A Sketch of My Player Experience

Derek Manderson

Derek playing asses.masses at FOLDA 2023. Photo by Jacob Dey.

I’d like to spend some time reflecting on my tenure with the controller in hand. Building up to this moment – which arrived well into the back half of the show – was an effort of labour for me. I’m someone who loves to participate. I also love games. I think I’m pretty good at them too. But I found myself quite anxious about stepping up to claim the controller and take the lead. After our dinner break concluded, I spent much of the time working myself up to the task. I had several supporters who encouraged me to stand up each time there was an opportunity for the player to switch. Yet I remained glued to my seat, tied down by an invisible force of insecurity. So, why did I feel this way?

The social pressure was a big factor. In the latter half of the performance, it felt to me as though there was significantly less patience in the room. We had built a rapport as a group which included a fair amount of shouting. We had grown familiar enough with the game for audience members to confidently become backseat gamers. At this point, I’m not sure people wanted to see a fellow audience member play the game, but rather, for them to serve as a physical conduit for progressing the story. There is a distinct pressure when individual performance is responsible for group progression. What if I couldn’t do something right? What if I made a bad decision? 

The logistics of the physical space were another contributing factor to my uncertainty. When I first played asses.masses, I sat in the front row. Volunteering as player was as easy as standing up and walking forward a few steps. Here, a few rows back and planted firmly in the middle of a large aisle, the journey to the front was a more complicated one. For me, this made the act of playing more difficult. When I’m already working myself up to playing, the extra steps of needing to shuffle through the aisle and walk down the risers provided just slightly more of a mental barrier. It’s like standing at the bottom of a cliff that I needed to scale before taking a leap rather than putting one foot forward and letting gravity do the rest. 

Eventually, my grappling hook caught an edge and I was able to propel myself onto the stage. This was in no small part thanks to the supporters on either side of me who gave me a needed boost. Regardless, I found myself in control of Sick Ass as she navigated a long winding road towards a mysterious temple. Compared to the technical challenges of the previous episode, expectations seemed low here. Phew. Soon though, I happened upon a bit of a detour which I spotted by looking around the world. It seemed to lead to a waterfall island. I’m a bit of a completionist, so I like exploring all aspects of a game. I asked the audience if it was cool to check it out, and I received some supportive encouragement. However, I also heard some voices of frustration, since the donkey avatar moved quite slowly and the path was long. The waterfall island turned out to be a dead end. I think. There might have been some more secrets to explore if I had some time to play around with jumping to a floating section which seemed just out of reach. I tried a few times, but couldn’t quite make it. The energy of frustration was building behind me. If I was playing alone, I would have spent more time here. But I wasn’t. As an anti-confrontational person, doing own thing while voices of dissention echoed from behind was not ideal. So I pressed on towards the critical path and left the mystery behind. 

I now faced a lengthy walk without much to do in the game other than navigate a simple path. Spurred on by feelings of guilt at elongating this section and wanting to make things interesting, I posed a question to the audience: “what’s the longest walk you’ve ever been on?” It got a few chuckles. That brought some relief. Primed by a previous moment in the show where we peppered a player with questions as we vamped for time during a technical glitch, I felt that there was some precedent for creating conversation. It was difficult to talk to a crowd with my back to them, so I tried to turn around on occasion. But it’s hard to do that and play the game at the same time. It’s interesting, the staging makes it very easy for the crowd to talk to the player. The other way around, not so much. I wonder what that says about discourse between leaders and the herd?

Eventually, I reached a more involved puzzle portion in the game where we were reunited with our original avatar, Trusty Ass. Undoubtedly, the most interesting aspect of this section was the orbs which flew towards colourful portals when challenges were completed. Combine fun visuals, a sense of accomplishment, and a group of tired people who’ve been in a theatre for hours on end, and what do you get? Everyone chanting “orb” with repetitious fervour. In a moment that will likely resonate as memorable for many of the attendees, our group’s collective investment in the creating this orb call serves as one justification for the lengthy run time of the show. Given the small bubble of the FOLDA festival and the Queen’s community, our audience started with a great deal of camaraderie. Even still, I think it would have been difficult to arrive at this collective moment without enduring the time together. It built a sense of comfort and introduced enough loopy tiredness to create the kind of thing that happens between friends during sleepovers. To me, that’s pretty cool. 

Ultimately, I was glad that I stepped up to play the game. I would have had some major regrets if I didn’t. I believe that my participation made an imprint on the tapestry of moments we weaved in this lengthy experience, which is a truly rewarding feeling. That being said, I also felt some relief when I returned to my seat and left the scrutiny of the herd behind. 

A collection of rough thoughts in no particular order: 

My Turn!

• Pace is heavily influenced by how long the first person plays. It sets expectations for how long is appropriate for playing.
• The gesture of asking “does anybody want to switch” is almost an empty one. It is difficult to take the controller out of someone’s hand if you don’t know them. It also comes loaded with body language which implies whether or not that player really means it, or if they just don’t want to seem rude for taking up more time.

Select Difficulty Level…

• Certain sections of the game are challenging. What does this mean for setting up expectations for the skill level of the player?
• I heard many people say that they wouldn’t play because they would be so lost, or feel as though they would mess it up.
  • Is this game only for people with video game instincts? What does that say about leadership? Can you only lead if you have experience in the task at hand? Experience is often considered critical for leadership positions, so maybe that’s what we’re asked to interrogate?
• What happens if we can’t solve something?
  • This was a common experience in playing games as a kid. In these instances, we would either give up, or get an older sibling to help. Could we have asked Milton to help us as the “older sibling?” Or is that against the rules?

A Stealth Too Far?

• The stealth section struck me as the most challenging, and the one which stalled our progress the most. The frustration line in video games is an interesting balancing act to walk. It is useful to frustrate players. It makes overcoming the obstacle satisfying. The stealth section makes us feel that tension, and gives us a boost of investment in the latter half of the show. My instinct is that the final level was a step too far. The penultimate level seemed to telegraph an escape option, so when we reached the true final stage, I think the challenge was losing its satisfaction and becoming more alienating than rewarding. Perhaps that is the intention. Labour can be monotonous after all. 
• I particularly liked the moment when controlling multiple donkeys invited the possibility of two players. Interestingly, Jacob pointed out to me that the button mapping was not intuitive for two players. Really, if it was designed with this function in mind, the buttons for the donkey’s special actions should have been allocated to the triggers on either side such that the players could stand side by each and control their character with one half of the controller. However, I think the slightly unwieldy setup makes it more fun. It means that the choice to bring a second player in requires some coordination between the two. It’s like telling your younger sibling they can control the items while you drive in Mario Kart. It’s like we’re making up our own way to play.

Show Priming

• This version of asses.masses was framed a bit differently than the 3.5 hour version I saw last year, where we received no instructions to speak of. It took some time for someone to even grab the controller. This was a much different experience. Though we weren’t told how to play necessarily, we were still explicitly invited to collaborate in playing during the pre-show talk. Additionally, ticket purchasers received email we received before the performance which primed us with a significant amount of information about the show and what to expect as participants: “This is a collaborative experience. Audiences take turns as players using the controller, as others help make decisions, offer suggestions, and cheer them on as the story unfolds” (email correspondence from asses.masses, bold original). 
  • This prepared us to participate collaboratively and set expectations. 7.5 hrs+ of participation is a big ask. Therefore, it makes sense to offer a greater understanding of what will be involved, and perhaps give people time to cancel their ticket if it seems like something they are not up for. 
• In previous iterations, sharing the controller was not necessarily a given thing. Deciding whether to share the burden of leadership was part of the social negotiation. That is missing from the longer version, which I understand, but miss to a degree.

Relaxed Environment

• Again, this was something explicitly outlined in show expectations. Last year, people needed to work up to shouting suggestions and talking with fellow audience members. Though our eager participation as backseat gamers was certainly supported by familiarity and inherent buy-in as digital theatre folks, I believe an explicit discussion of the show’s atmospheric expectations provided a bit of a shortcut to herd engagement and conversation.
• The relaxed environment is a helpful way to ease the burden of a 7 hr+ show. We can chat with friends and take the pressure off ourselves from focusing intensely. This enabled a fun part of the show for me, which was talking to Mo about the different video game influences which were present in each episode. I really enjoyed being able to share some of my knowledge and passion!

To spoil or not to spoil…

• I was very unsure about my position as a person with spoiler knowledge of the game. Do I share what I know, or is that ethically unsound?
• Mo pointed out that if I was playing games with friends and I knew something about the game, I would share it. Following this line of thought, it would be fair for me to share that heading straight for the “shit hole” ends the level outright and prevents the possibility of witnessing the concert.
• I decided to speak out a little bit by just advocating that we go elsewhere, which I did still feel a little guilty about. Milton told me that he clocked that it was me who advocated against the shit hole and I felt like I was getting caught cheating. Did I influence the organic decision making of the group with my own agenda? Yes. Given that the scope of this decision was quite small, I don’t think it was a major transgression. However, I do think that playable theatre introduces these sticky dilemmas when it comes to repeat attendees who posses knowledge that can impact the experience of others.
• Interestingly, in the version I saw last year, I am fairly confident that there was a lighting cue associated with the concert which made the entire space feel like a party zone. This was not present at our showing. To my knowledge, there didn’t seem to be any lighting cues at all throughout the show. I wonder if that is a decision that was made to stick with the basement simulation and avoid more theatrical signifiers? Or is it because of the relaxed environment? A sudden lighting cue might be disturbing? I’m unsure. 

Intermissions

• These were an interesting exercise in social negotiation. We really rely on an internal clock to judge how long is appropriate. The dinner break was trickier because food was involved… rushing people when they are eating doesn’t feel great.
• Who decides when play starts again?
  • I don’t think we ever had a time when we started with everyone back… what does it mean to have people miss things if they are not fast enough? I rarely went farther than immediate eyesight of the door to the theatre because I was worried about this.
• The intermissions also offered the opportunity to discuss the show with people that you are not immediately beside.
  • This contributes to the community building component, and helps us in becoming a team.

I’m Working Here!

• When a participatory show about post-industrial labour lasts nearly 7.5 hours, it is difficult not to draw comparisons between the runtime and the socially constructed expectations of a typical 9-5 workday.
• Without our input, the story will not progress. The player is often framed as the leader. Is there a way to interpret them as a worker? Are they working for the rest of the audience to progress the story? 

The Transportation Machine

• There are a lot of politics which are discussed in this show. Interestingly, technophobia mingles with transphobia when Baby Ass decides to become a machine, and we are forced to reckon with this as her mother. It’s a challenging moment to work through. On one hand, Bad Ass seems ethically dubious. He’s lied to Baby Ass and used her to build himself a new robotic body. The prospect of entrusting Baby Ass’s safety to this figure sends alarm bells ringing. Plus, the robot that Baby will be inhabiting is a prototype, which doesn’t offer a ton of confidence! It all seems very sketchy. But then we start hearing language from Sturdy Ass which contains clear signifiers of transphobia, and it complicates things. While I might have initially understood Sturdy’s perspective of wanting to protect her child from Bad Ass’ machines, her worries quickly transform into a jarringly harsh disowning of Baby, which is quite upsetting. To be honest, I worry that using unsteady technology as an allegory for trans-identity and body transformation has the potential for alienating and fueling perspectives which are already biased against trans acceptance. I don’t have fully formed thoughts yet, it just stood out to me as a moment which unsettled me a touch. Whether or not that is a productive unsettling, I’m not sure. I would definitely like to hear others’ thoughts on this.

Press X to Sing

• In the end, we’re given the prompt to sing to a horde of armed humans to bring about peace. But how do we do that? Is there a correct order? Or do we just need them all to sing? This moment was a rare moment where it felt like we were in danger of not being able to progress the show. The active player insisted that they had pressed every button, but nothing was happening. In an attempt to find a theatrical solution to the game, we all sang the donkey song (or our approximation of it) as a collective. In this moment, I wonder if Milton pondered whether or not to advance the game from his end. If he did, would the video game cease to be a video game and become something else? Would that have been more interesting? Or is the liveness of us singing more interesting precisely because there is no tangible effect? That way it’s not a solution to a puzzle, but just a moment we shared as an audience. It’s a provocative thought.
• Eventually, we solved the problem when several others arrived on stage to help press all the buttons. Whether this is an intentional part of the design or not (is it even possible for one person to press all the buttons at once?) it certainly made for a compelling image of collaboration in a way which mirrored the action in the game.

Wrong Number

• Very fun moment when Jacob called a number which was displayed on a note to see if it was some kind of clue. We all waited in anticipation to see if this would unlock some kind of secret. It’s an escape room mentality. If you poke around, you might find something special. I doubt this would have happened near the end of the performance. There is a degree of willingness to stray from the critical path and search for easter eggs which disappears the longer the game goes.

I’m Not Listening!

• I was ANNOYED to find us at the zoo.
• I had spotted an advertisement for the circus in a document we found earlier in the game. I stated this as a rationale for wanting to go to the circus instead of the zoo when we were presented with the choice. Several others in the crowd echoed this sentiment. Then, with the mischievousness of Loki, the player selected the zoo. This was one of the few examples I could name where the player did something in direct opposition to the crowd. It was infuriating, especially because it was a moment which had such a large impact on the story.
• This player also made a distinct effort to ignore the suggestions of the audience during the zoo game. For several rounds, the regular shouts of “go to the grandma!” went unheeded. 
• I think it makes the show much more interesting when things like this happen. It really opens up the critique about leadership and how the masses are represented. What do you do when the person who is leading you ignores your voice and makes a decision for you that you disagree with? How long does this go on before you do something? What could we even do in this microcosm which would have been appropriate? Surely not storming the stage and insisting the controller be passed to someone else. Right? These social negotiations are incredibly rich in what they say about us as individuals and a collective. Despite the fact that I’m still kinda upset about that betrayal, I wish it happened more.

The Epilogue 

• This was a beautiful ending. The form, words, and music were interwoven into a touching dénouement.
• At its core, this show has a huge heart. Between the moments of puzzle solving and bawdy humour, there is a compelling beating pulse which explains the game’s ability to make 7.5 hrs feel like no time has passed at all. I loved it.