Tonight, having hopped into Stalker yet again, I know that I'm putting that grainy Bladerunner cassette on one more time, and I want to have a crack and explaining its appeal. I started off on a rant, but changed the subject. The taste fades a little more slowly.Īnyway, I desperately wanted to explain what it was that I got from Stalker to my dinner party host, but I felt it was hopeless. The traces that activity leaves on us are stronger somehow. You're doing, making decisions, and not just passively watching it flickering away on the TV screen.
I think that's one of the most compelling things about our favourite videogames: you get to be down there in the celluloid, mucking about in other people's imaginations. I knew the story inside out, but I wanted to explore it further and to possess it. There's something evocative and slightly alarming about finding fictional worlds that you want to taste repeatedly – I remember watching Bladerunner countless times as a teenager, as if I could capture something of its atmosphere and sentiment in my tiny brain. Too gloomy? Only once through? I had played Stalker countless times since that initial run through, and now I put it on in quiet hours, just to soak up the atmosphere. Needless to say, my feelings were quite the opposite. One of the games he had on there was Stalker, which he had played through once and not bothered with again. We sat and picked out titles, as I imagine menfolk might have discussed a shelf full of books or vinyl records in previous decades.
I didn't know the host all that well and, as we found common ground, we got to discussing his game collection. It was a modest, grown up affair, albeit it with a bout of arm-flailing Wii play dominating the evening. A couple of months back I went to a dinner party.
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