This continues a previous post, which can be found here.

So here we are again, looking at that seemingly immortal question ‘Are Games Art’. Following on from last time, I want to first explore the notion of art and some different notions of what it is, before categorising games as either being art or not. 
But first, a little detour:

Part 4: Fun and Games 

So there’s a movement that says that the question of whether games are art or not is an invalid one, and that instead, we should focus on making games fun.

This is a semi-valid point, in that it portrays the point of games that take after the board game side of the family. Board games are not designed as art, but as a way of having fun, and there’s nothing wrong with a game that does the same.

I do think, however, that it is wrong to say that all games should simply be fun: as a very broad medium, games can do whatever the hell we want them to. We’re pretty good at making games fun, and we shouldn’t abandon this pursuit. But at the moment, the majority of games only do this, which is an imbalance in the medium.

This points to the way that we make games at the moment, which is that we care about gameplay first before trying to wrap our ideas around gameplay (when we have ideas…), rather than the other way round.

At the end of the day, I think it’s important that games are engaging, in the way that all media should be engaging. Fun is optional, yet is currently the biggest aspect in the games industry.

Part 5: What is Art 

This is a question that delves into philosophy and a huge debate that I can’t hope to end here. Yet whether games are art depends a lot on what this thing we call art actually is. In order to reach some sort of useful conclusion, I’m going to look at some of the broad criteria and ideas that can be used to determine whether something is art, which I can then compare to the medium of games. I’m not going to look into High Art, Low Art or other types of art that have been named, as that’s going down a rabbit hole that we might never emerge from (in other words, that’s a subject for another article).

1. Art is pretty 
This is fairly self-explanatory. It says that art should have some elegance or beauty inherent in it, and that this aesthetic beauty is all that matters. The ideas of the piece etc. are not really important.

This is an important attribute, without which a lot of work might not be acknowledged as art (a pretty painting of a scene, created in an unoriginal style with no point but the pure beauty of the scene itself, for instance). Some would argue that this is all that is necessary for something to be art.

2. Art has cultural significance 
Others would not, and might even say that a random pretty painting was not art at all. These people place cultural significance as the most important aspect of an artwork. If the piece doesn’t say something about society and/or the human condition, then it isn’t art.

Note that this definition could reach to include things such as xkcd webcomics, which might not be classed as aesthetically pleasing (I’d actually argue that the stick figure style of xkcd is its own brand of aesthetics in its simplicity, but I’m sure that not everyone shares this view). Often this criteria is combined with the first in varying measures.

3. ‘This be art’ 
This is more of an interesting aside rather than a criterion in itself. Often, by labelling something as art, it becomes art. Mavelich’s black square is artistically interesting because he calls it art. More prevalently, much of Andy Warhol’s art is made up of items that are usually not perceived as art, but which become art because Warhol says they are, thus prompting the question ‘is this art?’. Even more interesting is how Warhol’s insistence that his artworks are shallow and without deeper meaning created a deeper meaning in the works.

This type of art illuminates another property of art as a whole: its value can be completely dependant on the context it is created. Mavelich and Warhol’s work can seem arbitrary and uninteresting in today’s context, but once you’ve looked at the context that created it and the ideas the works convey, they become compelling and interesting. 

Part 6: Why do we care about art? 
This is an important question, whose answer has the potential to put the entire games as art debate into context.

The reasons we care are numerous: artistic work is often immortalised; artistic work can gather funding from government agencies; artistic work has greater monetary value; and artistic work is evaluated and then driven forward by critics and academia to produce more varied artistic work. 

The first of these is rather moot: whether or not a work is immortalised is dependant on whether future generations feel that it is art, not whether we think it is right now. Sure, current debates could sway the issue, but as time passes, more objective viewpoints will prevail.

The issue of funding is more interesting, as some, but not all governments have already implemented this for games (I guess this shows the divide in this issue, and a big impact that one side or the other ‘winning’ could have in the immediate future).

The monetary value issue is problematic, with games having similar issues to the film industry: it’s so easy to duplicate them, that each unit has a smaller value. The true monetary value in games as art is in the potential for broader markets, along with the possibility for patronage in one form or another (see the government funding issue).

This final point is important in the development of the medium: the deeper the artistic content of games, the deeper that other artists and critics will delve into the possibilities of the medium, which leads to deeper games etc. Without an initial depth of ideas, however, games will fail to attract this criticism (it’s hard to do deep critique in a shallow medium without sounding constantly negative about the medium). The question then becomes: are developers doing enough?

Part 7: A Question of Boards 
As games are derivatives of both board games and film, we must ask whether each of these are art forms before we question the medium of games themselves. Films are pretty universally considered an artform, but are board games?

When I say board games, I want to specify the rules of a board game rather than the design of the board itself (so a specific chess board can definitely be artistic and can draw on the ideas of the rules of chess, but are the rules themselves an artwork?).

From an aesthetic point of view, the rules of a board game are nebulous at best. Personally, I feel that there can definitely be an aesthetic quality, or elegance, to a set of rules, in a similar way that there can be an elegance or beauty to a mathematical proof. Yet mathematical proofs are not generally considered artworks (though mathematics has in past times been considered as a part of the arts).

From a cultural value viewpoint, there is definite room for artistic value. Interestingly, I cannot think of a board game that has been created with this in mind (I wouldn’t be surprised if one exists though – if you know one, please let me know). Here, the idea of ‘intended cultural value’ as opposed to ‘observed cultural value’ is important: we can observe the cultural value of castles in medieval times, but this does not make them art, as they were created for defence rather than a cultural purpose. This, of course, shaped the culture of the time drastically, which is incredibly interesting to explore, but still doesn’t make the castle art. Similarly, we cannot call the internet, facebook or Counterstrike art based on their cultural impact and the unforseen community interactions they have created (though calling Counterstrike art for other reasons is allowed).

So based on this, board games have the potential for art in the realm of cultural significance, though their aesthetic merit is debateable. As a medium, this doesn’t definitively state whether board games are art. If you believe that cultural significance is paramount in the definition of art, I think you would have to consider the board game an artform, without many (or any) examples of artworks within it. On the aesthetic side, all bets are off.

Part 8: The Big Question 
And now we come to the big question: Are Games Art?

From an aesthetic point of view, there is no question that the elements of games have aesthetic qualities. The models and worlds that are created usually have at least some (and often abound in) aesthetic value. Often the non-gameplay elements have a combined aesthetic value which combines to form the story. And the gameplay itself can be seen to have aesthetic value (or not) in a similar way to board games.

If we look at games in terms of cultural value, a similar picture appears. The gameplay aspects, like in board games, have the potential for artistic value. The non-gameplay elements have cultural value in the stories they tell and what they can say about society.

Viewed in this way, we can certainly look at games as a gallery, a collection of different artistic pieces (in gameplay, music, art, or other forms) that may have a single theme.

So the question becomes, at what point does a collection of art become a piece of art in itself? To answer this question, we turn to the idea of the montage, as defined by Eisenstein: the juxtaposition of conflicting techniques used to create new ideas.

So can games use montage between their gameplay elements and non-gameplay elements? In short, yes they can. Portal and Braid both demonstrate this wonderfully: Portal through its use of gameplay mode; and Braid through its actual game mechanics.

And this is the answer our question: games as a whole can have cultural value, and they can have aesthetic value. Therefore games must be art.

This begs new, more interesting questions: do games, in the main, utilise this gameplay/non-gameplay montage; and what is its importance? 

Part 9: The importance of gameplay/non-gameplay montage 
As discussed previously, games don’t need to have cultural (or even aesthetic) significance to be good games, but they do need to have this significance to be good art.

I would argue that this gameplay/non-gameplay montage is paramount: without it, the gameplay and non-gameplay aspects of a game begin to create divergent ideas, each of which dilutes the strength of the other.

To illustrate, I’ll take some inspiration from Warhol and build a little thought experiment around the most basic of games.

Think of a film you feel has great artistic value. Now imagine a game which simply consists of a movie player which plays this film as long as the player presses a certain button.

Now the first question you’re probably thinking: is this really a game? The gameplay itself certainly isn’t fun, and probably not engaging. But these are not hallmarks of all games, just those of good games (and no-one is claiming this would be a good game).

The gameplay exists (holding onto a button) and ensures an interaction between the player and the game. The gameplay is important in allowing the story and game to progress – without interaction, the game grinds to a halt. By these definitions, this is a game.

Would the game be as fulfilling an artistic experience as the film on its own (ignoring, of course, the “it’s art because it says something about art” argument)? Of course not. That’s because the gameplay idea doesn’t have anything to do with the non-gameplay idea. If the non-gameplay idea is good enough, you’ll want to complete the gameplay because you’ll be engaged, but the non-gameplay aspect would work better in the film medium rather than the games medium.

Now this is an extreme case, and most games do integrate their gameplay with their non-gameplay aspects at least nominally (usually, the story is about war or conflict and the game is about fighting and killing). But these are superficial connections which don’t create any deeper sense of montage: the question is, do games create any deeper connections?

Part 10: What we do now 
Happily, the answer is yes. As mentioned above, Portal and Braid both accomplish this feat. Portal is particularly important in its density of ideas: the gameplay mode parallels its ideas so well that we never feel too distanced from the deeper meaning.

I would argue that Braid, while brilliant, is less successful at this task. Throughout the game, there are longer stretches of time when a player is solely focused on the gameplay of Braid, trying to solve a puzzle without thought to the deeper mystery. Yet the ending possibly fixes this, as the mode of thought used during this puzzle-solving period becomes incredibly important in itself.

The only other mainstream game which I have played (Mass Effect is on my computer but won’t start for some reason…) that effectively utilises this form of montage is Bioshock. Bioshock’s montage, however, occurs at a single point in the story around the middle, which diminishes its conclusion as being a summative or overarching idea. It’s no deny that it’s a brilliant idea that questions the very nature of how we play games, but it is overruled by a superficial good-vs-evil scenario that fails to resonate at anywhere near the same level (by the way, this is also an example of gameplay/non-gameplay montage, but it is a fairly weak example of it).

Interestingly, there are a number of small, intriguing flash games that do an amazing job at connecting their gameplay and non-gameplay aspects. Every Day the Same Dream and Immortall are both really good examples of this. I’ve also heard of a game called “Permanent Death” which is a fascinating study on how we view death (surprise surprise) in games (I actually can’t find it, if anyone does, please link me). I won’t go into specifics here, as I’d like to review some of these separately, but I think you’ll see what I mean if you play them.

This demonstrates two important points: firstly, it’s an encouraging sign that people are starting to create games with interwoven gameplay and storytelling; and secondly, that the way we choose to make games is a larger barrier than technology in this field. This second point is really important – it’s very easy to think that we could create more interwoven games with technology that can generate narratives etc, and possibly we can, but a lot of these ideas and techniques can be explored with very low-level technologies.

Part 11: Some Conclusions 
Firstly, yes, games are art (does this mean I avoid the lynching?).

Secondly, games are an imbalanced medium, highly skewed towards gameplay and specific genres. These approaches are not wrong, but they should not be the only mechanisms for development used.

Thirdly, games can be incredibly artistic both aesthetically and culturally, while also being engaging, without requiring ridiculous technologies.

Finally, while it’s important that people recognise that games are art, it’s more important that developers recognise it, and create games with artistic intentions in mind.


I hope you’ve enjoyed this romp through the realm of games, art and intrigue (possibly without the intrigue). Please let me know what you think – this article and the ideas contained within only came about through lots of discussions with people about these issues, and I’d love to explore them more.

As a final hurrah for this mammoth of an article, here's a picture of the quarter of my whiteboard-wall that has been dedicated to it.

So I was Kick-Ass today, and apart from being a fantastic movie, it somewhat reminded me of GTA. Both texts have obscenity as a core ingredient of their make-up, and both have the potential to make a point about obscenity in their respective mediums.

Warning - Kick-Ass spoilers ahead

Let's start with Kick-Ass. Kick-Ass scrutinises the Superhero genre, how we are fine with our superheroes doing obscene things (swearing, killing, etc.) and how we expose children to such obscenity. By making Mindy an 11-year old who has lost her childhood by being inundated with these experiences, we are shown what such exposure can take away from us. Juxtaposed to Dave's self-proclaimed naivety, we are jolted into Mindy's all too real loss - while losing her mother was a product of the evil of society, losing both her father and her childhood are placed squarely on the superhero life. In this unreal world, her current state of being feels more real than most in this genre.

Now to GTA, which has been critiqued as 'using satire and irony' to be 'stimulating and thought provoking' (in this case, for the expansion pack Vice City). Now I have to admit to never having played Vice City, though I have played quite a few other GTA games, so please correct me if I've missed something. GTA is unquestionably obscene in its depiction of its world, and like Kick-Ass, it is also undoubtedly over the top in its obscenity. It lets you mow down pedestrians like there's no tomorrow, and fights usually end up in multiple counts of death.

I think there is a case for saying that this is ironic, and can cause one to reflect upon how we view violence and what effect it has on us (after a while of killing cartoony people, you might think 'woah, what if this was real' in a Keanu Reeves accent). There is also room for saying that there is an air of self-parody inherent in GTA's make-up. But as a text, I don't feel that GTA could ever stand up to scrutiny in the same way that kick-ass can.

The reason for this is consequences. Kick-ass' obscenity works, because behind all of it, we are keenly aware at all times that this is just a little girl. We are actually offended by what is happening while being delighted by the awesome special effects and the killing of bad guys, an antithesis we are forced to take on board and think about. GTA has no such consequences, past possibly getting caught by the cops (which is seen more as a lack of skill in avoiding them than as a consequence for doing something wrong). And even if the cops catching you meant something, it lacks the personal component of seeing what happens on an individual scale.

Now at this stage, we have to point at technology a bit, because getting level of emotional nuance is incredibly hard in a game (and arguably impossible). Yet with a little bit of creativity we can get around this: what if at the end of every mission, you were given a score sheet with a body count, complete with how many orphans, widows, widowers etc. had been created thanks to your actions? Presented in the same manner that scores are usually portrayed, this would certainly give some sort of emotion to the situation with the same ironic twist that GTA is known for.

Now doing this sort of thing would have made GTA a very different game, and possibly one that was less fun to play (in fact, it may have needed to be much shorter to work as a piece, which then would completely retard its saleability in the marketplace). But it does demonstrate the difference between the game and film industries in their willingness to make meaningful self-commentary on the medium. And at a time when games are crying out to be taken as seriously as films or other pieces of art, it has to give us pause as to whether we are holding them to the same level of scrutiny.
Recently, I’ve come across an interesting expression of Hollywood cinema as a form within which works have a set of four simple characteristics:

  1. Concealment of decision making (a.k.a invisibility of the film-making process. 
  2. Subordination of style to story (a.k.a stylistic aspects are utilised to tell story as opposed to being important in their own right) 
  3. Style reinforces reality effect (a.k.a immersion and realism within the film world) 
  4. Reality effect rests on centring and continuity (in both a macro and micro sense: for instance, a cut between two places where a similar action is occurring in the centre of frame creates a sense of simultaneity of events) 

These four characteristics are used in most Hollywood films, across a range of genres, quality and popularity.

So the question is: how do games stack up? Do they utilise these characteristics, and more importantly, do we want them to?

1. Concealment of decision making 

In terms of films, the decision making which needs to be concealed involves any aspect which calls undue attention to the fact that the film is designed, which would therefore create a disconnect between the viewer and the world being viewed.

If we apply this principle to games, the parallel is the opacity of game mechanics. Games whose game mechanics are transparent, and which encourage the exploration of the nature of these mechanics, are displaying the decision making process for all to see (similarly to films, as soon as you think about how the game works in order to master it, a disconnect is created between yourself and the game).

This transparency applies heavily to RTS and RPG games, which wear their rules on their sleeves. It needs to be noted that for many modes of play, a transparency of game mechanics is required to make those mechanics work. Starcraft would never have become the phenomenon that it did, had it not been for the ability of players to understand the base components that drove it, and thus strategise it. But doing so sacrifices much of the connection to the story and emotional content that the player might have.

In this, we see direct competition between the two media that lead to the development of games: film and board games. So the question becomes: when making a piece of interactive fiction, how do we choose between transparent and opaque gameplay?

In some ways, we have to admit that we cannot make gameplay completely opaque. If interaction exists, a player will try to understand the nature and workings of that interaction.

An interesting case here is the RPG – in particular, the JRPG. These games separate a mechanics-heavy combat phase from a story-heavy exploration phase. This allows the player to connect emotionally to the story, but ensures that gameplay still exists (I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it doesn’t suffer, as a lot of JRPG’s have fairly simple gameplay).

2. Subordination of Style to Story 

If you look at films from the Hollywood vein, you almost invariably find that the stylistic aspects throughout the entire film are designed to service the story. This has a similar effect to the invisibility of decision-making: to create immersion in the narrative of the film (as opposed to immersion in its inherent beauty and style).

In terms of games, we first need to decide whether gameplay is a stylistic aspect. It can be argued that while films have two major components: style and story; games have three: style, story and gameplay. This leaves us with two options when discussing a gaming equivalent to the Hollywood idiom: we can either see style as being subservient to both story and gameplay; or we can see gameplay to be an aspect of style, which then should be subordinate to story.

In either case, games are becoming increasingly proficient at utilising non-gameplay style to serve story. So the remaining questions are: do we use non-gameplay style to serve gameplay; do we use gameplay to serve story; and should we do either?

Non-gameplay style is often used to justify gameplay (sword-fighting is found in fantasy games, Portal was set in a lab to justify an experimental portal gun), but I have trouble of thinking of an example where non-gameplay style actively enhances gameplay and our connection to the gameplay in the way that style enhances story in Hollywood films (I am open to suggestions here as I think this would be a fascinating study).

In most games, gameplay isn’t used to serve story, but story is hung around a basic gameplay idea. The exceptions to this are very interesting - my two favourite games at the moment, Portal and Braid, create a synthesis between gameplay and story where both aspects serve the other in a symbiotic way. In terms of designing games, this invites us to think of both aspects and how they can work for or with each other. And while gameplay will probably precede and drive story in most cases until our technology improves, building gameplay around a story would be a fascinating endeavour.

3. Style reinforces reality effect 

This essentially means that style is used to bring you into the reality of the film (especially if the situation is in a unreal world). This even applies in films with unusual styles: in Memento, the fragmented structure is used to help us understand Leonard’s reality; and in A Scanner Darkly, the constantly shifting cartoonish visual style gives us insight into the way that the drug addicts portrayed see the world. 

This is an area where games have borrowed from Hollywood and excelled at, whether it be the way that Bioshock creates the world of Rapture or the intricacies of City 17 portrayed in Half-Life 2. I think that games have an inherent advantage over films in this arena: games afford their designers to create small details in the environment that aren’t completely relevant to story, but which can be seen by some players due to the exploratory nature of games.

There is a single aspect of games which has thus far failed at assisting the creation of a reality, and that is in the reaction to a player’s actions. Whether it be the inability for us to generate conversations for NPCs or the lack of meaningful consequences for our actions (especially in games with a so-called morality mechanic such as Fable or Bioshock), we simply lack the technology to really sell the worlds we create in terms of reactions (note that I haven’t played Mass Effect and intend to soon, but when people talk about it, they speak of ‘x diverging storylines’ or ‘different endings’, which implies something that diverges in a binary sense rather than something that has sold the player on the reality of the reactions). 

The question of whether we want to create truly realistic reactions, or whether we can control reactions to appear realistic while still servicing some greater theme is definitely something which should be explored as technology progresses. It should be noted that the Hollywood paradigm doesn’t demand reality, but the illusion of it.

In the meantime, a game in which the world had an intrinsically linear or binary diverging nature to it (which actually meant something) could prove to explore this idea further. 

4. Reality effect rests on centring and continuity 

This, of the four principles, is the least conceptual, yet is still steadfastly adhered to: you very rarely see a film that messes with continuity, and when they do, it’s usually for a story reason (e.g. time travel), which means that continuity is actually enforced. Centring, on the other hand, is more of a specific editing technique.

In games, we enjoy the same continuity that we see in film. A game with a story will strive for continuity to create the reality effect we see.

Centring is a different matter. I would argue that any game which moves from an interactive mode to a cutscene violates centring, bringing us out of the game and reminding us that it is, in fact, not real. Note that within the cutscenes, centring is generally followed, and within the gameplay, centring is also followed, but the two modes simply do not match in a way that jars the reality of the experience.

I think we’ll see a phasing out of cutscenes as our ability to tell story within the interactive mode increases (see Warcraft 3 versus Starcraft in the way that story is told), and so technology is a driving factor here.


I think that this article really emphasises some of the inherit differences between games and film: we cannot apply film principles to games simply because they are such radically different modes of expression. Yet this does not discount the importance of the film-like components of games, just as we cannot ignore their board game-based roots either. It is when these two aspects of games are reconciled by game designers and serve each other that the most profound ideas can be found.

Over the last week or so, I've been writing an essay for an Arts History subject on Eisenstein's theory of montage and the conflict between Eisenstein and Vertov regarding their films. In recap: Eisenstein's montage is defined as a "collision of two given factors (from which) arises a concept". Importantly, in order to be montage, the collision must be designed to create this concept (so real-life conflict cannot be classed as montage). Both film-makers did this, but while Eisenstein's concepts (or syntheses) were clear and directed, Vertov constructed a number of concepts accessible from each collision, each of which asked questions of the audience rather than directing them to think in a certain way. From these differences came much conflict between the two men.

Personally, I prefer Vertov's approach (I'll take a movie that makes me ask difficult questions about the world rather than one which tells me what to think any day), but this doesn't mean that Eisenstein's approach doesn't have any merit. I'm also interested to see how computer games stack up to this idea of montage (which Eisenstein demonstrates to be found within other mediums such as artwork, poetry and literature).

So I'm going to take a representative sample of some games that I've played/know enough about to discuss. I'm certain that other games exist that would be interesting to place here (people keep bringing up Mass Effect), please feel free to suggest some or analyse them in comments.

Please note that in saying that a game does not utilise montage, it doesn't mean I don't think it's worthy of praise or is a good piece. It's simply a different way of looking at the way we create games and their creative content.

I'm going to avoid the word 'art', because like 'religion' and 'politics', it seems to foster discussion which is less constructive than I'd like.

The Sims
This is a simple case, but a very important one. The Sims (and its sequels) has been cited as being one of the most important games in terms of allowing players to create their own stories (The Movies also falls under this category, as well as a dozen other games). While this is an important property of games in its own right that I find fascinating, it falls into the same pitfall as real life, as the conflict encountered in these self-made was not designed by the game's creators. There are, however, two avenues for montage to exist within these games.

Firstly, the games can become tools for players to create their own montages. This is especially true in The Movies, where a player can create a movie and show it to their peers.

Secondly, through mechanics. It can be argued, for instance, that the multi-faceted nature of the needs of the Sims is a collision between the player's objectives and the game's rules that demonstrates the complex and multi-faceted nature of, well, nature (I refuse to believe that the simultaneous need to eat and go to the toilet shows anything about human nature, and feel that the emphasised importance of these primal needs dilutes the meaning that having the balance your sim's social life and work life can provide). But I must also protest calling this montage, as it really is a mechanic which has been created to add fun rather than meaning to the game (and thus the synthesis is not designed). It's be like saying that Starcraft's use of limited resources is a message about the dwindling resources on the planet Earth.

The Sims also has a fairly 'complex' spectrum of emotional states and interactions between its inhabitants. I say 'complex' in inverted commas, because compared to reality this spectrum is grayscale, and pretty badly pixellated. This possible collision between the game's possible states and reality's is a direct result of technology limits: if it had been designed purposefully to examine whether our so-called emotional complexity is really fairly simple, it could be an interesting point, but all indications are that if technology was better, the simulations would be more complex.

GTA 3: Vice City
GTA is an interesting sub-case of Sims-like games. Like the Sims, it is a very open game, allowing players to really create their own individual stories. However, GTA has always retained a sense of self-parody, with senseless violence which is often ignored in games being openly rewarded. Specifically in Vice City, the gratuitous violence that the player commits conflicts with the radio talk about violence in video games and the knowledge that everyone in the city is guilty of something, leading to an awareness in the player of the state of violence in the gaming industry. It's not my favourite way of dealing with violence in games (I much prefer games that find ways to be fun without the need for killing, or those that actually deal with the consequences in a meaningful way), but it's definitely an interesting study.

Max Payne 1 and 2
Okay, so these are games that I actually want to look at again to see if what I remember is correct.

From what I remember, they feature a very rich usage of montage in a cinematic sense, combining cutscenes, comic-book scenes and voice-overs to create some interesting ideas (I'll expound on what these are when I actually play it again). In terms of gameplay, I feel that montage is not used effectively: the most prolific gameplay attribute is bullet-time, but this is never really utilised in a conflict to create any sort of synthesis. The drug sequences, where Max relives his wife and son's murder, are an interesting exception, but again I'd want to play it again before I look at what ideas it invokes.

Half-life 2 and it's progeny
I'd argue that these games, like Max Payne, excel at utilising montage at a visual and stylistic level to tell story, but fail to integrate gameplay in the montage. You just need to look at the conflict between Breen saying "it's safer here" and the metro-cops and their billy-clubs to see an emerging concept of oppression, and I feel that this is one of the really strong aspects of the series. What makes this especially strong is that the story is told in a very natural way, without taking the player out of the moment of the scene by cutting away. Thus, we are free to notice these strong cinematic aspects of the game.

The epitome of this stylistic brilliance can be seen at the start of Half-Life 2, where you don't have any weapons, yet feel compelled to run away from metrocops when you really don't need to be so rushed at a gameplay level. This ability to create fear without resorting to creepy girls and lots of blood is really quite an achievement.

This game interests me in its ability to create moments like these, and it comes very close to the gaming experiences that I'm interested in, but doesn't quite make it. I feel this is for two reasons: firstly, the game doesn't utilise its gameplay in creating montage and thus doesn't involve it in the process of creating ideas; secondly, the game has these wonderful moments of stylistic montage at the start of the game, but these quickly devolve into style and typical fps gameplay which do not contribute to the ideas of the piece in this way.

Note about that last paragraph: yes, my standards here are high - I talk in terms of my aims in creating games, rather than whether I enjoy them. I really enjoy fps gameplay, and Half-life 2 is an exemplary example of this. But this gameplay is rarely, if ever used to tell us something interesting or to create story, and I'm rather sick of the 'killing ridiculous numbers of people' paradigm that permeates AAA games. So I want to evoke some discussion on how we can use gameplay to tell story and create montage: from here, we might start finding new forms of gameplay that can do this, which don't rely on large amounts of virtual death.Bioshock
This was a game, which to me, had a single moment of brilliance within an otherwise solid game and narrative experience. I speak, of course, of the 'Holy Shit' moment in the middle of the game, where the automatic, linear mode of gameplay that we are all used to becomes a vital plot point. This sudden awareness of the way we play games is a conflict between our expectations of games and the reality that asks us whether we should really be following the instructions of games so blindly. The rest of the game is full of stylistic montage that I described above, but again I found the effects of this was severely diluted by killing people gameplay or a lack of consequences (in the case of the good/evil conundrum).

Portal has a special place in my heart. It's gameplay is simple, yet brilliant, and the game did a wonderful job of making the story mirror the gameplay mode (training is conducted through the main body of the game, during which the story is about GlaDOS (I don't pretend to remember exactly which letters are capitalised) teaching the player how to utilise portals, and the more panicked utilisation of these skills begins once GlaDOS leaves the player to become their opponent). In terms of montage, the game leverages heavily on conflicting textures to intensify the differences between the two modes of gameplay and modes of GlaDOS' persona, as well as building tension in the earlier segments. I could also discuss 'The cake is a lie', the player's love and subsequent destruction of the companion cube and the hilariously contrary statements of the turrets as examples of montage: in particular, the companion cube is an amazing usage of gameplay to drive story and illustrate GlaDOS' insanity.

This is a really great example of a game that utilises gameplay to create story in a decidedly non-meta fashion (in that it doesn't examine the nature of the underlying game mechanics, but utilises them to layer ideas over the top). I think the condensed nature of the game is instrumental in making this game the powerhouse that it is: in a typical game, these ideas would be drawn out over a much larger gameplay time, where they would lose much of their impact. 

I am personally very interested in meta-gameplay ideas, which utilise the underlying idea of a gameplay element in story (for instance, the idea of instantaneous travel, or a transfer of momentum, or any other number of consequences of portals, are only explored in a gameplay environment, and a story treatment to mirror these could be fascinating), but the lack of this really doesn't take anything away from the game. If Portal 2 is to match the original in terms of its narrative brilliance, however, I believe that this is one way for it to do so.

A wider analysis of Portal would surely reveal more (I wrote an essay about it a while back and may post it here with some changes, or just write something new about it).

This game does a great job of utilising gameplay to reveal plot. The game uses time manipulation (which has been introduced throughout the game) to invert story from that which is expected based on the gameplay provided sans time manipulation (ie.  mario platformer). The game relies around puzzles with pieces, and throughout gives you pieces of the story you need to assemble yourself. On smaller scales, the game doesn't appear to give us much more than gameplay-driven puzzles, but I haven't really closely looked at things like the level titles and the main story text (which is rather verbose but seems fairly innocuous so far). There are a few nice conflicts with our expectations from mario-like platformers that create a sense of parody (rabid rabbits, anyone?), and stylistic montage definitely exists, but I'm not seeing any gameplay-based montage on the smaller scales.

I haven't completely completed the game - there are things (I won't spoil exactly what) I still need to collect to be privy to the entire story.

But this in itself is an interesting choice: that the story should be less rich for people who do not have the time or inclination to finish it. I don't begrudge the choice - I feel that those that take the effort to complete a game should be rewarded. But I wonder at the wisdom of not allowing all users experience what I'm guessing are story elements which will fundamentally change and possibly enrich the experience of the game. Now I can (and possibly will - I'm not the most patient puzzle gamer) use a walkthrough to achieve the same result, but by doing so I'm getting taken out of the flow of the game (which is exquisite). 

I'm well aware that the joy of figuring these elements out is important, but I do feel that there's a limit. If the game had been a bit more explicit of what it was that I need to collect the second time round (I did look at a walkthrough to work that out), but not how or where they were, this might create a better method for this game. I've also gathered that one of the things can only be collected the first time you enter the level, meaning I might need to start the game from scratch to get the whole story. This, in my opinion, would be a bad design decision.

In Conclusion
So games have gotten pretty good at montage using stylistic aspects (ie. any techniques that can also work in cinema), but are just starting to utilise gameplay in the same fashion. That makes the next decade a fascinating time for the way that games are made.