There is a pantheon of franchises in the world of video games that can only be considered iconic. In a world of popular culture where we are seemingly obsessed with series1, consumers are always looking forward to the next entry in the set. With video games, players are always eager to try the new Mario or Zelda or Final Fantasy or Halo. The consistency for these games have endeared them in video game history.
In any type of popular media, franchises are significant, and they deserve to be. There is a reason a series becomes popular and remains relevant. Part of what make game franchises important is that they are somewhat genre-defining. They initially popularize the genre, and then tweak and improve it with each iteration. The two-dimensional, side-scrolling platformer does not exist as it is today without the first Super Mario Bros. StarCraft shaped the way we know real-time strategies. Together, Metroid and Castlevania literally named a certain style of games, “metroidvania.” Basically any genre of video game can be traced to one or two franchises that are still pervasive today. Such games may not have invented the genre, but they propelled them into popularity enough that they can continue making games in the series today. This is what Metal Gear Solid did for the stealth game.
To tell the truth, before this fall, I had never really played through any stealth game properly, much less a Metal Gear game. I couldn’t play Thief, and I barely made it out of the training level of Splinter Cell. I even had issues with some parts of Dishonored, a stealth-lite game. I just couldn’t get the hang of it. I’m not patient enough to plan out events and bide my time in a video game, and when something goes wrong, I don’t like to painstakingly retrace my steps to get back to the same point. Needless to say, I thought I was in for more of the same when I bought the complete collection of Metal Gear Solid games.
Why did I make such a purchase if I was fairly certain that I would not enjoy myself? The long answer is that the newest entry to the series (The Phantom Pain2) had just come out and was receiving rave reviews for being more accessible than previous games as well as just being incredibly bizarre. There was also the possibility of this being the final game in the series. This, coupled with the long time between releases in the series, meant that the zeitgeist for Metal Gear games was palpable. I wanted to experience the fascinating series that people seem to either love or hate, and I wanted to start at the beginning. The short answer is I’m just not smart with money.
In any case, I purchased the collection knowing full well that I might just hate it. I figured I would turn it on, not be able to make it out of the first zone and never try it again. Then a few years later, I would try one of the later games to see if that was any better. And that’s okay, I still had to see what the game was like. I wanted to see what all the buzz was about and be able to tell myself that at least I tried it, and I had at least a passing, academic understanding of it. I could never have guessed how wrong I would be.
I downloaded 1998’s Metal Gear Solid and sat down to play, essentially going in blind. I knew some characters’ names, but that was really about it. Immediately, the opening cutscenes began to draw me in. It’s difficult to explain, but the opening sequence seems both ludicrous and believable at the same time. It’s done with a level of self-seriousness that is really hard not to like. It’s hard to be so stupid and so deep at the same time. This is not supposed to sound like criticism; the opening sequence (and any of the ensuing cutscenes) is highly amusing. The game’s not dumb, just extremely ridiculous.
I expected to have some issues with the controls. The game is old, so the movements are a bit unrefined. It was definitely jarring at first to use the directional pad for movement3 and to press Circle to start4. But it did not take me long at all to grow accustomed to the obscure movements. It got to the point that when I used a thumbstick to play another game, it felt strange.
To some extent, I also expected to be stymied by the game’s puzzles. With older games, there is commonly a less-is-more approach to instruction as to what to do or where to go. And I have the unfortunate tendency to get easily frustrated when I cannot figure out the next step. For whatever reason, though, I had no issues. The game provides references to call that provide numerous helpful hints. In this way, it is impossible to be stuck for too long in one area. Longer fights against major enemies also provided enough of a challenge without being impossible.
Finally, I fully accepted the gimmicks of the game that I could only characterize as ‘zany,’ even if I was already somewhat aware of them. The best examples of these comes in one longer sequence against a certain character (I’ll speak delicately, even though you must know the tricks by now). Without giving too much away, in the scene, a character reads the player’s thoughts, the TV screen goes black, and the controller moves of its own accord. I was all in.
It’s weird to speak so highly about a game that was released so long ago. I have come to learn what many other players already knew: Metal Gear Solid is a sublime game. Beyond appreciating the significance as one of the most popular games on the original Playstation, I legitimately enjoyed every minute I spent with it. There are only a handful of times I can recall feeling better about a game throughout the entirety of it. I can’t wait to move on with the rest of the series.5
1 Of the top ten grossing films of 2015, seven are parts of a multi-film franchise and one is a remake.↩
2 Interestingly, this pushes Star Wars: Episode One further down the list of things that begin with “The Phantom…” behind The Phantom Tollbooth and every form of the The Phantom of the Opera.↩
3 You may have known, the original Playstation controller did not have thumbsticks.↩
4 You may have known, traditionally Japanese games use Circle instead of the Cross or “X” that we’re used to.↩
5 Upon finishing the first game, I immediately played through the short prologue to the newest game, 2014’s Ground Zeroes. I liked it, and I noticed some of the elements derivative of the first game, but it did not capture me in the same way the original did. Not enough to discourage me from the whole series, though.↩
Tuesday, December 15, 2015
Friday, November 27, 2015
What to Expect When You're Expecting
In the last year, I heard a story on NPR that made the argument that people tend to enjoy a story more when they already know the ending (the example used was “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson, in which the ending is a complete reversal from the first part of the story). This baffled me completely. In an age where finding out the ending to a new movie or book is as easy as reading the Wikipedia summary, is it possible that people now find endings meaningless? I mean, you can hardly read an online review without seeing an obnoxious “SPOILERS!!!1!!” tag. But on the Internet, people are infuriated when they accidentally read about a twist. So the sides must be split.
The basis for the argument is that when we know what is coming, it makes the journey to get there more special. Sort of like when a suspenseful moment rises in a horror movie, there is no surprise, but the excitement is still heightened. Sort of. I find it hard to believe that knowing (<spoiler> “Vader is Luke’s father” </spoiler>) in 1980 would have made Empire more enjoyable. It’s called ruining the plot for a reason. But, hey, I guess times change.
I got to thinking about this claim and realized that it is not an easy thing to prove. You cannot experience the same movie twice, once knowing the ending and once not knowing, so you would have no way of comparing the two experiences. Two people--one who has not seen the film, another who has--cannot compare their experiences; one person might simply like the movie better. It is a qualitative judgement call, anyway. There really is no good way to compare how enjoyable some piece of entertainment is based solely on knowing or not knowing the ending. But still, the question bothered me. For me, the best way to go about looking at this is to simply ruin the ending to a movie, short story, or video game. Then, hopefully, I would have some better understanding of this absurd claim.
Needless to say: warning, spoilers ahead.
I found the perfect movie to test this hypothesis, and you are going to laugh at it. I realized that I was the last person on Earth in 2015 who had not seen The Sixth Sense. I know what you’re thinking: that movie came out 15 years ago, and everyone saw it. A few people might even swear they saw it with me, but I have no recollection of it. It was the movie that established M. Night Shymalan as the king of suspenseful twists, a title he promptly lost in the years to come. It was one of the most talked-about movies of the time. I just never got around to it. I’ve been busy.
Of course, it is impossible to get to this point, even having not seen the movie to know the iconic line, “I see dead people.” So, I surmised what this meant in the context of what I knew about the film, and then read through a plot summary of the whole film. Generally, I had the main points correct. All I needed to see now was the execution.
With the details fresh in mind, I watched through the movie and truly enjoyed myself. I picked up on subtle hints about Bruce Willis’s character, because I was acutely looking for them. The discreet hints were a little more obvious, but I appreciated them in the way you feel upon rewatching a movie. And still, the intense moments were no less intense because I knew what would happen. I was watching a movie for the second time without having seen it the first time.
In the end, I obviously can’t say whether or not I would have liked the movie better if I was going in blind. On the contrary, the first time I watched Memento, I went in without knowing a thing about it, and had to watch it again immediately after finishing it. So, maybe there are really no ways to ruin a well-made, suspenseful film. All I can say is that fifteen years later, The Sixth Sense still holds up as a fine movie. I would give it a belated positive review, but you’ve already seen it, probably more than once.
The basis for the argument is that when we know what is coming, it makes the journey to get there more special. Sort of like when a suspenseful moment rises in a horror movie, there is no surprise, but the excitement is still heightened. Sort of. I find it hard to believe that knowing (<spoiler> “Vader is Luke’s father” </spoiler>) in 1980 would have made Empire more enjoyable. It’s called ruining the plot for a reason. But, hey, I guess times change.
I got to thinking about this claim and realized that it is not an easy thing to prove. You cannot experience the same movie twice, once knowing the ending and once not knowing, so you would have no way of comparing the two experiences. Two people--one who has not seen the film, another who has--cannot compare their experiences; one person might simply like the movie better. It is a qualitative judgement call, anyway. There really is no good way to compare how enjoyable some piece of entertainment is based solely on knowing or not knowing the ending. But still, the question bothered me. For me, the best way to go about looking at this is to simply ruin the ending to a movie, short story, or video game. Then, hopefully, I would have some better understanding of this absurd claim.
Needless to say: warning, spoilers ahead.
* * *
I found the perfect movie to test this hypothesis, and you are going to laugh at it. I realized that I was the last person on Earth in 2015 who had not seen The Sixth Sense. I know what you’re thinking: that movie came out 15 years ago, and everyone saw it. A few people might even swear they saw it with me, but I have no recollection of it. It was the movie that established M. Night Shymalan as the king of suspenseful twists, a title he promptly lost in the years to come. It was one of the most talked-about movies of the time. I just never got around to it. I’ve been busy.
Of course, it is impossible to get to this point, even having not seen the movie to know the iconic line, “I see dead people.” So, I surmised what this meant in the context of what I knew about the film, and then read through a plot summary of the whole film. Generally, I had the main points correct. All I needed to see now was the execution.
With the details fresh in mind, I watched through the movie and truly enjoyed myself. I picked up on subtle hints about Bruce Willis’s character, because I was acutely looking for them. The discreet hints were a little more obvious, but I appreciated them in the way you feel upon rewatching a movie. And still, the intense moments were no less intense because I knew what would happen. I was watching a movie for the second time without having seen it the first time.
In the end, I obviously can’t say whether or not I would have liked the movie better if I was going in blind. On the contrary, the first time I watched Memento, I went in without knowing a thing about it, and had to watch it again immediately after finishing it. So, maybe there are really no ways to ruin a well-made, suspenseful film. All I can say is that fifteen years later, The Sixth Sense still holds up as a fine movie. I would give it a belated positive review, but you’ve already seen it, probably more than once.
Tuesday, October 13, 2015
In Defense of Achievements
In the last generation of consoles, video game players saw the rise of in-game achievements. At the time of their introduction (around 2005 or ‘06), they became popular, almost unbelievably so. So popular that users would go through nefarious hoops to accomplish these tasks just so that they were displayed on a profile. In recent years, appreciation for trophies or achievements has become more or less divided. Some people still obsess over maxing out their score; others could not care less.
So what are achievements, and why do they matter (or not)? Ostensibly, they are minor awards given to the player for accomplishing certain feats in video games. Microsoft debuted the concept with the releases for its console, the Xbox 360. PC games, including many on the Steam and Blizzard platforms, added them soon after, with Sony following suit in 2009 with trophies on the Playstation 3. While trophies did not have points associated with them, they did introduce a Platinum-level for getting 100% of the trophies in the game. It is a good way for developers to observe exactly how many players buying the game actually complete goals. Only Nintendo consoles do not have an established achievement-like system1. For the vast majority, these awards have absolutely no effect on the game itself; they are merely for a player to display on his or her profile.
Despite having no discernible value, for whatever reason, these became incredibly popular. When Xbox achievements unlock, an addictive “pop” sound accompanies them that elicits a near Pavlovian response in players. It is exciting to play through a game and have notifications as you complete an especially difficult task. Players would trade games to boost their scores or rent games with especially easy points. Gaming websites in the mid-2000s ran articles about the “10 easiest games to 1000 points!” ranking the quickest ways to get the then-maximum amount of awards. Then, players would seek to gain them with questionable motives. Tamer players wanting to “cheat” could play some games with their friends offline; the more hardcore cheaters actually unlocked achievements by unlawfully manipulating the data. For a short time, the achievements seemed more popular than the games themselves.
There is quite a wide range of tasks required to unlock the award, but most games will follow certain rules in achievement development. Story driven games will often have achievements for each mission or chapter completed. Also common are exploration goals, encouraging users to go out and find new locations. Sports games feature tiered achievements, like scoring so many points against the other team. Then there are online multiplayer tasks, as in bringing down 100 aliens with a certain weapon. Obviously, tasks vary by skill and are awarded as such. For example, most people will get the five points for completing a tutorial, but very few will get the fifty points for finishing a game without failing once.
Almost as quickly as they rose to popularity, they became passé. The many people illegally acquiring achievements were banned, but their actions still devalued the concept and people seemed to start realizing how they were actually quite worthless. There has never been a great way to look at your aggregate awards and compare them with friends, like a social network. Nearly every game that comes out today still has the same amount of achievements, but mostly gone are the hunters who work to gain every single award.
As I said, there is a fairly divided split in the favor of achievements. The pragmatic side sees achievements for what they truly are: meaningless and almost totally unrelated to the game’s experience. It is possible to play through the game and have a great time doing it without ever noticing a trophy unlock. Nintendo proves this quite well. Super Mario Galaxy is still a perfect game without an achievement for each unlocked planet2. The other side views achievements as the most important part of the gameplay experience. Don’t start a game if you can’t finish raise your completion ratio3! Nothing matters as long as you have more points than your friends! It doesn’t matter if you don’t like a certain mission: you have to do it nineteen more times to get the award! Of course, I’m exaggerating, but the point is, you either like achievements or you don’t care about them.
That is why I feel like the worst an achievement can possibly be is just pointless enough to inspire apathy. Like many people, I was very big into gathering achievements in the mid-2000s. In fact, I used to be too much into them. I definitely participated in matches where players were working together just to accomplish the inane tasks required. Embarrassingly, I might have even chose to play one game over the other simply because of the achievements. I have gotten much more realistic about them since then, but I still maintain that they are great for games.
On the contrary, the best kinds of achievements inspire new ways to play a game. If you generally play a game in one style, an achievement might make you go out and try new combinations of weapons or skills. Exploration tasks might send you out to new locations you wouldn’t have discovered otherwise. Some other awards may get you to play the game again at a higher difficulty. So while I still get a sense of enjoyment from seeing the announcement that I’ve unlocked a goal, and I still strive to gather as many as I can, I treat them as a fun side effect to the larger overall enjoyment of the game.
Trophies and achievements may not be that important to every person who plays a game, but they are not going away. If nothing else, they provide new reasons to dig further into games. I’m sure I’m not the only player who still looks over the achievement list before I start playing. It gives the player a list of goals to do that is, by definition, achievable. Even if some of them seem impossible. Happy hunting!
1 I should take this opportunity to highlight an amazing website called Retro Achievements. It allows users to play through emulated versions of their own classic games with user-created achievements. It gives a great new reason to replay through classic games. And it does include Nintendo games.↩
2 Although isn’t it fun to dream up trophies for 100 Skulltulas in Ocarina of Time, every Pokemon in Red/Blue, or escaping Zebes in less than a minute in Super Metroid?↩
3 Completion ratio is, of course, the percentage of achievements unlocked. Unabashedly, I still care a little bit about my ratio.↩
So what are achievements, and why do they matter (or not)? Ostensibly, they are minor awards given to the player for accomplishing certain feats in video games. Microsoft debuted the concept with the releases for its console, the Xbox 360. PC games, including many on the Steam and Blizzard platforms, added them soon after, with Sony following suit in 2009 with trophies on the Playstation 3. While trophies did not have points associated with them, they did introduce a Platinum-level for getting 100% of the trophies in the game. It is a good way for developers to observe exactly how many players buying the game actually complete goals. Only Nintendo consoles do not have an established achievement-like system1. For the vast majority, these awards have absolutely no effect on the game itself; they are merely for a player to display on his or her profile.
Despite having no discernible value, for whatever reason, these became incredibly popular. When Xbox achievements unlock, an addictive “pop” sound accompanies them that elicits a near Pavlovian response in players. It is exciting to play through a game and have notifications as you complete an especially difficult task. Players would trade games to boost their scores or rent games with especially easy points. Gaming websites in the mid-2000s ran articles about the “10 easiest games to 1000 points!” ranking the quickest ways to get the then-maximum amount of awards. Then, players would seek to gain them with questionable motives. Tamer players wanting to “cheat” could play some games with their friends offline; the more hardcore cheaters actually unlocked achievements by unlawfully manipulating the data. For a short time, the achievements seemed more popular than the games themselves.
There is quite a wide range of tasks required to unlock the award, but most games will follow certain rules in achievement development. Story driven games will often have achievements for each mission or chapter completed. Also common are exploration goals, encouraging users to go out and find new locations. Sports games feature tiered achievements, like scoring so many points against the other team. Then there are online multiplayer tasks, as in bringing down 100 aliens with a certain weapon. Obviously, tasks vary by skill and are awarded as such. For example, most people will get the five points for completing a tutorial, but very few will get the fifty points for finishing a game without failing once.
Almost as quickly as they rose to popularity, they became passé. The many people illegally acquiring achievements were banned, but their actions still devalued the concept and people seemed to start realizing how they were actually quite worthless. There has never been a great way to look at your aggregate awards and compare them with friends, like a social network. Nearly every game that comes out today still has the same amount of achievements, but mostly gone are the hunters who work to gain every single award.
As I said, there is a fairly divided split in the favor of achievements. The pragmatic side sees achievements for what they truly are: meaningless and almost totally unrelated to the game’s experience. It is possible to play through the game and have a great time doing it without ever noticing a trophy unlock. Nintendo proves this quite well. Super Mario Galaxy is still a perfect game without an achievement for each unlocked planet2. The other side views achievements as the most important part of the gameplay experience. Don’t start a game if you can’t finish raise your completion ratio3! Nothing matters as long as you have more points than your friends! It doesn’t matter if you don’t like a certain mission: you have to do it nineteen more times to get the award! Of course, I’m exaggerating, but the point is, you either like achievements or you don’t care about them.
That is why I feel like the worst an achievement can possibly be is just pointless enough to inspire apathy. Like many people, I was very big into gathering achievements in the mid-2000s. In fact, I used to be too much into them. I definitely participated in matches where players were working together just to accomplish the inane tasks required. Embarrassingly, I might have even chose to play one game over the other simply because of the achievements. I have gotten much more realistic about them since then, but I still maintain that they are great for games.
On the contrary, the best kinds of achievements inspire new ways to play a game. If you generally play a game in one style, an achievement might make you go out and try new combinations of weapons or skills. Exploration tasks might send you out to new locations you wouldn’t have discovered otherwise. Some other awards may get you to play the game again at a higher difficulty. So while I still get a sense of enjoyment from seeing the announcement that I’ve unlocked a goal, and I still strive to gather as many as I can, I treat them as a fun side effect to the larger overall enjoyment of the game.
Trophies and achievements may not be that important to every person who plays a game, but they are not going away. If nothing else, they provide new reasons to dig further into games. I’m sure I’m not the only player who still looks over the achievement list before I start playing. It gives the player a list of goals to do that is, by definition, achievable. Even if some of them seem impossible. Happy hunting!
1 I should take this opportunity to highlight an amazing website called Retro Achievements. It allows users to play through emulated versions of their own classic games with user-created achievements. It gives a great new reason to replay through classic games. And it does include Nintendo games.↩
2 Although isn’t it fun to dream up trophies for 100 Skulltulas in Ocarina of Time, every Pokemon in Red/Blue, or escaping Zebes in less than a minute in Super Metroid?↩
3 Completion ratio is, of course, the percentage of achievements unlocked. Unabashedly, I still care a little bit about my ratio.↩
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Do Three Stars Equal a 6.0?
When I finish a book or movie or CD or game, one of my first thoughts is, of course, processing how I felt about it. Did I like it? Would I like to experience it again? How would I compare it to others? Quite often for me, this boils down to a single rating, which somewhat reductively describes my experience with the item. In this way, I can look back later and remember first, if I’ve already done something (read that book, for example), and second, did I enjoy it? One concept I struggle with, however, is the multitude of rating systems. You have stars, half-stars, 10-point scales, 100-point scales, and many others.
Somewhat obsessively, I like to catalog what I’ve experienced. I have multiple accounts that track my music listened, games played, movies watched, books read, and so on. I like to go back and look at what I’ve accomplished. It’s also a good way to compare artistic tastes with friends. Most often, the best way to track this kind of information is by assigning it a rating, and as we know, rating systems can vary wildly.
The confusion of different systems arises because so many publications try to utilize unique ways of reviewing items. Websites and magazines that review products are in constant competition for views. Numeric ratings are often used in conjunction with a longer written review, obviously far more informative. Longer reviews, however, have the larger problem that most people would rather look at the number without digging into the article. Personally, I glance through a review only when I’m interested in the item in question. So, the rating system is a quick way to grab attention for the item.
I have had many debates with friends about what is the most effective system. Largely, these discrepancies revolve around the degrees with which items can be assigned. Five stars obviously gives five levels of definable quality; a 100-point scale gives 101 levels (including 0). As you can see, these get more precise with more levels. My personal preference falls somewhere in between.
100-point scales are a bit excessive. Though they carry a sense of scientific nature, it is mostly impossible to assign a sense of value with so many options. Questions arise like: is a 68 really better than a 66? These statements are obviously impossible to discern. However you feel about aggregate sites like Metacritic, these actually are take an average rating based on a collection of ratings and you can actually explore the differences between a 66 and a 68. But in the end, there is not much of a difference.
Ten stars is tricky. It gives twice as many choices as five stars, but not nearly as many as 100. In this way, we can get more specific responses, without getting ludicrously deep into ratings that differ by 2%. But I have issues with 10-point scales as well. Although I like the scaling, there is an inherent nature of interpreting quality, where any rating below about a 6 is considered ‘below average.’ Perhaps it is largely a problem in the U.S.--where a 60% is generally considered failing in the education system--but this has an enormous effect on how we comprehend low scores. Because of what we (at least in the U.S.) have learned, even something that earns 7 stars is considered mediocre.
The argument for five stars is a good one. The best way I have heard it described is that three stars is average with two levels above average and two below. I believe this is the most popular preference because it is most akin to how we think about quality. Was it very good? Five stars. Just okay? Two stars. The ease of use with a rating system like this makes it easily translatable. Furthermore, three stars is perceived as a better rating than a 60 out of 100. My issues with this system is that there is just not enough to differentiate from other ratings. I don’t enjoy every four-star item the same way; some are better than others. This is why I believe the best way to rate includes five stars with half stars.
I’ve been told that my issue with half stars is that I compare items against each other too much. Simply because I enjoyed something more than another is not reason enough to assign it a higher rating. I acknowledge that this is an issue, but I can’t help it. It’s only natural to compare media, so why wouldn’t you want to say something deserves a higher rating than something else? To me, half stars is as granular as I need to be to denote how I feel about a piece of entertainment.
Obviously, the rating is totally dependent on the rater. I know when it means when I’ve given something four stars, but I also know what it means when I assign something a 7 out of 10. The rating doesn’t matter; it’s how you ultimately felt about the item in question.
Somewhat obsessively, I like to catalog what I’ve experienced. I have multiple accounts that track my music listened, games played, movies watched, books read, and so on. I like to go back and look at what I’ve accomplished. It’s also a good way to compare artistic tastes with friends. Most often, the best way to track this kind of information is by assigning it a rating, and as we know, rating systems can vary wildly.
The confusion of different systems arises because so many publications try to utilize unique ways of reviewing items. Websites and magazines that review products are in constant competition for views. Numeric ratings are often used in conjunction with a longer written review, obviously far more informative. Longer reviews, however, have the larger problem that most people would rather look at the number without digging into the article. Personally, I glance through a review only when I’m interested in the item in question. So, the rating system is a quick way to grab attention for the item.
I have had many debates with friends about what is the most effective system. Largely, these discrepancies revolve around the degrees with which items can be assigned. Five stars obviously gives five levels of definable quality; a 100-point scale gives 101 levels (including 0). As you can see, these get more precise with more levels. My personal preference falls somewhere in between.
100-point scales are a bit excessive. Though they carry a sense of scientific nature, it is mostly impossible to assign a sense of value with so many options. Questions arise like: is a 68 really better than a 66? These statements are obviously impossible to discern. However you feel about aggregate sites like Metacritic, these actually are take an average rating based on a collection of ratings and you can actually explore the differences between a 66 and a 68. But in the end, there is not much of a difference.
Ten stars is tricky. It gives twice as many choices as five stars, but not nearly as many as 100. In this way, we can get more specific responses, without getting ludicrously deep into ratings that differ by 2%. But I have issues with 10-point scales as well. Although I like the scaling, there is an inherent nature of interpreting quality, where any rating below about a 6 is considered ‘below average.’ Perhaps it is largely a problem in the U.S.--where a 60% is generally considered failing in the education system--but this has an enormous effect on how we comprehend low scores. Because of what we (at least in the U.S.) have learned, even something that earns 7 stars is considered mediocre.
The argument for five stars is a good one. The best way I have heard it described is that three stars is average with two levels above average and two below. I believe this is the most popular preference because it is most akin to how we think about quality. Was it very good? Five stars. Just okay? Two stars. The ease of use with a rating system like this makes it easily translatable. Furthermore, three stars is perceived as a better rating than a 60 out of 100. My issues with this system is that there is just not enough to differentiate from other ratings. I don’t enjoy every four-star item the same way; some are better than others. This is why I believe the best way to rate includes five stars with half stars.
I’ve been told that my issue with half stars is that I compare items against each other too much. Simply because I enjoyed something more than another is not reason enough to assign it a higher rating. I acknowledge that this is an issue, but I can’t help it. It’s only natural to compare media, so why wouldn’t you want to say something deserves a higher rating than something else? To me, half stars is as granular as I need to be to denote how I feel about a piece of entertainment.
Obviously, the rating is totally dependent on the rater. I know when it means when I’ve given something four stars, but I also know what it means when I assign something a 7 out of 10. The rating doesn’t matter; it’s how you ultimately felt about the item in question.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
A Comment About Comments
The Internet is a great place for millions of users to come together and share ideas. The network allows for more interconnectedness than television, radio, or any other technology before. Anyone can share their creations. It is easier than ever to find someone who connects with an interest and have a dialogue with that person. Evidently, it is also very easy to display strong attitude, sometimes with hatred towards a person or group. I’m speaking, of course, of comments.
Scroll down to the bottom of most web pages and you will find the comments section. Some of them are blocked by login information while others require Google or Facebook verification, but the infamous ones have seemingly no rules and anyone can post whatever they want under the guise of “anonymous.” If you’ve spent any amount of time on the Internet, you have probably heard it before: “Don’t read the comments!”1 Ostensibly, this section is a place for users to reflect knowledgeably upon what they have just read or watched. But it is not uncommon for this to devolve into rabid spewing of inappropriate or offensive speech almost completely unrelated to the original content. This is a problem.
Some websites are built entirely on the premise that sane folks can have a reasonable discussion in comments. And these can be successful because of the community that builds around the discussion. Based on the traditional sense of a public assembly, Internet ‘forums’ allow people to virtually gather and discuss a range of topics. These are the very best examples of comments on the Internet, as they allow like-minded people to be together. As the community grows, inflammatory commenters are excised. The opposite of this strict self-policing is a sort of free-for-all where people are rude almost immediately. YouTube is a notorious example, where commenters can be outright abusive. I’m just going to vent a bit, so if you want to skip the next two paragraphs, that’s okay.
Why do these kinds of people do this? What gives them the right to trash an otherwise fine piece of content? These are both difficult questions to answer, but one short, acceptable answer is that our freedom of speech extends to cover ideas stated on the Internet. People feel that they have the power to say whatever they wish, and that others need to listen to them. To an extent, this is true: all of us on the Internet have an equal voice. But these people are also wrong. Just because hate-speeches are widely publicized, this does not make them right or even popular. Even online, ignorant speech is still ignorant. And hateful people are still idiots.
Another obvious answer to the question, is that commenters can hide behind anonymity. A cowardly person can say whatever they want if their name is not directly to the left. There is nothing to risk by antagonizing others. Unless there is a some kind of thumbs down feature, that comment will exist as long as people respond to it. Which is, of course, the improper way to deal with “trolls” on the Internet. The best thing to do is let them say what they will and ignore it. Or read it and laugh at them inwardly because you are better than them2. Either will suffice.
ANYWAY, I’m done with the negativity. Here is an absolutely radical theory: is it possible that comments are actually a positive force on the Internet? I might go so far as to suggest that they have become a part of the original content. Is that too much? For better or for worse, I believe our experiences are shaped by external opinions. I might think differently about a video after having read a comment about it. This might be a sad way to look at it, because it implies we cannot arrive at opinions on our own. That’s not really what I mean. I’d like to think browsing comments give us different avenues of thought from which to compare. I came to this realization while reading a library book in which another reader had written some notes in the margins of the book. It occurred to me that this marginalia really was affecting how I was reading the book.
As an undergraduate, I’m sure I remember a philosopher positing that a piece of literature is only half produced by the author. The other half is from the reader and the experiences they bring to the reading. This implies that every book is different for every reader any given time they read it. This also suggests that comments play a significant role in our comprehension of the work. For instance, if I read a news article online that particularly fascinates me, I purposely scroll through the top dozen or so comments, just to gauge the reactions of others. And yes, this affects my reading of the article. Therefore, I think that comments have slowly become part of the entire piece.
Basically, be careful with comments. They might have more of an effect than you think. It does not make sense to merely post that you don’t like something. Disagreeing with the content or another poster without providing any reasoning whatsoever does not add anything substantial to the conversation. Thoughtful is always best in comments.
So, what do you think? Are comments meaningless addendum to online publications, or should they be taken more seriously? Let me know what you think below.
1 There are myriad hilarious examples of these types of messages online that spoof the ridiculous nature of comments. Sometimes, though, the parodies are more accurate than they should be.↩
2 In fact, I do get some enjoyment out of reading bad comments because some people are so laughably dense.↩
Scroll down to the bottom of most web pages and you will find the comments section. Some of them are blocked by login information while others require Google or Facebook verification, but the infamous ones have seemingly no rules and anyone can post whatever they want under the guise of “anonymous.” If you’ve spent any amount of time on the Internet, you have probably heard it before: “Don’t read the comments!”1 Ostensibly, this section is a place for users to reflect knowledgeably upon what they have just read or watched. But it is not uncommon for this to devolve into rabid spewing of inappropriate or offensive speech almost completely unrelated to the original content. This is a problem.
Some websites are built entirely on the premise that sane folks can have a reasonable discussion in comments. And these can be successful because of the community that builds around the discussion. Based on the traditional sense of a public assembly, Internet ‘forums’ allow people to virtually gather and discuss a range of topics. These are the very best examples of comments on the Internet, as they allow like-minded people to be together. As the community grows, inflammatory commenters are excised. The opposite of this strict self-policing is a sort of free-for-all where people are rude almost immediately. YouTube is a notorious example, where commenters can be outright abusive. I’m just going to vent a bit, so if you want to skip the next two paragraphs, that’s okay.
Why do these kinds of people do this? What gives them the right to trash an otherwise fine piece of content? These are both difficult questions to answer, but one short, acceptable answer is that our freedom of speech extends to cover ideas stated on the Internet. People feel that they have the power to say whatever they wish, and that others need to listen to them. To an extent, this is true: all of us on the Internet have an equal voice. But these people are also wrong. Just because hate-speeches are widely publicized, this does not make them right or even popular. Even online, ignorant speech is still ignorant. And hateful people are still idiots.
Another obvious answer to the question, is that commenters can hide behind anonymity. A cowardly person can say whatever they want if their name is not directly to the left. There is nothing to risk by antagonizing others. Unless there is a some kind of thumbs down feature, that comment will exist as long as people respond to it. Which is, of course, the improper way to deal with “trolls” on the Internet. The best thing to do is let them say what they will and ignore it. Or read it and laugh at them inwardly because you are better than them2. Either will suffice.
ANYWAY, I’m done with the negativity. Here is an absolutely radical theory: is it possible that comments are actually a positive force on the Internet? I might go so far as to suggest that they have become a part of the original content. Is that too much? For better or for worse, I believe our experiences are shaped by external opinions. I might think differently about a video after having read a comment about it. This might be a sad way to look at it, because it implies we cannot arrive at opinions on our own. That’s not really what I mean. I’d like to think browsing comments give us different avenues of thought from which to compare. I came to this realization while reading a library book in which another reader had written some notes in the margins of the book. It occurred to me that this marginalia really was affecting how I was reading the book.
As an undergraduate, I’m sure I remember a philosopher positing that a piece of literature is only half produced by the author. The other half is from the reader and the experiences they bring to the reading. This implies that every book is different for every reader any given time they read it. This also suggests that comments play a significant role in our comprehension of the work. For instance, if I read a news article online that particularly fascinates me, I purposely scroll through the top dozen or so comments, just to gauge the reactions of others. And yes, this affects my reading of the article. Therefore, I think that comments have slowly become part of the entire piece.
Basically, be careful with comments. They might have more of an effect than you think. It does not make sense to merely post that you don’t like something. Disagreeing with the content or another poster without providing any reasoning whatsoever does not add anything substantial to the conversation. Thoughtful is always best in comments.
So, what do you think? Are comments meaningless addendum to online publications, or should they be taken more seriously? Let me know what you think below.
1 There are myriad hilarious examples of these types of messages online that spoof the ridiculous nature of comments. Sometimes, though, the parodies are more accurate than they should be.↩
2 In fact, I do get some enjoyment out of reading bad comments because some people are so laughably dense.↩
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)