The World is Not Always a Stage

Last week, for my “Communications Geography” class I asked students to compare the experience of watching a football game either live or on television (FSU vs BYU) to playing video games (we went on a field trip to explore the “Videotopia” exhibition at the Mary Brogan). I wanted to consider “the game” in a broader context in order to get past the real vs virtual dichotomy  – to position both as cultural practices. One of the more interesting conversations we had, inspired by Laurie Taylor’s “When Seams Fall Apart: Video Game Space and the Player,” distinguished the “image” from the “interface.” The image, rooted in the history of Western perspective, asks viewers to gaze upon it – to watch. The interface, on the other hand, transforms spectators into participants by inviting them to navigate through virtual space. The image maintains the frame of the screen while the interface positions the screen as a threshold.

Image from http://www.byucougars.com/Filing.jsp?ID=14353

So, the difference between the football game and playing video games isn’t so much that one is live and the other isn’t (obviously, playing video games happens in real time). Football frames “the game” through the communal experience of an event in formation. The fans in the stand are separated from the action on the field through those same social conventions that separate the “stage” from the audience in modern theater. Security barriers (people, fences, assigned seating, etc) and multimedia components like the large screens that transform the event into a staged spectacle help maintain this separation; again, they frame the event. The video game, however, offers a collective experience of the interface through the screen-threshold. The event is the interface with the game. There is no stage, except for those embedded within the mechanics of the gameplay. Two different social practices with two different relationships between body and screen.

Play on, my friends.

French Open Follies

Last night at Roland Garros, the major tennis event in Paris, probably France’s next best hope for a home-grown men’s champion, 13th seed Gael Monfils, played the nondescript Italian ranked 92nd in the world, Fabio Fognini. A showman by nature, Monfils won the first two sets and had leads in the third and fourth only to let Fognini back into the match. Nearing the mid-point of the fifth and final set, light began to fade as the early evening turned into night. At 4-4, the tournament referee asked both players whether or not they wanted to continue. Monfils wanted to go on, Fognini did not. Suffices to say, Monfils won the argument and after nearly an eight minute delay from Fognini the match continued. During the last two games played, both players faced break points but held their serve before play was suspended at 5-5. For these two games, the only light source came from the video board at the corner of the Philippe Chatrier Stadium. The commentators kept talking about the darkness and the light from the screen, asking how players could see in those conditions. The production team removed filters from the cameras to approximate the atmosphere for the television audience, panning up to the video board to show the glowing scoreboard.

This strange “night match” at the French Open presents an interesting irony in today’s society of the screen. Although the tournament has refused to install stadium lights for fear of breaking tradition, the addition of the screen is unquestioned and unproblematic. The screen enters seamlessly into the flow of the game, and of the total experience of the French Open and sport, more generally. It provides a space for advertisements, the score, and videos that transform the live event into a multimedia spectacle. Did it benefit the French player to continue on under the light of the video board? Monfils couldn’t capitalize on the momentum and, today, lost the match to the Italian. Even as the screen is one of the primary means through which corporate culture enters the seemingly sacred space of the Stadium, it doesn’t play favorites. It’s there to light the way to everyone.

Murray Mania

Today was the first round match of Andy Murray, the “British hope” who has an actual chance at winning Wimbledon this year (that is, if he catches Federer on a very, very bad day). The possibility of a home grown Wimbledon champion is something that is apparently a big deal as the last Brit to win the Championships was Fred Perry in 1936. Anyway, during his match on center court, thousands of people sat outside of the stadium watching him play on the large screen LED display hosited outside. This area is coined “Henman Hill” after the last British hope (though, truthfully, he was only ever an extremely long shot with Pete Sampras to contend with), Tim Henman. The next best thing to being inside is sitting next to it watching what’s going on inside on a live feed on what is sure to become “Murry Mound” or “Mount Murray” if Andy wins his first major on British soil.

Indy for Sale

Continuing an unintended sports theme, a commercial that aired tonight [May 22] on ESPN during Friday Night Fights featured a historical collection of television sets from boxy black-and-white variety to the sleek plasmas of today. Each television model featured corresponding footage from the particular Indianapolis 500 as it was broadcast during the time period from when the set originated. The final shot framed this “screen” history as the progress from one type of television set to the multiple viewing options now available.

Interestingly, while searching for a recording of this spot online to include in this post (unfortunately, no luck), I ran into “sister” advertisements that dropped the television set motif but continued to play on the historical progression from early races leading up to the upcoming 2009 event. What makes the particular commercial I saw compelling is how it implies that the historical narrative of this particular “sport” is tied into the mediated experience of it.

Battle in the West

The introduction of the LA Lakers during the NBA playoffs (game one during the series against the Denver Nuggets) started in a darkened arena. After the lights went down, a video montage of past and present Lakers was projected onto a cylindrical screen of fabric hanging from the center of the arena covering the permanent digital display/ scoreboard. Surrounding the display were players and coaches on the floor looking at the onscreen images (and presumably listening to the voice-over). The outline of their bodies against the screen formed the base of the screened column. When the montage ended, the fabric was released and fell to the ground revealing the famous Laker girls who took the floor so as to prepare for the roll call of the starting line-up. What is interesting in this encounter is the double layer of screens – a flexible, fabric screen hides both the permanent LCD screen and the bodies of the cheerleaders until the appropriate moment. The screen as a tool for the big reveal…