I can’t remember the first time I felt “immersed” in a videogame, but I can remember the first time I got stuck under a swimming pool float as a kid, scratching at a scabby foam ceiling roamed by mocking silver jellyfish of air. I can remember the first few times I drowned in videogames, fighting the waterlogged handling in Sonic’s Labyrinth Zone, or operating the agile sarcophagus that is Lara Croft in Aztec print grottos of antiseptic blue.
I find the continuing use of “immersive” to describe believable videogame worlds weird and a bit alarming. Partial immersion would be one thing – the videogame as nice hot bath at the end of the day, the videogame as splashing around in a stream of thought, the videogame as a kind of apple-bobbing. The “immersion” of the “immersive sim” is a different matter entirely: it’s a box of clockwork you’re invited to tease apart, not some hyperreal enclosure. But the “full” or “total” sensory immersion repeatedly offered by big-budget, photoreal 3D games seems a lot like suffocation.
