The Game Boy: Why Immersion's Dying, and No One's Even Coming to The Funeral

It's pitch black, and your teeth are chattering so loudly that you barely even notice the three simultaneous heart attacks you're having as you creep through the tall grasses of an open field. Suddenly, the bushes behind you rustle. You jerk your head so quickly that your body nearly doesn't get the chance to follow, as the hulking, foreboding figure of a baby bunny hops out from the bush. Phew. Heart attack number four averted. For now. You wipe the sweat from your brow – which, at this particular moment, is the world's most accurate model of what would happen if the polar ice caps actually melted – and continue onwards.
For about two feet. That's when you see it. Yep, there it is – right in front of you. Oh sweet mother of mercy. No, no – not the sprinting, groaning gray guy who's licking his unhinged chops and eying your neck. I'm talking about the thing behind him. That's right: a thermos full of coffee! Finally! Awesome! Sorry Mr. terrifying zombie man; just a second. You see, I need that coffee for an achievement.
The game in question? Alan Wake, a game quite capable of keeping you on the edge of your seat right up until the moment it spills hot coffee all over your lap. And it's certainly not alone. For the longest time, triple-A games polished their graphics and tweaked their ambient bunny-in-a-bush sounds in pursuit of a holy grail known simply as “immersion.” Gamers wanted it; game developers wanted it – for everything around the player to just melt away. To be utterly, hopelessly, and completely lost in the game world, without even the thinnest bread crumb trail back to reality. These days, though, immersion is about as prized as an airplane seat surrounded by screaming babies with no nearby emergency exit to fling yourself from. Or at least, it certainly seems that way.
Instead of drawing you into the game world, many of today's games focus on everything but. You've got achievements, collectible thingamajigs scattered all about, RPG-like level-up systems, and motion control – to name a few – all of which are designed to keep you hooked until you finally rub your eyes, blink, and realize you've spent 300 hours of your life on this darn game. Unfortunately, if you used today's games as a reference, you'd think these two goals – immersing players and hooking them – were mutually exclusive. After all, if you were being stalked by a cold-blooded killing machine or playing a tense game of cat-and-metaphorical-mouse-that's-actually-a-loaded-machine-gun in real life, would you go out of your way to snatch up a jug of coffee? And would that coffee even be lying there, probably miles away from its natural habitat at the nearest Starbucks? Of course not.
And that's only the tip of the iceberg. There was a time when it was perfectly natural for enemies to magically morph into fully cooked steaks seconds after having a stake driven through their hearts, but that was also back when Mario's mustache was made up of roughly three very blocky pixels. Times have changed, and weird “gamey” tropes stick out like ugly sore thumbs against many modern games' realistic backdrops. On top of that, collectibles, achievements, and the lark reek of an immaculate, deliberately designed world, which – when you think about it – runs incredibly contrary to the way the real world works. The non-virtual world is chock full of pointless nooks and crannies that serve no real purpose, while most game locales feel artificial and confined precisely because – hilariously enough – they're so well designed.
For some reason, though, even the developers behind today's most potentially immersive experiences seem to think their games absolutely must have distracting, out-of-place collectibles, asinine achievements, and what have you. And that expectation has trickled down to gamers. Or maybe gamers started it. Regardless, if a shooter doesn't give you a thousand unlockable guns to lust after or bloat itself with multiple achievement and experience currencies – essentially, additional games within the game – reviewers and gamers alike pile aboard their waaaaambulances and valiantly attempt to diagnose the non-existent disease that's ailing that game. It's a shame, too, because many of those “flawed” games have it right; those collectibles, achievements, experience systems, and infinity-hojillion other external elements add up. The end result? Today's games – from Modern Warfare to Alan Wake to StarCraft II – feel bloated and weighed down by unnecessary fat. If someone just had the guts to strip it all away, we might actually get somewhere.