Persuasive Games: Taking Bully Seriously - Ian Bogost
We can understand this state of affairs through the lens of “seriousness.” On the one hand, the public detractors of Bully do take the game seriously, as a threat and a danger but not as a cultural artifact. The video game community, on the other hand, does not take the game seriously at all. It is allowing the legislators and attorneys and media watchdogs define the terms of the debate. Rockstar doesn’t help matters, and not just because their releases seek out controversy to create a wake of free publicity. More so, they exacerbate the ambiguous meaning that surrounds the game by remaining silent about it. When Hollywood studios release films, even controversial ones, they launch huge press junkets to discuss them. They send the stars on The Tonight Show to talk about the film. They acknowledge that they take artistic license and make claims about the topics they choose to address. Taking Bully seriously means acknowledging that the game has something to say about the world, not just that the world has something to say about it. It means assessing how effectively the game tackles the topic of bullying and how meaningful its claims about it are. All that huff and puff out of the way, what can we learn from Bully? Does it really fulfill the grant-worthy shoes I set out for it at the start of this article? The answer is, yes and no. The game certainly sets the stage convincingly. The player’s character, Jimmy Hopkins, is dropped off at Bullworth Academy by his disinterested mother and step-father, who are on their way to a lavish honeymoon. This introductory cut-scene doesn’t provide a complete back-story for Jimmy, but it does suggest that his home life has been less than supportive. The implication is that his father was never around, and his mother is much more interested in her boy toys than in her son. Jimmy feigns disinterest, but also offers a telling one-liner: “Why did you have to marry him?” This context is important, because it gives the player a partial explanation for Jimmy’s cynicism and aggressive tendencies. Clearly he’s been neglected, and clearly he’s tried to reach out to his family for attention and support, but there was none to be found.
The most powerful experience I had in the game came shortly after I was first given control of Jimmy. The introductory task asks the player to visit the headmaster in his office, which is located in a building just across the quad. The task is intended to orient the player to controls, maps, and other interface details, but it effectively summarizes the title’s core experience. Students mill in the quad and buildings, either verbally and physically abusing each other or receding from verbal and physical attacks. Staying out of the way of the bullies (bullies in the game conveniently have their own clique, and all wear the same clothes) avoids tussles. If you stand in front of the wrong locker, expect to get shoved out of the way. The experience was mildly harrowing, even though it was just a caricature of the particular social ills of high school. The game actually simulated social discomfort. I found myself thinking, “what did I do to deserve this from these kids?” The fact that Bully can succeed in producing this kind of response speaks to the power of the game, and the medium. Bully promises to make the player uncomfortable, to make him hate this virtual boarding school and to want to risk punishment to set things right.
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No matter how absurdist the public response to Bully might seem to
those deeply immersed in video game culture, the game community’s own responses
are framed almost entirely within the language and issues of that public debate.
Nowhere do game reviewers, players, journalists, or developers discuss the
game’s meaning on its own terms—neither in praise nor riposte.
