Deathwhiff 3000 is a four-player cooperative game developed during the summer of 2014 as part of a game design class taught by Heather Kelley, Playing with the Senses, at Concordia University in Montreal. Presented with the challenge to integrate the sense of smell into a playful interaction, a team of artists developed Deathwhiff 3000, a game that integrates a system for scent delivery that associates key odorants with characters in the game. In addition to being the game’s name, the Deathwhiff 3000 is the scent delivery hardware that is at once a virtual and physical device – both the characters in the game and the players in the physical world are connected through the use of the device. In this way, Deathwhiff 3000 pushes the sensory experience of a traditional screen/controller game by relying on the players’ sense of smell in order to differentiate characters in the game.

Inspired by Heather’s 2013 lecture The Challenges & Potential of Scent, the team set about to create a game where the use of scent would go beyond that of a stimulus feedback, and operate as an essential component of game play. The concept took many forms during brainstorming sessions all with the goal to use scent as a means to differentiate visually similar characters. The original narrative involved werewolf lore in that scent would be used to identify humans that had been bitten and infected by werewolves. This initial idea evolved into Deathwhiff 3000, a post-apocalyptic game in which an infectious virus transforms victims into zombies. The original concept was maintained insofar as the requirement that the sense of smell be used to differentiate characters in the game, and achieve the game’s objective.

The connection between the characters in the game and the players is through the scent delivery hardware, the Deathwhiff 3000 device. Unable to find a suitable off-the-shelf scent player, the team considered Mint Digital’s 3D printable Olly, a web connected smelly robot. This idea, however, was abandoned due to the Olly’s limited ability to play a single scent. The game’s narrative required at least three distinct smells in addition to a fourth neutralizing odour to facilitate the differentiation between the odorants. For this reason, a decision was taken to design and build a custom scent player that could play four different smells, three corresponding to characters in the game, and one reserved for a neutralizing odour.

The primary objective in Deathwhiff 3000 is to kill zombies and save humans. To achieve this goal and to encourage team play, the game was designed for four players each with distinct roles – a tech, a medic, and two hunters. The tech controls the Deathwhiff 3000 device and must sniff the human-looking non-player characters (NPC’s) to identify their level of infection. The medic must then either inoculate or vaccinate the NPC’s, and the hunters must kill the incurables and the zombies. As the tech performs the sniffing action, the physical Deathwhiff 3000 omits an odour. It is up to the players to identify the smell and determine if the NPC is either not infected and must be inoculated, infected and may be given an antivirus, or is incurable and must be killed. The medic’s role is to administer the inoculation or antivirus, and the hunters must kill the incurables and zombies. The medic is also able to revive the player characters if they become infected; however, the medic cannot self-heal and must therefore be protected. When the medic dies, the game ends.

The challenge in designing and building the Deathwhiff 3000 device involved creating hardware that would effectively deliver the odorants to the players without the smells becoming intermingled. Several different designs were sketched out and vetted before arriving at a design that seemed to be the most promising. The final design took the form of a custom-built airtight wooden box containing four small sealed containers for the different odorants. Four squirrel blower fans were mounted on one end of the box and connected to the air input of the sealed scent containers using PVC tubing. The air outputs of the scent containers were then connected to the other end of the wooden box with PVC tubing. All the tubing was sealed with silicon and hose clamps so that each odorant formed a sealed system within the wooden box, each scent with its own air intake and exhaust. Further leak proofing was achieved by installing extra tubing in the box to provide a greater air buffer between the scent containers and the outside of the wooden box.

The selection of different odorants was difficult insofar as finding scents that would effectively represent the NPC’s in the game. As mentioned above, these NPC’s include uninfected humans that must be inoculated, humans that are infected and must be given an antivirus, as well as incurable humans and zombies. A scent was required for each character type as well as one serving to reset the players’ sense of smell. At first, the team endeavoured to use organic smells; however, testing revealed that these types of smells were either ineffective or too offensive. Some examples of odorants that were tested include coffee, fish oil, strong cheese, liquid extracted from rotten vegetables, as well as a variety of essential oils. Through experimentation it was determined that essential oils provided the most convenient form being effective, inoffensive, and easy to work with. This with the exception that coffee beans worked the best as a neutralizing odour. The final selection of odorants for the NPC’s are as follows:

1. For uninfected humans that must be inoculated, Soap & Water essential oil was used to create an impression of health.

2. For infected humans that must be given an antivirus, a mixture of Tea Tree, Eucalyptus, and Vetiver Bourbon essential oils were used to create an odour that combined a hint of the bad smell of Vetiver Bourbon with the more sanitary or medical smells of Tea Tree and Eucalyptus.

3. Finally, for the incurable and zombies that must be killed, Vetiver Bourbon essential oil was used for its distinct and bad smell.

Through play testing, it was determined that the most effective placement of the Deathwhiff hardware was adjacent to the players, and at their chest level while seated. The hardware was integrated into gameplay by creating a game mechanic that pauses the game for four seconds when the tech uses the screen-based device to smell a NPC. During the four-second pause, the Deathwhiff 3000 omits one of the three key odorants, and the players have the opportunity to identify the smell and determine what course of action to take. After the four-second pause, the scent fan shuts off and the fan associated with the neutralizing coffee odorant turns on to reset the players’ sense of smell.

Seeing as the first release of Deathwhiff 3000 had to be completed within a two-week time frame, Processing was selected based on the artists’ skill sets. This was in spite of the fact that the Processing environment is not ideal for coding heavy games. Resultantly, a number of challenges were encountered during the development process. Primarily, these challenges involved the relationship between player actions, collision detection, handling of array lists, handling of animations, as well as memory issues encountered during game optimization. With respect to game optimization, it was unfortunate that much of the artwork for the NPC sprite animations had to be sacrificed in order to preserve an effective gaming experience. In addition to these primary challenges, issues were encountered with respect to both implementing four Playstation 3 controllers as well as effectively calculating scoring throughout the game.

In developing the graphics for Deathwhiff 3000, the two main goals involved creating a cohesive aesthetic as well as developing an approach that enabled the generation of a large amount of assets within a short time frame. Initially, a detailed and whimsical approach was taken with respect to the graphics, a style inspired by the game Castle Crashers. In addition, inspiration came from the game, The Binding of Isaac, insofar as it successfully captures a grotesque aesthetic without being too offensive. This stylistic approach was eventually modified to better mesh with the music composed for the game – the moody nature of the soundtrack called for a grittier aesthetic. Out of all the characters, the medic proved to be the most challenging to design. It was crucial that the graphical representation of the Deathwhiff 3000 device form a conceptual link between the virtual and physical hardware. After some experimentation with sketching a sniffer dog, it was decided that the medic be animated as a human carrying the Deathwhiff 3000 hardware to better fit with the game’s narrative. The second goal to generate a large amount of graphic assets in a short timeframe was necessary to meet the deadline for the games first critique. Within the span of four days, eight sprite sheets of 24 sprites each were generated as well as backgrounds and icons representing various objects in the game. In total, 206 assets were created. Unfortunately, due to the previously mentioned optimization issues, most of the NPC animations had to be cut.

On Monday June 30th the game was presented at Concordia University, and there was an overall positive response to both the concept and implementation. Critical Hit Montreal formed the first team of play-testers, and while they described this initial game as somewhat overwhelming, the second game ran much more smoothly. (In the first play-through no one was too sure as to the mechanics of a scent-based game!) During the second round Heather led the team as the medic, and her trained sense of smell led to much smoother gameplay.

The Critical Hit team was generally impressed with Deathwhiff 3000. They did, however, provide some great comments on how to continue polishing the game. Mainly, it was agreed that a slower-paced tutorial level would be helpful to allow the players to familiarize themselves with the different scents in the game and the core mechanics. It was also suggested that more obvious visual feedback be provided to indicate when a player is attacked and hurt by a zombie. Finally, there were some issues with zombies being generated at a faster pace than the other NPC’s as well as the fact that the game had no concrete win-state. These issues are all being resolved and will be incorporated into a future revision of the game.

Game, Concept & Design by The Deathwhiff Team

Olivier Albaracin                   Programming

David Clark                           Physical Computing & Narrative

Milin Li                                  Programming & Graphic Design

Nima Navab                           Physical Computing & Programming

Ana Tavera Mendoza           Animation & Graphic Design

Music byAlexander Westcott

Special thanks to Critical Hit Montreal and TAG for playtesting and reviewing the game.

Deathwhiff 3000 was developed using Processing and Arduino, and its sprites were made using Flash and Photoshop CS6. The Deathwhiff machine was manned with an Arduino UNO board.

 Daily Tous Les Jours brings life to public spaces and gives voice to communities through playful interactions and public participation. Their urban interventions, ranging from musical swings, to fields of microphones, balloons to hammocks, are site-specific. Not only are the made for the community, but they also create a sense of community by igniting shared spatial experiences, which, in turn, animate the site with life. Each project has its own narrative to tell. Whether achieved over the phone, notes on balloons, through texting, the movement of body or playing with senses, developing an appropriate responsive environment with simple and recognizable interaction design remains central to their work. Simple yet powerful interactions that tell a story, or allow the story to be told from the voice of others, is one of the biggest challenges artists face, and Daily Tous Les Jours deals with it beautifully.

Through the course Playing With Senses with Heather Kelly, our class got the opportunity to interact with Daily Tous Les Jours and their work on two occasions. The first was a visit to the swings (“21 Balançoires”) at Place Des Arts, where we spent time swinging back and forth with classmates and friends, paying attention to how our movement triggered different instruments and notes that played out of speakers around us. As I swung higher, the notes got higher, and as my movement with the others swinging around me became more and more synchronized, the music became more harmonious. These simple interactions, triggered by a gyroscope and an accelerometer in the swing’s butt seat, encouraged the swingers to cooperate, swing together and in the end share a laugh, a moment. Whether this moment is shared by friends, lovers, or strangers meeting for the first time, the piece always creates rich social interactions. “21 Balançoires” gives way to playful social interactions, inviting the public to share space in the heart of Place Des Arts. For these reasons, even though the piece was commissioned to be installed for only a brief period, the community got together and convinced the city to allow it to be a permanent installation.

Our second interaction with Daily Tous Les Jours was an inside visit to their studio led by Mouna Andraos – along with Melisssa Mongiat, Mouna is a founder of the company. The company’s main focus is to consider “technology as a vehicle for social change” and their “work is geared towards demystifying and disseminating technology.” (source) Among Mouna’s extensive involvement in worldwide workshops and design centers, she is also an occasional professor at Concordia University, namely for a course called Physical Computing & Tangible Media.

In our visit to the lively studio of Daily Tous Les Jours, Mouna briefly introduced us to the company and the sort of projects they do – exposing us to s sneak peak of four projects in the making. The first one was a tent like structure with a series of tubes surrounding it, and a chair in the middle. The team knew they wanted to work with scents of different plants, such as curry & lavender plants, however the installation was in no way polished, and it was here that Mouna shared with us the invaluable process of brainstorming. She explained that making these projects required a lot of people bringing different assets and ideas to the table.

In our own Final project in class, “DeathWhiff 3000”, which was heavily influenced by Heather Kelly’s projects, lecture and talks about incorporating scent into gameplay, and in part influenced by Daily Tous Les Jours, and “I can’t see the sense in this” exploration project in our class, we came across the same understanding very quickly. Everyone in the group had something special to offer, adding new ideas to the overall concept. Our visit to the studio helped us a lot in understanding the importance of delineating tasks from the get go. David and I jumped on physical computing, Anna on animation, and Oli and Milin on programming. Much in the same way, when we were visiting the studio, I quickly picked up on the division of work and studio: a group of designers at the think tank table coming up with ideas, admins at their laptops, sound designer playing and making the new chimes installation, and Eva setting up the new swing set and getting it ready to be shipped out.

Another important message that I learned from our visit with Mouna was the importance of keeping it simple, when it makes sense to do so. While prototyping their work for public spaces, Tous Les jours tries to use minimal technology for maximum effect, and in many cases doesn’t use electronics whatsoever. After looking at the chimes project in process – which doesn’t rely heavily on technology, our class went back into the main studio to witness my favorite project in the making: a tangled web of extremely long hammocks. When interweaved together, these hammocks create an amazing labyrinth – a space where people can relax, gather together, talk and play.

I am extremely happy to have had this opportunity to be introduced with Daily Tous Les Jours, and have fallen in love with their projects ever since. Simultaneous with meeting Mouna and being introduced to the company, I was doing my own, independent research at Concordia.  Entitled “Public Space/ Public Interest: site-specific, spatial interventionist practices,” I created mini interventions in parks and other public spaces in Montreal, further solidifying my interests in interactive spatial interventions. I briefly talked to Mouna about the opportunity to do an internship with them next summer and she was very welcoming to the idea. I really hope it will go through, and I am very thankful for this visit, amongst an amazing series of visits and explorations, as part of our Playing with Senses class with Heather Kelly.

Restaurants that offer “blind dining” have been around for some time now. In 1999 Blindekuh, which means “blind cow”, opened in Zurich. There are now restaurants that offer the experience of dining in the dark in cities including Berlin, London, Paris, Moscow, Toronto, as well as Montreal’s O.Noir that opened seven years ago. It seems certain that this style of dining has staying power in spite of critics’ reduction of “blind dining” to a fad.

My experience with dining in the dark was at Montreal’s O.Noir in June of 2014. I may have never had the experience had it not been for a class I took at Concordia University, Playing with the Senses, with visiting artist Heather Kelley. Approaching O.Noir from a sensory perspective certainly shaped my experience – I didn’t go there for the food. It wasn’t until after eating at O.Noir that I came to understand how many who work in fine dining turn their noses up to restaurants that operate in the dark. I spoke with Yann Geoffroy, who works as a server at Montreal’s Joe Beef. In spite of the fact that Yann has never had the experience of dining in the dark, he discussed how, within the industry, the predominant critique of “blind dining” is that seeing your food is integral to the experience of fine dining.

When we arrived at O.Noir as a group of eleven, we gathered in a dimly lit front lobby area where we chose a starter, main course, and dessert. Within each course, there is the option to order a ‘surprise’; however, I ordered the ‘wild mushroom salad’ and ‘grilled fillet mignon’ and no desert. Once all of our orders were placed, our server led us to our seats. Being a large group, we established where we were all seated and then fell into conversations amongst ourselves. This initial experience was for me mostly about figuring out what was around me. How close were my neighbors, what was on the table, where was my water, and so on and so forth. What struck me the most was how quickly I forgot that we were all in the dark. It didn’t take much time for the experience to feel natural and for my remaining senses to become heightened.

As the food arrived so did the challenge of negotiating a plate of food in the dark as well as figuring what to do with the cutlery. I resorted to a technique that involved one hand and one fork as I felt on my plate for something to stab. There is no doubt that there was nothing ‘fine’ about the dining experience. Place settings were there only for the sake of convention as eating was transformed into a visceral experience. This for me was a key part of eating at O.Noir; the food was somehow more delicious because I didn’t have to think about what it looked like or how I looked as I ate it. Dining in the dark didn’t add to how I experienced food, it concentrated it. It also enabled social dining to shed its markers of cultural and class insofar as fine dining is traditionally about how food is both presented and eaten.

O.Noir’s website provides some background on the concept of dining in the dark. In spite of my positive experience dining there, I have some issues with how they market the restaurant. It was certainly an experience like no other, and I was amazed by how quickly my remaining senses compensated for my lack of vision. However, I’m not sure that this is entirely the experience of being visually impaired as O.Noir claims. The visually impaired and blind are aware of the fact that they are being observed. They may have compromised sight, but they are still self-conscious. Dining in the dark is different insofar as you cannot see but you also know that nobody else can see you. In addition to your  senses being heightened, you are liberated from a self-conscious awareness of your visual appearance.

After eating, our group was fortunate enough to speak with Alejandro Martinez, one of the restaurant’s managers. He answered our questions including clarifying that  O.Noir’s servers are not all blind but do have some degree of visual impairment. Martinez also  expanded on O.Noir’s connection to the blind and visually impaired. Zurich’s original Blindekuh was opened by Jorge Spielmann, a blind pastor who opened the restaurant to teach the “sighted about the sightless world, and provide jobs for blind people.” O.Noir stays true to Spielmann’s concept; however, perhaps some of the critique of O.Noir is brought on by the fact that restaurants that have opened since Blindekuh are somewhat removed from Spielmann’s context. In addition, O.Noir brands itself as a fine dining restaurant but fine dining is a visual experience. O.Noir is something different.

Aside from any issues with O.Noir’s marketing, the food is incredible and dining in the dark is tremendously entertaining. I’d recommend the restaurant without any reservation. I would, however, promote it as being a sensory and social rather than fine dining experience.

David Clark, July 7th, 2014

Our trip to Montreal Pinball for the haptic and physical segment of our Playable Media class took us to a beautiful industrial loft space that was completely filled with fully functional or in-repair vintage pinball machines and their predecessors. We were met by Robert Barake, who seemed to know everything possible about the history, design and function of pinball machines, as well as the physical repair and restoration of them. We looked at different macahines chronologically, from the earliest to the newest. The very first machines we looked at was entirely mechanical and has almost no game aspect to it, rather it was sort of a basic gambling system that required very little skill — it was almost entirely a game of chance involving a pull launch ball and holes for the ball to fall into to score points, which you would eventually cash out. This machine had no ‘tilt’ mechanism, which we learnt about right after. The tilt aspect of pinball machines brought in an aspect of skill as well as a preventative measure against cheating — you were able to, and should, shake and jostle the machine a little bit to gain more control of your ball, but only a very slight degree. If you moved the machine too much, the tilt would kick in and you wouldn’t be able to play any more. I found the tilt mechanism to be very interesting because it was one of the aspects of physical pin ball machines that really stood out from my experiences with digital and computerized pin ball games. I personally never played a physical, old-school pin ball machine because the visit to Montreal Pinball and my brain’s idea of pinball was the old Windows 98 mini game, a space themed pinball game. I had always though that it was a pretty boring game, but playing physical pinball was an entirely different experience. The fact that you can, and should, physically jostle to machine adds right off the bat a huge interactive aspect that was entirely missing from the digital versions that I’ve played. It’s much more rewarding and frustrating to have that second level of control over the game: just enough to be more fun than only playing flippers, but not enough that it becomes easy – extra challenging, in fact. The level of haptic feedback that you get from a physical, old school pinball machine in general is really intense as well: from the feel of the machine in front of you to the weight of the ball when you launch it or use the flippers to propel it back into the playing field, or the way that the pings and sounds have an extremely satisfying physical quality to them, as well as the real kickback that you can feel from the obstacles on the course. The whole machine itself vibrates with energy and physical attitude, and that isn’t even considering the amazing art and light displays that are mesmerizing in a way that a computer screen never could be. They are all stylized in an extremely distinct and dated way as well, which really makes the experience of playing one of these machines, at least for me, totally immersive between the physical feedback, the bright lights, sounds, dated art, and the fact that we were playing them surrounded by other people playing other machines. One of the other very distinctly interesting machines that we got to play during this outing was the two player head-to-head pinball machine. According to Robert it was a total flop, at least as far as money-making goes, however I was really excited by the idea of the game mechanisms of pinball, made competitive and social rather than simply versus a machine and play-field.

The game was much less enjoyable than the other games we played, but I feel that that was due much more to poor design than to an actual flaw in the concept, and I still feel like a head-to head pinball game would be a really great game, if executed in a better way. After the field trip I ran into an old pinball machine on the second floor of Katacombs, a bar on St. Laurent street, and got super excited to analyse what kind of and era of machine it was, and now I’m always on the look out for more now!

We went to the MAC during the Montreal Biennale (BIAN) to see (and taste) the Hedonistika Montreal show. A congregate of artists, researchers, chefs and scholars, Hedonistika offers a critical outlook on the relationship between food and technology (and how does the latter affect the former for better and worse) in often fun and creative ways.

What struck me is the sheer intimacy of most of the experiences with the works; feeder robots spoon-fed us strange and unusual mixes (mine tasted like either kefir or spicy mayo), artists swallowing cameras to document the digestion of their food (The Fantastic Voyage, by Stefani Bardin) and scanning audience members’ faces with a hacked Kinect in order to 3D print their portraits (The Bliss Point) all established intimate relationships with us, as taste is a very intimate sense, as we need to ingest food in order to experience taste. Being fed by a robot was an unusual experience, as I felt that we had to trust the machine not to accidentally hit us, let alone to trust it enough for it to give us a random puree designed to have an unusual taste.

(Nima being fed.)

Hedonistika offered a playful and critical way of presenting food–especially in the context of an exhibition, which is something that does not happen often–and it was a well-balanced counterpart to the rest of the exhibition, as BIAN focused primariy on audiovisual works; many of the installations were perhaps immersive, but they were not interactive. Such was the case of Signal To Noise, which, despite it being one of my favorite pieces in the exhibition, did not so much ask to be interacted with as much as to stand and let ourselves be passively immersed.

Signal To Noise is a kinetic sculpture that uses split-flaps depicting letters, which are shuffled in what I initially perceived as a random order, until I noticed that on occasion the letters formed words scattered among the “noise” generated by most of the other letters that spilled gibberish.  The very noise generated by those split-flaps as they rotate (with the help of several servo motors) was overwhelming, and the entire installation strongly referenced Shannon and Weaver’s mathematical model of communication, which is still prevalently used in communication studies to this day. Shannon and Weaver’s model describe communication as a message being encoded by a sender, then wrapped in a medium and in turn decoded by a receiver, which gives feedback to the message’s sender.  However, throughout the model of communication there is always noise–either the sender didn’t encode his message right, or the receiver doesn’t understand, or there is interference as they communicate, like two people trying to speak in a loud room–and the more information there is in the process of communication the more likely there is to be noise.  Signal to Noise reflected that model elegantly, in my opinion, and it was an immersive experience, although I would have liked to be able to interact with it somehow.

In contrast, The Blind Robot  was a very intimate interactive experience that dealt with touch and being touched.

The Blind Robot invites the audience to sit and be touched by a pair of robotic hands, in a manner reminiscent of how blind people touch to explore faces and objects.  At first, the touch feels intrusive and very uncomfortable–I felt like I had taken a dip in the Uncanny Valley, where the object resembles a human in behavior but something feels wrong about it– but after a while I grew comfortable with the machine, and even started to almost give it human characteristics as if it were a real person.  Furthermore, I didn’t have to simply sit passively as the machine did its work, as I could tap my shoulders or my face, and the blind robot would then put its hands where I had previously left them.  The Blind Robot played effectively with touch and proprioception, and it’s hard not to feel for the robotic arms on my shoulders.

Pinball reminds me of my youth, a game which is very special and different.  It has this physical and mechanical quality that most  games don’t. The nostalgic chimes and the loud popping of bumpers all make playing the game more real. The metal ball which is bounced back and forth is being pulled by gravity and being shot back up by flippers. The flippers is the extension of our fingers as we press the buttons on the side to hopefully keep the ball alive. I previously thought that the flipper was the only connection one had to the pinball machine but my idea of this was stripped. As well as my whole outlook on pinball after visiting  Robert Barake’s Pinball wonderland.

Robert Barake who I am labeling as the pinball guru, lives and breathes pinball. He owns a pinball repair company and does not do it for the money but rather for his passion. He not only invited us to come see and play with an array of magnificent pinball machines. But he took us on this wild journey on how the pinball came to be.

The fist pinball machine we all got our hands on was a model which represented the first type of pinball machine. It was made in the 1930s, which was made of wood and had no flippers. So how does one play pinball without flippers? Robert quickly showed us that the heart of pinball is nudging. By concentrating your body weight in to your hands one can slightly nudge the machine to alter the balls path. This seemed skeptical and somewhat lacking in game control. But when Robert started to play one would see professional magic nudging happening. But even with all his nudging the ball would eventually still roll out and drain. So the machine was more luck than control which is why it was labeled as gambling in the early 1930s and was prohibited.

In the early 1930s pinball was a good bang for your buck especially due to the Great Depression era. But it was through history which helped push these marvelous machines to evolve. Many WWII mechanical designers started to pour into electrical machine companies after the war which help developed a significant amount and types of pinball machines. What I was fascinated by most is how each pinball machine was not only totally different but presented varying gameplay and narrative.

Each pinball machine would tell a story, not only about the era it was made but rather a gaming adventure. For example the “Queen of hearts” made one try to collect all the suits and match certain cards to get more points. The design of the board was made so that the ball would only drain if it rolled into holes at the center of the board. This varying style of play made the game unique and each pinball machine was so different it made each of them feel fresh.

My personal favorite was “Split Second” which looked and felt like one of the pinball machine I played when I was younger. Crazy flashing lights, rails everywhere, beeps, bells and loud mechanical feedback. The narrative was about the circus and upon jumping in and playing I had no idea what I was doing, but I was still having fun. Robert quickly told me I had to hit different tiles to collect all the letters and gain the multi-ball and possibly a replay game. This brings up my next aspect about pinball, the machines were made not only for casual players but hardcore players too.

Robert showed us how players can have control of their game as he demonstrated on the tic-tac-toe pinball machines. If one was extremely gifted in pinball one could aim for certain spots on the board to play the “real” game and unlock the game’s true potential.

I will never play or look at pinball the same again. When one plays pinball one must not only stare at the ball and hit buttons. But rather watch the game’s surroundings, hold the machine, nudge at the right moments. Play to find the game’s true design, which also reveals the narrative. The game can be simple or more tactical and boundless if one wanted it to be. As the pinball guru told us, “What makes pinball fantastic is the endless possibilities one can do.”

Since the late 80s early 90s, video game enthusiasts and electrical engineers have been striving for the holy grail of entertainment, the Holodeck. Made popular by the StarTrek Next Generation TV series, the Holodeck is a computer simulated reality room, that can mimic terrain, objects and living interaction with indistinguishable realism.

The first attempts at virtual reality being available to the public were made in the 90s, pushed by the popularity of movies like the Lawnmower Man. The vast majority of virtual reality systems were complete failures, most never even being seen by the eyes of the public.

Virtual Boy by Nintendo

Those with enough pizzazz to make it to production failed in the long run,  due to the incredible costs, and crude graphical design. With all the technical and financial problems aside, VR has always struggled in the game design department. Although VR is an incredible concept, it has proven to be very difficult to use is in combination with traditional video game making. Whether discomfort, nausea or a simple lack creativity in the game design, VR game making needs a lot more experimentation to become mainstream. With the obvious problems in VR game development, and the reemergence of VR popularity people are starting to take interest in the other avenues that can benefit from the VR headsets.

One of the most promising areas for VR has been cinematography. After experiencing a VR musical performance from the point of view of an acclaimed artists wife, I can testify that virtual concerts alone could be the driving force behind the new virtual reality wave. VR concerts bring fans to a completely new frontier. VR cinematography gives one the chance to experience intimacy with at a start level that was never previously possible. Even with back stage passes, fans would meet celebrities in a public environment, among other eager participants. With the VR concert / event, you loose the benefit of interaction, for the moment; but benefit from being as close the celebrity as they are willing to take you. A private concert in their living room, a jam session among their closest friends,  a tell all biography during a bubble bath… Imagination is the only limit to what this avenue can deliver. I consider myself lucky to have experienced it, and only hope that the vision of VR cinematographers are as elaborate as my wild imagination.