Why is it so difficult to play old games?

It should have been a minor announcement, a footnote in the gaming press. In March, Sony announced it would be closing the digital stores for three consoles at least a decade old — PS3, PSP and PSVita. These devices exited the gaming conversation long ago, yet Sony’s plan still provoked a considerable outcry. What would become of the hundreds of games that were only available digitally on these stores, would they simply cease to exist? Alarmed by this response, Sony backpedalled last Monday, announcing it would continue to support the PS3 and Vita stores — though the PSP store will still close as planned.

The most compelling criticisms of Sony’s plan came from game preservationists, a community troubled by the industry’s disregard for its own history. They lamented how few companies make comprehensive efforts to keep older games available, while independent attempts are often stymied by legal challenges. It is relatively easy to track down a film made 50 years ago, but many games released even a decade ago are now impossible to play.

Why is it so difficult? The first barrier is that unlike any other medium, games are platform locked, meaning a physical copy of a game can only be played on the console it was made for. Few players look after their old consoles after new ones come along — most end up in attics or landfill. Even with the right console, you will have to track down the game disc or cartridge, which in today’s growing market for retro gaming collectibles could cost hundreds or thousands of dollars. Those seeking old games are better off on PC, where hardware upgrades don’t render old games unplayable.

If you can’t track down the game or console then you can still play your desired game — just not legally. There is a busy online community making emulators, programs that replicate the hardware environment of old consoles on your computer, on to which you can download ROMs, pirated versions of games. While emulations are a labour of love for hobbyists, rarely sold for profit, big gaming companies are naturally not keen on the idea that people might be playing their games for free (Nintendo has proven particularly litigious on this front). The emulator community argues back that if companies made their old games available nobody would have to emulate. 

That’s not to say that the big three console companies totally ignore their back catalogues. Nintendo is particularly adept at resurfacing old games for new consoles, including regular remasters. Xbox commits to back compatibility, meaning players can easily access a selection of older games on newer consoles. PlayStation’s classic games can be the hardest to access, though this is perhaps because many were developed by third parties, so there are tricky questions around finding the IP owner and obtaining the necessary permissions. 

Such efforts are limited at best, and represent only a fraction of gaming’s rich history. There is a growing group of independent initiatives including gaming museums The Strong in New York, MADE in Oakland, and the National Videogame Museum in Sheffield. Gaming historian Frank Cifaldi runs the Video Game History Foundation, which seeks to preserve not only games but magazines, manuals and promotional material, intended to root classic titles in their historical context. There are also focused initiatives such as GOG which resurrects old PC games, run by Cyberpunk 2077 developer CD Projekt; the internet Archive’s collection of browser-based arcade emulations; and Adrienne Shaw’s impressive LGBTQ Game Archive. 

The hodgepodge nature of these efforts points to one big question: whose responsibility is it to preserve gaming culture? Is it the original creative team, who rarely own the rights to their finished work? An independent archive with enthusiasm but limited means? Or the big companies which built themselves upon the passion of gamers? Logic points to the latter. Giving an archive to players would honour gaming history and polish companies’ reputations. The problem is it wouldn’t serve the bottom line. For the big dogs, preservation is still framed as a business decision rather than a question of cultural heritage. Gaming is not either an entertainment industry or an art form — it is defiantly both. And if we agree that games are art, we must treat them as artefacts to be respected, valued and preserved.

In March a game preservation group released more than 700 PS2 demos and prototypes online. These may seem like ephemera to casual players, but they are a part of our artistic memory, useful for game developers, enthusiasts and academics to gain perspective on the past, like reading the draft of a famous novel. In the future, the rise of gaming will be seen as a turning point in the world’s cultural history. The ability to access this record should not be limited to those who can afford collectible retro games, those willing to enter the legal grey area of emulation, nor to the curated selections offered by game companies. Archives cannot rest in the hands of the few — they must be accessible, open for debate, so that anyone in the world can interpret gaming history as they like, and tell its stories.