Framing in Game Critique

What’s the difference between these phrases?

1. The game’s ending was boring, merely counting up points to see who won.
2. The main draw of the game comes from the middle part of the experience. Its ending will be invariably quiet, without a pronounced dramatic moment to bookend it.

A lot, it turns out.

There’s something (some) critics are taught in written/verbal reviews, and it’s usually in reference to novels. “The character lacked meaningful agency” is different from “The character reacted to their surroundings instead of taking a proactive approach.”

One frames it in terms of what the book (and character) didn’t do. The other is what the book did portray.

Because in the context of the novel, maybe a character who lacks strong agency is exactly the intent. But the negative framing of “lacked…” creates an inherent bias that could be misaligned with the book’s intent. If the author didn’t intend for the character to display strong agency, it’s our personal preference that informs the former phrase, whereas the latter statement is a more neutral stance describing what the book does deliver.

This also allows the reader of the review/critique to make their own judgments without having to sift through a lot of bias from the reviewer. One reader might be annoyed at wishy-washy characters who don’t command the type of agency they expect of their protagonists. Others may still be interested, recognizing that a lot of human action is reactionary, and recognizing that a strong plot and setting can be engaging even if the characters aren’t always dynamic drivers of the drama.

This is a subtle skill, but an important one. It’s an acknowledgement of the creator’s frame of reference, which can expand our own understanding of a piece of media.

This also isn’t trying to sneak the idea of “objective truth” into critique, which doesn’t exist. These are inherently subjective endeavors. But that doesn’t mean there’s only one frame of reference from which we can comment.

Subjectivity, Objectivity, and Their False Dichotomy

Stated differently, I might legitimately question the idea that reviewing is merely a subjective endeavor, but not in a way where purely Objective Truth is the only alternative.

Reviewing the totality of a thing isn’t just subjective. It’s a dialogue between the reviewer, the creator, and others engaging with the piece of art or media.

This means that talking about creator intent is valid. It also means that talking about how a game affected those I played with is valid. I’m not them, but I can observe the effects the game has on them. It also means I can talk about generalized reception on an industry level, and how sensationalist (i.e. consumer-driven) or authentic I believe that reception is.

All of these are valid frameworks for critique, and the most thorough examination of a game will include aspects of each of them…alongside personal, subjective opinion.

But Critique Is Personal Preference

The most obvious rebuttal here, and it’s a good one, is that critique shouldn’t be devoid of the critic’s personal opinion. There’s no such thing as “objective” truth about a work of media or art. We’re reading or watching for a personal take.

This isn’t a strawman I’m about to tear down. I agree with this point. But let’s put it into its proper context.

Both things can exist in a review, first off. Unfiltered personal opinion and a more neutral interpretation of what a game is trying to be are not mutually exclusive in a review.

Some people think they’re doing this by giving an overview of the mechanics and game flow before giving us their personal opinion, though I think this is only partially true. But it’s a start.

The best reviews in my estimation, and the ones I’m increasingly trying to write, bridge this gap. “Here is what could appeal to you, and also here’s why it doesn’t work for me,” or the reverse, with what might not work for some, but does for the reviewer (and why).

I can’t get inside your head to know what you’ll personally like. But let’s not pretend we can’t use our real-world experience to discuss who a game’s audience is and what will appeal to that audience about a game. This is easy enough to do even if the reviewer isn’t a part of that audience.

It requires an openness to the idea that a particular kind of experience isn’t going to be good or bad for everyone, and presenting it in such a way that it’s easier for that unknown reader/viewer to assess for themselves. And then getting more personal and talking about our particular experience.

I’ve been told that I shouldn’t try to think about who will and won’t like a game in my review; that my personal opinion is all that matters in my writing. I disagree with this, and don’t think it’s an either/or proposition when writing a review.

Why We Don’t Do This

At a conservative estimate, 98% of reviews don’t universally frame games as what they do in the critical portions, but will often default to what they don’t do. Most also stick solely to personal perspective instead of stepping back and describing a game’s intent.

This is fine. If you understand a reviewer’s voice and preferences, you can still glean useful insights from this approach.

But it’s a mode of writing I basically don’t see in board game critique. Like, ever. However, I do see it in movie and book reviews, at least those from writers who are well-versed in their craft and not just aiming for clickbait headlines and hot takes to get shares and clicks.

We’re lazy and writing is hard. Do you really stop and think about the framing of your perspective in regard to a potential reader every time you write a comment or review for a game? Of course not. Neither do I.

And it’s easier to default to the more emotional, direct responses we personally feel. Stepping outside of that and framing something as more neutral is a lot more difficult than just telling us what you personally think.

Stop me if you’ve ever heard this phrase in regard to game: “it didn’t have meaningful decisions.” This is a subjective, personal take, and it’s a valid opinion. But it’s also framing the game in terms of what it doesn’t do for the reviewer, not what it does do that may be good or bad for a prospective player. In my mind, this sort of statement makes for a bad review.

So how could this particular take – lack of meaningful decisions – be framed neutrally, while still retaining the reviewer’s integrity and perspective?

Take Tales of the Arabian Nights. And read these two paragraphs:

1. There’s no strategy in Tales. Anything you choose is more-or-less random, and there’s often no way to know whether or not the outcome will be positive or negative. You just pick something and see what happens. There isn’t a single meaningful decision in the game.
2. Tales leads with its storytelling elements. The narrative choices you make will have semi-random outcomes. If you’re playing to strategize and pick the best options, you won’t have much to do. But if you can see your choices as crafting a narrative in collaboration with the game, you’ll have a chance to enjoy the outlandish stories it tells. I personally don’t like the lack of agency, and get frustrated when an outcome is bad that I couldn’t have predicted. I didn’t feel a meaningful level of control over my game. But the game doesn’t hide the fact that you don’t have this sort of control over your fate.

Nevermind that I actually really enjoy Tales. Both of those paragraphs are saying the same thing in one sense, but the framing is entirely different, and the latter discerns and elucidates the game’s design intent even while being frustrated by it.

The latter paragraph would exist in what I’d consider to be a useful review, even if I disagreed with the reviewer. And it’s a direct example of the type of thought process I’m espousing.

Tabletop Roleplaying as a Case Study

I find that TTRPGs don’t suffer from this as much in reviews. Yes, reviewers will happily give you their personal opinions. But it’s assumed that different styles of roleplaying aren’t for everyone, and so the experiential intent of the design is often the focus, not necessarily the effect it had on the reviewer.

Additionally, there’s less of a stigma in RPGs of reviewing something without having played it. Books can be useful for their plot hooks, setting materials, and other ideas, but without ever setting foot, so to speak, in the game itself. There’s also much more opportunity cost to beginning a new roleplaying system, so reading a distillation of design intent and broad execution is a lot easier than learning the system yourself.

So a reviewer can candidly review a style of RPG they don’t normally enjoy, but describe it from a designer’s intent-based perspective so that a reader can quickly decide if they’re interested or not, all without having to read (potentially) hundreds of pages of materials to get there.

Additionally, sometimes the style will be discussed (OSR, for instance), and then the review focuses on how easily the adventure can be run by a prospective Game Master. There’s subjectivity here too, but it’s not of the “I Like It/I Don’t Like It” variety. It’s more practical. Whether or not the reviewer likes the style is ancillary; how much work you will have to put into the thing to elicit the design’s intent is the primary focus.

All of these types of reviews are extremely useful to roleplaying fans.

Intent-Based and Experiential Reviewing

Among hobby gamers, there’s a semi-famous blog by Oliver Kiley on the broad intentions behind different genres of board games. It’s absolutely worth a read!

This is an entire article devoted to the type of commentary I don’t see in reviews. It’s not a review itself, but why shouldn’t the style of gameplay be discussed in light of how it brings its tropes to life?

So, for example, talking about how an American-style game attempts to realize its dramatic moments and narrative arcs is useful commentary. Forget your opinion for a second; how is the game trying to realize this?

And I’m not talking about mechanics. It’s subtler than that. I’m talking about how it evokes its purpose.

The Tales paragraphs above are a useful guide. Neither talks about mechanics, but the latter gives you at least a somewhat clear idea of what the game is hoping to achieve, and how.

It can also be useful to imagine how your personal critique might be reframed as a “what does it do” statement as opposed to “what doesn’t it do.” Similar end result, but more neutral toward an unknowable, varied audience. Or perhaps you reframe a statement this way, and then give your personal opinion.

I find that attempting to understand and explain differing perspectives yields benefits at the game table. And in life in general. It doesn’t mean you’ll agree with a differing opinion or viewpoint, but it at least occasionally has the effect of softening our distaste for something when, in actuality, it’s a lack of perspective and framing that instills the distaste.