Director Russ Meyer and film critic Roger Ebert

Anyone who faces the blank page or screen on a regular basis knows that he or she always runs the risk of filling it with b.s.; we've certainly dropped our share on this blog since its inception ten months ago. Over at the Chicago Sun-Times, film critic Roger Ebert seems to have similarly relieved himself, in "Games vs. Art: Ebert vs. Barker," a fisking of writer-director-producer-game designer Clive Barker's recent statements criticizing Ebert's two-year-old assertion that games can't be art. It's rare enough that one of the nation's foremost critics of a well-established medium like film deigns to address a newer medium like videogames; more's the pity that Ebert couldn't be bothered to address Barker's critique with Barker's own searching seriousness, choosing instead to spend most of his 1100 words vamping for the entertainment of his presumably gaming-illiterate audience. But since we've got our own blank screen to fill, we thought we'd do so by fisking Ebert's column.

Ebert: A year or so ago, I rashly wrote that video games could not be art. That inspired a firestorm among gamers, who wrote me countless messages explaining why I was wrong, and urging me to play their favorite games. Of course, I was asking for it. Anything can be art. Even a can of Campbell's soup. What I should have said is that games could not be high art, as I understand it.

If Ebert had done a bit more research--well, any research--he could have bolstered his argument by citing some notable game designers--e.g. Hideo Kojima, Shigeru Miyamoto and Keiji Inafune, each of whom has gone on record as saying that they don't believe that videogames are art--and engaged what game creators themselves have said. Or he could have elaborated on the distinction that he's drawn between high art and low art. No such luck. Instead, he'd rather dismiss videogames with the sarcastic magnanimousness of "Anything can be art. Even a can of Campbell's soup," as long as we vidigoths don't attempt to desecrate the Temple of High Art, where presumably the gods of Cinema stand comfortably next to those of Theater, Dance, Painting, Sculpture, Opera and Literature.
 

Ebert: How do I know this? How many games have I played? I know it by the definition of the vast majority of games. They tend to involve (1) point and shoot in many variations and plotlines, (2) treasure or scavenger hunts, as in "Myst," and (3) player control of the outcome. I don't think these attributes have much to do with art; they have more in common with sports.

Wow. Only two paragraphs into his column, Ebert proceeds to dismiss an entire medium in just five sentences--two rhetorical questions; a list; and an assertion--none of which display much familiarity with the subject. Ebert knows roughly how many games he's played; were the number high enough for him to speak authoritatively, he'd have said so. It's no accident that the one game he cites by name is Myst, because that 13-year-old title--whose reputation is somewhat tattered as befits its stature as one of this emerging medium's evolutionary dead ends--is probably the last game that he played for any meaningful length of time.

If someone went on a jeremiad about the current state of movies, but the last movie they'd seen was the 1994 flick "The Specialist," I doubt that Ebert would take them seriously. Similarly, if someone were to attack the entire medium of film on the grounds that they tend to involve (1) romance and comedy, (2) action and suspense and (3) don't do a good job of portraying characters' interior lives, Ebert would likely be dismissive. Yet he feels quite comfortable making pronouncements about videogames whose sweep is matched only by their ignorance.

Ebert: One of the notables taking exception to my opinion was Clive Barker, the British horror novelist, short story writer and "Hellraiser" writer-director. Barker studied English and philosophy at Liverpool, is an accomplished artist and quite possibly knows more about art in its many manifestations than the average gamer does. How can I say that? Only a guess.

This, as you will soon see, is merely a false bit of praise before Ebert puts the boot in. But a good writer can accomplish multiple objectives at once, and he uses this paragraph to flatter Barker--and by extension, himself, by acknowledging Barker as a worthy adversary--while taking another shot at the unworthy gamers whose vitriol clogs his inbox. Clever. (By the way, Barker quite possibly knows more about art in its many manifestations than the average moviegoer does. How can I say that? Only a guess.)

Ebert: Barker was a speaker at the recent Hollywood and Games Summit, and chose to respond to some of my statements. His responses are posted at www.GamesIndustry.biz. I find them stimulating, and I extend the dialogue here with further responses of my own:

Barker: "It's evident that Ebert had a prejudiced vision of what the medium is, or more importantly what it can be."

Ebert: The word "prejudiced" often translates as "disagrees with me." I might suggest that gamers have a prejudiced view of their medium, and particularly what it can be. Games may not be Shakespeare quite yet, but I have the prejudice that they never will be, and some gamers are prejudiced that they will.

The word "prejudiced" actually translates as "an unfavorable opinion or feeling formed beforehand or without knowledge, thought, or reason," according to Dictionary.com, and it perfectly captures what Ebert has written about videogames. The question is why, given Ebert's own passionate affection for a medium just over 100 years old; a medium that was itself accused of many of the same inherent inferiorities as videogames; why would he be so emotionally invested in rendering a final judgment on what interactive entertainment is capable of just 35 years into this medium's existence?

Barker: "We can debate what art is, we can debate it forever. If the experience moves you in some way or another ... even if it moves your bowels ... I think it is worthy of some serious study."

Ebert: Perhaps if the experience moves your bowels, it is worthy of some serious medical study. Many experiences that move me in some way or another are not art. A year ago I lost the ability (temporarily, I hope) to speak. I was deeply moved by the experience. It was not art.

Uh-oh. The gloves--or rather, the trousers--are starting to come off.

Barker: "It used to worry me that the New York Times never reviewed my books. But the point is that people like the books. Books aren't about reviewers. Games aren't about reviewers. They are about players."

Ebert: A reviewer is a reader, a viewer or a player with an opinion about what he or she has viewed, read or played. Whether that opinion is valid is up to his audience, books, games and all forms of created experience are about themselves; the real question is, do we as their consumers become more or less complex, thoughtful, insightful, witty, empathetic, intelligent, philosophical (and so on) by experiencing them? Something may be excellent as itself, and yet be ultimately worthless. A bowel movement, for example.

This is an especially sly paragraph. All Barker is saying that he used to seek the approval the agenda-setters who couldn't be bothered to review his work--much like Ebert, who can't be bothered to understand videogames--then at some point, he decided to stop worrying about the reviewers and focus on his audience. Ebert, for his part, condescendingly tries to turn Barker's own statement against him, as if Barker didn't know the definition of a reviewer, in an effort to duck the rather straightforward point that Barker made and align his own uneducated "readerhood" of games with that of people who have opinions about games based on having actually played a meaningful amount of games. Sorry, Ebert--no sale.

Next, he tries out the art-as-broccoli theory: if it's not good for you--if we don't become "more or less complex, thoughtful, insightful, witty, empathetic, intelligent, philosophical (and so on) by experiencing them,"--then it can't be art. Setting aside the "How the heck would you know if you don't play games?" argument for a moment, Ebert's utilitarian approach to art, while shared by many, is far from universal. There are many others who believe in art for art's sake; in art that provokes, in art that disturbs, art that enrages, and so on.

Barker: "I think that Roger Ebert's problem is that he thinks you can't have art if there is that amount of malleability in the narrative. In other words, Shakespeare could not have written 'Romeo and Juliet' as a game because it could have had a happy ending, you know? If only she hadn't taken the damn poison. If only he'd have gotten there quicker."

Ebert: He is right again about me. I believe art is created by an artist. If you change it, you become the artist. Would "Romeo and Juliet" have been better with a different ending? Rewritten versions of the play were actually produced with happy endings. "King Lear" was also subjected to rewrites; it's such a downer. At this point, taste comes into play. Which version of "Romeo and Juliet," Shakespeare's or Barker's, is superior, deeper, more moving, more "artistic"?

If, as Ebert believes, art is created by an artist, who is the artist when we go to see a production of "Romeo & Juliet"? Is it Shakespeare alone? Is the show's director an artist? The lead actors? The supporting actors? The bit players? The set designer? The lighting designer? The composer? How many people are allowed collaborate on something before it becomes low art or non-art?

When we go to a movie version of "Romeo & Juliet," is the cinematographer an artist? Is an adaptation like "West Side Story" art, and if so, are the writers of the book and lyrics artists? If a composer were to rearrange the music for "West Side Story" into jazz, and then a series of jazz bands were to perform this music, each with its own unique solos, would these performances be art? And if I were to tell my future children a bowdlerized version  of "Romeo and Juliet," improvising to fill in the blanks in my memory and to make it suitable for kids, would that be art?

What I'm trying to say is that there are many different kinds of art that don't always fit neatly into the high-low dichotomy that Ebert wields like a cudgel. Interpretation, translation, improvisation, collaboration, performance, oral storytelling--all of these are aspects of the lively arts that different games resemble at different times, or could resemble in the future. Rather than insist on exploring aspects of other art forms that videogames don't resemble, why not look for those that do? That's how someone with a genuinely curious mind would approach this. Ebert's, however, is firmly, proudly closed.

Ebert previously compared games to sports, and some games are like sports, particularly competitive games. But some, like action-adventure games, could be seen as jazz-like, with players improvising (running, jumping  hacking and slashing) around a main theme (the game's defined narrative.) Others, like role-playing games, have a similar improvisatory element, but because they place more emphasis on narrative, they're more like a novel or a play that is co-written or rewritten with every play session. Alternately, actors were called "players" in Shakespeare's day; perhaps we players are the actors in today's videogames. Massively multiplayer online games could be seen as improv theater. These analogies aren't perfect or all-encompassing. But they are starting points for inquiry and debate, rather than a preemptive attempt to shut it down.

Barker: "We should be stretching the imaginations of our players and ourselves. Let's invent a world where the player gets to go through every emotional journey available. That is art. Offering that to people is art."

Ebert: If you can go through "every emotional journey available," doesn't that devalue each and every one of them? Art seeks to lead you to an inevitable conclusion, not a smorgasbord of choices. If next time, I have Romeo and Juliet go through the story naked and standing on their hands, would that be way cool, or what?

What is the "inevitable conclusion" of John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme"? Of Jackson Pollock's "One: Number 31, 1950"? Of Richard Pryor's "...Is It Something I Said" tour? Of David Chase's "The Sopranos"? Not all art works the same way. Just because some videogames have narrative elements does that mean they should be judged by the same criteria as literature and film; it would be just as foolish to judge literature and film by the same criteria as sculpture and ballet, or rock and rap by the same criteria as classical music or opera. As for Ebert's description of his version of "Romeo and Juliet," it sounds as though he might need to add some more avant-garde theater to his artistic diet. If he were to do so, who knows, maybe Ebert's naked-upside-down "Romeo and Juliet" will turn out better than did his "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls." How do I know? Just a guess--and a matter of taste--though at least he'd be starting off with "more artistic" material. What I do know for sure is that even if his "Romeo and Juliet" were a miserable failure, he wouldn't dismiss the entire medium of theater as low art because of it.

Barker: "I'm not doing an evangelical job here. I'm just saying that gaming is a great way to do what we as human beings need to do all the time--to take ourselves away from the oppressive facts of our lives and go somewhere where we have our own control."

Ebert: Spoken with the maturity of an honest and articulate 4-year old. I do not have a need "all the time" to take myself away from the oppressive facts of my life, however oppressive they may be, in order to go somewhere where I have control. I need to stay here and take control. Right now, for example, I cannot speak, but I am writing this. You lose some, you win some.

Barker raises the escapist function of art, overstates his point (by which I mean his "all the time" assertion)--most likely as a function of his address having been verbal rather than written--and for his trouble, he's accused of having "[s]poken with the maturity of an honest and articulate 4-year old." You stay classy, Chicago.

Ebert: That said, let me confess I enjoy entertainments, but I think it important to know what they are. I like the circus as much as the ballet. I like crime novels. (I just finished an advance copy of Henry Kisor's Cache of Corpses, about GPS geo-caching gamesters and a macabre murder conspiracy. Couldn't put it down.) And I like horror stories, where Edgar Allen Poe in particular represents art. I think I know what Stan Brakhage meant when he said Poe invented the cinema, lacking only film.

It seems that even the circus is not safe from Ebert's withering judgment. To him, presumably, Cirque du Soleil, Zingaro and De La Guarda should be lumped in with "entertainments" like Ringling Bros. He similarly expresses his affection for crime novels, but I guess that won't spare Mario Puzo, Patricia Highsmith and James Ellroy from the Low Art prison. As for horror fiction, Edgar Allan Poe gets the High Art label, while Stephen King, we must assume, gets the low art tag.

I love to play the comparative media card as much as the next critic. With a relatively new medium like videogames, it's frequently necessary. But nowhere in Ebert's newest argument to bar the gate against videogames does he appear to allow for art that is entertaining or entertainment that is artful, as if the twain shall never meet. Perhaps if we catch him on an acidic enough day, he'll toss such clownish performers as Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton under the Low Art bus. I also wonder where he'd slot such crime movies as "The Godfather," "Goodfellas" and "Pulp Fiction." Ditto for horror/suspense films like "Bride of Frankenstein," "The Shining," and "The Silence of the Lambs."

And if Ebert is going to nitpick Barker, I'm sure he won't mind if I do the same to him. He began this paragraph by saying, "let me confess I enjoy entertainments, but I think it important to know what they are." I guess that depends on what Ebert's definition of "know" is. I'm willing to accept on faith his lay knowledge of circuses, ballets, crime novels and horror fiction, because those are art forms with which he's presumably familiar. But by his own admission, Ebert knows next to nothing about videogames, which means that he's in no position to, within this medium, distinguish between high and low art. This might give a wiser critic pause; thankfully for this Monday's edition of Level Up, Ebert has charged in where non-gamers fear to tread.

Ebert: I treasure escapism in the movies. I tirelessly quote Pauline Kael: The movies are so rarely great art, that if we cannot appreciate great trash, we have no reason to go. I admired "Spiderman II," [sic] "Superman," and many of the "Star Wars," Indiana Jones, James Bond and Harry Potter films. The idea, I think, is to value what is good at whatever level you find it. "Spiderman II" is one of the great comic superhero movies but it is not great art.

For Ebert, every videogame is merely escapist, and the most they can aspire to is great trash, on the order of the "Spider-Man," "Superman" and "Harry Potter" movies. Even if I were to grant him that, it's a statement about what games are, not what they can be--which was Barker's point in the first place.

Ebert: Barker is right that we can debate art forever. I mentioned that a Campbell's soup could be art. I was imprecise. Actually, it is Andy Warhol's painting of the label that is art. Would Warhol have considered Clive Barker's video game "Undying" as art? Certainly. He would have kept it in its shrink-wrapped box, placed it inside a Plexiglas display case, mounted it on a pedestal, and labeled it "Video Game."

Barker is right that we can debate art forever. However, he--and we--would benefit from a more informed debate opponent than Ebert has shown himself to be here. To more fully understand Ebert's prejudice against videogames--and make no mistake, it is prejudice--it's necessary to take a look at his original diatribe of a year ago. In it, following a reader questioning Ebert's assertion that videogames are not art--citing several books on game theory and criticism--Ebert replied:

Yours is the most civil of countless messages I have received after writing that I did indeed consider video games inherently inferior to film and literature. There is a structural reason for that: Video games by their nature require player choices, which is the opposite of the strategy of serious film and literature, which requires authorial control.

I am prepared to believe that video games can be elegant, subtle, sophisticated, challenging and visually wonderful. But I believe the nature of the medium prevents it from moving beyond craftsmanship to the stature of art. To my knowledge, no one in or out of the field has ever been able to cite a game worthy of comparison with the great dramatists, poets, filmmakers, novelists and composers. That a game can aspire to artistic importance as a visual experience, I accept. But for most gamers, video games represent a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized and empathetic.

Nowhere in his reply did Ebert demonstrate that he'd bothered to read any of the books that his questioner cited. Nowhere did he attempt to grapple with whether the lack of full authorial control was enough to prevent videogames from being art. "To my knowledge, no one in or out of the field has ever been able to cite a game worthy of comparison with the great dramatists, poets, filmmakers, novelists and composers." But when movies were roughly the same age, what were the Eberts of the day saying about the movies? My regular Vs. Mode sparring partner, MTV News videogame correspondent Stephen Totilo, tackled this very subject in a column last month after reading "American Movie Critics: An Anthology From the Silents Until Now." Totilo wrote:

The early movies were vulgar, the naysayers said. Even the boosters said that. Here was a form of entertainment nearly three decades old and all that was being made for it was fluff targeted at the lowest common denominator. Critic and movie defender Gilbert Seldes wrote in 1929 that the American movie "at the age of 25 [had] the mentality of a of a child of 6." The notion that movies could ever be sophisticated entertainment for the thinking person was ... funny? Misguided? Ludicrous.

The great American critic H. L. Mencken could hardly stomach cinema. Testifying in 1927 in such a way that probably proves he'd have hated MTV too, he wrote: "How can one work up any rational interest in a fable that changes its locale and its characters 10 times a minute? Worse this dizzy jumping about is plainly unnecessary; all it shows is the professional incompetence of the gilded pants-pressers, decayed actors and other such half-wits to whom the making of movies seems to be entrusted." He preferred the stable look of live theater. People who went elsewhere, he said, were "movie morons."

Movies weren't just low art. They were potentially brain-warping. One early critic likened the appeal of movie-watching to entering a trance at the behest of a hypnotist. Seldes quoted a psychoanalyst who was concerned about how movies granted their viewers a "magic omnipotence wish" and that films showed the audience a world in which every problem could be solved and all questions could be answered. This meant the medium was uniquely seductive in taking viewers into another world. Or maybe movies weren't so unique, because games would be praised and blamed for doing the same 80 years later.

Those critics similarly believed that the movies, the medium upon which Ebert has built his entire career, "represent[ed] a loss of those precious hours we have available to make ourselves more cultured, civilized and empathetic"; today, many if not most would give such sentiments a thumbs down. I'd suggest that Ebert re-read this book to help come to terms with his own prejudices about the still-nascent medium of videogames. He should already be intimately with this anthology--he himself has an essay in the collection. Nevertheless, it's the right of someone with the maturity of an honest and articulate four-year-old to forget the history of his own favored art form and close his mind to the potential of another. In the meantime, those of us who care about the possibilities inherent in this medium will have to rely upon ourselves and one another to keep doing the heavy lifting necessary to suss out where the art of videogames lies; to determine how the craft can enhance that art; and to continue the fight to push this young medium from squalling infancy into graceful adulthood. Let's get cracking.