It has been a tumultuous week here at the Hate Speech offices, beginning with Idlemind’s abduction by an insidious cabal of communist sympathizers looking to undermine the work we’ve been doing here in the name of freedom. That’s my pet theory, at least. When last I saw him, I was lugging cases of whiskey and assorted pharmaceuticals past his desk and back to mine.
“What the hell is all that?” he asked.
“Dude, there’s the Calibur party in SF tonight. Pregame.”
Idle sighed deeply and buried his head in his hands—he must have been tired—as I returned to organizing my necessary supplies. By the time I’d finished and turned back to offer him shots, his chair was quite empty. He’d been taken. It’s difficult pushing onward in the face of such tragedy, but the show must go on. Besides, there was a party to attend.
Release parties (at least for fighting games) are strange, hybrid creatures spliced together from the DNA of fan conventions, trade shows, publicity events, and tournaments, and the precariousness of these combinations structures the entire experience. It was apparent from the moment I arrived at 111 Minna Gallery, a dilapidated-chic building in the SOMA district of downtown San Francisco. The line to get in extended from the door, hugging the building and turning around its corner, and was comprised of alternating pockets of obvious gamers and virulent hipsters. Being a man of the people, I quickly fell in with my fellow Norcal players, severely cutting ahead in line in the process—that’s what men of the people do. The doors opened shortly after six, at which point we began jerkily making our way inside. After a bit of waiting, I exchanged a few choice words with the officious little prick working the door who seemed uncomfortable with my lack of ironic facial hair, and I was in.
Once inside, there was still something of an oil and water effect in place; it was obvious who was there to see the game as opposed to those who simply wished to see and be seen. That said, the venue was beautifully appointed. There were the requisite game-banners, posters, and the like, all emblazoned with SOULCALIBUR V logos and characters, set against the backdrop of a repurposed art space that, while self-consciously trendy, wasn’t offensively so. When I say beautifully appointed, however, I’m really referring to the shockingly large number of flat-panel monitors, each with a playable version of SC5, with pads and joysticks readily available. Previous public demos have been smaller in scale, so I wasn’t certain what to expect, but this was damned impressive. Beyond that main area, there was also a restricted VIP room for the Namco folks, media members, and a number of beleaguered girlfriends and spouses. There were also whispered rumors of finger foods and an open bar. I knew then and there that I had to investigate. For you guys’ sake. Unfortunately, a careless mistake led to my name being left off the list for VIP access, so I had to improvise. I noticed a smallish looking guy step out of the VIP for a smoke break. A quick trip to the alley and a couple of bruised knuckles later, my “credentials” were in perfect order. All that was left to complete my disguise was an alias, so I settled on William Woo, Journalist.
The VIP area was in fact laid out a lot like the main room. There was a bar (which ran out of the constituent elements of long islands entirely too fast, I must say), a bit of seating, and a number of SC5 setups for people to use. I had only begun investigating the inexplicable liquor shortage and the quality of the various foodstuffs before I was called off to play in the exhibition tournament. Ambushed as I was by the Gamespot interviewer, I nearly blew my cover by telling people the truth about themselves, but I recovered quickly and stepped up to face Jaxel. As you may have seen in the stream, I nearly blew my cover once again by crushing him, but on the verge of victory I realized that William Woo, Journalist, would never be able to advance in even a pre-release exhibition match, so I cleverly chose to run into random counter-CEs until such time as I was out of the spotlight and free once again to check out the party.
Even were that not the case, though, there’s still a strong argument to be made for the benefit provided by what took place on Tuesday. As I’ve said many times previously, we’re not simply fans or competitors, but rather content providers, and in some sense this was a test run of whether that content can be compelling to people who are professionally inured to such things. More importantly, though, it’s a matter of establishing new norms. These events may seem cheesy or contrived, as much game journalism does, but they’re a rather effective means of reshaping expectation. Specifically, the Gamespot stream, the presence of websites and media outlets, and the overall attitude of pomp and circumstance represent a victory for we dedicated players because it creates the expectation that this sort of media involvement is simply de rigeur. It gives us a platform, to a degree, and it’s an important step in fostering an overall attitude that fighting games, competition, and tournaments fundamentally matter. We have the media’s attention for the time being. It’s up to us to put on amazing events and continue attracting their attention as time passes. It may not be easy, as we’re doomed to be surpassed by the next big thing, of course, but we certainly have the tools to make it happen, and now is our moment.
Homework: None this week, and I apologize for the delay, but we should be back to normal-ish next Monday. I was already planning on being a little late because the party was on Tuesday, but the sudden loss of my editorial staff further complicates things. One-man operations are pretty killer. Idle, you’ll be missed.
“What the hell is all that?” he asked.
“Dude, there’s the Calibur party in SF tonight. Pregame.”
Idle sighed deeply and buried his head in his hands—he must have been tired—as I returned to organizing my necessary supplies. By the time I’d finished and turned back to offer him shots, his chair was quite empty. He’d been taken. It’s difficult pushing onward in the face of such tragedy, but the show must go on. Besides, there was a party to attend.
Release parties (at least for fighting games) are strange, hybrid creatures spliced together from the DNA of fan conventions, trade shows, publicity events, and tournaments, and the precariousness of these combinations structures the entire experience. It was apparent from the moment I arrived at 111 Minna Gallery, a dilapidated-chic building in the SOMA district of downtown San Francisco. The line to get in extended from the door, hugging the building and turning around its corner, and was comprised of alternating pockets of obvious gamers and virulent hipsters. Being a man of the people, I quickly fell in with my fellow Norcal players, severely cutting ahead in line in the process—that’s what men of the people do. The doors opened shortly after six, at which point we began jerkily making our way inside. After a bit of waiting, I exchanged a few choice words with the officious little prick working the door who seemed uncomfortable with my lack of ironic facial hair, and I was in.
Yup, pretty much this guy.
Once inside, there was still something of an oil and water effect in place; it was obvious who was there to see the game as opposed to those who simply wished to see and be seen. That said, the venue was beautifully appointed. There were the requisite game-banners, posters, and the like, all emblazoned with SOULCALIBUR V logos and characters, set against the backdrop of a repurposed art space that, while self-consciously trendy, wasn’t offensively so. When I say beautifully appointed, however, I’m really referring to the shockingly large number of flat-panel monitors, each with a playable version of SC5, with pads and joysticks readily available. Previous public demos have been smaller in scale, so I wasn’t certain what to expect, but this was damned impressive. Beyond that main area, there was also a restricted VIP room for the Namco folks, media members, and a number of beleaguered girlfriends and spouses. There were also whispered rumors of finger foods and an open bar. I knew then and there that I had to investigate. For you guys’ sake. Unfortunately, a careless mistake led to my name being left off the list for VIP access, so I had to improvise. I noticed a smallish looking guy step out of the VIP for a smoke break. A quick trip to the alley and a couple of bruised knuckles later, my “credentials” were in perfect order. All that was left to complete my disguise was an alias, so I settled on William Woo, Journalist.
The VIP area was in fact laid out a lot like the main room. There was a bar (which ran out of the constituent elements of long islands entirely too fast, I must say), a bit of seating, and a number of SC5 setups for people to use. I had only begun investigating the inexplicable liquor shortage and the quality of the various foodstuffs before I was called off to play in the exhibition tournament. Ambushed as I was by the Gamespot interviewer, I nearly blew my cover by telling people the truth about themselves, but I recovered quickly and stepped up to face Jaxel. As you may have seen in the stream, I nearly blew my cover once again by crushing him, but on the verge of victory I realized that William Woo, Journalist, would never be able to advance in even a pre-release exhibition match, so I cleverly chose to run into random counter-CEs until such time as I was out of the spotlight and free once again to check out the party.
Above: Another great act of charity.
Things proceeded from there in a relatively predictable fashion. People played games, people won, people lost, and most everyone had a good time. The only real blight on the evening was the outlandish drunken antics of William Woo, Journalist—that poor sap is almost certainly going to get canned. Given all that, what can we take away from such an event? As I said, the crowd appeared decidedly split; a mere glance is all it really took to differentiate between passionate fan and tech scenester, but that doesn’t actually tell the whole story. Interestingly, the setups in the VIP area, which should have been populated by only the most disinterested of parties, were always in use. Moreover, while FilthieRich was clearly exhorting the crowd to get crazy for the exhibition matches, people seemed genuinely interested and entertained by what was taking place on the screen. The jaded, cynical holdouts actually appeared outnumbered by the people who found themselves legitimately engaged.Even were that not the case, though, there’s still a strong argument to be made for the benefit provided by what took place on Tuesday. As I’ve said many times previously, we’re not simply fans or competitors, but rather content providers, and in some sense this was a test run of whether that content can be compelling to people who are professionally inured to such things. More importantly, though, it’s a matter of establishing new norms. These events may seem cheesy or contrived, as much game journalism does, but they’re a rather effective means of reshaping expectation. Specifically, the Gamespot stream, the presence of websites and media outlets, and the overall attitude of pomp and circumstance represent a victory for we dedicated players because it creates the expectation that this sort of media involvement is simply de rigeur. It gives us a platform, to a degree, and it’s an important step in fostering an overall attitude that fighting games, competition, and tournaments fundamentally matter. We have the media’s attention for the time being. It’s up to us to put on amazing events and continue attracting their attention as time passes. It may not be easy, as we’re doomed to be surpassed by the next big thing, of course, but we certainly have the tools to make it happen, and now is our moment.
Homework: None this week, and I apologize for the delay, but we should be back to normal-ish next Monday. I was already planning on being a little late because the party was on Tuesday, but the sudden loss of my editorial staff further complicates things. One-man operations are pretty killer. Idle, you’ll be missed.
RIP Idlemind, 1947-2012. Goodnight, sweet prince.
