Abstract Games

I’ve noticed that as time passes, I’m drawn more and more to games of some abstract nature. It could be a smartly-executed minimalist art style or a deceptively simple game mechanic; the abstract as an experience seems to grab my attention.

In flOw – created by University of Southern California students – the concept is so simple: eat, or be eaten – and the visuals so smooth and fresh. It makes no attempt to actually look like some primordial pool in which these creatures would evolve; it takes the idea of the pool and gives it a distinctive visual style communicating something about the world you are meant to navigate. It was easy for me to consider myself to be the abstract creature on the screen. More recently, playing Lilt Line on an iPod Touch, I found it just as easy to think of myself as a racer at the head of the white line, flying at top speed through the graduated, multi-colored track.

As Scott McCloud has pointed out, the more abstract a drawn face, the more people it could be said to describe. The idea is that you can project yourself and your emotions much more easily on an abstract character than one that is sharply defined. I appreciate this simplicity and the fact there is nothing in the way of projecting myself.

Further, the human reaction to believe that ‘that thing’ is the same thing as ‘me’ (consider how we view the car as an extension of our bodies when we drive) is a powerful game design tool. If ‘that thing is ‘me’, I have a much easier time connecting to a space or character emotionally. I often get much stronger emotional reactions to simple, abstract environments and the way they are presented than I do with games that go to great lengths to appear real. This, in turn, allows me to project my own stories onto abstract spaces and characters. Rez HD is a great example: the framework of a story is there, supported by stunning visuals and great ramped-up moments, and the rest is up to you. The concept of this character breaking into an abstract virtual system, with the avatar continuously evolving, can feel like a triumph over the unknown – a visceral, sensorial take on the Hero’s Journey.

Can abstract games provide the means to let our mature, practical, reasonable minds play?

I can lose the details of a complex story because it can be difficult to retain in its entirety, especially over the course of, say, 80 hours of RPG gameplay. This is a common issue in detailed open worlds, though some might say it’s a good problem to have. As for myself, shorter play experiences – what I might think of as vignettes – seem to stick with me a little better. I can remember, for example, in a very visual and auditory way, how it felt to become the biggest mote in Osmos.

Realism, on the other hand, can be exhausting. My brain constantly compares the details of the virtual world to the real world. This comparison seems to be a process that runs in the background of the mind, using mental resources. As Carl Sagan once said, “The brain has its own language for testing the structure and consistency of the world.” And as with many brain functions, we’re usually just along for the ride.

Abstract games, however, introduce us to worlds very much unlike that of which we see every day. Now our imaginations are engaged in the heavy lifting. The game can give a framework for that, and consequently for creating characters and narratives on interesting not-quite-blank slates. We once were capable of creating fantastic imaginary worlds as kids with ease; as we become adults, we tend to lament the loss of this extraordinary childhood imagination. Maybe abstract games provide the means to let our mature, practical, reasonable minds play, too.