firehose

By Alec Meer on January 23rd, 2014 at 5:00 pm.

Presenting the second in an occasional series of features in which RPS writers scour their local charity shops for weird and wonderful/terrible PC games they’ve never played, then attempt to play them. This time it’s Origin’s 1991 space combat simulation Wing Commander II: Vengeance of the Kilrathi, found for £1 in a Mind shop in Hove. Better still, it was in a twin-pack with Ultima Underworld: The Stygian Abyss (but I have played that one before).

I’ve never played a Wing Commander game before. Not quite sure how that how happened, given how much they were part of the PC gaming furniture in the 90s. I blame being too poor to afford many games, let alone a joystick. (Me personally, not my family generally – I mean, they owned a PC in the mid-90s, for heaven’s sakes).

In one respect, starting with the second game some twenty-three years after it was released is a ludicrous thing to do, but a) hey, I’m at the whims of charity shop donors in East Sussex here and b) Chris Roberts is now a news mainstay, what with his earning twelve million pounds per second from Star Citizen. It’s, er, about time I knew more about the games that made his name and could create such devotion in fans. Before I instructed trusty DOSBOX to act as interpreter between this dusty CD and haughty young Windows 8.1, all I really knew about the Wing Commander was that it involved Luke Skywalker arguing with Lion-O.

There’s no Hamill here, or indeed much of anything I was already familiar with. Wing Commander II doesn’t try hard to make me any more informed. From its first moment, it’s convinced I’ve played the first game, memorised its plot and know exactly how to fly a starship, understand why humanity’s locked in intergalactic war with a race of dastardly cat-people. I felt like I’d unexpectedly found myself at military school and had been angrily informed by an acid-eyed drill instructor that I was already half way through my training and if I didn’t know what I was doing by now, it was three weeks of 3am potato-peeling chores for me. No tutorial, no plot summary, just a bunch of cross men and cat-men I didn’t know grumbling at each other, then – bam – in a cockpit, the 320×200 stars my destination. I should remember the way Wing Commander II treats new players the next time I’m whining at some FPS sequel that spends ten minutes telling me how to look up.

But what a strange and ancient thrill it felt to have to refer to the manual. There wasn’t one included with or on this CD, which seems a collasal oversight by whichever probably long-moved-on EA drone complied this budget package of Origin hits, but as the Wing Commander community thrives to this day (charmingly GeoCities-esque fansites and everything), finding a PDF copy was the least of my challenges.

So there I sat, ancient 256-colour game designed for a 13″ monitor blown up to a 2560×1440, 27″ one, occasionally glancing away to refer to a 1920×1080 slab displaying a scan of a 23-year-old black and white manual – all the power of what would have seemed an impossible future in 1991, purely to recreate the experience of what, in an ever so slightly alternative world, 12-year-old me would have got from buying a big cardboard box from a dark shop in Worcester staffed by a fat man wearing a black t-shirt and a vaguely malevolent expression. (I am not stereotyping here- that shop existed and I visited regularly, though I cannot recall its or the greasy gentleman in question’s name). It’s so needless, so cumbersome. I love it.

I also, at least once I’d grasped the core controls of speed and autopilot and giving orders to my straight-outta-saturday-morning-cartoons wingmen, came to feel like I could love Wing Commander II. I mean, it’s achingly earnest and it seems to think that people who use keyboards have hands half a metre wide (whether it was following some now-archaic key layout standard or one of the programmers was just doing their own thing unchecked I don’t know), but at the same time I get a kick out of the vibrance of the presentation and the learning of a (to me) new control set.

The latter isn’t particularly elaborate really, but clearly it’s a far cry from the scroll wheels and pop-up menus of today. Where’s early PC Zone with its perforated cardboard keyboard overlays when I need it? I also really, madly, deeply regret binning my Sidewinder joystick a couple of years ago. Mouse control’s fine, but this is ultimately a game about wrestling with a cockpit view, and one ideally needs the tactile, more 3D-space arm-wrestle of a joystick for that.

Combat holds up well – I mean, these are really the core rules of starbound dogfighting, ones still used in those few games that fear to tread the undiscovered country, and while perhaps it feels slower and less dramatic (in terms of sound, vibration and explosion effects) than we might call for noawadays, in the main it hasn’t aged. There’s an appropriate edge of desperation to trying to keep a bead on a target that can move anywhere in what feels like an instant, the cockpit looks/feels fragile and claustrophobic, the right sounds and music play when you score a finishing shot – it’s all there and it all still works. I’m not particularly far in so haven’t been able to play with too many weapon systems but hell, I’d like to.

It looks great too, it really does. I’m sure it was a high-budget game for its time and it shows, but even so, and even despite all its fart-huffing fascination with its own fiction, it’s got a Saturday morning, Buck Rogers/Flash Gordon serial ethos in both presentation and tone that somehow keeps it appealing low-key no matter how much its cast preen and posture. Perhaps it’s because the dreary browns and greys that were the unfortunate necessity of 3D games old and new hadn’t yet turned up to assert their dreary dominance, or that a mere 256 colours made a brash, comic book palette unavoidable, or that the games’ industry idea of escapism and the desires of adolescents were a little more innocent, a little more cartoon-inspired.

Or perhaps, as I prefer to believe, it’s simply deliberate design that this is a game rich in vibrant blues and yellows, space combat as unabashed derring-do rather than posturing towards reality or militarism. The 23-year vintage shows, of course it does, but its gaudy, chunky, space opera tapestry remains immediately appealing and enticing. I do suspect I’d have balked more at the later games’ use of FMV and ageing Hamill than I did at this one’s unselfconsciously lurid pixel-people cutscenes.

I don’t really know what’s going on though, other than that those cat people sure are cross and I’m supposed to shoot all their spaceships down. That, I suppose, is war for you.

I’ve spent a decent amount of time in the past few days looking up Youtube videos by the campaign tags to watch the results of the for-pay advertising campaigns that have been all over the news.

I’ve learned that it’s very hard to do video content well, but some online personalities have mastered the art of playing a game and talking over the action, explaining what’s happening and why. I had fun, and began to understand why things such as Let’s Plays are becoming so popular. The content is fun and lighthearted in a way that’s hard to match in text.

It took a bit of education for me to know what videos had been paid for by Microsoft or EA. It’s not that disclosure past those tags is lacking, it’s that it doesn’t exist in large swaths of content. Once I understood campaign tags and the specific wording to watch for, it was surprising how many videos contained promotional material that was undisclosed unless you knew to look for that tag.

Viewers shouldn't have to dig for clues. It's time for better disclosure in video content, and this move will only help the people who create this fun and often informative content.

A new model, with new rules

Let’s start with two thoughts. First, video is a relatively new way to spread video game news, opinion, and reviews, and the rules for how to do it well are still being written. Second, people who understand video and do it well for their audience deserve to be paid for their content. It’s important not to attack a new way of talking about games or to point fingers.

The argument that these agreements between publishers and video providers are just like most ad-supported content doesn’t hold up, however. Most sites have dedicated areas for ads, and those ads don’t change what’s written. This leads to some funny situations, such as when a negative story is surrounded by ads for the service being criticized, but the point remains the companies paying for the ads aren’t allowed to change what’s being said, or how it’s framed.

The video ad campaigns don’t offer that sort of separation. Not only is the ad inside the content, in many cases it’s the content itself. If the personality creating the video says negative things about the product, they lose their ad revenue if the agreement states only positive things may be shared. The publisher creating the rules has direct control over what is said, and what is allowed in terms of criticism.

They can instruct the person creating the video not to focus on glitches, and they can add requirements for specific wording. There is no separation of church and state; the capital building has simply been moved inside the church. This is a far cry from ad placement on traditional news outlets, or clearly marked pre-roll ads on video content.

In an ideal world there would be some kind of disclosure about who is paying for these videos, and what limitations they place on the content, but that’s not happening in practice. The FTC rules that are often discussed are toothless, at least when it comes to the person being paid. There is nothing to be lost legally by not disclosing that you’re cashing checks from EA or Microsoft to promote their products directly to the audience, or that you’re being paid to avoid saying negative things about certain products or services.

Why it’s important to know

Understanding who pays for the content you consume is important, especially after it has been proven that the companies paying for videos have such direct control over what is said and shown. If someone has a negative thought about the Xbox One, they know they can’t express it during one of these videos or they will forfeit payment.

It’s not a chilling effect, where writers worry about alienating companies so ads are pulled, it’s a direct effect: They know for a fact that negative statements will lead to a loss of revenue. These campaigns give publishers control over editorial content in a way that’s impossible in traditional publishing.

What I’ve been told by multiple people working in video is that this is simply the way things are done. They want to make a living creating content that is enjoyable to watch, and that’s a fine goal for anyone who creates value for the audience. So how do we create better trust between the audience and the content creators while limiting the power publishers have over the content?

Disclosure.

If EA is paying you to make a fun video about Battlefield, just say it! If you signed up to talk about the Xbox One and you like the system, and you honestly believe it’s a good system, simply tell your audience that Microsoft is supporting you when you deliver that message. This makes it clear that you have nothing to hide, and it also puts pressure on the person paying for the content: They are now also in the public eye.

If Microsoft creates strict rules for what can and can't be said by well-known video creators, it will hurt their brand as well. Disclosure helps content creators take back some of the power by bringing the audience into the know, and explaining what is being paid for, and what is being given in return.

If you feel like you have to hide who is paying you, you shouldn’t take the money. If you feel like there’s nothing wrong with it, being honest with your audience will build trust.

When someone goes to a gaming news outlet it’s easy to see who is advertising on the site, as the ads flank the content. Once the content becomes the ad, or the ads are seamless integrated into the video with nothing marking their existence, things become muddy. Simply saying, at the beginning of the video, who is paying for the content removes that issue. It invites the viewer inside the process and creates trust. It shows a level of respect for your audience and, after all, you're working for them, not the publishers. It's important to make that clear to everyone involved.

The publisher creating the rules has direct control over what is said, and what is allowed in terms of criticism.

Disclosure removes the feeling that the content creator and the publisher are secretly trying to sell a game or system to the audience. Being honest upfront means the audience and the content creator can have an honest discussion about the product again, with everyone understanding the parameters of that conversation. Make sponsorship open, disclosed, and discussed.

There is no scandal if a well-trusted video personality explains why they like Battlefield so much, and why they signed up to create videos to help promote the game. In fact, that makes the advertising more effective: It becomes an endorsement that's both promotional and personal. EA should be begging for more discussion of this nature.

The person who allegedly leaked the original documents wasn’t trying to "nail" Microsoft or EA, they were trying to educate the people who watch these videos to look for campaign tags, since that was often the only form of disclosure that publishers saw the video as an advertisement. They wanted to create a consumer of content who is better informed about who is paying for what you're watching, and how that process could suppress certain opinions.

And it's working. Microsoft has commented on the issue, and restrictions about what can and can't be said are now being openly discussed. They will likely be tilted slightly more in the content creator's favor if there is a fear of these agreements being made public. The situation has become better now that more people know what's going on, not worse. It's time for the people creating these videos to continue that process with full disclosure, on every video, every time their work contains sponsored content that's paid for by the companies they're discussing.

Video creators live and die with their audience, as does everyone who creates ad-supported content. Explaining how ads are being shown to that audience, or that the content itself contains for-pay content, allows a better relationship between the person viewing the video and the person making it. This isn't about pointing fingers, it's about making sure people who create content can get paid, retain control over the tone of their work, and connect with an appreciative audience. Disclosure helps in all three ways.

Of course, we haven't seen every contract, and it's possible non-disclosure is part of the agreement. If that's the case there remains the possibility of running afoul of the FTC however, and the more this is discussed openly the less power publishers will have to enforce or even ask for those sorts of consumer-hostile demands. The more popular video creators can simply deny their audience to advertisers by saying non-disclosure isn't an option, and that's the sort of move that helps tilt the power back in their favor.

There isn’t a scandal as much as its an opportunity to create a healthier ecosystem in video content, and that begins with talking about who is paying you, and what they get for that money. Shine a light on the practice and, not only can people see better, but the roaches flee.

Terence Eden

It's a feature that has bitten Google Calendar users in the past, but it's worth a reminder: in some cases, the widely used service may unexpectedly leak sensitive information to bosses, spouses, or just about anyone else.

The inadvertent leakage stems from Google Calendar's quick add feature, which is designed to automatically add the who, what, and where to events without requiring a user to manually enter those details. Typing "Brunch with Mom at Java 11am Sunday" is intended to schedule the event for the following Sunday morning at 11 and list the place as "Java." Participants can be added by listing their e-mail addresses, and in many cases, Google will respond by automatically adding an entry to the participants' calendar as well.

Google heavily promoted this time-saving feature during the rollout of its mail and calendar services. But as documented as early as 2010, the behavior can also result in the leakage of private information for people who are unaware of it. Alas, almost four years later, it's still catching some people by surprise. Blogger Terence Eden explained how an entry his wife put in her personal Google Calendar made its way to her boss. It read: "e-mail [boss's address] to discuss pay rise" and included a date a few months in the future. The boss quickly received the reminder as an entry in her own Google Calender.

I'm going to be house bound for a time and am wondering if anyone has the DVD set. I've never seen it, leaving me with a gaping hole in my pop culture street cred. I am having minor surgery that will leave me at home for a week or so. Thus should be plenty of time to power load the series. I could always torrent it, but that is illegal.

BioShock, Gone Home and System Shock all take place within the same universe, according to The Fullbright Company co-founder Steve Gaynor in a recent episode of Tone Control: Conversations with Video Game Developers.

In Tone Control Episode 7, Gaynor wades into the topic of shared universes while chatting with Brendon Chung, the developer behind games such as Flotilla and Thirty Flights of Loving. Around the podcast's 46-minute mark, Gaynor explains that though Gone Home essentially takes place in the real world, it includes connections to both the BioShock and System Shock franchises.

"In a totally non-litigious way, we very lightly imply that it also takes place in the same universe as BioShock," Gaynor says of Gone Home.

That connection links to Minerva's Den downloadable content for BioShock 2, a title Gaynor worked on. In the DLC, players can find a video game created in the ‘50s called Spitfire. Gone Home pays homage to this with Super Nintendo title Super Spitfire. Even the game's publisher, CMP Interactive, is a nod to Minerva's Den protagonist Charles Milton Porter.

As for Gone Home and System Shock, Gaynor says, they're linked by implications of BioShock's universe.

"Again in a totally non-litigious way, we very lightly imply that BioShock takes place in the same universe as System Shock," Gaynor continues. "So, in theory, if you were to make a lot of logical leaps, all of those games have been linked together by our ridiculous retconning."

For more on how all three games are slyly linked together, check out the full podcast.