When Video Game Journalism Turns Inward, Everyone Suffers | Games

Last week was a challenging period for video game journalism. Two key figures from the veteran site Giant Bomb, Jeff Grubb and Mike Minotti, announced their exit after the recent removal of a particular podcast episode. The 888th installment of the Giant Bombcast reportedly included the section on new brand guidelines, which has since been withdrawn from public access. Just days later, it was revealed that the prominent US site Polygon is set to be sold to Valnet, the parent company of Screen Rant and Game Rant. Consequently, job losses are expected. This follows the 2024 sale of Reedpop, which included four major UK gaming sites: Eurogamer, GamesIndustry.biz, Rock Paper Shotgun, and VG247. Redundancies have been rampant.

It’s disheartening to witness such long-standing platforms, known for their substantial audiences and solid reputations, being handled like mere commodities. Regarding the sale of Polygon, Vox CEO Jim Bankoff stated: “This transaction lets us focus our efforts and investments on other key growth areas in our portfolio.” Honestly, it feels disconcerting to see a decade of progressive gaming discourse turned into off-the-shelf assets. Valnet claimed: “Polygon is set to achieve new editorial standards through dedicated investment and innovation.” However, one must wonder how this will transpire with a significantly downsized team.

Undoubtedly, corporate press releases and the familiar robotic jargon from industry pundits have not quelled the anger and skepticism surrounding these exits. Writing for Aftermath, journalist Nathan Grayson remarked: “While Polygon’s traffic may have been less than stellar, Giant Bomb had a dedicated listener base thanks to its unique blend of personalities. One has to question whether any of the CEOs involved in these transactions have ever listened to a podcast that isn’t focused on maximizing shareholder value.




Jim Bankoff, CEO of VOX Media, captured at the 2022 Code Conference. Photo: Jerod Harris/Getty Images from Vox Media

Video game journalism has long been a precarious balancing act amid various commercial pressures. In the early days of gaming magazines, advertising revenue often came from the very companies whose products were scrutinized by the press. Throughout my tenure as a magazine editor, I witnessed advertisers withdraw their support following unfavorable critiques of their products. Yielding to such pressures jeopardizes the trust of our readership, which is our most valuable asset. While publishers may have significant influence, losing audience trust could lead to their downfall.

As these magazines transitioned to websites, advertising remained a crucial revenue source. Today, the landscape is more complex; with influencers on platforms like Twitch and YouTube emerging, the industry appears less reliant on dedicated gaming journalism sites. It seems that companies looking to acquire gaming sites are focused more on brand names than on the creative, experienced teams behind them. Recent investigations revealed that Valnet was accused of turning acquired properties into mere content mills focused on “SEO Bait.” Valnet hasSince been involved in legal disputes regarding this issue.

As gaming evolves into a live service sector with billions of paying customers, journalism’s compensation rates have stagnated.

The current tech landscape seems to reward the mechanization of creativity. Unquantifiable and costly, human insight is often perceived as an obstacle to streamlined growth and market penetration. While AI gains traction, one might wonder if automating content generation for video game walkthroughs, produced in milliseconds, could suffice.

The catch, however, is that writing game walkthroughs is labor-intensive and requires skillful gameplay, adept interpretation, and the capacity to foresee player needs. Reviews are inherently subjective, influenced by personal experiences. Podcasts offer a friendly chat-like atmosphere. Top-tier gaming journalism elucidates the industry while uncovering issues that might otherwise be obscured. Those who excel in this arena have years of gameplay, writing, and inquiry experience; they understand gamers’ thoughts.

This dilemma resonates across all artistic mediums, from film to music. Tech moguls anticipate that their brand acquisitions will engage audiences, expecting passive consumers to absorb whatever is presented. However, it’s not mindless content we seek, but innovative ideas and craft. Fortunately, independent sites are emerging at an impressive rate, such as the UK-based VGC and the US-based Aftermath, both of which are building substantial followings. While audiences may be deceived temporarily, it’s increasingly apparent that poorly staffed digital content machines can only churn out secondhand ideas, hoping that the hollow echoes of lost credibility will withstand the test of time.

What to Play




Fear With Highrook is both terrifying and fascinating. Photo: Nullpointer Game

Each month, I review twelve indie video games that experiment with collectible card battle mechanics reminiscent of Magic The Gathering and Yu-Gi-Oh. One standout is Fear With Highrook, where a group of explorers delves into a haunted mansion to uncover the fate of a missing nobleman’s family. The game features a challenging world akin to a complex board game, combining item discovery with skill card upgrades for character enhancement. Drawing inspiration from Poe and Lovecraft, it offers a beautifully crafted experience filled with ideas and arcane treasures for aficionados of both space and Gothic horror.

Available on: PC
Estimated playtime: Over 10 hours

What to Read




Lucia Caminos, co-protagonist of Grand Theft Auto VI. Photo: Rockstar Game
  • Fraud has plagued video gaming since its inception, impacting countless players in online multiplayer shooters. Explore this feature detailing Riot Games’ battle against cheaters in League of Legends and beyond, highlighting the ongoing struggle between developers and hackers.

  • Many exceptional video games have been on the brink of disaster due to poor design choices during development. An extensive interview with former Sony President Yoshida reveals how he salvaged Gran Turismo by advocating for playable non-racing characters.

  • Although I adore video games, many modern tech products cultivate their own myths and folklore. This BBC feature explores fascinating cases, like Ben owned – the story behind the haunted N64 cartridge that captivated gaming forums in 2010.

  • After finishing your read, check out Rockstar’s latest teaser for the upcoming Grand Theft Auto VI. A recent trailer has emerged alongside new screenshots and details about key characters Jason and Lucia, hinting at the game’s delays until May 2026.

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Question Block




Limited options exist… the gaming scene is grappling with breakthroughs in VR like The Meta Quest. Photo: Meta Connect/AFP/Getty Images

This week’s question comes from Guy Bailey who reached out to me via Blue Sky:

“I’m a fan of sim racing in VR, while my son loves Vrchat and the friendships formed within various worlds. Half-Life Alyx is a phenomenal experience, and most individuals who try VR rave about it. Is this the peak of VR?”

This query has lingered in the VR community since the Oculus Quest launched in 2019, which was meant to rejuvenate modern VR. While over 20 million Quest headsets and 5 million PlayStation VR sets have been sold, we are not collectively spending substantial time in virtual environments.

Several factors contribute to this trend. Motion sickness is one culprit—many individuals (particularly women, as outlined in studies) experience nausea after even brief usage. Regardless of how engaging the software, discomfort can prevent enjoyment. There are also neurological and physiological discrepancies when we navigate visual settings that conflict with our bodily sensations. We’ve all seen humorous videos featuring gamers colliding with walls while lost in VR.

Moreover, VR can make us feel exposed and awkward, particularly when wearing a bulky headset at home. Such elements likely explain why companies like Apple are favoring augmented reality over intensive virtual experiences. Thus far, their approach hasn’t succeeded in establishing a consumer-centric platform.

In most instances, the content available isn’t enticing enough for general audiences. It’s a cliché, but the fact remains: there’s no definitive “killer app.” I’ve got a PlayStation VR headset that’s gathering dust, while my sons only occasionally engage with the Meta Quest 3. Their favorite experiences are often limited to brief sessions.

For many of us, VR needs to evolve to engage our senses—touch, taste, and smell.

If you have a topic you’d like to discuss or a question for the newsletter, please reach out to me at pushingbuttons@theguardian.com

Source: www.theguardian.com

Confessions of an AI chatbot helper: Embracing the Future of Journalism

debtOr for a few hours a week, I write for a tech company worth billions of dollars. Joining me are published novelists, budding academics, and other freelance journalists. The workload is flexible, the pay is higher than we’re used to, and there’s no shortage of work. But what we write is never read by anyone outside our companies.

That’s because we’re not writing for humans, we’re writing for AI.

Large-scale language models (LLMs) like ChatGPT have made it possible to automate huge parts of our linguistic lives, from summarizing any amount of text to drafting emails, essays, and even entire novels. These tools have become so good at writing that they have become synonymous with the very idea of artificial intelligence.

But before we risk god-like superintelligence or catastrophic mass unemployment, we first need training. Rather than automating our lives with these fancy chatbots, tech companies are contracting us to help train their models.

The core of the job is writing fictitious responses to questions for a hypothetical chatbot. This is the training data that needs to be fed into the model. Before the “AI” can even try to generate “good” sentences, it needs examples of what “good” sentences look like.

In addition to providing our models with this “gold standard” material, we also help them avoid “hallucinations” (a poetic way of saying lies) by using search engines to give them examples of citing sources – without seeing such texts, the models cannot teach themselves.

Without better language data, these language models simply cannot be improved: their world is our language.

But wait a minute: haven’t these machines learned billions of words and sentences? Why do they need physical scribes like us?

First, the internet is finite. And so is the sum of all the words on every page of every book ever written. So what happens when the last pamphlet, papyrus, and prolegomenon is digitized and the model still isn’t perfect? What happens when there are no more words?

The date for the end of language has already been determined. Researchers Announced in June “If current trends in LLM development continue,” this is expected to happen between 2026 and 2032, at which point “models will be trained on datasets roughly the same size as the available stock of publicly available human text data.”

Focus on the words humanLarge-scale language models do little more than generate prose, and many of them are already publicly available on the Internet. So why not train these models on their output (so-called synthetic data)? The cyborg Internet, jointly created by us and our language machines, could expand infinitely. But no such luck. Training current large-scale language models on their output won’t work. “Learning indiscriminately from data generated by other models leads to ‘model collapse’, a degeneration process in which a model forgets the true underlying data distribution over time,” Ilya Shumailov and colleagues write in the paper. NatureIn other words, they tend to go off the rails and produce nonsense. Giving something its own stench leads to debilitation. Who would have thought?

Shumailov explained that whenever a model is trained on synthetic data, it loses awareness of the long tail of “minority data” (rare words, unusual facts, etc.) that it was originally trained on. The breadth of knowledge is lost and replaced with only the most likely data points. LLM is essentially a sophisticated text prediction machine, so if the original digital data was already biased (mostly English-language, mostly US-centric, full of unreliable forum posts), this bias is only repeated.

When AI-generated synthetic data isn’t enough to improve models, something else is needed. This is especially true for Concerns grow The much-praised model will likely be unable to be improved upon before it becomes useful in practice. Sequoia is AI companies need to close a $500 billion revenue gap by the end of this year to keep investors happy. AI machines may be hungry, but so is the capital to back them.

OpenAI, the trillion-dollar Microsoft protectorate behind ChatGPT, recently signed a licensing agreement with the company. Hundreds of millions of dollars From News Corp Financial Times.

But it’s not just a matter of accumulating original words: these companies need the kind of writing that their models try to emulate, not simply absorb.

This is where human annotators come in handy.


IFritz Lang’s 1927 classic film Big citiesThe ancient Canaanite god Moloch is reincarnated as an insatiable industrial machine: technology that works us, not for us. Factory workers meet its ever-increasing demands by charging at dials and pulling levers. But they cannot keep up. The machines hiss and explode. And we see workers abandon the act of feeding and walk straight into the mouth of Moloch’s furnace.

When I first took on the role of AI annotator, or more precisely, “Senior Data Quality Specialist,” I was very conscious of the irony of my situation. Large language models were supposed to automate the work of writers. The more the models improved through our work, the faster our careers would decline. And I was, feeding our own Moloch.

In fact, if there’s anything that this model accomplishes quite well, it’s the kind of digital copywriting that many freelance writers do to earn a living. Writing an SEO blog about the “Internet of Things” might not require a lot of research, pride, or skill, but it usually pays a lot more than writing poetry.

Working as a writer at an AI company is like being told Dracula is coming to visit and instead of running away you stay home and set the table. But our destroyers are generous, and the pay is big enough to justify the alienation. If our division goes up in smoke, we’ll just go up in smoke.

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The workers are held captive by Moloch the machine in Fritz Lang’s 1927 sci-fi classic Metropolis. Photo: UFA/Album/Alamy

Therein lies the ultimate irony: we have a new economic phenomenon that rewards, encourages, and truly values writing. And yet, at the same time, it is seen as an obstacle, a problem to be solved, an inefficiency to be automated. It’s as if we’re being paid to write in sand, to whisper secrets into a block of butter. Even if our words could cause harm, we wouldn’t realize it.

But maybe it’s folly to treasure such mundane technology: After all, how many people are actually worth impacting?

Francois CholetThe author of a best-selling computer science textbook and creator of the Keras training library (which provides the building blocks for researchers to create their own deep learning models), said he estimates that “it’s probably about 20,000 people employed full time” just to create the annotated data to train large-scale language models. Without human input, he says, the model output would be “really terrible.”

The goal of the annotation work I and other researchers are doing is to provide gold-standard examples for models to learn from and imitate. This goes a step beyond the annotation work we’ve done unconsciously so far. If you’ve ever faced a “Captcha” problem that asks you to prove you’re not a robot (e.g., “select all tiles with a picture of a traffic light on them”), you’ve actually just been doing Unpaid labor for machinesHelp teach them to “see.”

As a student, I remember repeating words like “left” and “right” at a laptop for hours on end to help develop self-driving cars. I was paid a few hours’ worth of money for each satisfying utterance, not even close to minimum wage, so I gave up.

The role today is different and a key part of the LLM’s development. Alex Manthey, head of data at Context AI, is one of the people hiring writers to improve the models. She says: observer This practice is “mission-critical” and “requires human intervention to review,” [the model’s output] The human touch that “makes sense to the end user” works: “There’s a reason why every company spends so much time and incredible amounts of money trying to make this happen,” she says.

According to Sholet and Manthey, employment in this field has recently shifted from controversial, low-paid jobs in developing countries to more specialized, higher-paid roles. As models improve their ability to produce text, the quality of training data required also improves, and wages rise accordingly; some remote annotation jobs pay writers more than £30 per hour. Third-party annotation vendors such as Scale AI (valued at $14 billion) are also capitalizing on this shortage of high-quality training data.

A selection of current job adverts for AI annotation roles in the UK involve a variety of tasks, including: “Create responses that will serve as the ‘voice’ of the future AI,” “Provide feedback to help AI models become more useful, accurate, and safe,” “Write clear, concise, factually and grammatically correct responses,” and “Coach the AI model by assessing the quality of AI-generated writing, reviewing the work of peer writing raters, and creating unique responses to prompts.” If chatbots can write like humans, so can we.

Source: www.theguardian.com

The demise of Kotaku, Lifehacker, and Gizmodo: Are we witnessing the death of Australian games journalism?

IIn 2006, I was fired from my job at EB Games. Looking back, it was a justified decision. One Sunday, I recorded myself leaping over piles of boxes and making inappropriate gestures at strangers. This grainy video of an emo kid in dark clothes was uploaded to YouTube. Ahh, the foolishness of youth.

About eight months later, my manager came across the video and promptly terminated my employment (which today might just go viral on TikTok).

A decade later, I secured a job at the video game and culture website Kotaku Australia, along with its sister sites Lifehacker and Gizmodo, which kickstarted my career.

Now, these well-known brands are no more. Nine’s Pedestrian Group, which held the licensing rights for the three titles from their US counterparts, announced the closure of all three, in addition to Vice and Refinery29, resulting in 40 job losses.

Terrifying months continue for Australian journalismRecent cutbacks include 200 job losses at Nine, 150 at Seven West Media, and significant restructuring at News Corp. While any job losses are regrettable, the shuttering of Kotaku, Gizmodo, and Lifehacker marks a grim day for Australian tech journalism with lasting repercussions.

For video game journalism in Australia, this feels like the end of an era—a catastrophic event. Where once vibrant video game journalism thrived, there now exists a vast void.

Most mainstream Australian publications have journalists covering technology, arts, books, music, entertainment, and sports, but as far as I am aware, none have dedicated video game journalists on staff.

Despite this, there is a significant demand for video game content in Australia. According to Bond University’s Australian Games Report, 81% of Australians play games, with the average player age being 35. With a majority of players falling between 18 and 40 years old, and nearly half of them being female, Australians are projected to spend $4.4 billion on games in 2023.

Video games have also permeated other media forms, from successful movie adaptations to popular series on streaming platforms like Netflix and Apple. The cultural impact of video games is undeniable, yet journalism has struggled to keep pace due to a lack of support and funding.

Video game journalism extends beyond news and reviews, encompassing cultural and business aspects such as lifestyle articles, investigations into the impact of gaming on health, and coverage of the business side of game development studios.

Journalists have been dubbed the authors of history’s first draft, but little has been documented about video games in Australia due to insufficient support. While some independent websites and blogs valiantly cover this space, the closure of mainstream outlets like Kotaku leaves a significant void.

How can we reverse this trend?

The immediate solution lies in major Australian media outlets recognizing the untapped potential in video game journalism. The closure of Kotaku Australia could spell disaster for this field, but it also presents an opportunity for rebirth. Talented individuals are out there, waiting for a chance to shine. All it takes is someone to take that leap of faith.

Furthermore, government initiatives like the Australian Government’s Digital Games Tax Credit and state-based funding for game development can serve as pillars of support for both developers and journalists. These programs have nurtured successful titles in the past and could also aid in bolstering independent games journalism.

And then there’s you, the reader. Your direct support and engagement with journalist-owned websites, like aftermath—founded by a former Kotaku US reporter—show that there is a hunger for quality video game content. Establishing a direct relationship with readers could pave the way for sustainable journalism in Australia.

While I may have left Kotaku in 2017, the closures of these outlets hit close to home. Losing my job at EB Games in 2006 felt like the end of the world, but someone took a chance on me, and I want to see the same happen for video game journalism.

Jackson Ryan is an award-winning science and video games journalist and President of the Australian Science Journalists Association.

Source: www.theguardian.com