The N Game by Lou Cantor
Lou Cantor is a Berlin based artist collective founded in 2011, presently consisting of Jozefina Chetko and Kolja Glaeser, whose main scope of interest is grounded in intersubjectivity and interpersonal communication.
www.loucantor.com
www.instagram.com/lou_cantor
That the game had not been finished by the designers upon its introduction was not considered a problem, in fact, quite the contrary. The essential premise, an open world game in which characters sought to engage in acts of expression that would challenge the amorphous power regimes that played the role of villains, was simple enough. A player would design a character from a range of possible skins, talents, and geographies and their character would then enter a restricted political space and attempt to disrupt it until the authorities either dispersed or joined the ostensible revolution.
The possibility that characters would lose to authorities was one of the aspects of that game that proved most engaging for players. One could choose a level of repression at which to begin, for example, a brittle autocracy or a soft-authoritarian regime that would ght words or images with truncheons and guns. The most challenging levels, of course, were set in reasonably open societies. In those levels, players had to be particularly skilful to affect changes in the functioning of regimes that were designed to absorb almost all forms of peaceful resistance and neutralise it. That the game was not complete, and indeed would never be - a fact the designers celebrated both for its creative potential and the ensuing job security, provided an allure that everyone hoped would prove all but addictive.
Despite the many things to recommend the game, there was a small problem: the game itself and video games, in general, were technically illegal within the jurisdiction of the government. The government regarded them as a distraction from useful social and economic activities, and a possible vector for creating resistance, but the developers were very savvy about circumventing this problem and provide something of a case study for entrepreneurs seeking to prise open ostensibly closed markets. Chad Sipwell, the lead developer, spoke directly to the president as the game moved out of testing phases and, with his characteristic optimism and nonchalance, showcased his unique talent for disruption: What if, he asked the president, we introduced the game specifically as an illegal pastime. The logic was simple and, thus, impressed the president immediately: playing the game would itself become a form of resistance to the government and the more one played and the more people one encouraged to play, the more sense the players would have that they are doing something to open their society, to resist the petty repressions and dogmas of their apparently sclerotic rulers. Such a feeling could be highly useful to the regime.
Of course, the proliferation of an illegal, never-ending game offered the regime a number of other upsides as well, not least that it would attract a certain kind of person as a player, the kind of person who otherwise might be troublesome for the regime, thus, it provided an efficient way to both identify and stultify potential opposition. Everything seemed in order. The President was very pleased with the idea and with Chad’s winning bonhomie, the only enquiry he had was whether the game had a name. Yes, Chad, said, it did, short, snappy and to the point: Nperson. As an infinite number of potential players could join, the N stood for an as yet undetermined number but also offered a nifty bit of wordplay to boot. The president and his advisors all agreed, this was a very good name.
