Official_Xbox_Magazine_USA_Issue_202_July_2017
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OpiniOn<br />
inSider<br />
Steve Hogarty is...<br />
The Fixer:<br />
Steve jiggles the handle on the trope of the unopened door<br />
Here’s an experiment you<br />
can try right now, using<br />
nothing but the pair of hot<br />
meat hands God blessed<br />
you with. Stand up and<br />
stride purposefully to the<br />
nearest door. Grab the handle with grace,<br />
civility and confidence. Give it a twist,<br />
wink to an unseen observer, and then give<br />
it a tug. Observe how this door swings<br />
open. Open as a plum. Now walk through<br />
it. Enjoy the simple pleasure of moving<br />
from one room to another, in a way that<br />
you have never permitted yourself before.<br />
(This introductory paragraph is presented<br />
with apologies to the small percentage of<br />
OXM readers currently residing in jail.)<br />
However, if you want to try this trick in a<br />
videogame, you’ll be sorely disappointed.<br />
You can push on them, pull on them,<br />
you can even sing them sweet, sweet<br />
lullabies, but videogame doors don’t<br />
work like real-life doors. Most doors in<br />
games exist not to allow safe passage<br />
between two adjacent spaces, but simply<br />
to decorate what would otherwise be a<br />
featureless wall. Like those bowls of fruit<br />
you get in people’s living rooms. They look<br />
pretty, but aren’t edible, and that is one of<br />
the worst crimes I can think of.<br />
The Problem<br />
Videogame doors are as useful as a Wile<br />
E. Coyote painting of a tunnel on a cliff<br />
face. They are the level designer’s closest<br />
ally and cruellest facade, a trope now<br />
so ubiquitous that we have all become<br />
numb to its presence. Somewhere along<br />
the way, we’ve come to accept that<br />
most doors in games don’t actually<br />
lead anywhere or do anything. Like the<br />
unbreakable window, the bottomless<br />
pocket, and the invincible tree, the<br />
unopening door has managed to weave<br />
itself into the gaming lexicon.<br />
Locked doors are so universally<br />
recognized that level designers have to<br />
think of clever ways to convince us to<br />
even attempt to walk through doors in<br />
“Doors that can’t<br />
open usually have<br />
a gaping hell portal<br />
in front of them”<br />
games. Visual cues are the most common.<br />
Doors that actually open are signposted<br />
by fluorescent green lights and screaming<br />
neon arrows, or left slightly ajar in an<br />
enticing manner, with dark shadows<br />
curling out into the corridor.<br />
On the other hand, doors that don’t<br />
open are grey and badly lit, often with a<br />
cardboard box, wet floor sign, or gaping<br />
portal to hell strategically positioned in<br />
front of them. That there are so many of<br />
this kind of fake door versus the opening<br />
kind, curtails any sense of freedom that<br />
games could otherwise offer, and makes<br />
me resent the rooms I can enter.<br />
The Solution<br />
The reason for all this barring of access<br />
is intuitive enough: If you could just stroll<br />
through any door in any game you could<br />
go anywhere in the entire world, which<br />
would mean at least a couple of extra<br />
days’ work for the level designers, who are<br />
far too busy making DLC. We can’t have<br />
that, so let’s move on.<br />
Instead, let’s design our games so that,<br />
while every single door can be opened,<br />
they nearly always lead somewhere you<br />
don’t want to go. Perhaps one could lead<br />
to a room in which your family are sitting<br />
around the dinner table, and an awkward<br />
topic has just come up. Another might<br />
lead to a room with nothing but a ceilingto-floor<br />
screen displaying a live feed of<br />
your own face as you sit drooling on the<br />
sofa with Dorito shards littered across<br />
your chest. A bunch of rooms could<br />
simply be screaming pigs. The point is<br />
that they’d all be real doors, and that they<br />
would open and shut as hinges intended.<br />
Of course, the unintended side effect<br />
of my excellent solution is that games<br />
would mostly be rooms filled with the<br />
mortal shrieks of slaughtered swine, and<br />
it would become very difficult to hear any<br />
dialogue or navigate the world without<br />
incurring some degree of psychological<br />
trauma. But I’m afraid that’s the job of<br />
some other poor fixer to sort out. It’s my<br />
role, nay my great privilege, simply to<br />
solve gaming’s numerous problems with<br />
my brilliant ideas—not to stick around to<br />
oversee their implementation or justify<br />
them in any way, to anyone. n<br />
Steve writes for City A.M when he isn’t in<br />
trouble kicking down locked doors<br />
023<br />
the offiCiAl xbox MAgAzine