Bag Man Fans
Bob Denerstein, a film critic recently retired from the Rocky Mountain News, concludes here that the subject of whether video games can be considered art is hardly worth debating given the amount of subjectivity people have these days about what actually qualifies as art.
I believe it is important to make the distinction between high art and low art. Low art is not a lesser form of art; in most cases, it is driven by contemporary expression, often receives early validation in the marketplace and, in the best cases, also serves as commentary for a particular generation; but it has not yet stood the test of time in order to join the canon of high art.
As a medium, film is just over 100 years old now; and during that period of time, it has evolved wildly to suit changing public tastes as the technology itself also improved–adding sound, color and more naturalistic acting, among other things–to eventually arrive at a unique “filmic” vocabulary. But it is still very much a populist form of expression, still quite new and, arguably, all too rarely arrives at the intersection of high art. Which isn’t to say there aren’t artists working in the medium–there are many–and certainly there are some films which will still be watched 100 years from now and, if not seen or appreciated with the same contemporary mindset, they will still be seen and appreciated for their ability to evoke something unique about the very essence of what it means to be human.
Video games as an original and expressive artistic form are even more young and still very much in their infancy. Gaming will likely continue to evolve in exciting and unexpected ways as it, too, continues to develop its own special lexicon but, right now, a lot of this vocabulary has been lifted directly from film just as film, in its infancy, borrowed heavily from other forms of more mature artistic expression (song, dance, theatre (lighting, composition, scenic painting), etc.).
The other thing that both films and video games have in common is that they’re both very costly enterprises, requiring a large group of collaborative artists, which is at odds with prevailing auteur theory. With big money comes decision by committee, endless studio notes, audience test screenings, and an inherent desire to “play it safe” in order to appeal to the largest audience possible. This desire, unfortunately, is at odds with the agenda of high art, which exists solely to express something unique and true–and, possibly, previously unexpressed–about the human condition. This doesn’t mean that high art can’t occur in such conditions; it just means the odds of it not occurring are far greater so when it does happen, by whatever combination of luck, hard work and circumstance, perhaps these few shining jewels that break through the sky, like the first stars at dusk, are even more worthy of our admiration.
The tools for democratizing film and lowering the means of production are slowly becoming available and it wouldn’t be difficult to imagine that, in the near future, similar tools will also exist to allow weekend video game warriors an opportunity to develop their own software titles with the same level of sophistication as today’s top selling releases. Crowdsourcing, open source software development, and the internet are also bridging historical geographical and financial divides. But much like 100 monkeys typing in a room, the jury is still out about whether either effort, given enough time, can eventually result in the muse anointing either medium’s equivalent to William Shakespeare.
When you see a good production of a play by Shakespeare, it can seem shockingly contemporary. It’s puzzling to think that these plays are 400 years old. They are high art because they have successfully and genuinely captured our fears and our aspirations. Our highest and basest selves are on full display in Shakespeare’s characters, language, and plot development. But “captured” is not really the right word since that implies that they are museum pieces, forever frozen in amber. The reality is that they are alive and that their characters and their sentiments engage us and will continue to engage future generations for as long as there are future generations to engage. It is this very timelessness which is essential to high art. Sure, certain works in the canon have fallen out of favor and others will no doubt be re-evaluated and rehabilitated by future generations; each work will rise or fall of its ability to connect to contemporary audiences but the best will survive and will continue to speak to our better (moral, ethical, and spiritual) selves.
Six months ago, I saw again Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights on the big screen with live music being performed by the San Francisco Symphony. It was a revelation. Davies Symphony Hall was lit up with laughter throughout the screening; each person in the audience made or renewed a lasting emotional bond with Chaplin’s timeless little tramp. It had been 75 years since the film first premiered and it still carried an emotional wallop. The film is a national treasure and, I would submit, certainly worthy of consideration as high art. I can easily imagine an audience 75 years hence having the same deeply rooted response.
It is always hard, perhaps impossible, to know what will stand the test of time; our tastes are fickle and each subsequent generation will need to weigh in. Last year’s Academy Award winners may prove unwatchable ten years from now. There were three major animated films released this summer: Shrek 3, Ratatouille, and The Simpsons Movie. Each one is quite different and, in fact, perhaps the only thing they have in common is that they are animated films. They are all, no doubt, finely crafted using the latest and greatest computer assisted technology but which, if any, will eventually rise to the level of high art? Are there any that people will still love fifty years hence, the same way we love Disney’s masterful Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs generation after generation? My guess is that, of these three, Ratatouille alone will eventually be seen as high art. In capturing the struggles of Remy the rat, Brad Bird and his team have said something new about our drive for self-improvement and our desire to create and to belong.
There are, no doubt, artists working in the video game field today; artists who, with zeros and ones, may yet accomplish something of the same magnitude of what Michelangelo accomplished working with marble. I haven’t played that game yet. It may not happen in my lifetime but, if it does, I look forward to playing it.
