Confessions of a mad programmer

Not many people realize just what a grueling toll video game development can take on a man.  It’s partially the reason behind the group auteur theory of interactive design over that of a singular distinction, akin to film.

Sure, there may be figureheads on the front lines of design – those rock stars we credit with giving true personality to our games.  But take your Nintendo’s away from Miyamoto or your Konami’s away from Kojima and what you have left is an artist lost; a David Lee Roth without Van Halen, a Syd Barrett without Floyd.

Tomonobu Itagaki

Just last year, Tomonobu Itagaki, ex-lead of Team Ninja (of the eponymous Ninja Gaiden series) decided to take a run at a solo career while the rest of his group began collaborating with Nintendo on Metroid: Other M.  Itagaki, whose rock star career spans sexual harassment to wishing “nuclear missiles” on fellow studio Namco, has yet to announce a new project.

Only time will tell if Itagaki’s decision was a mistake or, like a young Dre leaving N.W.A in the dust, he’ll become an unrestricted prodigy in the process.

But what of those bands who stick together?  Whose chemistry is cemented after months of demanding hours, stimulant binges and little-to-no sleep?  What happens to them as release draws near and they’re all pushed to the outskirts of sanity in a last-minute process known as “crunch”?

Syd Barrett's first guitar

Meet “Hidemushi,” programmer on Namco’s Erika to Satoru no Yumebōken, a charming little Famicom/NES game from 1988.  For months, Hidemushi worked diligently on Erika to Satoru no Yumebōken, getting along with coworkers, chatting about last night’s newest episode of Kinpachi Sensei, going out after work to the local watering hole – until one night, after he was again the last man standing in the office, something inside him snapped.

Smashing his keyboard in frustration, he reached below for the emergency sake hidden under his desk.  Drawing the carafe from the shadows beneath him, he cursed his lot in life as his chest began to boil with pent up rage.  He thought about Kaoru Ogura, who must have had sex like six times last night, the office reeked of stank so badly today.  And of his on-again-off-again pal Ōhashi, who’s porn obsession made even his collection seem paltry in comparison.  All these people and more were home with their spouses, their children, their pornography, and Hidemushi was stuck at work after midnight, again.

The bottle now gone, Hidemushi struck upon a brilliant idea – why not write a message to players everywhere, shedding insight into this seedy underworld of video game design?   But we can’t make it too easy to find, he thought, I’ll lose my job for sure.  And as much as I can’t stand that ass-kisser Takano, I need the yen.  So let me make it so that if you *this* and then *that* and wait a half hour…

And thus, the video game memoir was born.  A translated excerpt from Hidemushi’s actual ‘hidden’ message:

First off, Kaoru Ogura, who ran off with some guy in the middle of the project. Yes, you, you bastard. Don’t show up at the office without showering after having sex 6 times the previous night.

Next, Tatsuya Ōhashi. Yes, you, you bastard. Don’t give me your flippant shit — coming in late on the day we ship the ROM like nothing’s amiss. You can give me all the porn you want; I’m not forgetting that one. All that fucking weight you put on. No wonder you paid out 18,000 yen and still got nothing but a kiss out of it.”

- Hidemushi, Erika to Satoru no Yumebōken

Sometimes, these cathartic post scripts are written privately inside the game’s code with players never able to access the kvetching directly – like when the infamous programmer “Y.S.” unleashed his fury inside the code of another Famicom game, Pachi-Com.  But this kind of subtlety would not suffice for Hidemushi.

For once in a while, a programmer, so disgruntled with spending hours on end in front of a lifeless, loveless computer seeks liberation (and probable attrition) from his personal hell and wants the whole world to know.

Much like the memoirs of ex-drummers seeking to tarnish the reputation of fellow band mates, whose one-time familiarity bred long-standing contempt, it appears as though programmers have developed ways of disclosing their own personal frustrations.  And while the Japanese may be too culturally reserved for their own Half Baked moment, it doesn’t mean they have to keep everything bottled up inside.

Images Courtesy of Wikipedia