That 80's Gamer
A highly creative person in what seemed to me a series of environments differing in surface appearance but similar fundamentally, it was inevitable that I would form some strong opinions about the modi operandi I observed in these workplaces, and that my inner and outer worlds would occasionally bump into each other. I'll admit, although I've never worked for a game company, there have been business meetings I've attended where I had to work hard to resist the temptation to jot down game design notes that would inevitably bubble up in my mind.
In my previous columns, I've written about the eminently corporate phenomenon of electronic games and how I believe they relate to traditional RPGs. This time, I'd like to shift gears and imagine what pencil-and-paper RPG design might look like if it was conducted in a large, corporate environment.
A Matter of Focus
It has been my observation that big companies are largely staffed by people who are not necessarily passionate, or even very knowledgeable, about the organization's core business. Instead, employees tend to come from a variety of backgrounds and are hired for their expertise in a particular, generic aspect of supporting a commercial enterprise, such as Finance or Information Technology.
This makes it unnecessary for a database administrator working at a prosthetics company, for example, to be particularly well-versed in the topic of artificial toes, and plausible that many employees at a billion-dollar game manufacturer wouldn't need to be involved in or really care about designing games.
Just as in the case of a plant that grows more branches than its roots can sustain, a large chunk of a big corporation's focus would seem to be diverted away from RPG design from the get-go.
The predominant lack of passion for game design in this sort of corporate environment would cause me to think that the company's motivations for undertaking the task might lie elsewhere, and would make me question the integrity and authenticity of their games before I'd even seen them.
The Pecking Order
In a typical large corporation, business degrees, professional certificates, and a drive to climb the corporate ladder outweigh an individual's unaccredited skills or latent creativity.
Buried somewhere in the vast hierarchies prevalent in large companies, employees specializing in traditional RPG design (a form of creative art for which there is no formal certification) might find themselves relegated to ancillary roles, and work as consultants or freelancers. Alternately, they may hold full-time positions in separate creative departments, living as cubicle-dwellers encircled by the offices of upwardly-focused middle managers.
At the bottom of a long, unbroken chain leading to the upper echelons of the corporate pyramid, game designers would likely be given a set of predetermined guidelines generated by various focus groups and marketing sub-teams, outlining the type and quality of work they were required to produce for a particular RPG title. Not free to deviate from the plan or incorporate any of their own ideas without explicit permission, they would be afforded little room for creative expression.
Their eventual work would be subject to the approval of higher-ups with target objectives based on project milestones and business requirements rather than the pure aesthetics of game design per se, and scrutinized in light of how well the end product conforms to the range of specifications they were given.
Designed for mass consumption, the resulting games would be highly unlikely to contain any subject matter that could be viewed as controversial or potentially offensive to the broadest possible audience, and due to the lack of risk taken in their creation, would probably not be especially novel or provocative. It is equally unlikely that these games would push the boundaries of game rules design in any particular direction, and that they would instead bear a distinct resemblance to other "proven" RPGs already on the market.
Furthermore, emphasis on these games might favor the external appearance of the rule books or packaging, with an over-reliance on artwork or design elements, to cover up the fact that the content itself is necessarily bland, mediocre, or "middle-of-the-road," as opposed to compelling in its own right.
Market Strategy
In the case of a large corporation that had acquired the rights to an existing RPG, the role of the designers would take on slightly different proportions.
Instead of creating new games, they would instead be tasked with continually revitalizing and perpetuating a game brand, in much the same way that other large companies repackage their existing products to create "new, improved" versions (think condensed soup in a bottle, tunafish in a resealable pouch, or the 20 or so varieties of Coke...)
A likely strategy would be a focus on rewriting the original rules and content of the established game in order to meet a schedule of future product releases. By periodically augmenting, modifying, and revamping the game content, fans would be compelled to participate in a regular upgrade cycle, providing a reliable revenue stream for the manufacturer, which could be especially lucrative in the case of a particularly well-established game.
Whereas upgrades and improvements for major revisions of games are all well and good in my book, I think the tactic of a premeditated release schedule for the sheer sake of economic projection borders on the unethical, and is similar in essence to the modern practice of "engineered obsolescence" - where items such as automobiles, washing machines, and electronic goods are designed to break down or require replacement after a pre-determined amount of time.
The Importance of Being Ernest
Turnover is a fact of corporate life, and since the show must continue to go on, the truth is that all corporate employees are ultimately expendable. For this reason, it would not be surprising to see the design credits change in a large manufacturer's RPG titles from one edition of the same game to the next.
In the case of an RPG franchise acquired by a large corporation, it is also very likely that the original creator (or creators) of the title may no longer be involved with the project. This would be of little concern to the manufacturer, however, as long as the game had a significant following and continued to maintain a viable market share.
In my opinion, RPG authors can be equated to artists, and their games to works of art. There is something special about a given author's work that draws me to it, something special about their ideas, a feeling conveyed by the way that they write and express themselves, in the way they have crafted their rules and their imaginary worlds, which is what I enjoy and admire about their games.
When you take the original author out of the equation and continue to produce works based on their ideas, you have a situation similar to what Brian Walker describes in his translation of the Hua Hu Ching, when he says, "This is like pinning a butterfly: the husk is captured, but the flying is lost."
The best examples of this that I can think of are the multiple versions of Star Trek that continued to be produced after Gene Roddenberry's death, or more pertinent to gaming, the many versions of D&D that continue to be produced, long after the late E. Gary Gygax's name stopped appearing on the cover of the books.
For that reason, I never really enjoyed any of the spin-offs of the former more than I did the original series, or The Next Generation episodes made when Roddenberry was still alive, and never bought any AD&D books after the first edition.
I myself would much rather see new, unique games created by corporate designers who claim to be passionate about RPGs, than another rehash of a great, classic game, minus the heart of its creator.
Corporate Takeover
Lastly, I doubt many would argue that a fundamental objective of big business is profit, plain and simple.
In pursuit of their agendas, large corporations make strategic decisions to ensure their own viability, which sometimes means that their actions are not always in the best interests of their customers, employees, or industry at large.
In the supremely creative and open-ended field of RPG design, perhaps the most blatant display of this sort of maneuvering is for one company to leverage the brand name of a popular holding to lay claim to a penultimate set of "core" rules, and attempt to position them as the sole legitimized RPG system on the market.
To me, one company's efforts to regulate the creation of all future RPGs by licensing its one "true" rule set is nothing more than an arrogant and aggressive marketing ploy, perhaps indicative of the fact that it can not simply buy out its major competitors (as has been the case with many of the large board-game manufacturers).
It is also a tell, announcing that it is that big business, and not game designers, running the show.
Conclusion
Whereas certain large corporations may be very successful at conducting business and turning a profit, I remain unconvinced that they are particularly well-suited to the task of creating pencil-and-paper RPGs.
Perhaps the art of traditional RPG design is best left in the hands of individual, inspired authors, or at the very least, conducted in an environment where game authors maintain total control of their work.
In any case, I firmly believe that just because something is new, does not necessarily mean that is it better. And just because something is popular and makes money, does not necessarily mean it has intrinsic value.
The way we live now, sure, I'd think twice about turning my nose up at selling a game I had written to a large corporation. But I very much doubt that the final version would end up looking anything like what I had originally developed!
Till next time, have fun, and thanks for reading!
