My woke in your face: for more politicised and imperfect games
2024.
You could say that the video games industry is on fire. Not in the ‘it’s cool’ sense, but literally burning before our very eyes. Studios are closing, developers are being laid off in waves, and industry behemoths are collapsing in on themselves. Microsoft, which promised to revolutionise everything with its acquisition of Blizzard, has become an industrial reaper, firing people at every turn. Take-Two is slashing projects, and even studios that were thought to be untouchable, such as Roll7, have been reduced to ashes. And more recently, Behaviour Interactive acquired Red Hook Studios just days after closing Midwinter. Humble Games closed its doors, leaving many studios in total disarray. We also see the entire Annapurna Interactive team decide to resign following questionable management decisions and the deal with Remedy (IGN’s investigation provides a great deal of context on the subject). Just when you think the industry is enjoying a golden age of increasingly spectacular releases, the other side of the coin is a hecatomb of small structures crushed by yield policies and successive commercial failures. Any hope? Let’s just say it’s waning.
And in the midst of all this chaos, another battle is raging, one that is more insidious but just as destructive: the politicisation of video games. Well, let’s be clear: the politicisation debate. Because, of course, games have always been political. Whether through their messages, their mechanics, or their mere existence in a market shaped by societal choices, video games cannot be dissociated from politics. And yet, a handful of reactionaries – hello, Julien Chièze – continue to advocate a kind of ideological neutrality, as if games should simply entertain us, clear our minds, make us forget that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. But let’s be honest: this quest for apolitical neutrality is nothing more than a mask for defending the status quo. Behind this call for ‘fun’ games, there is a fear. A fear of seeing diverse voices raised, a fear of seeing stories that challenge the established order.
Let’s take a moment to remember an essential truth: art is political. It always is. Even titles that we take for simple entertainment – FIFA, Call of Duty, Fortnite – are political. These are works that propagate values and ideologies, often without us even realising it. So claiming that video games should be ‘neutral’? It’s at best naive, at worst a manipulation to keep subversive voices out.
And that’s where we need to set the record straight: video games are a powerful medium. It is an art form that can and must contribute to social change. But in 2024, we are still fighting for this right. Conservative voices cry ‘scandal’ as soon as a game tackles issues of gender, race or social justice. They scream ‘woke propaganda’. But in reality, what they are defending is an idea of videogame art as a tool for comfort, for validating the world as it is. Sorry, but no. Art, and video games in particular, should be disturbing, provocative and thought-provoking. Because if we let these reactionaries win, if we accept an ‘apolitical’ video game, we give up our power to transform the world.
And frankly, with the current state of the industry, it may be the only power we have left.
An intense political world: why video games cannot be apolitical
The idea that a video game could be apolitical is as naive as it is absurd. It’s like believing that the air we breathe is free of impurities or that the water we drink is nothing but pure H₂O. It’s a comfortable myth, an illusion that mainly serves those who refuse to see the world as it is: a battlefield of ideas, values, social struggles. And in this context, video games, like all art forms, can never be neutral. They are a response, a reflection, or even a challenge to the world that gave birth to them.
From its earliest beginnings, art has always been a mirror of society, a tool for challenging the powers that be or exalting ideologies. From the architecture of cathedrals projecting the power of the Church to street graffiti expressing rebellion, art has always been a response to the social order. And let’s be clear: video games are no different. As a creative work, it cannot escape its time, its influences and its contradictions. Creating a video game is inevitably anchored in a political context. Whether through the choice of mechanics, the representation of characters or the stories it chooses to tell (or not to tell), every game sends out a message about what is acceptable, what is valued, what is invisible.
So, no, Call of Duty isn’t just an FPS where you shoot bad guys with no consequences. Yes, there’s an ideological dimension behind every side, every mission, every spectacular explosion. In the same way, games like Animal Crossing speak to us of social structures, of a capitalist utopia disguised under a cute aesthetic. To refuse to see politics in video games is to refuse to see the world around them.
Let’s take some concrete examples, games that fully embrace their political dimension. Disco Elysium is a game that literally places politics at the heart of its gameplay. In this dystopian world where society is collapsing under the weight of its own contradictions, every dialogue choice and every interaction reveals layers of ideological thought: communism, liberalism, fascism. The game doesn’t just ask these questions; it confronts you with them, forcing you to take sides, to confront your own biases. And what about Papers, Please? Here, bureaucracy becomes a weapon of repression. You take on the role of a customs officer in a totalitarian state, where every stamp on a passport is a life-or-death sentence. The game doesn’t seek to entertain us; it confronts us with a chilling reality: that of arbitrariness and systemic dehumanisation. How can we pretend that this is not political? By the way, I’d like to refer you to Bénédicte’s superb article on revolutions in video games, which echoes this section. Even a game like Celeste, which at first appears to be a simple platformer about climbing a mountain, hides a deeply political message. The mountain to be climbed is one of mental health, of internal struggles against depression and anxiety. It’s a game that, through its narrative and mechanics, celebrates resilience, helping others and overcoming obstacles that are not just physical.
These games do much more than entertain: they question, provoke and encourage reflection. They are political because they dare to tackle subjects that matter, subjects that disturb. And that’s exactly what we need in this industry: more voices, more diversity, more stories that break the mould of the video game as a simple consumer product.
And that’s where the detractors come in. Every time a game tackles these themes, every time it dares to be different, the cries of ‘too woke! It’s almost become a predictable refrain. But the reality is that the voices that accuse games of being ‘too political’ or ‘too diverse’ are the same voices that want to stifle change. These are the same voices that have criticised the presence of women, LGBTQIA+ characters and people of colour in games. What they call ‘apolitism’ is in fact a refusal to see the medium evolve, a desire to return to a time when only certain stories, those of cisgender white men, had the right to be told. But we’re not going back. Video games must continue to open up to diverse voices and fresh perspectives. Because that’s what progress is all about. And those who cry ‘propaganda’ or ‘political correctness’ are merely defending their privileges. The world is changing, and the video games industry must evolve with it, even if this upsets those who would like everything to remain frozen in the past.
How communities are shaping the video game landscape
Video games are no longer simply an isolated consumer product. It has become a forum for dialogue, debate and ideological confrontation between communities. It is these communities that often shape the discourse and values conveyed by games, developers and, more broadly, the industry as a whole. These groups of gamers, creators and activists play a key role in the direction the medium takes. We often talk about game creators, but the reality is that online and offline communities have just as much influence on the way video games are perceived, criticised and consumed. Their power is immense, for better or for worse.
A striking example is The Last of Us Part II. The game has certainly divided people, but it has also generated an incredible wave of support from gamers who identify with its progressive vision. Ellie, a queer character in a post-apocalyptic world, embodies a voice that is rarely represented in AAA games. And the community that has formed around the game has defended it tooth and nail in the face of a barrage of reactionary and hateful criticism. This community represents a part of the videogame landscape that refuses to be silenced in the face of intolerance, and is actively campaigning for greater diversity and complexity in the stories we are told.
But being a progressive community also means having to become a target, to our great misfortune. That’s the price we pay for taking a stand in an increasingly polarised environment. Take the case of Sweet Baby Inc, a company specialising in narrative creation and support for marginalised voices in video games. The company has been fiercely attacked by ‘anti-wokists’ for daring to include stories and characters from communities that are often under-represented. Why such relentlessness? Because Sweet Baby Inc is doing precisely what reactionaries hate: giving a voice to those who don’t have one enough.
The harassment has reached absurd proportions. Threats, smear campaigns, calls for boycotts… All aimed at silencing a company whose only crime is wanting to tell more diverse, more inclusive stories. And yet, despite this storm of hatred, Sweet Baby Inc continues to fight. Their loyal and active community has not given up. They are fighting together for a future in video games where everyone, whatever their identity, can see themselves represented. It’s this kind of resistance that shows just how essential communities are in defending a progressive vision of video games.
But we must also recognise that the battle is far from won. Influential figures are constantly fanning the reactionary flames. Under the guise of neutrality or benevolence, they propagate ideas that fuel online hate campaigns. Some present themselves as ‘objective’ figures, but in reality they are simply exploiting the fears and frustrations of a certain public to generate buzz. They play on the controversies surrounding ‘games that are too political’ to fan the flames of resentment, indirectly encouraging harassment against developers and studios that dare to defend non-retrograde positions.
Fortunately, progressive communities, although often the targets of this hatred, have found ways to fight back. They are mobilising, organising support campaigns and publicly denouncing toxic discourse. They use social networks not only to make their struggles visible, but also to educate and raise awareness among players of the social and political issues behind each game. And that’s precisely where their strength lies: in their ability to turn online harassment into an opportunity to raise awareness and strengthen solidarity. How can we not mention the actions of Furax or Afrogameuses.
It is clear that video games can no longer be considered as mere entertainment. It is a space of struggle, an ideological battlefield, where communities play a central role. They are both the guardians of a certain progressive ideal and the prime targets of reactionary attacks. But as long as these communities continue to fight, as long as they refuse to be silenced, they will continue to shape the future of video games. A future where diversity of voice is not just tolerated, but celebrated.
The hypocrisy of reactionaries
One of the arguments most often trotted out by reactionaries is that video games should be ‘apolitical’. That they should only exist for ‘fun’, for mindless entertainment. But this argument is not only naïve, it’s also hypocritical. Because the truth is that all video games are political, whether they like it or not. Even those that seem the most innocent, the most ‘neutral’, like FIFA or The Sims, are deeply charged with political messages. The simple fact of presenting a world, rules and a hierarchy of values is already a political act.
Take FIFA (sorry, FC24). On the face of it, what could be more apolitical than a football game where you control teams, score goals and climb the rankings? Except that beneath this apparently smooth surface lies a whole web of political decisions. The glorification of the big teams, the central role of sponsors, the almost exclusive presence of men’s teams, the absence of any discussion of the working conditions of the players and workers around the stadiums… All this makes FIFA not a neutral game, but one that is deeply rooted in a capitalist and patriarchal vision of sport. The simple fact of not dealing with these issues, or of normalising them, is already a political choice. And if you dig a little deeper, you’ll find even more. The football industry is plagued by corruption, sexual violence scandals, latent homophobia among players, flagrant inequalities between North and South, and disgraceful working conditions for stadium builders in countries such as Qatar (I refer you to Blast’s incredible investigative work on this subject). But FIFA chooses to ignore all this, to offer us a smooth and comfortable version of reality. In other words, FIFA is a political game, but it’s a game that chooses not to show us the real thing, not to confront us with the systemic injustices of the sport it claims to celebrate.
Even games like The Sims, where you control the lives of characters in a fictional society, are full of political messages. Sims can work, start families, buy houses. But what jobs are open to them? What family roles are valued in the game? What are the values of the society it proposes? Here again, beneath the surface of the game, there are strong political choices, choices that often reinforce conservative and heteronormative norms. To believe that this type of game is ‘neutral’ is to ignore the social and political dynamics at work.
And then, of course, there are the public figures like Julien Chièze, who are riding this wave of depoliticised gaming to build their own buzz. Chièze likes to present himself as a neutral, benevolent observer, a video game fan who just wants to ‘share his passion’. But beneath this façade lies a far more insidious agenda. By making videos in which he criticises the excesses of representation in video games, he feeds a reactionary rhetoric that appeals to a certain audience.
The Twitter threads we recently observed clearly show how this gentleman uses the codes of polemics to make himself relevant. He plays a balancing act, placing himself at the centre of debates, while relegating progressive games to a sort of niche, as if they were excessive or too militant. But in reality, this supposedly neutral stance masks complacency with reactionary ideas. Julien Chièze is consolidating and validating an imaginary world in which video games should remain in a comfort zone, far removed from societal debates, far removed from the fight for diversity and inclusion. This is what we call reactionary buzz culture: a mixture of manufactured polemics and latent, even retrograde conservatism, under the guise of neutrality.
It’s crucial to understand that the video game industry will not evolve as long as these reactionary voices continue to carry so much weight. As long as figures like Chièze and other influencers in the same vein can spread their vision of the world with impunity, the industry will remain stuck in an ideological impasse. What we need is a clear rejection of these discourses, an affirmation of the political dimension of video games and their capacity to be a tool for social change.
Fuck perfection: the importance of accepting imperfection and experimentation in politicised games
In a world where everything seems calibrated to be optimised, where every pixel is refined to the extreme and where the slightest bug is synonymous with disgrace, it’s time to say loud and clear: fuck perfection. Video games don’t need to be perfect to be powerful. It doesn’t need ultra-realistic 4K or constant 60 FPS animation to touch, to provoke, to make you think. It’s this obsession with technical perfection that all too often stifles experimentation, nipping in the bud crazy ideas, baffling mechanics and unexpected stories. But if we want games that dare, that take risks, we have to accept imperfection, even celebrate it.
Let’s look at some concrete examples. Undertale. This game, with its old-fashioned 16-bit graphics and deliberately offbeat RPG mechanics, has nothing in common with a AAA blockbuster. And yet it left its mark on a whole generation of gamers. And why? Because it dares to use its apparent imperfections to touch on something much deeper. Undertale plays with our expectations, with the very rules of video games, to make us feel empathy, to question our own relationship to violence and morality in games. Here, it’s not the ultra-detailed textures that count, but the raw emotion and intelligent storytelling.
In the same way, Kentucky Route Zero uses a minimalist aesthetic and almost outdated point-and-click adventure mechanics to plunge us into a poetic, surreal atmosphere, where every dialogue seems to resonate like a poem. This game is about the failure of the American dream, about economic and social alienation. There’s no need for visual overkill or frenetic action. It’s all about the atmosphere, the strange melancholy that permeates every scene, every line of dialogue. It’s the apparent imperfections and atypical narrative choices that make these games memorable and powerful. Emotion is generated by imperfect mechanics and simple but evocative visuals that leave room for imagination and interpretation. I discuss this at greater length in my article on the influence of David Lynch on the end of the American Dream.
What do you get? A AAA industry that’s all about technical perfection. The latest Call of Duty must have the best graphics, the best animations, the most realistic physics. But at what price? These games are often devoid of any strong artistic or political vision. They are designed to appeal to the masses, to maximise profits. The game is a product, formatted and calibrated to be perfect… but perfect according to the standards of video-game capitalism, which demand that everything be smooth, with no rough edges and no risk-taking. The irony is that this quest for technical perfection often drains games of their soul. We end up with worlds that are visually impressive but devoid of deep meaning, characters modelled with insane precision but whose dialogue is hollow, endlessly recycling the same clichés. It’s not perfection, it’s sterility.
Meanwhile, independent games, often produced on ridiculously small budgets in comparison, are daring to tackle complex themes, experiment with new mechanics and challenge established conventions. But to do this, you have to accept that these games will not be technically perfect. They will have bugs, less fluid animations and more ‘old school’ graphics. But so what? What counts is the vision, the message, the emotion.
And this is where we get to the heart of the matter: imperfection itself can be a political act. In a world where capitalism demands optimisation and profitability at every stage, creating an imperfect game is already resistance. It’s saying: ‘I refuse to conform to market norms’. Making a game that doesn’t meet AAA standards means asserting that other paths are possible, that experimentation, creativity and a diversity of voices count for more than turnover or the number of copies sold. Creating a game that is ‘imperfect’ in the technical sense therefore sometimes means consciously choosing to deviate from commercial expectations. It’s about reintroducing humanity and sincerity into a medium that all too often drifts away from its creative roots to become a machine for producing calibrated entertainment. It means rejecting formatting and standardisation, and offering something more personal and daring. And that, in the end, is the essence of politics in video games. Not being afraid of imperfection, not being afraid of failure, not being afraid of displeasing. Because at the end of the day, what matters is moving things forward, opening up new horizons, challenging the status quo. Our very good Zeph & Ramo tackle this notion very well in their great Weird Game Manifesto.
Small games for diverse voices: supporting independent developers and marginalised communities
In an industry dominated by sterilised blockbusters and financial behemoths, it is often the small independent studios that emerge as islands of resistance and diversity. These studios, with their limited resources but unbridled creativity, carry on their shoulders the ambition to make voices heard that are found nowhere else in the video games industry. They explore themes that the industry giants deem too ‘niche’, too risky, too politicised. In reality, they are the ones redefining what video games can be.
Take Night in the Woods, an independent game that plunges us into the life of a young woman returning to her small working-class town devastated by the economic crisis. With its cute graphics and melancholy atmosphere, Night in the Woods tackles issues of precariousness, depression and existential angst. This game is a true reflection of the social reality experienced by millions of people, an image that AAA studios don’t even dare to touch. Where the big studios avoid any talk of economic insecurity so as not to offend their investors, the independents dive headfirst into these themes, and it works. Another striking example is If Found…, a narrative game that deals with identity crisis, loss and human relationships through the prism of a young trans woman in Ireland. Here, questions of gender and sexuality are at the heart of the story, far removed from the superficial or caricatured representations often found in mainstream productions. Small studios offer invaluable freedom for these creators, who want to share more personal, heartfelt stories that are, above all, more in tune with contemporary struggles.
Far from being anecdotal, these games are essential vehicles for diversity in video games. They prove that it is possible to create political works while remaining deeply rooted in emotion and humanity. Far from the sterile polemics about ‘wokism’, they are showing that the representation of minorities and social issues is an asset, not a burden. However, the reality for these independent developers is far from idyllic. While platforms such as itch.io offer alternatives to traditional distribution channels, the battle is still very unequal. Steam, with its stranglehold on the market, imposes conditions and standards that often stifle smaller creators. Similarly, Unity, which presents itself as the technical solution for independent studios, has recently made disastrous economic decisions that jeopardise the future of thousands of small games.
This is where an invisible but decisive battle is being fought for the future of video games. By supporting these independent platforms, helping them to grow and stand up to the giants, we are enabling new voices to be heard. But this is not yet enough. We need to go further. It is crucial to create creative spaces where the diversity of voices and stories is encouraged and not restricted by the economic or technical imperatives imposed by the industry giants. The success of small platforms like itch.io proves that there is a real demand for games that think outside the box, games that dare to talk about politics, gender and society. These are the kinds of initiatives that need massive support to counterbalance the platforms that all too often favour profit over creativity.
Independent video games are not just a matter for Western creators. Increasingly, studios from regions with less exposure on the international scene are making their voices heard with radically different narratives and perspectives. I’ve often talked about the Canadian studio 1000xRESIST (made up of members of Asian diasporas), which allows us to explore the generational impact that immigration or a diaspora can have. Similarly, Never Alone, developed in collaboration with members of the Iñupiat community in Alaska, is another example of how video games can be used to preserve and transmit marginalised cultures, while denouncing the legacy of colonialism. This game is both a political act and an act of remembrance, a reminder that video games can be much more than mere entertainment.
These examples show that it is essential to break out of the shackles of the Western market and explore stories that are not simply variations on the same themes of power, domination and violence. By promoting these games from different cultures and contexts, we are helping to enrich video games as an artistic and political medium. These works are essential, not only for the diversity they bring, but also for the way in which they challenge the hegemonic vision that the Western industry has been imposing for decades. In a world where the voices of minorities and the marginalised are too often silenced, small studios and independent developers are the guardians of a precious freedom of expression. They are the bearers of hope, the hope that video games can become a space for diversity, dialogue and resistance in the face of the reactionary forces that would like to see them remain a simple, depoliticised consumer tool. By supporting them, we are supporting not only the creators, but also the very idea that video games can be a driving force for social change.
Going beyond Unity and Steam
It’s time to face up to the fact that the current video game landscape is dominated by two behemoths which, under the guise of democratising development and distribution, actually maintain a stranglehold on the industry: Unity and Steam. While, on the face of it, these platforms have enabled many independent creators to emerge, they now present major obstacles to creativity and diversity. Far from being simply neutral tools, they actively influence the type of content we consume, the voices that can be heard, and the stories that end up disappearing into the abyss of algorithms.
The scandal that rocked Unity in 2023 is a clear example of how a platform supposedly at the service of independent developers can turn against them overnight. As a reminder, Unity, once the preferred engine for small studios, decided to introduce an absurd pricing model that imposed extra charges on developers every time a user installed their game. This pricing model, directly modelled on a purely capitalist logic, literally threatened to destroy hundreds of independent projects. This fiasco is not insignificant. It illustrates the extent to which creators are dependent on a few platforms which, under the guise of offering accessible tools, exert an invisible but immense control over video game production. Small studios do not have the resources to turn away from these tools, and this dependence creates a balance of power in which they are forced to bow to the unilateral decisions of a giant corporation. Unity, originally seen as the engine of creative freedom, has been transformed into another brick in the capitalist edifice, where profitability takes precedence over art and social progress.
On the other side of the spectrum, Steam continues to occupy a quasi-monopolistic position in the distribution of video games, and this poses much deeper problems than it might seem. Yes, Steam allows small developers to publish their games, but at what price? In this gigantic video game supermarket, visibility is one of the first victims. Steam’s recommendation algorithms massively favour AAA games, those that already have a colossal marketing budget and that often embody increasingly apolitical, sterile and conformist visions.
The reality is simple: if your game is small, independent and, worst of all, politically committed, it will be lost in the depths of Steam. The platform promotes a standardised video game market, where stories of resistance, diversity and social criticism have very little space to express themselves. Despite its appearance as a free and open market, Steam is in reality a filter that actively limits politically divergent perspectives. This hegemony only reinforces the status quo: games with no flavour, no risk and no audacity get all the exposure, while those that try to tell a different story are invisible.
Fortunately, in the face of these giants, alternatives are beginning to emerge, offering a breath of fresh air to creators and gamers in search of different experiences. Platforms like itch.io have established themselves as safe havens for independent developers, particularly those whose games dare to challenge the dominant cultural and political norms. On itch.io, there are no overwhelming algorithms or favouritism for blockbusters, but genuine creative freedom. This is where more radical, more experimental works find their place.
GOG is another platform which, although more moderate than itch.io, offers an alternative to the excessive centralisation of Steam. GOG puts forward a philosophy of respect for consumers by refusing DRM (Digital Rights Management), which puts it out of step with the aggressive commercial practices of its competitors. Finally, it is crucial to look at open source solutions. Game engines like Godot, which are totally open source and free to use, are weapons of resistance against dependence on giants like Unity. These tools allow developers to regain control over their creations and avoid the traps set by companies that are only concerned with their financial return. By turning to more open and ethical platforms and tools, the video games industry can embark on a path that is more inclusive and more respectful of creators, while encouraging the emergence of games that dare to tackle fundamental issues.
This shift is imperative if we are to break free from the stranglehold of the monopolies and encourage a diversity of voices in video games. The industry must realise that it cannot continue to operate under the yoke of a few platforms, dictated by the rules of pure capitalism, to the detriment of creativity, diversity and art. More than ever, we need new ways of democratising access to development and distribution tools, ways that will allow marginalised creators to express themselves and redefine what video games can be.
Experimental games are the future of the video games industry
The experimental games scene remains a unique space, essential to the evolution of the medium. It is here, far from the commercial constraints and formatted expectations of the general public, that new ideas are born, the limits of game mechanics are pushed back, and marginalised voices are allowed to express themselves freely. These games, often off the traditional radar, are the engines of innovation and represent the true avant-garde of the industry. Experimental games do not seek to please everyone, nor do they strive for irreproachable levels of technical perfection. Their strength lies in their boldness, their willingness to explore uncharted territory, and their ability to question established conventions. Far from being mere curiosities, these works are essential to the future of video games, and it’s time for the industry, gamers and creators alike to fully recognise their importance.
Some creators have made a speciality of these misunderstood works, on the borderline between art and games. Such is the case of Porpentine Charity Heartscape, a developer and artist whose interactive games, mainly created with Twine, are often emotional and visceral explorations of pain, marginalisation and queer identity. Her most iconic work, With Those We Love Alive, immerses the player in a dreamlike, dystopian universe where every decision affects not only the narrative, but also the player’s state of mind. Through immersive instructions, she sometimes asks players to draw on their own bodies, blurring the boundary between the screen and physical reality.
In a similarly radical vein, Nina Freeman‘s Cibele offers a deeply intimate experience, combining autobiography and narrative gameplay. The player explores the messages and conversations of a young woman who falls in love with another online gamer. Freeman uses a simple yet poignant aesthetic to create an experience that delves into the vulnerability and fuzzy nature of online relationships. Here, there is no heroic quest or clear goals to achieve; instead, the game focuses on capturing the mundane and deeply personal reality of human interaction in digital space.
Some experimental games push the very notion of ‘game’ even further. Take Tale of Tales, a studio that specialises in artistic games that are often considered incomprehensible to traditional audiences. Their project The Endless Forest is an online multiplayer game with no objectives, where players take on the role of deer in a mysterious forest. There are no missions, conflicts or dialogue. Players communicate solely through gestures and behaviour, creating a meditative, even transcendent atmosphere. This absence of a traditional play structure prompts us to reconsider the notion of games as interactive activities. Here, the experience relies entirely on atmosphere and personal interpretation, leaving each player to construct his or her own story without explicit narrative intervention.
Other conceptual games, such as Michael Frei‘s Plug & Play, explore the absurdity of the human condition through a series of surreal and disconcerting interactions. This short but striking game plays with anthropomorphic forms that literally plug into each other, in a series of bizarre and humorous scenarios that question connection, identity and solitude. With its minimalist visuals and unexplained mechanisms, Plug & Play perfectly embodies this philosophy of pure experimentation: there is no right way to play, only an invitation to plunge into a strange and unsettling universe.
One of the most fascinating aspects of the experimental games scene is the gradual abandonment of traditional interfaces. Nathalie Lawhead‘s Everything Is Going to Be OK is an interactive work that refuses to conform to what we think of as a video game. This fragmented experience, similar to a digital zine, explores themes of trauma, depression and survival, while playing with the player’s expectations. Rather than offering fluid gameplay, Everything Is Going to Be OK constantly breaks the fourth wall and uses apparent bugs as a narrative element. The game represents frustration, confusion and catharsis, while breaking traditional design conventions.
Jamie Gavin‘s work on ECHOSTASIS is a perfect example of what the ultra-experimental games scene can offer in terms of intrigue and subversiveness. ECHOSTASIS plunges players into a cybernetic dystopia where they must navigate through simulated realities, each reflecting the existential and technological anxieties of our time. The game’s aesthetic is a nightmarish fusion of glitch art, disintegrated virtual landscapes and a narrative that pushes the boundaries of the medium. Gavin does not offer a linear or easily comprehensible experience; on the contrary, he seeks to disconcert, provoke and confront players with themes as complex as the dissolution of identity in the digital world and the alienation caused by the over-consumption of virtual reality.
Similarly, Pippin Barr, a creator renowned for his minimalist conceptual experiments, has shaken up the codes with The Artist Is Present, a game that recreates the experience of Marina Abramović’s work at MoMA, where the player simply has to sit, wait, and watch the artist in silence. Here, the gameplay is entirely passive, and yet performance as a video game questions patience, attention and the nature of human interaction. Barr takes things a step further with It Is As If You Were Doing Work, an absurd ‘work simulator’ that critiques our relationship to productivity and capitalism through an interface that mimics corporate software. This kind of deliberately frustrating conceptual work reveals the extent to which games can transcend mere entertainment to become social critics in their own right.
Experimental games are not limited to individual creators; they also benefit from events and platforms that offer them visibility, albeit limited. Now Play This, a London-based festival, celebrates this type of experience by offering creators a space to showcase their work to a wider audience. Events such as the Experimental Gameplay Workshop, held every year at GDC, are essential incubators for this scene. The EGW gives a voice to developers who are exploring unusual concepts, innovative mechanics and unusual artistic approaches. It’s often here that future blockbusters are presented in prototype form, allowing creators to exchange ideas and receive feedback from a community open to experimentation. Another flagship event is A MAZE in Berlin, a festival of independent and experimental games that celebrates diversity and innovation. It brings together developers from all horizons, often on the fringes of the commercial circuits, to present works that don’t fit into any box. These include games that challenge the traditional rules of game design, explore hybrid art forms and, above all, give a voice to marginalised creators. The importance of these events is paramount: they allow alternative voices to be heard and to find their audience.
Alternative platforms such as itch.io also play a crucial role. Unlike Steam, where algorithms favour big-budget titles, itch.io provides a stage where creators can showcase ultra-niche experiences without being overwhelmed by the marketing of industry giants. Projects such as David Kanaga’s Oikospiel, an experimental video-game opera that blends music, architecture and game design into a unique sensory experience, find their place here, reaching an audience hungry for out-of-the-ordinary discoveries.
The future of video games does not lie in a sterile quest for technical perfection or in the search for an illusory political neutrality. On the contrary, it is built on the richness of marginalised voices, on the diversity of human experience, and on the acceptance of imperfection as a creative force. If we want the videogame medium to continue to evolve, it must be an arena for engagement and reflection, where games take risks, carry messages and reflect the social struggles of our time. Faced with industry giants who standardise entertainment and stifle diversity, supporting politically committed developers is an act of resistance in itself. Every time you buy an independent game with a political message, every time you share a daring work and every time you support a small studio, you’re helping to shape a more inclusive future.
It’s time to open our eyes and minds to games that dare to tackle issues such as identity, injustice, mental health and immigration. Supporting them means rejecting the reactionary view that games are just fun without depth, meaningless content designed solely to keep the masses passively consuming. These games are political because they are human, because they tell stories that touch, sometimes disturb, but always echo tangible realities.
The time has come for every gamer, every developer and every industry player to take a stand. Let’s support platforms like itch.io or GOG, discover open source tools like Godot, and favour creative spaces that leave room for diversity. It’s crucial that we reject influencers who propagate backward-looking views, and that we stop letting the likes of Julien Chièze and others manipulate public opinion with rhetoric that is benevolent on the surface but deeply conservative in the subtext. Together, let’s ensure that this medium evolves in a direction that values imperfections, celebrates diversity, and isn’t afraid to be resolutely politicised. Because the future of video games lies not in perfection, but in commitment. There are still a lot of platforms to build and solutions to find to stop this capitalist hegemony, but we’ll get there.
Sources
https://techcrunch.com/2024/09/20/tech-layoffs-2024-list
https://www.eurogamer.net/goodbye-roll7-you-deserved-so-much-better
https://www.gamedeveloper.com/business/behaviour-interactive-acquires-darkest-dungeon-dev-red-hook
https://www.gamesindustry.biz/humble-games-devs-told-company-is-shutting-down
https://fr.kotaku.com/sweet-baby-inc-consulting-games-alan-wake-2-dei-1851312527
https://www.wired.com/story/porpentine-twine-game