I wanted to just quickly jot down a few lines, impromptu style, you know, catch a thought on the fly and get it out there. But the topic of game adaptations turned out to be trickier. You start digging, and so much surfaces: purely analytical stuff requiring a sprinkle of facts and a systemic view, and, let's be honest, quite personal, almost nostalgic things. So yeah, fair warning: this post is neither fish nor fowl, impromptu and a deep dive all at once. The lens of game design analysis inevitably gave way to a dose of emotion. But hopefully, not at the expense of the core idea.
And the core idea is that the news feed has been literally buzzing lately – and it's no longer just isolated announcements, but a whole persistent wave that's actually been building strength for years. Yes, right now the Minecraft movie is grabbing headlines with its colossal media splash, McD's collab, etc, there are rumors about a Dead Space movie entering production, and the intriguing announcement of A24 working with Kojima on Death Stranding. The upcoming second season of The Last of Us, just days away, is being discussed like it's the TV event of the decade. But this trend wasn't born yesterday, was it?
Let's think back over the last ten years, especially the last three or four: the resounding success of the Fallout series, the animated triumph of Arcane based on League of Legends, the warmly received Cyberpunk: Edgerunners which gave the game a second wind, box office hits like Sonic the Hedgehog (three times already!), Uncharted, Detective Pikachu, and the absolutely monstrous Super Mario Bros. Movie. Let's not forget The Witcher on Netflix (even if based on the books, it's strongly associated with the games) or the Mortal Kombat reboot. Phew... The list goes on and on. So, today's big announcements aren't sporadic sorties by filmmakers anymore, but a confident, systemic movement, a powerful, long-established trend.
And against this backdrop of information flow, the time machine inevitably kicks in, transporting me back... to the past. As someone whose childhood coincided precisely with the heyday of HD consoles (Xbox 360/PS3) and the online gaming boom, I vividly remember that other wave of movie adaptations, which seemed... well, a bit different. Yeah, somewhere on the periphery, there was Lara Croft with Angelina Jolie from an earlier era, catchable on TV or discs. Of course, there was Paul W.S. Anderson's seemingly unkillable Resident Evil series, which kept coming out right during my school years (parts from 2010 to 2016, roughly). But what else? I recall Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time (2010) – supposedly a big Disney blockbuster, but it fizzled out. Or the failed Need for Speed (2014), trying to play in the Fast & Furious sandbox. Or the utterly unnecessary Hitman: Agent 47 (2015). And looking back from today (and even then, if you stripped away the childish excitement of seeing familiar names), it was often utter, unbearable cringe. Cardboard characters, idiotic plot twists, a complete disregard for the atmosphere and logic of the source material.
But! And this is an important "but". For a kid who spent tens, if not hundreds, of hours in front of a computer, it was... An Event. Even if it was clumsy, even if it was ridiculous, causing more bewilderment than delight, your game was being shown in the cinema. On the big screen! It was its own kind of validation, albeit a flawed one, but an important validation for your hobby, which most adults around considered a mere pastime at best, or harmful nonsense at worst. It was like an awkward but significant nod from the "big world".
The key problem with those films, as I see it now from the perspective of someone who digs into game mechanics and narrative structures daily, wasn't just limited budgets or imperfect CGI of the time. It ran deeper – in a total misunderstanding, or perhaps even an unwillingness to understand, the source material as a medium. Games were perceived by writers and directors as a collection of iconic elements: Here's a recognizable hero in a characteristic outfit, here are a couple of signature locations, here are a few types of enemies. This kit was then mechanically assembled into a generic Hollywood action B-movie or horror flick.
It felt like nobody seriously tried to analyze and convey the essence of the gaming experience. Why TLoU isn't just "another zombie apocalypse," but a poignant story about relationships, loss, and moral choices? Why Resident Evil, at its best, is about suspense, resource management, and oppressive claustrophobia, not just action scenes? Gameplay as a narrative tool, atmosphere created by interactivity, the unique pacing and rhythm of a game – all of this was either ignored or simplified down to mere set dressing.
So, what changed? Why does the current wave of adaptations evoke completely different feelings and expectations – not just among hardcore gamers, but also among a wider audience who previously hadn't even heard of cordyceps or necromorphs?
- Games Grew Up. Obvious, but true. Modern AAA projects are often incredibly complex, multimillion-dollar productions with meticulously crafted worlds, non-linear plots worthy of good literature, characters you empathize with, and incredibly cinematic direction. They themselves have become closer to cinema in terms of ambition, narrative, and visual culture. Adapting such material to the screen no longer means "making up a plot from three lines in the manual." The source material itself is rich and self-sufficient.
- Generations Changed. And the audience matured. In the director's chairs, among the screenwriters, and, more importantly, in the audience, there are now far more people for whom video games aren't exotic, but an integral part of their cultural background. They grew up on these games, they understand their language, value them, and consequently, demand more respectful treatment. Neil Druckmann, the showrunner for the TLoU series, isn't an outsider but the creator of the original. As a game director, he instinctively knows how to preserve the story's DNA, its tone, and key themes, even when adapting it for a completely different medium with its own rules and limitations.
- Money and IP Power. The entertainment industry has finally realized (better late than never) that popular game franchises aren't just niche entertainment for geeks, but immensely powerful intellectual properties with huge, loyal audiences and, accordingly, colossal commercial potential. Investing large budgets in game adaptations, attracting top actors and directors, has become not just possible, but strategically advantageous. The risks are lower, the potential returns – enormous.
And here we arrive at the most interesting, almost personal point for me. From the perspective of someone who chose game design as their path, I always acutely felt this, let's say, one-sided attraction of our industry towards cinema. There was a persistent feeling that we were talented, ambitious, but still the younger siblings. We looked up to cinema, learned from it. Many iconic game designers – from Hideo Kojima with his cinephile tendencies to Neil Druckmann structuring narratives like the best dramas – didn't hide their admiration for the silver screen (silent and otherwise). They borrowed directing techniques, narrative structures, even the language of the frame. We, as an industry, strived for that standard for a long time, aiming to prove that we too could tell stories, evoke emotions, be art. Analyzing this process, one could even say that game design largely went through an apprenticeship under cinema in terms of storytelling and visual direction.
(And here, if this weren't just a ramble, I'd say that often people's favorite games aren't AAA projects but indie ones, and that games are an interactive art form, and imitating films isn't the best practice, blah blah blah, but I won't! Until next time :))
And now... Now something amazing is happening. It seems the pendulum hasn't just swung – it's flown back with unexpected force. The film industry, the very one we looked up to, seems to have finally seen something more in games than just a cash cow with a ready-made fanbase or a set of assets for an action flick (although that aspect, naturally, hasn't disappeared). There's recognition happening/has happened. Recognition of games as an independent, mature media form capable of generating complex, unique universes, deep characters, and, most importantly, a unique interactive experience that can't simply be copied, but whose spirit can be respectfully interpreted and translated to the screen.
And this is no longer that condescending pat on the back felt during the era of those old adaptations.
"Oh look, we'll make a little movie based on your colorful shooter, the kids will be happy!"
Now it feels more like a dialogue, a search for common ground, a mutual interest between major studios and talented creators. And this feeling... It resonates with something deep inside.
I remember myself – that kid watching clunky special effects and a ridiculous plot in a movie based on his favorite game, eyes shining. Adults around often didn't understand, shrugging: "What's so special about those games of yours?". But for me, for us, it was a whole world. A world that existed mainly in our heads and on old monitor screens, a world full of stories, challenges, and discoveries, which seemed like something frivolous, an almost secret hobby, incomprehensible to the "big" world.
And now you read announcements like Death Stranding from A24 (a studio known for its auteur approach!), see the colossal hype around Minecraft, the triumphant success of The Last of Us series, made with love for the source material – and you catch yourself thinking: That very world, once misunderstood and sometimes even scorned, has grown up. It broke free from the confines of monitors, wrapped itself around modern culture, became an integral part of it. And we... We who grew up alongside it, we grew up too. And that childish, naive, yet so sincere and unwavering feeling that "Games – they're important, they're serious, THEY'RE COOL!", suddenly turned out to be true. A truth that everyone now acknowledges.
And you know, that kid from my childhood, the one who avidly watched even the most disastrous adaptations just to see familiar characters on the big screen... He'd be standing next to me now, looking at all this with silent, almost reverent awe and probably nudge me, saying:
"See? I told you! They got it!"
That feeling, when your faith, your passion, what was your personal, almost intimate world, finally receives the deserved recognition and respect at the highest level... It's... a very powerful and very warm feeling. Like you've been vindicated. Vindicated for all those hours spent in fictional universes, for that belief in their significance. And those universes are now coming alive on the big screens, and doing so with the dignity they always deserved.
It's incredibly inspiring. Inspiring to move forward, here, in gamedev, to create our own worlds, tell our own stories, knowing they are no longer confined to the box of "just games." They are part of the larger cultural conversation. And this is, perhaps, the best time to be part of this industry.
P.S. Yeah, not exactly a typical post for the blog, for the format. Less analysis, more reflection. But I didn't want to lose this thought — it's also part of my perspective on the industry that's taking shape here.
There is more secrets ⇢ t.me/slepokNTe 🕵️♂️