Gaming webcomics – characterized as two guys, sitting on a couch, talking about games – sometimes get a lot of flak. They’re accused, individually and collectively, of being unimaginative, violent, misogynistic and homophobic, and very often those accusations have merit.
But I love comics, and I like gaming, and I adore, more than most things on the internet, that grand combination of both which mortals are pleased to name Penny Arcade.
I love it not so much for the gaming content – which I frequently don’t actually understand – but for the often perfect comic timing and the adept characterization. Idiot-savant Gabe, and book-smart Tycho are two of my favourite fictional people. They’re both terrible, terrible human beings, but this doesn’t blight my enjoyment of their exploits; quite the opposite.
Despite the duo’s avowed aversion to dreaded continuity, much of their appeal to me lies in the character development carried out almost incidentally through the regular commentary of the comics. Gabe is obsessed with penises. Tycho’s childhood was somewhat distressing. Gabe’s birthday is the Christmas in September. One day Tycho’s encyclopedic knowledge of mythical monsters will save the world. There may not be much in the way of a chronological storyline, but established character points are repeated or expanded upon. Thus the long-term reader is rewarded, without the requirement for back-reading that so often turns off the new reader of more story-based comics.
I love these characters because, in all their violence and obscenity, they reflect the truths of my life. My internal catalogue of mythological creatures is of real social value. My unabashed dedication to pursuits considered childish is a source of joy. My propensity to leap out at people with makeshift weaponry is epic.
Ethically and aesthetically, Penny Arcade has improved considerably over its many years. The gay jokes disappear, and the humour remains, a pointed reminder that homophobia is not necessary for hilarity. Tycho’s niece Annarchy appears; a girl who games, but who doesn’t slot into any stereotypical Girl Gamer category. And just when I think that they have gone one fruit-fucking joke too far1, they pull out something like this tribute to Gary Gygax. It’s perfect; absurd, sincere, and touching.
Tycho and Gabe – the people, as opposed to the characters – started a charity that gives thousands of dollars of games to sick children. They created the now-largest gaming expo in the US – by gamers, for gamers – with, not incidentally, a firm and enforced anti-harassment policy. They inspired a video game where you can defeat evil mimes with the assistance of a little girl wielding a flamethrower. Any one of these things would firmly establish them as people who have made a net contribution to gaming culture and society at large; to create all of them, in less than a decade, is astonishing.
They don’t do it alone, of course. They have staff, led by the apparently terrifyingly competent Robert. They have legions of fans who donate to the charity, attend the expo and support the game.
But it all began with the comic. Two guys, sitting on a couch, talking about games.
1 This is a lie.
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