Games I Played at Indiecade: Mainichi and Dominque Pamplemousse

Oh dear, I've written so much on these two games! To be honest, I spent days proofreading and checking and re-writing this single post, simply because of the weight of the subject matter. I always find it difficult talking about serious subjects like this with any sort of directness, but I've learned in my recent writing that by being honest and open to discussion, and I can take a much firmer stance than in some of my earlier, more lighthearted entries. With any luck though, I'll be able to breeze through future posts so I can finally get caught up for the new year!

I consider myself a fairly informed, liberal kind of gal. Marriage equality, pro-choice, education over prohibition, that sort of thing. I thought I knew what my stance was on most of the aspects I interacted with in modern life. But then I came across something I hadn't experienced very extensively before, and I feel a new chapter of my life was opened up.

I'm talking about queer representation in videogames.


Now it's obvious that this is an extremely important, sensitive subject to a lot of people. At times in this it may appear as though I speak out of ignorance, and that's true, I am very ignorant about the subject. But I want to be honest about these experiences that I write about, and I've also also made it very clear that my goal is to learn from them. I encourage those who are more informed or interested in the topic to send me an e-mail, write a comment, or get a dialogue going.

In my tiny corner of the world, the people I interact with have the same sex, gender identity, and gender expression. I don't see many who identify as queer. But some fantastic Indie game designers do, like Christine Love, Anna Anthropy, and Mattie Brice (to name a few!) and at Indiecade, I enjoyed listening to their thoughts, ideas and talks. Most importantly, though, I got to play games by them that touched upon aspects of their lives I had yet to fully be aware of. These were games with a lot of spirit and heartbreak and realness (is that a word?), and I hope a little more understanding. It's a side of games I don't often get to see, but like the queer community, one I hope to become better acquainted with.

Mainichi:

Mainichi, which I believe is Japanese for "everyday", is a pretty short game; it took all of 5 minutes for me to complete, so I got to play it enough times to explore most if not all the different pathways. Those few minutes sure do have a lot to say, though! The point of the experience it to give a small glimpse of what life is like through the eyes of a transgendered woman. What impressed me most about Mainichi, and perhaps why I feel it is so successful, is that it conveys its message through mechanics, rather than preachy, boring walls of text.

The game begins with me waking up in a room. It's my house. I'm going to try and be more positive today. I proceed to do normal house routines; taking baths, putting on makeup, playing videogames (woe is me, I didn't get the reference at the end of the play session--yet another reminder that I need to play more classics) And then I head out to the cafe to meet a friend.

It's here were the game starts to really starts to kick into gear. Now that I've left the comfort of my house, experiencing what felt like an otherwise regular Saturday afternoon, I would expect that the rest of the game might follow suit. But as I walk a couple blocks, I'm being showered with insults and degrading remarks. I'm just sort of frozen in place as people yell at me like its some kind of Pokemon encounter. All I ever did was walk by. Alternatively, I could take the long way to the cafe and avoid all the crowds, but what kind of solution is that? In both cases, I as a player felt a true loss of agency. Normally this is considered bad game design because it irritates players when they have no control over what they do. Imagine then, what it must feel like to experience this in real life. Being the social butterfly that I am, what a terrible thing to be ostracized by "regular" crowds that I just enjoy being a part of and mingling in. So much was said in that single moment of the game; it was a masterful stroke of design.

I arrive at the cafe. My rather flamboyantly dressed friend (not everyone can rock a feather boa like her, I guess) is very happy to see me. I go and order the drinks--the cashier seems nervous as I approach. My player character seems rather irritated at this (or so I thought, after all, only so much can be said with a black scribbly ball inside a speech bubble). At this point in the game, I really had to take a short think break. I stopped relating to my player character and hopped over the counter into the mind of the cashier.

In the interest of 100% honesty, interacting with a transgendered man or woman in the past was something that frightened me. Not because they make me uncomfortable, but because I was so afraid of saying something wrong or hurtful. To mistake or misunderstand another person's gender, is, I would imagine, as improprietous as mistaking their name. It's something that has the potential to define a human being in a very personal way. Even now I'm still hesitant to approach someone who identifies as a transgendered person, because every case is a matter of preference. At the same time, any transgendered man or woman probably just wants to be treated like a human being--interacting with some awkward, flustered young woman who is actively attempting to assess whether or not they want to be referred to as he or she or ei or they or even it is likely uncomfortable and exhausting for both parties.

So what's the solution here? Surely it isn't the main character's fault for being who she is, and it certainly isn't wrong or even all that unusual for the cashier to be nervous about pulling a faux pas in front of a paying customer. But leaving things as they are is also clearly unacceptable. After chewing on this problem for a little while, I realized the only solution lied with me.  My takeaway from the game was, perhaps it's time my reservations on the subject stop deterring me from getting to know someone. I don't believe I or anyone else should have a responsibility to do this, but I feel it is the right thing to do.

The rest of the game had more experiences to share, which I won't spoil for you--If you haven't played it yet it should only take a few moments of your time, and you'll probably learn a thing or two from it. I just wanted to share the two that spoke to me the most.

Dominique Pamplemousse; “It’s All Over Once the Fat Lady Sings!”:

I admittedly spent less time with Dominique Pamplemousse Than Mainichi, but the game on display at IndieCade was a demo and took likely took more time to complete. However, just because our time was brief does not mean to say it was short of fantastic moments. Take away what Pamplemousse has to say about gender, and you'd still have a great point-and-click detective claymation black-and-white adventure game. Oh, and it's also a musical.

The premise of the game follows a detective who has fallen on hard times and must take the case of a high profile music executive whose top musician seems to have vanished. I never got to see how the game finished but I suspect there's a lot more going on than the initial brief told me. All throughout the game, new connections between characters began to spring up just as quickly as the cast sprang into musical monologues. Throughout it all, Dominique the detective tries to keep her cool, doing her best to focus on the clues when all anyone else seems to want to focus on is her gender.

The protagonist of the game had something very different to share in regards to gender--rather than embracing any one title such as male or female, she decides to remain ambigious throughout the course of the game, swadling herself in baggy clothes, dodging her parent's encouragement to dress herself traditionally (it is suggested that Domonique was born female because in a letter her mother wants her to wear a dress), and of course, always ready with a snappy comeback any time some balking stranger questions "Are you a boy or a girl?" ("neither," she replies, "seeing as I went through puberty ages ago").

I was surprised at how coolly Dominique took the commentary and remarks from other characters. Her range of emotion only spanned from irritated to resigned, and for a while, it became very difficult to relate to the character. The game clearly wanted to bring attention to Dominque's ambivalent gender, seeing as the she was constantly being quizzed as to the manner of her alignment, and yet a short punchline or two later the situation was diffused. I felt confused. Thankfully, the game encouraged me to prod and poke more, otherwise I would have never stumbled on my favorite moment in the game.

"Ah, bathroom stalls", says Dom as I click on a small bathroom sign at the mall where we are investigating. "The bane of my existence. Which one is for me?"
It was such a brief, tender bit of dialogue, but it said more than I ever expected. It hinted at confusion, loneliness, even remorse. For the majority of the game, Dominique was a confident person, casually swatting down or ignoring commentary on where she ought to belong. But here she was lost, on something so mundane and simple and taken for granted. She felt she didn't belong anywhere.

What's my takeaway from this game? I quickly recognized that there is an entire spectrum of gender identity and expression, and a person does not necessarily have to gravitate towards one end or the other, but can sit comfortable in the middle or indeed outside of it all. It may not feel like much now, especially since I only got to play a fraction of Dom-Pom, but I appreciate this expanded awareness and insight the game gave me. I'll definitely be looking to play the full game in the future to see how our protagonist ends up.