be evident if studying the surface representations of the game, or even analyzing the dialogue. Objects matter, greatly, but their successful use must be unlocked by the player.

Another way around the impasse of sticking with visuals is through recourse to performance theory, which questions the role of the body and movement in context-specific spaces. Videogame scholars have been slowly drawing from this approach, although most of it has been applied to how the player moves her avatar in the game space (Burrill, 2008), or exploring the relationship between a player and her avatar (Gee, 2003). Fernandez-Vara goes further, writing that if we consider videogames through performance theory, we can understand certain types of game activities as urging the player toward a “restoration of behavior” activity, such that “the pleasure of restoring behavior in adventure games such as Myst resides in discovering what the behavior is by exploring the world, identifying the problem and finding its solution” (2009a, p. 7).

Another helpful way to consider performance is through recourse to Judith Butler (1993). Originally writing about gender as a performance, Butler argues that gender and gendered identities are not static, natural parts of our selves. Instead we ourselves do the work of dynamically constructing our gender every day, with clear boundaries from contemporary culture about acceptable and unacceptable performances. Relative to gameplay, we can see how a game encourages individuals to play games in certain ways, rather than others.

For example, we can examine Phoenix Wright's courtroom system and the game's saving process for elaboration of this concept. In each episode of the game, the player gathers evidence and interrogates witnesses, with everything leading up to the courtroom trial, where Phoenix must challenges witnesses through presentation of the appropriate evidence at the correct time, in order to expose faults in their statements and thus bring about the exoneration of his client (thus winning the case). The game uses a kind of “penalty meter” that slowly subtracts “lives” when Phoenix acts incorrectly. If all lives are lost, the case is also lost, and the player must restart the courtroom scene from the beginning of that day. Playing the game does not require any manual dexterity or speed-related skills – it is all about the successful presentation of evidence and skillful interrogation of those on the stand. In that way, if the player keeps playing, trying every available option, eventually she will win the game.

So either through restarting a day's events over and over again, or in saving the game before each challenging moment, the player has the option of moving ahead slowly yet surely. But the game is about much more than trial and error. To truly play the game well and enjoy the experience, the game encourages the player to not save continually – to take risks and see the outcome. Saving is fairly easy, but to do so the player must quit out of the game and restart the system to reenter the scene. While not as cumbersome as doing so with a console, it still takes the player out of the flow of the game, as well as the experience of being in a tense courtroom, where the next step might make all the difference in exonerating or condemning your client.

Thus gameplay performance, via the player's specific choices and inputs, plays a central role in the setup of the game. The safer route is slower and removes the player from the fictional world, while the riskier route is more of a gamble, perhaps making it feel more like a real courtroom drama. Thus, the game enables different play styles for different players, through how they enact their own performances. This is something only an analysis of the gameplay could tell us, but is something central to understanding the game. So in actuality the fiction of the game (courtroom adventure) and the gameplay itself (countering testimony, playing it safe or going for broke) build on each other to reinforce the thematic core of the game. But we need an analysis of both the representations (here narrative) of the game and a study of its gameplay in order to make that determination. More game analyses are beginning to do this type of work, but it requires a deeper level of engagement than surface content analyses or basic genre determinants.

Conclusion

What is the future of studying game content, and what do we as researchers need to be focusing on? First, it would seem obvious, but the debate between narratology and ludology is over, if it ever really began. Both “sides” have made crucial points – that games can have important and intriguing stories and narratives within them, and also that games are more than simple representations. Gameplay must be considered an essential element to include in any game analysis. There is simply no way that one field or discipline can now lay claim to game studies, because we need multiple, varied approaches in our challenge to understand videogames.

We also need deeper studies of games that go beyond single titles, or broader content analyses that only look at snippets of games. An excellent example is Pinchbeck's (2009) study of multiple games within the first-person shooter (FPS) genre over the period of a decade. His examination of the interplay of gameplay and narrative in FPS games shows how a deep approach to studying content over time can yield more insightful understandings than work focusing on a singular game. His extensive study prompts him to conclude that “narrative and gameplay are really the same thing, atoms in a network with the same basic function: to describe an experience and manage a player to deliver an appropriate set of inputs to a limited set of outputs” (2009, p. 264).

Additionally, Mosberg Iversen (2010) makes a compelling case that our frameworks for understanding games cannot be overly broad or abstract – that different types of games call for varying approaches. Thus, her work on computer role-playing games demonstrates that “games in the middle,” as she terms them, occupy a space where narrative and gameplay are equally important and thus should be studied that way, in contrast to games where either gameplay or fiction takes greater precedence, thus encouraging different ways to examine them.

While many studies of videogame content draw from theory to help us understand the meanings found in games, not all do so. Many content analyses, for example, make arguments about the potential impact of such content on players but do little to contextualize findings beyond that. In contrast, qualitative studies generally begin from theory, seeking to use it to understand what videogames have to offer to players. Both approaches are valid yet yield different conclusions. I believe using theory is important, but only in order to see how representations or actions might either reinforce what we already know or challenge traditional offerings. Theory also helps situate findings within a larger tradition. Content analyses can compare findings with past studies but offer little in the way of understanding why we are seeing what we do. Thus they are snapshots of a particular moment in time that might differ from past images, yet not do much more.

It might be best to end here, with the acknowledgment that even if we need more and better analyses of videogames, we shouldn't work to develop global tools for those studies. Situated studies are generally preferable, taking account of the variability found in contemporary games. Thus while always taking into account elements such as visual representations and game mechanics, we also need to acknowledge how differences in genres, scale of games, multiplayer versus single player, player-created content and the like can make key impacts on our approaches, methods, and findings.

NOTE

1 Griefing is the act of purposely harassing, annoying, or otherwise disturbing other players.

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