I’ve always been interested in game design, but I think that for a long time gaming has followed a fairly straightforward pattern. In each new “generation” of gaming there have been clear standouts as well as games that were seen to have fallen short of the standard. While it’s very interesting to analyze games from previous generations, I think that contemporary criticism of those games is often limited by an obligation to frame one’s analysis within the standards and the constraints of that particular generation of games. Megaman is lauded for its smooth control and intricate game design within the generation where 2D platformers dominated. The new Sonic games are often chastised for their inability to adapt when the 3D game design became the industry standard. But on some level, those analyses are outdated. For instance, the original Legend of Zelda game is perhaps one of the most innovative and transformative examples of game design, but it derives a lot of its value from its historical impact. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still a great game, but its raw critical value is somewhat diminished because its appeal depends in part on its presentation as a “retro” game that is a throwback to how game developers adapted to the restraints of game design in the past. It’s cool to play through it and think, “Wow, look at all the ways that this game innovates and subverts the existing tropes of game design,” and that is of course a perfectly legitimate gaming experience. But our reaction to it nowadays is distinctly different than when it was first released, and is distinctly different from the way we respond to contemporary games. While these games still retain their ability to play well and to captivate us, much of the respect we have for them relies on their historical impact.

But with the recent shift towards the increased popularity and publishing capacity of indie games, I think the floor has been opened up for a new set of critical discussions that aren’t so preoccupied with historical context. While the large publishing studios are still mostly occupied with this “generation” of large-world adventure RPGs like Dragon Age and FPS/Adventure games like Uncharted (this is a bit of an oversimplification, but these kinds of games certainly make up the majority of big-budget games that have been released in recent years), indie gaming has pushed the envelope both in terms of exploring new types of game design as well as revitalizing older genres. For example, a lot of indie games focus on using storytelling as a primary driving force of gameplay, instead of just employing it as a mere background upon which the real gameplay is built. For example, Bastion’s approach of throwing the player into an unknown situation is leveraged by its ability to use narration to guide the player both in learning game mechanics and in solving puzzles. And on top of that, there are now games like Gone Home and The Vanishing of Ethan Carter are almost entirely built on environmental storytelling.

This increasing variety in game design is paired with a relative lack of constraints on development. While the field certainly isn’t at its peak, the vast array of tools that developers are able to utilize on both a graphical, musical, and technical level allows game design to be defined less and less by the contemporary restrictions on game design. A great example of this is Shovel Knight. Shovel Knight is an extremely popular 2D platformer that, while “retro” in design, derives much of its prowess from its stellar controls and level design. It’s an old genre that’s able to provide enjoyment to a newer generation of gamers. People don’t enjoy this game merely because it’s better than most 2D platformers – they enjoy it because it is fundamentally a good game and it stacks up well when compared with games from any “generation” of game design.

What this means is that it’s now more possible then ever to analyze what makes games good at a fundamental level. Up till now we’ve been more restricted to asking things like “What makes an FPS compelling to play?” or “Why is Paper Mario a better RPG than Final Fantasy XIII?”. These are important questions, and it’s not like it’s no longer important to pay heed to the conventions of whatever genre your game fits into when designing it, but there have always been more fundamental and universally applicable questions that were more difficult to answer. What makes a story compelling? How do you introduce a player to the control scheme of your game? How can the environment be used to supplement or to dampen the gamer’s experience? These are questions that are relevant across genres, from puzzle games to shoot-em-ups.