This week, our partnership with game criticism site Critical Distance brings us picks from Lana Polansky on topics ranging from the development scenes of Saudi Arabia and Russian-occupied Crimea to the literary underpinnings of From Software's Bloodborne.
Around the World in 80 Frames
Let's begin with a short video report by Al Jazeera on Saudi Arabia's Prince Fahad al Saud, whose initiative, New Arab Media, aims to support the development and distribution of games for a growing, billion-dollar Saudi audience. In particular, al Saud seeks to encourage more games geared toward Saudi girls.
By contrast, Skoryh Tatyana takes to Kotaku to discuss how economic sanctions and structural upheaval in Russian-occupied Crimea has affected the games industry, and for that matter the communications industry, in the region. Tatyana writes that despite relative peace in the region, the sanctions and bureaucratic changes have been trouble for developers especially. One subject, an IT professional and developer named Ignat, lamented:
The only option now is either to move to continental Russia or to Ukraine, and by officially registering there we can revive our internet business. In fact, going by what I've heard and read amongst my friends and on forums, about 1,000 developers have already left Crimea because of these sanctions.
Meanwhile, and on a happier note in the Netherlands, a new English-language podcast hosted by Erwin Vogelaar brings together interviews from game-lovers from all walks of life, including developer Adriel Wallick, a local writer and even a catholic priest in one very well-executed radio package. Listen to Vogelaar's dulcet tones on The Life We Play here.
Sexism in Games, By the Numbers
At FemHype, a new comic by Kiva Bay expresses a moving, personal argument for how classism and misogyny intersect in gaming. Her story reveals how those who lack the funds to participate in this relatively expensive hobby tend to be socially excluded, no matter how much they may love the form.
At Not Your Mama's Gamer, Sarah Nixon discusses the double-bind of self-representation that female streamers often have to grapple with in "The Female Streamer's Dilemma", while Jennifer McVeigh's "Let's Clear the Air: A Closer Look at the Sexist Games=Sexist Gamers Study" describes the dubious research methods employed in a German study which some say demonstrates how games don't make gamers sexist. McVeigh notes that the study, by the researchers' own admission, doesn't actually prove very much at all, writing:
While this research is interesting, it is difficult to assess whether the study offers any new information regarding sexist video games and their effects. The study suggests that future research be conducted on more specific genres and subgenres to determine if any correlation between video games and sexism exist and ultimately admits that the research is limited due to location specificity. Certainly, the study does not offer quantifiable proof that games do not cultivate first order attitudes nor does it disprove Anita Sarkeesian’s claims regarding video games. All this study really reveals is that we should shift our focus from investigating the belief that games cause certain behaviors and instead concentrate on the attitudes that allow and promote sexism in games.
This is Not a Phase. Mom, I'm An Adult Goth
Over at Kill Screen, David Chandler traces a literary history between Bloodborne and Stoker's Dracula, remarking in which ways the decadent, gothic death-sex-fest by From Software emulates the thematic preoccupations found in Stoker's decadent, gothic death-sex-fest.
Finally, at Offworld, Leigh Alexander pens a heartfelt apology for Silent Hill, mourning the death of an era of Japanese games marked by the departure of Hideo Kojima. Alexander revisits Silent Hill 2 to see if the moody, abstract, deeply symbolic and elusive horror game still "held up." She poetically recounts:
But somehow it was better and more beautiful. Though as uncomfortable to play through as a belly full of battery acid, it was somehow graceful in its age. Its rattling cages, its nauseating architecture, inhuman shapes. My radio hissing as a silent executioner in a red metal pyramid mask followed me down an apartment building’s fire stairs. My flashlight throwing a headless dress form into sharp relief, my wife Mary’s clothes still on it. The way I ran, with purpose, up the broad carpeted steps of a fateful hotel, almost to her room, only to suddenly come up against a rusty gate, the sound of my own name murmured urgently, sepulchral, from beyond it.
Au Revoir, Mes Ami(e)s
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