It’s a very easy thing to say that games are little more than distractions from much larger problems. In the face of an Other that’s too large, too abstract, too disinterested to care about any one individual, these compact virtual Others become tempting substitutes. Of course, this stance is incredibly reductive – there are so many possible relationships a game can create between itself and its player – but for certain games (particularly some in the blockbuster space), this line of thinking points us to some sort of truth, albeit accidentally. In one sense, yes, these games can distract us from larger problems by purporting to solve them in a realm where our capabilities are expanded.
But in another equally important sense, games also lessen the abstract existential threat we read in the Other. In fact, we might describe games as performances for a virtual Other where we affirm our worth by submitting to and fulfilling its demands (much like we do for the non-virtual Other). The performance is inherently unstable; unsatisfied with with our original success, we demand yet more (rigorous) chances to prove our worth until we’ve completely exhausted the game of such opportunities. For a time, at least, those brief moments of success will have to do.
Why do I highlight all of this? Because Kaze no Klonoa: Moonlight Museum highlights a very valuable alternative. Granted, many games highlight alternatives already, usually through language outside that typically used in conventional game design. But Moonlight Museum firmly situates itself in that very language: one plays the game by completing challenges with a limited, well-defined toolset. The only difference is the ends toward which that language is used. It’s the Lieve Oma model of player/game relationships: unconditional acceptance over continually proving one’s worth, and play as a reprieve from rather than a solution to problems in one’s life.
Lieve Oma (Dutch for “Dear Grandma”) strikes me as the kind of game that would be hastily dismissed as “not a video game.” I say “hastily” because claims like these tell us more about the narrow range of experiences many enthusiast circles value than they do the nature of the medium at large. They’re convenient in that they justify our refusal to engage with these games by saying the ideas they explore and the conclusions they arrive at don’t hold any relevance to us. The irony, of course, is that Lieve Oma never strays too far from the fundamental mindset underpinning most popular video games. Play is centered on the self and its unfettered ability to sate its own desires; that self is forced to act within tightly defined boundaries it isn’t able to question; and the basic premise represents an escapist fantasy. Lieve Oma shows no interest in critiquing these points.
Again, though, I don’t see the value in dismissing the game out of hand. Its strengths lie not in critique, but in requalification; preserving the use of a specific convention, but removing the attitudes typically associated with it so that we might value that convention along a different axis. For example, as eager as the game is to present itself as a game, it’s just as eager to pose nuanced questions about what a game is. Likewise, escapism takes on an entirely different meaning: not one of denying problems through an appeal to power, but of emotional comfort that prepares one for the world on their own terms.