Martin Banks, Personal Computer World 05/84 - checked

May 1984

The night was dark, very dark. The light from the nearby street lamp struggled and barely reached the ground to lie in a useless yellow pool. It had been raining.

Jndoors, Arnold sat in the dark watching his TV screen. He was at it again. His mother had told him about it, told him he would go blind, but he didn't care. The money was good, and he was starting to make a name for himself. 'I'll try this game one more time and then write the review,' he told himself.

His concentration was broken momentarily as he heard a car pull up outside, then another. In all, seven doors slammed shut and there was the sound of many feet and raised voices. 'Where is da punk?' said one. 'Over there, number 34,'said another. This took Arnold's interest and shook it a bit. He lived at number 34. He rose, went to the window and looked down on the big black Chevvies parked outside, and at the seven big men with violin cases who were walking up the drive to his house. 'Not the Amadeus Quartet,' he surmised.

As they broke down the door and pushed his mother aside, the seven men met Arnold as he came down the stairs. 'Dere's da punk,' said one with an appallingly false Brooklyn accent, 'grab him.' This they duly did, taking him forcibly into the front room.

'What do you want?' asked Arnold, beginning to suspect that all was not right with the world. As six of them took stout sticks from their violin cases, 'Brooklyn ' spoke. 'We represent UltraPunk Software, the like of which you've maybe hoid (Brooklynspeak for heard). You wrote a review about dis noo game dey got called 'Up Yours With A Space Invader' and de boss he ain't likin' what you wrote, right?'

Realisation was dawning on Arnold. 'All I said was that it was pretty boring, just another Space Invader blob rip-off and not worth the £ 7.99 being charged; and it's all true.'

'Da boss don't give a damn whether it's true, he just wants us to correct the mistaken idea you have that you can write the truth in a review,' said Brooklyn. 'He wants us to get across to you the fact that you have hurt both his feelings and his potential bank balance. He sees no reason why punks like you should stop him becoming a rich man just by writing the truth.'

The other six gathered closely around Arnold as Brooklyn continued. 'So, Arnold, the boss has told us to come and visit with you and even things up a little. As you have hurt his feelings, he has told us to hurt yours. I think, boys, that we'll start with his legs . . .'

Well, I've managed to shake off this strange urge to try and write like a third-rate Micky Spillane. I am, however, still left with the bare bones of what I'm going to write about - a nasty word; one that the computer industry should be above (even though we all know that no industry is above it, should it prove either necessary or useful). That word is intimidation.

There are rumours flying around that one or two reviewers have been, how shall we say, 'advised' that recent reviews they have given to games programs have been 'unsatisfactory'. The advice has not come from the editors or even the publishers of the magazine: it has come instead from the producers of the game.

What they would like, it would appear, are nice, well-written and above all, favourable reviews of their games. What they are prepared to offer the reviewers as their part of the bargain is not (necessarily) products that are worthy of the plaudits expected. No, what they are prepared to do is come round and visit a reviewer who proves to be recalcitrant, and offer to 'sort' the reviewer out. This, as we all will understand, is not a reference to a database management function.

I suppose it's inevitable that such offers will be made by some of the companies in the home computer software business. After all, there appears to be a veritable goldmine to be plundered in all those users out there and companies are bound to feel entitled to a piece of the action, regardless of what they produce.

From the few examples I have seen of some of these games, two thoughts have developed. The first is that many of these companies have a cheek trying to be in business at all, and the other is that if they took the creativity used to conjure up the wonderfully hyped storylines that explain the ninety-third, fourth-rate rip-off of Space Invaders they have produced and applied it to developing a different game, then perhaps they would fare better.

Let's return for a moment to the 'Micky Spillane' introduction to this piece. Let's suppose that the seven hoods achieve their desired objective and re-arrange Arnold's thought processes so that he intrinsically feels that all the products produced by UltraPunk Software are wonderful, and writes so. Even if the company has managed to similarly nobble every other reviewer, it cannot nobble the users; and there is an old saying that you cannot fool all of the people all of the time. In the end, UltraPunk will get found out anyway. Sure, the magazines will also get found out, and the users will stop buying them. This will leave UltraPunk with no-one reading the 'glowing' reviews, and no-one buying the wonderful games.

It's a sad indictment of the software industry that it even thinks in terms of breaking the legs of games reviewers who pan one of their products. Apart from anything else it demonstrates what little faith it has in its own products and creativity, as well as showing that it probably lacks the maturity to run its affairs in an orderly fashion. This, of course, leaves it open to a wide range of expert con-men and skimming artists.

Once these characters become involved, the needs of the users become of little relevance, just so long as they keep paying for the products. As has been seen in the publishing business, the companies don't always pay their own way, even though they get the money from the end users just as fast as it can be dragged out of their pockets.

There was a time when the micro business was fun, when it was full of lovable rogues and con-men such as ... well, no names, no libel suit. Certainly they would stitch you up if they got the chance, but offer to break your legs? It was generally unlikely. Now it seems to be almost common.

Ho hum, see you in hospital.

end