Who cares if I've only heard a handful of the albums that have come out this year, and seen even fewer films? I certainly don't- so here are No Target's highlights of the year, each with a short pretentious spiel about how wonderful they are:
Best Song
Geraldine by Glasvegas
On an album that, for the most part, is more depressing than waking up for work on New Year’s Eve (yes, sadly that is relevant), Geraldine offers a brief respite from the teary-eyed anthems that prevade the rest of Glasvegas’ eponymous debut. While the song’s optimism is tempered by a tangible sense of desperation, it never gets close to descending into the self-pity of It’s my own Cheating Heart that makes me Cry or the more recent Please Come Back Home (from the Christmas EP “A Snowflake Fell..."). This song’s got energy, it's got heart, it's got clever lyrics; and now, it's got the highly prestigious No Target Song of the Year Award.
Runners up: Kids by MGMT, A-Punk by Vampire Weekend
Best Film
The Dark Knight
The final scene in Batman Begins made it pretty inevitable that the Joker would turn up in the sequel. And I must admit, after watching the first of Christopher Nolan’s Batman films I felt pretty sorry for whichever poor actor might get cast in the role. Jack Nicholson seemed to have made the part his own in Tim Burton’s Batman, and I didn’t see how anyone could match, yet alone surpass, that masterful performance by one of my favourite actors. But Heath Ledger made me a look a fool for ever worrying. His Joker is as perfectly pitched as you could hope for: sinister but charming; manic yet calculated; suicidal but utterly evervescent.
But it’s not just Ledger who deserves credit (and probably an Oscar). Nolan crafted a genuinely 'thoughtful' action film that still packed in more bangs for your buck than almost any other. Of course, as in most blockbusters, the plot was holier than macaroni, but you won't see an action film this gripping, and dare I say it, thought-provoking, for a very long time.
Runners up: Err, okay, I really didn't see many (good) films this year. I wouldn't mind seeing Wall-e though...
Best Game
Fallout 3
A game which demonstrates perhaps more clearly than any other the power and potential of videogames. Some might say it's not a massive step on from Bethesda's earlier games like Morrowind or Oblivion, and others might say it's not a true Fallout game, but they're missing the point. It's the atmosphere and genuine sense of tension that makes it something truly special. It evokes the desperate struggle to survive brilliantly, let's you go wherever, and do whatever you like, and is full of beautiful little touches that bring the world to life. It's a long way from perfect, but it's as close as you could get from a game this year.
Runners up: Left4Dead, Grand Theft Auto 4
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Monday, 29 December 2008
Suddenly John Lanchester's opinion matters
The website for the London Review of Books will be getting an unusually high volume of traffic this week, because of this article by John Lanchester.
It is, perhaps understandably, drawing a lot of attention from those who are desperate for videogames to be seen as a credible medium for artistic expression. It's certainly nice to see someone outside the wierd, cultish world of games giving the subject some serious consideration, and while it would be easy to nit-pick (surely Will Wright's "first great creation" was Sim City, not the Sims?), I think he makes some interesting points in the otherwise over-egged 'can videogames be art?' debate.
"Now I play videogames too!"
But really, who cares? I can only cringe as friends of mine rejoice at this token of acceptance from the cultural elite. It seems practically inevitable that in twenty years time videogames will have become as mainstream a form of entertainment as eating tea and toast, and I fail to see what's so important about the literary world beginning to cotton on to this fact. By no means am I sad to see the stigma around videogames evaporate quicker with each passing year, but I see far more significance in overhearing respectable adults on the bus, gossiping among themselves excitedly about the Wii.
What many seem not to have realised is that John Lanchester's article (and all coverage in 'respectable' publications) should be seen as the result, not the cause, of games' widening popularity. If anything about Lanchester's article is remarkable, it's that it's taken until now for it to be written.
It is, perhaps understandably, drawing a lot of attention from those who are desperate for videogames to be seen as a credible medium for artistic expression. It's certainly nice to see someone outside the wierd, cultish world of games giving the subject some serious consideration, and while it would be easy to nit-pick (surely Will Wright's "first great creation" was Sim City, not the Sims?), I think he makes some interesting points in the otherwise over-egged 'can videogames be art?' debate.
"Now I play videogames too!"But really, who cares? I can only cringe as friends of mine rejoice at this token of acceptance from the cultural elite. It seems practically inevitable that in twenty years time videogames will have become as mainstream a form of entertainment as eating tea and toast, and I fail to see what's so important about the literary world beginning to cotton on to this fact. By no means am I sad to see the stigma around videogames evaporate quicker with each passing year, but I see far more significance in overhearing respectable adults on the bus, gossiping among themselves excitedly about the Wii.
What many seem not to have realised is that John Lanchester's article (and all coverage in 'respectable' publications) should be seen as the result, not the cause, of games' widening popularity. If anything about Lanchester's article is remarkable, it's that it's taken until now for it to be written.
Sunday, 28 December 2008
No Target?
Back in the autumn of 2006, I gathered together some friends to discuss the idea of putting together a videogame fanzine. It would be an A-Z of videogames, called No Target, with a couple of short commentary pieces or reviews for each letter of the alphabet, running from Advance Wars to Zelda. The plan was to persuade local independent retailers to stock a pile next to their till to give away for free, thus making ourselves local celebrities while also getting the chance to practice writing about videogames.
Who wouldn't want one?
The point was raised almost immediately that it could be done as a website or PDF, but that wasn’t what I wanted. Maybe I'm a nostalgic old fool, but I liked the idea of something people could hold in their hands, flick through casually for something that interested them, and maybe even pass on to their friends. I felt (and still feel) a little sad that the Internet has almost entirely killed the kind of badly photocopied, home-made publication that compensated for what it lacked in polish with integrity and honesty.
In the end however, our collective enthusiasm waned, and No Target never got much further beyond being halfway finished. It nags me to this day that the emphatic promise I made to my fellow contributors at our first meeting that, "it will get finished" turned out to be a lie; but the experience was nonetheless a useful one. Not only did I (hopefully) manage to write a couple of half-entertaining articles and laud my power as self-appointed Editor over my friends, it really got me thinking about the critical process, and the grounds on which people decide to trust the authority of the words they read.
As I see it, an under-addressed problem in videogame criticism is that it's impossible to have the same breadth of knowledge of the field as in film or music criticism. Listening to the fifty most popular albums, or watching the fifty most critically acclaimed films each year, would not be overwhelmingly time-consuming; and most professional critics would tell you it's important to listen to or watch a lot more than that. Doing the same for videogames is nigh-on impossible without being willing to turn yourself into the sort of nerd who twitches at exposure to direct sunlight and whose limited experience of the wider cultural world would have a severely detrimental effect on their value as a critic.
In a later post I may attempt to find an answer to this problem, but for now it's sufficient to say that it's what both draws me to, and repels me from, videogame criticism. This past year I've bought more videogames than in any other, and I can't help but feel that as a result I've neglected my appreciation of books, films, and music. 'Modern culture' (a horrible turn of phrase I promise never to use again) has grown into a multi-limbed leviathan of unprecedented scope and reach, and being the greedy parasite that I am, I want to taste as much of it as possible. As I sketch out in my head what I want this blog to be about, I know I don't want it to be a series of hysterical rants about videogame culture; but is it possible to be a critical 'jack-of-all-trades' and still have an opinion worth respecting? How can I prevent my blog becoming one of the "my taste is the best, listen to me!" type which the Internet is already over-burdened with?
The answer is almost certainly not to ask a series of boring rhetorical questions about how to write a good blog, but my hope is that in the coming months I may be able to find the pudding that provides a proof.
Who wouldn't want one?The point was raised almost immediately that it could be done as a website or PDF, but that wasn’t what I wanted. Maybe I'm a nostalgic old fool, but I liked the idea of something people could hold in their hands, flick through casually for something that interested them, and maybe even pass on to their friends. I felt (and still feel) a little sad that the Internet has almost entirely killed the kind of badly photocopied, home-made publication that compensated for what it lacked in polish with integrity and honesty.
In the end however, our collective enthusiasm waned, and No Target never got much further beyond being halfway finished. It nags me to this day that the emphatic promise I made to my fellow contributors at our first meeting that, "it will get finished" turned out to be a lie; but the experience was nonetheless a useful one. Not only did I (hopefully) manage to write a couple of half-entertaining articles and laud my power as self-appointed Editor over my friends, it really got me thinking about the critical process, and the grounds on which people decide to trust the authority of the words they read.
As I see it, an under-addressed problem in videogame criticism is that it's impossible to have the same breadth of knowledge of the field as in film or music criticism. Listening to the fifty most popular albums, or watching the fifty most critically acclaimed films each year, would not be overwhelmingly time-consuming; and most professional critics would tell you it's important to listen to or watch a lot more than that. Doing the same for videogames is nigh-on impossible without being willing to turn yourself into the sort of nerd who twitches at exposure to direct sunlight and whose limited experience of the wider cultural world would have a severely detrimental effect on their value as a critic.
In a later post I may attempt to find an answer to this problem, but for now it's sufficient to say that it's what both draws me to, and repels me from, videogame criticism. This past year I've bought more videogames than in any other, and I can't help but feel that as a result I've neglected my appreciation of books, films, and music. 'Modern culture' (a horrible turn of phrase I promise never to use again) has grown into a multi-limbed leviathan of unprecedented scope and reach, and being the greedy parasite that I am, I want to taste as much of it as possible. As I sketch out in my head what I want this blog to be about, I know I don't want it to be a series of hysterical rants about videogame culture; but is it possible to be a critical 'jack-of-all-trades' and still have an opinion worth respecting? How can I prevent my blog becoming one of the "my taste is the best, listen to me!" type which the Internet is already over-burdened with?
The answer is almost certainly not to ask a series of boring rhetorical questions about how to write a good blog, but my hope is that in the coming months I may be able to find the pudding that provides a proof.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
An Ending fitting for the Start
It looks like my days as a semi-professional writer are over. For around three months I reviewed games and wrote the odd feature for Play.tm, the most forgettable videogames website you're ever likely to read. To begin with I was quite excited about getting sent free games in the post, and seeing my reviews on metacritic, but in the end the intrusive advertising, piss-poor writing and an Editor who didn't know the difference between "it's" and "its" made me question why I was bothering. I wish I could pretend I left in a blaze of glory, having sent my grammatically challenged Editor an e-mail announcing "I'm tired of your soulless website where generating advertising revenue is all that matters", but instead I just stopped sending him articles.
By starting a blog I hope not just to give myself the opportunity to cowardly vent at former Editors, but also help prevent myself from heading too much further down the cursed 'path of least resistance', and ending up middle-aged and over-fed in a job that bores me to tears. I'm sure that's why 90% of dull, whinging and unreadable blogs get started; but I'll hopefully be able to mix up the angst-ridden 'quarter-life crisis' posts with a few interesting links and occasionally, even a few insightful words of my own.
By starting a blog I hope not just to give myself the opportunity to cowardly vent at former Editors, but also help prevent myself from heading too much further down the cursed 'path of least resistance', and ending up middle-aged and over-fed in a job that bores me to tears. I'm sure that's why 90% of dull, whinging and unreadable blogs get started; but I'll hopefully be able to mix up the angst-ridden 'quarter-life crisis' posts with a few interesting links and occasionally, even a few insightful words of my own.
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