The absence of new business models and platforms is the least of E3's worries - the press conferences were a brutal and troubling experience
Does E3 still matter? By now, you no doubt have your own view on the subject, and we here at GamesIndustry International have made no secret of our own, but this year's expo moved me in ways I didn't anticipate.
A week before the madness started, we published an article questioning the relevance of a show like E3 to an industry that seemingly changes with each passing month, expanding rapidly in every conceivable direction. This question is more relevant now than ever before, but unless you have a very short memory you'll know that this isn't the first time it has been asked.
Each year the same discussion begins, and each year it develops along very similar lines. And for all the compelling arguments that E3 is little more than a lumbering relic from a bygone era, the most convincing response is always the same: exposure. E3 is the one moment that those with no vested interest in the games industry give it more than a cursory glance, and this, we are told, really matters.
"This year, more than any other in memory, the act of watching the E3 press conferences was a truly discomfiting experience"
Exploring whether that notion holds any water would require a column of its own, but for the purposes of this argument I'm taking it at face value. E3 - and specifically the E3 press conferences - are the mask that the industry's biggest companies wish to present to the world, yet this year, more than any other in memory, the act of watching those presentations was a truly discomfiting experience: hour upon hour of elaborately choreographed mayhem and violence, interspersed with infrequent moments of quiet that only served to amplify the gleefully gruesome spectacle.
Goons were impaled by arrows, engulfed in flames, savaged by tigers, strangled, bludgeoned, shot and stabbed, mostly in the neck - E3 2012 was either the year of the bow or the year of the neck-stab, depending on who you ask. The stifling majority of demos were defined by or culminated in acts of loud and glorified violence, often accompanied by enough "****s" and "mother****ers" to make Quentin Tarantino blush.
I don't much mind that the Far Cry 3 demo opened on a pair of painted breasts, or that Crystal Dynamics believes that the ugly threat of rape is necessary for its new take on Lara Croft - as always, I'll put my faith in the creators, and allow the work to justify their decisions. But taken as a whole, the texture of this year's press conferences struck me as deeply unpleasant, and far removed from the endlessly diverse, creative and fascinating industry I write about every day.
We're so preoccupied with justifying E3 as the one moment that everyone's attention is on video games that we haven't stopped to consider what those people are actually seeing, and the thoughts that must wander through their minds as they turn away for another year. Violence has been a selling-point in games for as long as I can remember. I'm not so naive that I expect that to change, and I accept that others may see things differently, but I can't recall a time when it felt so dominant, so unapologetically central to how these companies see their audience and judge the value of their products.
"We're so preoccupied with justifying E3 for grabbing everyone's attention that we don't stop to consider what those people are actually seeing"
This was never more clear than during the climactic demonstration of The Last of Us at the Sony conference. Naughty Dog's next project is as beautifully rendered, richly atmospheric and skilfully performed as we can rightly expect from the creators of Nathan Drake and Uncharted. It is also stark and unflinching in its brutality; violence so immediate and forceful it left me breathless. But the crowd responded differently: they applauded as one assailant's windpipe was crushed between a wall and the protagonist's muscled forearm; they whooped and cheered as, moments later, his face was pulverised against the edge of a wooden desk.
The demo ended abruptly, as a human head was vaporised by a point-blank shotgun blast. The lights came up, the focus returned to Sony's Jack Tretton for his closing remarks, and in the brief moment before his unflappable professionalism kicked in, I swear I saw a look of utter confusion in his eyes. He clapped, he smiled, he said something along the lines of, 'How about that, huh?', but there was a glimmer of recognition that, in the world of AAA games in 2012, this is how you leave them wanting more.
What did Naughty Dog think of its game being used so hopelessly out of context, as the climax to so much amped-up, slo-mo destruction? I'd very much like to know. It seems clear to me that the intention behind The Last Of Us is not to whip crowds into a state of frenzy, but to create a sense of unease, a creeping disquiet at the unvarnished, punishing reality of a punch to the ribs or a lead pipe to the head.
Indeed, part of
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