By Matt Weatherford Oiligarchy is a free online strategy game from Molleindustria. The name Oiligarchy comes from oil and oligarchy. An oligarchy is an economic system in which a privileged few have all the power and wealth. Your objective is to get rich in the oil industry by exploring and drilling around the world. Along the way you trash the environment, bride politicians, collude with third-world regimes, and play the role of the bad guy. The format is basically a business sim/tycoon game in which you make decisions on how to allocate money to obtain a return on your investment. You can choose to explore at multiple locations to find underground oil reserves, then install taps to pump out the oil. You can deploy small wells, normal wells, or platforms to extract the oil. You start out in 1946 on a limited budget, so you only use the small wells, which have a slow rate of extraction. Once you install it, the oil is obtained at a fixed rate at first, but after 50% of the oil is extracted, the rate decreases. You can invest in normal wells or platforms to increase the extraction rate, but this means the reserves will be depleted faster, so you must find more oil reserves. This highlights the central role of your quantity of money, the amount of oil in your wells, and your rate of extraction. Another factor is the demand for oil. Over the course of years and decades the “addiction” to oil increases, so you need to supply more, and you make more money. These are the quantities you manage to be successful in the game. Thankfully, the calculus does not have to be performed by the player. If you don’t keep getting bigger, you go broke. This follows the capitalist ideology that has prevailed in the period of rapid population growth and technological progress that has been the norm since the industrial revolution, particularly post- World War II. The population has increased exponentially along with our use of natural resources, a trend that cannot continue indefinitely. The player is forced to search the globe for more and more oil, which often requires political and military support from our government and the foreign powers that be. This adds another element to the gameplay. You receive updates of the political climate and must make donations and bribe politicians to increase sympathetic influences in Washington. For instance, if you can establish support in government and an oil-friendly president, you can invade Iraq to access their oil supplies. In Venezuela, you must employ aggressive special operations and execute a coup to eliminate the blockade of your wells by protesters. In Nigeria, you can assassinate activists with assistance of the government, which triggers the emergence of armed opposition. These scenarios are based on events that may have actually happened. Oiligarchy is worthy of being called a digital narrative because it is uses the format of a game to make a commentary on the oil industry and its legacy of environmental degradation, shady politics, wars, and profits. The developers tried to use the game to model the cause-and-effect relationships that are arguably very similar to reality. The developers put the player in the shoes of the “bad guy”, and your success in the game requires you to make decisions that have negative social and environmental outcomes in order to maximize profit. Your survival is based on ruthlessly fueling the increasing oil addiction. The cool thing about Oiligarchy is that it is actually fun to play. It is kind of like the South Park of digital narratives. Despite being cartoony, simplistic, and fun, Oiligarchy still manages to provide an intelligent critique of the messed-up state of our world.
By Brittany Walsh Welcome to Pine Point is one of the most sentimental and heart-warming digital narratives I have ever seen. The digital narrative was created by Paul Shoebridge and Michael Simons, who operated the publishing company of “The Goggles.” The piece operates like a smooth film with interactive elements. The story is not actually based on the experiences of Shoebridge or Simons, but of Richard Cloutier’s experiences and his website Pine Point Revisted.
Pine Point was a mining town in Canada that was shut down because all of the property had been mined. People in this town established families, had jobs and entire lives here, but lost it all when the town was officially removed from the map. Richard Cloutier kept the memory of this town alive through his website and research of the town. Cloutier was the town bully when he was younger, and in an attempt to redeem himself and remember the positives about his hometown of Pine Point, he created a website in remembrance of it. Eventually, Cloutier was diagnosed with MS, which is a contributing factor to why he put so much effort into his site. He wanted to visit the place he called home one last time. In this digital narrative, Shoebridge and Simons explore the people of the town, who they were, and who they are now in an extremely creative and engaging fashion. Images, video clips, interviews, and music all contribute to this beautifully constructed narrative. A person is able to watch a home video clip, listen to a somber song, view an image of the town, and read the narration on the screen all at once; the creators were able to combine all these elements in such a way that does not distract the reader. The great thing about this piece is that it does not feel like work reading it, it does not require significant effort because it is so engaging. I forgot that I was reading a story throughout the time I read this, and was continually inspired and filled with nostalgia while I explored the piece. I think that I really engaged with this piece because as a student who has left her hometown for college, I come home to my family and the place is exactly the same. I can’t imagine returning to the place I called home, the place I grew up, and having nothing be the same; I can’t imagine my hometown being take from me, or just not there anymore. With all the images of the people and stories of families and fun times, it makes me think that it’s not the place or physical structures that make up the town, rather, it’s the people and places that make the town one’s home. I call my town home because that’s where my family is. Throughout the entire piece, there are some sayings that really stick with the reader and truly make them think. Some of the statements I found significant are:
Throughout this entire piece, the reader is consistently engaged in all the elements. I think that this narrative is significant because of that very fact. When readers engage with a narrative like this, they are experiencing something drastically different than a traditional paperback novel. People who have trouble staying engaged with a story told through a physical novel would greatly benefit from digital narratives like these because they still get to appreciate a story, just one told in a different way. This narrative is someone’s story, but it’s also everyone’s story, because we all come from somewhere and it’s sad to see something go. Simons and Shoebridge conclude with Pine Point “would live on only for those willing to dig into history, into memory” and I think this is extremely relevant to literature because people are not reading anymore, they are not appreciating the magic of storytelling. People will have to dig to have stories told in a certain way, but it’s important to remember that times are changing and we need to adapt to the new ways of telling and appreciating stories. By Matthew Gremo Welcome to Pine Point functions as a mix-drink compromised of equal parts scrapbook and textbook, with a splash of ethnography that runs through it like a thick syrup. The authors, Michael Simons and Paul Shoebridge, note that the project was intended to result in a traditional print book, but at the end of the day, it simply made more sense to present their findings in the form of a digital narrative. This narrative, which combines audio, text, and visuals, tells the story of a town—one that conveniently shares the title of this story—that seemingly disappeared overnight. The story begins with a brief history of the town’s origins around rich mining potential, coupled alongside the personal anecdotal evidence of the authors who happened to live nearby. The history of the town itself, however, has little in the way of narrative, aside from shining a light on the depressing nature of western expansion and collapse that is reminiscent of Isaac Brock lyrics. In order to truly understand the people who lived there and what it felt like to lose the sense of home which so many take for granted, Simons and Shoebridge began by pulling out a high school yearbook. From there, the narrative unfolds into a series of mini-vignettes into the lives of Pine Point’s residents. There is the up and coming musical sensation, the future franchise owning brothers, and the stereotypical bully turned town savior. As a work of fiction, one may even call these characters cliché or trope like, but the historical reflection of this piece allows for the humanizing forces which are so often overlooked in such narratives. The simple fact that this narrative functions primarily as a work of non-fiction works to complicate the reader’s expectations for how the story is to unfold. To further convolute and complicate the past lives of the town’s residents, the authors proceed to track them down in an effort to learn where their lives have led them since their home town was erased from the map. In what feels like some strange breach of privacy, a series of candid interviews shed light on what the town of Pine Point meant to a microcosm of residents who grew up there. With waves of nostalgia and the pervasive feeling of lost history, each resident recounts their fondest memories of Pine Point through rose-tinted glasses. The supporting resources of photos and videos—which supplement what would otherwise be a text-only narrative—show a town that is always shot from its good side, and yet an empty pit in the stomach of the reader still manages to grow. Interacting with Pine Point is tantamount to a Vietnam veteran suggesting the only memory he has of the war is the day he sat down and ate a makeshift Thanksgiving dinner with his platoon. In remembering something that is now lost, the human mind is rather crafty in holding on to that which brings it warmth. The term “heartbreaking” perhaps does this notion no justice.
As a whole, what Welcome to Pine Point accomplishes is the filling in of the cracks between factual evidence. It uses human stories as mortar and builds a wildly fascinating narrative around what would otherwise stand as a blurb in a local newspaper. From an educational standpoint, such narratives are essential in the passing on of genuine history to future generations. It is the combination of historical catalogues and living literature into the hybrid nature of humanities which paints a far more complete picture then either could ever manage to do on their own. It is entirely possible that what Simons and Shoebridge have created in Welcome to Pine Point will stand as a shining example for how future generations can take account of their own histories. By Logan Mclaskey Music is all around us constantly. You may think that that is a ridiculous statement, but it is true. There is always a song stuck in someone’s head or music playing on someone’s phone or laptop; there is music playing in every television show and every movie; and there is music playing in every video game. Before you read any further think of a theme song. It doesn’t matter what it is from, but just keep it in mind as you read through this. (Also, feel free to comment it at the bottom of the post right now.) Music, regardless of the medium, plays a huge role in the atmosphere of that medium. It tells us when something is about to jump out when we are watching a horror movie or playing a horror game. It fills us with sorrow when something bad happens in a film or television show, but that is the point, is it not?; to give us some sort of emotional reaction, whether it is good or bad. Without the music in Star Wars then we would care much less about the drama and action that is unraveling in front of our faces. I do not believe that I have ever watched a film, played a game, or followed a television show where the music took away from my experience as a participant. Of course, I am not saying that every movie, television show, or video game has the best soundtracks or musical scores, but I have good taste and I tend to steer away from all the bad stuff. (That was a joke.) In fact, when it came down to whether or not I was going to purchase Hyper Light Drifter my decision was made solely based on the fact that the musical score, in my opinion, was out of the world (no pun intended). I care a lot about music and I knew that the music would play a huge role in Hyper Light Drifter because neither your character nor the NPCs (Non-Playable Characters) speak at all. So, without the music, and the fighting, gunshots, etc., it would be a completely silent video game; and that is no fun at all. With games like this and Gone Home the music plays a massive role in the atmosphere—and in Gone Home’s case—and gives exposition to characters that are not physically within the game. That music gives life to people that are not there with you, that you can’t talk to or look at. And in some specific cases it can give away major spoilers about events that happen within the game. For example, the indie adventure game Undertale. The music within this game, for one, is spectacular, for two, is filled with spoiler-juice. The songs, which you can find on Spotify, do not obviously give away spoilers—as if a narrator were a voice over in the song telling the listener exactly what is happening at that very moment, giving away any sort of surprise—but the musical notes and movements that are used within the songs portray a change, though it may be subtle, to the games atmosphere. The tone of the songs, along with the titles of those songs, shows the intentions of the bosses that you fight while those songs are playing in-game. Another great example of spoiler-filled-goodness is the music for the Dark Souls games. Though the Dark Souls games are a complete other story compared to Undertale, the music is still very crucial to the parts of the game that introduce bosses. Once you hear the music change drastically you know that shit is about to go down. POSTSCRIPT: I hope that at the very least this blog post has introduced you to some new video games and some new music to listen to. I recommend all of the games mentioned within this post and have linked the complete soundtracks to Hyper Light Drifter, Undertale, and Dark Souls I, down below. Again, do not listen to the soundtrack for Undertale unless you are okay with major spoilers. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
By Amberlee Seitz During the course of this class, we have discussed many types of digital narratives, as well as the concept of transmedia storytelling. While trying to find something new and different (for me, anyway), I came across a transmedia experience directed by Lance Weiler which was featured at the Sundance Film Festival in 2011 – Pandemic 1.0, which features a short film called Pandemic 41.410806, -75.654259: The premise behind Pandemic 1.0 is complicated: it is a kind of social experiment taking place over the course of 120 hours. People online, as well as people attending the festival, must work together to stop the spread of a mysterious sleep virus affecting adults. This project was a collaboration of film, pictures, tweets, phones, and actors. 20 different characters were given Twitter accounts and a script of 100 different tweets to be sent over a 5 day period. There was a Mission Control room (designed to feel like a room at the Center for Disease Control) which features a Microsoft Surface table, and includes Twitter feed data projections in real-time. There was also a “Memorial Room” which features replicas of golden objects that are hidden throughout the city, and belonged to 50 people who had contracted the virus. It was the job of the online players to figure out the locations of these objects using digital clues. The offline festival goers were then told the location of the objects, which were then brought back to the Mission Control room. These objects could then be scanned and provide insight into their owners, hopefully providing information regarding how the virus was spread. One interesting twist to the project – 50 bottles of “special” water were distributed throughout the festival. When these bottles were brought to the Mission Control room, they could be placed on the Surface table and a map was then displayed, showing red dots for the infected and blue dots for healthy people. Players then could touch the red dots to help slow the spread of the virus. Special cell phones were also left at places throughout the area. They were wrapped inside plastic biohazard bags along with a hand-cranked phone charger. The players were asked to answer morality questions and look for other people to complete tasks such as taking pictures of themselves with their eyes closed. These people then became the infected. I apologize if my description of the event is a bit confusing; there are so many different aspects of the event that it is difficult to explain it coherently! While the main website that was used during the project is no longer available, you can still read the tweets at #pandemic11, along with #hopeismissing. Hope’s mother, I believe, was patient zero for the virus. Hope was a carrier for the virus, and went “missing”. This took place about four years before Pandemic 1.0, and the virus is back. “Hope is Missing” was another of Lance Weiler’s creations, and you can check out the blog of Richard Chambers, Hope Is Missing, who was Hope’s fiancé at the time of her disappearance.
I found this project fascinating. I like that even people not in attendance at the Sundance Film Festival could also take part in the event, allowing for a wider range of participants. This entire project relied on audience participation, making it a true transmedia experience. Weiler says, “I work from a principal that I call the 'bullet hole in glass' theory. In the center where the bullet hole would be is my singular vision for the story but as the glass cracks out I leave room for the audience to participate.” This allows the story to take its own shape. Unlike some of the choice based games we have played in class, this experience has no definite parameters, and there would be no way to make a diagram of possible choices, such as with Life is Strange. Well, I’m sure there would be a way to do it, but I can’t even begin to imagine attempting it! According to Henry Jenkins, “transmedia storytelling represents a process where integral elements of a fiction get dispersed systematically across multiple delivery channels for the purpose of creating a unified and coordinated entertainment experience.” I believe that this project definitely fits the definition, and is a perfect example of where transmedia can take us in the future. One thing that sets this project apart from normal entertainment experiences – Weiler shared the data collected during the project with Medic Mobile, a company that gives SMS devices to doctors in third world countries, in an effort to track the spread of infectious diseases. Scientists from Wellcome Trust (the world's largest medical research charity) were also involved to see how something like may possibly be used in the future for public health messaging. For more information, check out these interviews with Lance Weiler: |
AuthorWe are the students of "Digital Literatures" at Millikin University. These are some of the digital narratives that entice, inspire, and challenge us. Categories
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