11.29.07

The Existential Aspects of Tetris

Posted by Bowman at 2:53 am in "reality", review, games

A while back, my status on Facebook was as follows:

Michael is contemplating the existential aspects of tetris.

Regardless as to whether or not my use of the term existential is properly placed or not, a lot of people were confused by this one, and wondered what I meant by this little term here. What are the existential aspects of Tetris? How can a rather simple little game with, you know, squares, be so crazily important to my worldview?

 Let me lay it down for you: Tetris is an inherently paradoxical game. It is a constructive game, unlike most of the contemporary games of its time, which were either competitive (player versus player) or destructive (shooters, platformers) in that one endlessly tries to arrange the blocks in the best fashion which will complete these little rows. This would be a rather fun little exercise in building Jenga towers to the sky, were it not for the fact that, each time you managed to complete a row, your blocks are erased, and your goal is to actually keep your little pile of squares as small as possible. Thus, all your good work disappears utterly and entirely, while your mistakes and incomplete works remain visible and conspicuous as the fall of the blocks increases in pace.

 This creates a rather distinctly pessimistic situation. Ultimately, one is constantly on the alert for mistakes, and must patiently wait for the opportunity to fix them, often paralyzing themselves in trying to rearrange and complete new rows atop the old mistaken rows. Often it seems that one mistake leads to making another in order to amend the old - an alternative mistake, which, at the moment of its intentional inception as a cure, appears to be potentionally more solvable, but may or may not ultimately be so.

Hence, a game can be broken down into a simple lifespan. First, there is birth. There are no blocks on the screen. This is sort of a nirvana that is difficult to achieve again for the rest of the game, and rarely is. Blocks fall, and there is constant growth, maintenance, and replenishment through the player’s work. Most of the game is spent during this very basic stage of growth and maintenance, which can last from a few levels to many given the player’s skill and agility.

But then we arrive with an all-too-familiar moment; as time goes on, the pace quickens, and rows become more and more difficult to complete, suddenly, out of the clear blue, there is a very distinct mistake. Not a regular mistake, or a simple plight, such as creating a single-row pit far too deep to be solvable without multiple straight-line blocks, but something far more sinister. This is not a mistake, this is the mistake. It throws off the entire pace of the game, and instead of turning it into a game of maintenance, turns it into a struggle against time to stave off the tide of blocks. It is a sudden, unexpected turn of events that invalidates multiple rows, and forces the player to pick up the pieces. Panics can happen frequently, but the player knows when the critical mistake has been made, as suddenly, the player is unable to quickly cope or handle the situation, as imperfections are simply layered with more imperfections.

As the blocks reach the top of the screen, if there is no hope in sight, which there usually isn’t, and the player can’t seem to undo the mistakes which so readily plague the majority of the screen, there is the final mistake. There is the block which, when placed, locks up any chance of being able to recover the play whatsoever. Perhaps it creates a barrier, preventing the necessary blocks from sinking into their proper places on the far sides of the screen, or covering the pits of despair where the lower levels may still have amendable imperfections.

And thus, death. There is nowhere one can put the blocks. They simply stack. The last few blocks which cap the screen don’t kill the game, as it is already dead.

In a similar way, mankind deals with its own imperfections. We, as individuals, may succeed often in life, or maintain a steady career, but ultimately, it is our imperfections which stick with us, which can ultimately doom us. In the game of life, Tetris mimicks easily what fragile creatures we are, constantly clinging to life, only to, little by little, succumb to a cascade of tiny things - little holes in the foundation - which slowly gather, until, of course, life no longer has the tools to save itself.

This is pretty much what it’s like to own a Mazda.

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