For the record, this hasn’t actually happened yet. But it will. If I was able to invoke a controller-toss from Forrest at age twenty, my child will be able to do the same by age eight. It will be interesting to watch the progression, though. My parents weren’t really into video games, so the skill curve comparison was limited. I know for a fact that Alexander is way better at Playstation 3 than I was at Nintendo. Then again the latter was definitively harder, so I don’t know. Nonetheless, controllers will be thrown.
I had kind of a strange moment while playing Dishonored. There’s a point early on where you’re escaping from a steampunk prison and you blast the outer door open only to find that they’re already raising the draw-bridge to prevent your egress. Below is a basin of dirty water, behind you are a hundred angry guards–they really liked that door–and to the left and right are patrolling guards with guns rapidly coming to grips with the situation. The choice seemed obvious. Jump in the water.
But it also seemed to be the risk-free choice. I assumed that this wasn’t just the end of the game and that the epilogue wasn’t going to be me getting shot and dying in a sewer run-off. I knew unquestioningly that the game was just starting so if jumping into that water was the only thing to do, it would ensure my survival despite the possibility of getting shot while swimming, alligators, disease and the like. I had faith that the game designers were supposed to be providing me a path to victory.
This must be what God-fearing people feel like all the time.
Ja.