OK, why not.
A rhetorical model for retro game analysis
As someone who once spent a lot of time on Usenet and, later, GameFaqs, I can testify that the discourse surrounding retro computer games has come a long way in multiple senses. In those days, a significant amount of content was fan-generated and highly idiosyncratic, whether it emerged from discussion messages or AngelFire websites. It was largely an enthusiast’s space, with professional and commercial discourse focused on current games.
25 years later, things have changed significantly. Thanks to greatly diversified monetization models, creators who once would have posted content for free have revenue streams via Patreon, YouTube, etc. Whether coincidentally or consequentially, fan-generated content about retro games has achieved a much higher level of professionalism and polish.
I support this. Why should Ziff-Davis get all the money?
After more than two decades, I believe there is a general idea about what a successful assessment of a retro computer game looks like.
- Historical background
- Story/World
- Gameplay
- Assessment (good or bad)
- Assessment (legacy)
Sometimes gameplay comes before story. Different critics handle the mix differently. Perhaps one is more interested in the history and legacy, another might care most about gameplay. Thinking more broadly, this is a widely used model for talking about media generally. It can be adapted for discussing a record, for instance, or a film. It’s easy to see why this succeeds, as it usually consists of things people would like to know. I include myself.
I have no objection to this structure, which works very well, but I worry about the way in which its prevalence can give the idea that, in the end, nothing else is worth talking about. One of my favorite posts on this blog, written an astonishing 54 months ago, is about privilege, wealth, and attitudes toward mental illness in the 1980s. Those themes are there in the text of Deadline for anyone to notice and see. There’s merit, I think, to uncovering what cultural artifacts (games) say about American life then and now. About us.
Obviously, I do not think that other content creators should drop what they’re doing and write about this kind of thing instead. I only think—and if you’re here, you likely already believe this—that the full picture of a thing is not something neatly contained.
Many retrospectives are author-focused. That is, they are concerned with a detailed account of a work’s production. Who were the personalities involved? How were things going at the company? Not generally, but very specifically? Where was Douglas Adams all that time? And so forth. I think these things are interesting, too, but I do not see them as changing the meaning of a text. I played Infocom games in the 1980s, and, at that time, I assumed Douglas Adams was very hands-on with Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. That’s something–inaccurate, as it turns out—that I brought to the game that informed my experience.
My Commodore 64 couldn’t run A Mind Forever Voyaging, so to me Steve Meretzky was always the “Funny Sci-Fi” guy. Realistically, an average player in the 1980s wouldn’t know all the games, or the names of the testers, or our incredible reality in which Deadline rates lower than Hollywood Hijinx on IFDB in 2026. 1980s Drew would have choked on his ring pop!
My criticism is player focused. It is impossible to pretend I don’t know history, and sometimes history tells us about players, but, believe me, Marc Blank’s intentions regarding Border Zone will not be a factor in my analysis. What would a player, aware only of reviews, advertisements, and The New Zork Times (possibly) make of a game? Having a closer look, what does this text feature or privilege? Consider Infocom’s marketing of Trinity: a bibliography and an article about Brian Moriarty’s trip to New Mexico. A commonly held view is that these artifacts are clear indicators of the intellectual rigor involved in Trinity‘s production.
I think that’s true. Moriarity clearly invested in Trinity as a historically verifiable project. Still, I, the player in 1980s, thought: “Infocom is marketing Trinity as a game for sophisticated adults who want art in video games.” There was a question of why Infocom was calling attention to the production of a work in a way that it never had. What did that say about Infocom’s audience? Or what they thought about art with regard to their other games? And so forth.
Unfortunately, whether due to a failure of imagination or else due to a genuine semantic triumph of history over text, of author over player, I will encounter moments in these late days of Infocom where it is impossible to see a work not for itself but as the latest scrabble at the cliff’s edge. Less darkly, it is hard to talk about Hollywood Hijinx without talking about its authors, primarily Dave “Hollywood” Anderson and Liz Cyr-Jones, but also the other helpful implementers who pitched in along the way. The text itself defies heady cultural analysis. Yes, its celebration of b-movie kitsch almost certainly overlooks some dark realities of the film industry, but who cares? I might point out something here or there, but there’s nothing really provocative about Hollywood Hijinx—it’s perfectly fine.
Hollywood Hijinx (1986)
Play game and review source files
Packaging, copy protection, etc. (MoCAGH archive)
Packaging, copy protection, etc. (Infodoc)
Internet Archive Query “Hollywood Hijinx”
HTML Invisiclues
Archived (z5) Invisiclues
Map (Infodoc)
Opening Crawl
As night falls the black limousine turns off the highway. It has all happened so fast, you think to yourself. Your Aunt passing away without any warning, the funeral this afternoon, and now this unusual stipulation in her will. The limo pulls up to the front of the house. "This is the end of the line," says the attorney, and you step out of the back of the limo. "Remember, your Aunt Hildegarde's will stated you will inherit her entire fortune -- if you can find the ten 'treasures' in one night."
He hands you a photo of Uncle Buddy and a letter, saying, "Her will instructed that I give you this photo, with the poem, to point you in the right direction. Also this letter, and here, you'll need this." He gives you a flashlight. "Meet me at 9 a.m. in the living room with all the 'treasures' and you'll inherit her entire estate," he says as the limo pulls away and disappears into the night's darkness.
HOLLYWOOD HIJINX
Infocom interactive fiction -- a zany treasure hunt
Copyright (C) 1986 Infocom, Inc. All rights reserved.
HOLLYWOOD HIJINX is a trademark of Infocom, Inc.
Release 37 / Serial Number 861215
South Junction
You're standing in front of the house where you spent many of your summers as a youngster. The old place is not as big as it seemed to you then, but it is still quite large. Stone pathways wind east and west around the house, and a larger main walkway leads north.
A life-size statue of Buck Palace, one of the stars of Uncle Buddy's talent stables, stands here. He's holding a bazooka pointing north.
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Let’s delve, as we always do, into the paratext that shipped with Hollywood Hijinx. I’ll include any Status Line content available, and, provided I can find any, advertising material, too.