独立游戏开发中被忽视的隐性劳动

大家好，我是 Rashel！本文是我在 2025 年 8 月参加于美国威斯康星州麦迪逊市举办的“玩·做·学国际会议”（Play Make Learn Conference，PML）时，在会议上做的一场演讲。PML 是一个致力于协作与探索的平台，聚焦游戏化学习的设计、研究与实践，关注学习型游戏及其积极社会影响、创作与创客空间、STEAM 教育和艺术教育等领域。

我的分享题为《从测试到迭代：揭示独立游戏开发中被忽视的隐性劳动》（From Playtesting to Iteration: Unveiling the Hidden Labors of Indie Game Development），内容涉及一些独立游戏开发的幕后故事，并讨论了那些常常被忽略的环节——游戏测试、调试和迭代（Playtesting, Debugging, and Iteration）——其实恰恰是整个创作过程中最关键、也最重要的部分。

首先简单介绍一下我自己：我是一名游戏设计师和媒体艺术家，同时也写与游戏、艺术相关的文章，并策划相关的展览与活动。由于同时具有游戏开发者与策展人双重身份，我逐渐意识到，当项目进入深度开发阶段时，测试、调试与迭代其实比最初的设计本身更为重要。但大多数玩家、媒体与策展人看到的，往往只是打磨完成的最终成果，很少能看见其背后经历过的无数次重建与反复修改。

什么是游戏测试？

那么，第一个问题是：什么是试玩，或游戏测试（Playtesting）？

这里我分享三张截图，它们来自去年最受关注的独立游戏之一《小丑牌》（Balatro）。

第一张图片由 Localthunk 截取于 2021 年 12 月，也就是游戏开发刚开始几周的时候，当时他仍在测试最核心的玩法机制。到 2022 年 8 月，也就是第二张图中，游戏的主要机制和计分原型已经成型，但仍然使用的是非常基础的扑克牌组。最后一张图来自 2024 年 2 月的正式版本，已经加入了经过打磨的更复杂、也更有特色的牌组系统，例如小丑牌、塔罗牌和星球牌包等。

游戏设计师特蕾西·富勒顿（Tracy Fullerton）将游戏测试形容为设计师在工作中所从事的最重要、但同时也是他们了解最少的活动。游戏用户研究科学家麦克·安拜德（Mike Ambinder）也曾指出：每一项游戏设计本质上都是一个假说，而游戏测试就是实验。游戏测试的目标，并不是验证设计是否“正确”，而是尽可能收集信息，从而做出最充分、最理性的设计决策。

案例分享

下面我分享三个案例研究——其中两个来自朋友的游戏项目，一个来自我自己的作品——来展示游戏测试是如何帮助我们不断修正与调整我们的“设计假说”的。

第一个案例是由杨静和关子维开发的《遗忘工程师》（Forgetter）。它的故事设定于一个未来世界：婴儿可以继承已故艺术家的意识，而玩家扮演一名受雇的“大脑清洁工”，负责抹除这些艺术家的不健康记忆。2 人团队全职开发，历时 9 个月完成项目，其中大约有 1 个月专门用于游戏测试。

他们在游戏测试中获得的最有价值的反馈是在视觉传达方面。负责技术与美术的关子维非常喜欢用黑暗来传达孤独与悲伤的情绪，但对许多玩家来说，这种黑暗更容易被解读为恐怖氛围，让人担心会出现跳吓，甚至引发他们的眩晕不适。团队最终不得不在美学选择上做出妥协，但也正是通过这一过程，他们深入理解了玩家是如何解读和感受视觉风格的。

我喜欢把 Debug，也就是调试，称为“捉鬼”，因为它往往真的很像在破解超自然谜团。《遗忘工程师》里就发生过这样一个“鬼故事”：一位具有探索精神的测试玩家在地图中走得太远，远离了开发团队设计的可玩区域，深入到背景的沙漠深处，结果掉进了一道巨大的裂缝。从录屏来看，就像坠入地狱，却完全无法判断具体发生在地图的哪个位置。团队花了很长时间在地图中反复“行走”排查，最终才发现那其实是地形碰撞体之间的一道缝隙。最后，他们通过缩小可行走区域，修复了这个问题。

第二个案例是《一个人的火锅局》（Hot Pot for One），由 Rachel Li 和 Qin Yin 开发。游戏讲述了一位中国留学生在纽约的平安夜故事：原本要赴约的朋友都临时取消，她只好独自一人过节。作为当时全职在读的硕士生团队，他们花了一年半时间开发这款游戏，其中几乎一年都用于游戏测试。

大部分测试时间都花在了筷子操作上——即用筷子夹起食材并投入火锅中的机制。通过游戏测试，团队能够观察到不同玩家在点击、夹取和释放食材时的行为差异，从而更好地理解不同用筷习惯的玩家在游戏里的操作体验。

他们的“鬼故事”则来自一个意想不到的漏洞：有玩家发现，居然可以穿过房间四周的墙壁！团队之前花了很长时间布置房间并测试，甚至连窗外的城市景观和飘落的雪花都经过精心设计，但却忘记给墙壁添加碰撞体。在专注于烹饪剧情的过程中，他们从未预料到玩家会尝试离开房间。

接下来是我的《冲啊小土璇！》（Go Groundshel!）。游戏讲述了一只土拨鼠女孩的冒险故事：她一边寻找失踪的伴侣，一边寻找可用的厕所——伴侣在失踪前没来得及修好家里的厕所。开发过程大约持续了两年，到目前为止，我们已经投入了差不多 9 个月进行游戏测试。现在我们仍在制作美术资源、测试功能，一旦这些都完成，游戏测试在总开发时间里所占的比例将会变得更大。

由于这个项目一开始是凭着直觉驱动的顺势而为的作品，最初由我独自承担所有美术工作。在测试过初版 Demo 后，一些玩家指出像素贴图分辨率不统一，看起来不像来自同一个世界。于是，我招募了一位美术实习生，我们一起在 Miro 白板上测试不同的分辨率和尺寸组合，最终找到了最合适的搭配。

开发过程中，我们也遇到了不少“鬼故事”。有一次，玩家解开谜题后，却撞上了一堵看不见的墙。调试后发现，这是因为浴室的碰撞体被过早地触发，并且由于设置时我没有调节墙体的深度，导致它阻挡了还处于楼下的玩家的移动。

还有一次，主角在从场景 1 移动到场景 2 时突然消失。调试后发现，是因为主角的贴图没有随控制器和摄像机一起被成功传送——而这是由玩家一个微妙而特定的操作行为引发的。

这也正是为何开发游戏时我们要依赖持续的游戏测试——只有不断优化流程、打磨机制、调整难度，才能真正让玩家投入其中。同时也引出了一个问题：我们该如何有效地进行游戏测试与迭代？

如何有效地进行游戏测试与迭代

第一个关键，是根据你的具体需求组织合适的测试形式。

主要的测试类型包括：Discord 活动、公开的试玩活动、展示会以及发布 Demo。

不同的测试形式适合开发的不同阶段，选择合适的渠道能够显著提升反馈质量和开发效率。基于 Discord 的测试最适合早期到中期开发阶段，此时游戏机制、节奏或界面仍在不断调整。你可以在自己的 Discord 服务器上举办测试，或与特定类型游戏的服务器或活动合作（例如 thinky-puzzle-games、Wholesome Games、Interactive-Narrative 等 Discord 服务器），以招募本来就会对你项目类型感兴趣的测试者。在正式开始试玩之前，这类测试需要高度组织化：提供清晰的测试版本、设定短期测试目标（例如“关注战斗可读性”），并设计结构化的反馈形式，例如引导式问题或简短的测试后问卷。

相比之下，Discord 测试让开发者有更多时间和精力去观察玩家，而公开的试玩活动、展示会和发布 Demo 则更适合在游戏开发后期阶段，当核心体验已经稳定，需要更广泛的玩家反应、需要提高可见度或获取市场信号时进行。同时，社交媒体和邮件列表可以帮助你吸引更多合适的玩家。

我最近采访了《Consume Me》的设计师 Jenny 和 AP。他们曾参加 NYU 的 Playtest Thursday，类似于每周一次的工作室开放访问日。但考虑到需要更长且不被打断的测试时间，后来，他们直接邀请玩家做了独家试玩会，并提供午餐，以确保每位玩家有足够长的时间进行深入测试。

另外，设计问卷时要有明确的目标，这也非常重要。如果你希望收集关于游戏玩法的反馈，就不要去问无关的界面设计问题；如果你在功能 A 和 B 之间犹豫不决，可以通过 A/B 测试收集有意义的、可靠的反馈。

第二，你需要选择性地倾听。许多玩家并不了解游戏是由小团队制作，自然会拿它与 AAA 大作相比；也有玩家非常热情，期望自己的意见被采纳，因此表达会非常直接。这种情况下，无需纠结于字面上的每一句话，关键是关注反馈背后的情绪，从中判断真正需要改进的地方。

有时，测试环境本身也可能不理想。比如我的游戏在柏林艺术游戏节（AMAZE Berlin）展出时，许多参观者希望在现场尽可能多地试玩游戏，这就不是一个适合解谜类游戏获得深入、思考性测试反馈的场景。

第三，即便挑选出了有用的建议，也不可能全部采纳——所以要学会选择真正亟需改动的部分！

看似妥协的调整，其实对一款游戏来说可能是进化。举个例子，下图是《冲啊小土璇！》在一次重大更新前后的对比。右侧版本中，可互动物体被高亮显示。我个人非常喜欢“大家来找茬”类的游戏和复古 RPG，会乐此不疲地探索每一个角落，因此我们之前的版本几乎没有什么关于谜题的视觉提示。

但在测试过程中，几乎所有玩家都提出了抱怨，甚至我们的程序员也表示需要一些高亮提示——因为就连他在调试时都会偶尔因为记不起线索而无法顺利解谜。于是我加入了高亮提示，并进一步调整了不可互动物体的颜色，使线索更清晰。这自然能让更多玩家感到满意，但也要记住——你不可能让所有人都满意，尤其是在时间和资源有限的情况下。

不过，你可以利用游戏叙事、机制或关卡设计来弥补资源有限的问题。比如在《一个人的火锅局》中，团队没有时间制作宿舍以外的场景，但“独自在家”的故事设定让这一限制显得自然、合理。

另外，不必过于担心诸如“画风太像草稿”的批评。以下图片来自《一个人的火锅局》的早期 Demo——其中的手绘图像和简单菜单只是作为临时展示用的占位符而已。在 Demo 阶段，使用低保真的美术是对的，因为早期开发的重点应当放在核心玩法上。

结语

今天就分享到这里！我想鼓励每一个独立团队——包括我自己——在开发过程中都要享受乐趣。即便某个项目最终未必成功，你也会在过程中获得经验，这也许就能成为下一个项目的灵感。

Hypothesis Testing and “Ghost Hunting” in Game Development

Hi everyone, this is Rashel! Below is a presentation I gave in August at the 2025 Play Make Learn Conference (PML) in Madison, Wisconsin in the United States. PML is a place for collaboration and discovery in the design, research and practice of playful learning, games for learning and positive social impact, making and makerspaces, STEAM education, and arts in education.

My session is titled “From Playtesting to Iteration: Unveiling the Hidden Labors of Indie Game Development”, and I shared some behind-the-scenes stories of indie game development, and talked about how the most overlooked parts of the process—playtesting, debugging, and iteration—are actually some of the most important.

A little about myself: I’m a game designer and media artist. I also write about games and art, and curate exhibitions and events around them. As both a developer and curator, I’ve come to realize that playtesting, debugging, and iteration often matter more than design itself once you’re deep in development. These stages are crucial, but most players, media, curators only see the polished final product—rarely the countless rebuilds behind it.

What is playtesting?

So, the first question is: what is playtesting?

Let me share three screenshots from one of last year’s top indie games, Balatro.

The first image, from December 2021, shows the game just weeks after development began, when Localthunk was still testing the core mechanics. By August 2022, the second image, the main mechanics and scoring prototype were in place, though it still used basic poker decks. And finally, the third image is from the official release in February 2024, featuring refined special decks—like jokers, tarot, and celestial packs.

Game designer Tracy Fullerton describes playtesting as the most important activity a designer engages in, while it's often the one designers understand the least about. And Mike Ambinder, a Game User Research Scientist also said that, every game design is a hypothesis, and playtests are experiments. The goal is to get as much information as you can to make the most informed decisions.

Case studies

I’ll share three case studies—two from friends’ games and one from my own—showing how playtesting helped us adjust our design hypotheses.

The first one, Forgetter, is a game by Allison Yang and Alan Kwan. It imagines a future where babies can inherit the minds of deceased artists. You play as a hired “mind-cleaner” to erase the artists’ unhealthy memories. The team worked full-time and finished development in 9 months, with about 1 month devoted to playtesting.

Their most valuable playtesting feedback came from the visuals. Alan, who handled tech and art, loved using darkness to convey isolation and sadness. But for many players, that darkness suggested horror, made them fear jump scares, or even caused motion sickness. The team had to compromise on their aesthetic, but got insight into how players interpret visual style.

I like to call debugging “ghost hunting”, because it often feels like solving supernatural mysteries. A ghost story from Forgetter happened when an explorer type playtester wandered deep into the desert, outside the intended play area, and fell into a giant crack. The recording looked like falling into hell, but gave no clue where it was. After spending a long time “walking” the map, the team realized it was a gap between terrain colliders. Then, they fixed the issue by narrowing the walkable space.

And the second game is Hot Pot for One, by Rachel Li and Qin Yin, tells the story of a Chinese international student spending Christmas Eve alone in New York City, after her friends cancel at the last minute.  They developed the game over a year and a half as full-time grad students, with nearly a year devoted to playtesting.

Most of their time went into testing the chopstick mechanic—picking up food and tossing it into the hot pot. Playtesting let them observe how different players clicked, picked up, and released the food.

Their ghost story came from an unexpected bug: a player discovered they could actually walk through the surrounding walls! The team spent a long time testing and decorating the room, and even city landscapes and snowflakes outside—but forgot to add colliders to the walls. When focusing on the cooking plot, they never imagined players would try to leave the room.

And this is my game, Go Groundshel! It follows a groundhog girl on an adventure to save her partner—while also searching for a usable toilet, since he never had the chance to repair their toilet before he went missing. Development has taken about two years, with roughly 9 months of playtesting so far. We’re still producing art and testing features, and once that’s done, playtesting will take up an even larger share of time.

Since the project started as an intuitive work, I handled all the art. After testing the initial demo, some players pointed out that the sprites' pixel resolutions weren’t aligned—they didn’t feel like coming from the same universe. So I hired art interns, and together we tested different resolutions and sizes on a Miro board to find the best combination.

We had plenty of ghost stories in development. After solving a puzzle, the player ran into an invisible wall. Debugging revealed it was a bathroom collider triggering too early, and because I didn’t adjust the depth of the collider, it blocked the player’s movement when they were still downstairs.

And, the protagonist disappeared when moving from Scene 1 to Scene 2. Debugging revealed the sprite weren’t successfully teleported with the controller and camera—a result of a subtle, specific player behavior.

That’s why when developing games we rely on constant playtesting—to refine flow, polish mechanics, and adjust difficulty to truly engage players. This raises the question: how can we playtest and iterate efficiently?

How can we playtest and iterate efficiently?

The first key is to organize playtesting formats that suit your specific needs.

The main types include Discord events, Open Playtesting, showcases and releasing demos.

Different playtesting formats are best used at different stages of development, and choosing the right channel can significantly improve both the quality of feedback and the efficiency of the process. Discord-based playtesting works best during early to mid-development, when mechanics, pacing, or UI are still in flux. Hosting sessions in your own Discord server, or partnering with genre-specific servers or events (for example, thinky-puzzle-games, Wholesome Games, Interactive-Narrative, etc.), allows you to recruit testers who already share an interest in your project’s genre. Before officially starting playtesting, these sessions should be tightly organized: provide a clear build version, a short testing goal (e.g. “focus on combat readability”), and a structured feedback format such as guided questions or short post-play surveys.

While Discord playtesting gives developers more time and energy to observe players, showcases can provide both feedback and promotion. Open playtesting, showcases, and demo releases are more suitable for later stages. When the core experience is stable and you want broader reactions, visibility, and market signals. While social media and mailing lists help funnel the right audience in.

I recently interviewed Consume Me designers Jenny and AP. They participated in NYU Playtest Thursday, which is like a weekly open studio. But they needed longer, uninterrupted play. So they invited players privately and bought lunch to ensure sufficient playtesting time.

It’s also important to design survey questions with clear objectives. If you want feedback on gameplay, don’t ask about unrelated UI. If you’re unsure between feature A or B, run A/B testing to gather meaningful, reliable feedback.

Second, you need to choose what to listen to.

Many players don’t realize a game is made by a small team and naturally compare it to AAA titles. Others are so passionate they expect their input to be included, often speaking very directly. In these cases, it’s key to focus on the emotions behind their feedback, not every word literally, to figure out what to improve.

Sometimes, the environment itself isn’t ideal. When my game was shown at the AMAZE Berlin, visitors wanted to play as many games as possible. It wasn’t the right setting for a puzzle game to receive thoughtful critique.

And third, even after selecting helpful advice, you can’t include everything—so choose what to change!

What feels like a compromise can actually be an evolution for your game. For example, here are two versions of Go Groundshel! before and after a major update. On the right, interactable objects are highlighted. I personally love “find the differences” games and retro RPGs, where I explore every corner for fun, so the previous version had very few visual hints.

But during playtesting, almost all players complained, and even our programmer said highlights were needed—he sometimes couldn’t solve puzzles while debugging. So I added highlights, and further adjusted the colors of non-interactable objects to make hints clearer. More players were satisfied, but remember—you can’t please everyone, especially with limited time and resources.

In such cases, you can use game narratives, mechanics, or levels to work around limited resources. For example, in Hot Pot for One, they didn’t have time to create another space outside the dorm room, but the story of being home alone made this limitation feel natural.

Also, don’t worry about critiques like “the art is too sketchy”. These images are from the early demo of Hot Pot for One—the drawings and simple menu were just placeholders. Low-fidelity art is encouraged in demos, since early on your focus should be on the core gameplay.

Conclusion

That’s all I want to share today! I encourage every indie team—including my own—to have fun during development. Even if a project doesn’t succeed, you gain experience and inspiration for the next one.

背景信息

2025 年，我与 Simon Bachelier 在西班牙巴塞罗那举办的游戏艺术国际研讨会（Game Arts International Assembly）上共同主持了一场题为 “交互之外” （Beyond Interactivity）的对谈。在对谈前，我们多次讨论游戏展览中游戏与观众之间的其他互动可能性。然而，直到观看了两场他的长期项目“玩演会”（Playformance，由 Sous le Néon 主办）的演出，我才真正理解他所说的“玩家与观看者之间的互动”的真正涵义。我意识到自己此前的理解其实很浅显——有时候，果然百闻不如一见。

得知 Simon 同时也是独立游戏发行公司 Firesquid 的运营总监后，我不禁好奇他是如何在这两条路径上并行的。2026 年初，我代表 indienova 邀请到他进行一次分享，聊到了在艺术与商业实践之间切换的工作方式，以及它们如何彼此交织。我也因此重新思考了“失败”与“胜利”（当一个人在公共场域中暴露脆弱，这两者会有新的意义），并获得了一个新观点：除了游戏之外，任何创作也都需要某种形式的“试玩”测试。

采访正文

Rashel（R）：你能谈谈 Playformance 项目是如何开始的吗？最初是怎么想到把游戏、叙事和艺术表演结合在一起的？

Simon（S）：早在 2011 到 2015 年之间，我和一个叫 One Life Remains 的团体一起工作，他们在做实验性游戏。我们当时有很多关于设计的思考和疑问，比如：如果我们创作一款专门为了在舞台上、在观众面前玩的游戏，那会是什么样子？我们要如何去设计一款游戏，让它本身就能成为一场演出，一种“景观式”的体验？那是我第一次开始思考，在观众面前玩游戏到底意味着什么。

大约是在 2015 到 2016 年，离开这个团体后，我开始做自己的项目。我逐渐产生了一个想法：电子游戏其实是可以被“观看”的，可以被带到舞台上。过去，确实也有人做过类似的事情，但如果我们尝试拿已经存在的游戏在舞台上做点什么呢？不仅仅是“我们来玩吧” （Let's Play，一种在视频网站上常见的直播形式），也不只是谈论游戏。常有那种会议，一边有人玩游戏，一边有学者讲解，很有意思，但和我的想法不同。我真正想问的是：如果我们借着游戏来与观众分享一些东西，会怎样呢？

如果我邀请一群愿意上台的人，让他们玩一款对他们产生过深刻影响的游戏——无论好坏——一款真正触动过他们的游戏，然后通过这款游戏，与观众分享一些私密的、个人的东西，会怎样呢？2016 年，我开始把这个想法作为一个展览项目来实践，之后，我每年都把它编入 IndieCade Europe 的艺术节，邀请 6 到 8 个人，每人有 15 到 20 分钟展示时间。这样持续了 4 年，直到疫情爆发，项目被迫停止。

后来，我在法国遇到了 Nicolas Ligeon，他来自戏剧领域。当我讲述“在舞台上玩游戏”的想法时，他立刻就理解了这个概念。他说：好，我们一定要做这个，而且要尝试更多——我来找喜剧演员，你来找游戏圈的人，我们可以在舞台上实验，来推进这个研究。

于是，我们从 2021 年开始做各种实验，一直到今天。我们与不同的人合作，已经进行了超过五十次实验——五十场“玩演”（Playformance）。我们不断完善这个概念，最终写出了《玩演宣言》（Playformance Manifesto），明确了它是什么、不是什么，以及为什么要这样做。这个宣言的目的是厘清边界——因为你可以在舞台上用游戏做很多事情，但并不都是玩演。至少必须是通过“玩”的行为来进行叙事，才能算玩演。

R：Sous le Néon 的意思是“在霓虹灯下”吗？

S：对，在霓虹灯下。完全正确。

R：在我听来很像一个媒体艺术节。它是一个团体吗，还是一个什么样的组织？

S：是的，它是一个团体。最开始我们有四个人，现在是三位联合创始人，以及一群参与其中的游戏开发者和艺术家。创建这个团体的初衷是研究和实践“电子游戏的其他实践方式”。我们感兴趣的并不是游戏制作本身，而是去思考并展示电子游戏的其他的、替代性的实践。

比如说，观看电子游戏意味着什么？玩家围绕游戏会发展出哪些奇怪或特别的实践？我们该如何展示它们？如果办一个展览，主题是“在游戏里拍照”，或者“在游戏里写日记”，呈现出来会是什么样子？这些都是我们感兴趣的话题。当然，表演是我们重点关注和研究的方向之一：如何把一款电子游戏带到舞台上并通过“玩”来叙事？

R：你能谈谈玩演会、Sous le Néon 和 IndieCade Europe 之间的关系吗？

S：当然可以。Playformance 和 IndieCade Europe 的联系在于，我曾是后者的总监。在每年的活动安排中，我们通常会有两到三个小时专门用于表演环节，邀请嘉宾来尝试玩演。这是在 2016 到 2019 年之间，后来因为疫情，艺术节就停止了。

也是在那之后，我遇到了现在的同事、来自戏剧领域的 Nicolas Ligeon，我们才真正以一个新团体的身份来实践玩演。Sous le Néon 成立于 2021 年，也正是在那个时候，我们重新审视玩演这个概念，希望对它重新定义，并在研究和实验层面做得更深入。

在 IndieCade Europe 时，玩演更像是一种轻度实验。我邀请人来，给他们一些指导，但他们相对自由。而在 Sous le Néon，我们把事情推进得更远。每一场玩演之后，我们都会问自己：“这真的符合我们心中的想法吗？如果不，又为什么不符合？”

我们在这样的反复实践中逐渐塑造这个概念，最终写出了那份宣言。所以 IndieCade Europe 和 Sous le Néon 的真正联系只是：当我还在 IndieCade Europe 的时候——甚至可能更早一些——就已经开始在探索玩演的概念了。在新团体 Sous le Néon 成立后，我们把这研究推得更深，这尤其得益于我的同事 Nicolas 和 Diane 的参与。我想你在巴塞罗那见过 Diane Landais，她做了《蔚蓝》（Celeste）的玩演。正因为他们的加入……三个人的头脑总比一个更好，我们才真正把这个概念塑造了出来。

R：说到表演——在《玩演宣言》中，你提到了“展露身体”和“拥抱脆弱性”，这在我听来非常私人化。我也看过玩演，所以我完全认同这一点。但作为策展人，我有时会对突发状况感到害怕。我很好奇，你怎么看待每场玩演之间的差异，以及其中涌现出的多样情绪？每次有人上台，都可能会呈现出一个不同的版本，对此你怎么看？你会想去控制它，还是更倾向于让它自然发生——像一种即兴表演一样？

S：我觉得这其实就是表演本身的一部分。任何具有表演性的事情，每一次重来都会有新情况发生。无论是唱一首歌，还是现场玩一款游戏，都会有这种自发性，有时候甚至会失败。上周六我们在法国南特有一场玩演，其中一位表演者就真的“失败”了。他一边在玩《时空幻境》（Braid）的最后一关，同时讲着自己的故事——然后他一直在游戏里失败。这整场表演的主旨原本是，需要顺利推进到结尾，才能展开他的个人总结。但因为他卡在游戏中间，舞台上逐渐弥漫出一种绝望感。他说：“对不起，我先安静一下，专心打过这一关。”但他还是一直失败——大概尝试了八分钟之后，他说：“好吧，有时候你就是得放弃。”然后表演就这样结束了。

但观众其实很喜欢这一刻，因为它非常真实、真诚，让人感觉玩演里存在不确定性。就像在马戏团或剧场里一样，表演有时会出错，你不会带着“看它失败”的期待去看马戏，但因为是表演，它就可能会失败，或者发生一些即兴的状况。而表演者的任务，是如何利用这个时刻创造新的意义。在刚才的例子里，他说了计划外的东西，但反而变成了关于“接受失败”的表达，非常贴切到位，也很有趣——因为这一切并不是事先设计好的。

回到“脆弱性”和舞台上的偶发事件，我觉得那来自你对自己的展露。我的同事常用戏剧来解释这一点：当一个喜剧演员走上舞台，那其实是一场仪式的环节。他是在把自己“献祭”给观众。这个人把自己的身体、诠释和表演献出来，去创造某种东西。于是，作为一个个体的“你”消失了，变成了舞台上的另一个存在。

我觉得玩演也是类似的。它是一种我们共处的象征性空间。但为了让参与者能够进入这个空间，你必须先“献祭”自己的舞台，接受你的脆弱——不仅是作为一个人，也是作为一个表演者。这也是表演迷人的地方：任何事情都有可能发生。你在玩一款游戏，就可能会在游戏里遇到惩罚时刻，你可能会赢，也可能会输。这不是在读一段文本，你是在操作一个系统，而系统里随时有事发生。

R：我很喜欢你用“献祭”来形容表演。这让我想到“策展人”这个概念来源于负责照看仪式档案的古埃及祭司。这很有意思：一个角色是在照看遗留之物，而另一个角色，表演者，则是在献祭。

S：是的。这不是我发明的说法。很多研究戏剧、尤其是政治戏剧理论的人，都把表演视为一种献祭或仪式。像行为艺术家玛丽娜·阿布拉莫维奇（Marina Abramović）或小野洋子（Yoko Ono），也创作了许多参与式艺术。有时表演者甚至会变成一个“物件”，或变成观众体验的一部分。我觉得这和戏剧非常相似，而游戏也提供了这种可能。我又要重复了，游戏本身就是一种具有表演性的媒介：它们要求你去“玩”它们，而一旦开始玩，你就成为了它们的一部分。

R：太真实了——小野洋子的《Cut Piece》就是一个关于在表演里“献祭”的经典例子。

S：《Cut Piece》，对。完全没错。

R： 我也很好奇——玩演都是有固定脚本的吗？还是只有一部分人会写脚本？

S： 因为这本质上是一种叙事形式，所以通常会有一个起点和一个终点。它从某处开始，走向一个最终时刻或结论。一般来说，有些玩演者会从头到尾写好完整的脚本，但也有一些人只是带着一个想法，更依赖即兴发挥。我们并没有一套严格的方法论，但每个人至少都有一条要遵守的“红线”。他们知道自己的目的或希望呈现的东西。

因为这是叙事，它不只是那种“嗨，我们就玩玩，看会发生什么”的状态——除非你的表演本身就是关于即兴、意外或失败，那另当别论。通常来说，玩演者都是带着某种想表达或分享的内容来的，他们通过在观众面前玩游戏的过程去抵达那份表达。

但它也可以非常即兴。比如 Diane 的《蔚蓝》玩演就是这样。她有一个清晰的出发点，并设计了三个与观众互动的主要步骤。但与此同时，也有大量的即兴成分，因为观众可能玩得很好，也可能玩得很糟。不过，她始终清楚自己的目的。表演有开头，也有结构，只是因为她必须对当下做出回应，所以每一次的过程都会因为现场发生的事而有不同的呈现。

R： 我看到你最近在社交媒体分享的那场玩演。有一位玩演者一边玩《Flock》，一边画水彩画，一边还在讲述。

S： 那一场非常特别，也很实验性。这位玩演者 Delphine Fourneau 本身是一名插画师和艺术总监。她想通过这场表演来讨论“过程”，也讨论如何在本身很复杂、很有压力的事情中寻找平静。

对她来说，这场表演本身就非常有压力。光是“在观众面前一边玩一边做事”这件事，就已经让她很紧张了。于是，在表演过程中，在同时做这么多事情时，她试图在压力之中找到一个安静的时刻，结果她真的做到了。大概五分钟后，她变得越来越平静，她一边画画，一边在游戏里移动，她有时会需要双手来表演，所以她用一个腕带来固定手柄的摇杆，让角色持续移动。

因为《Flock》不是那种会因为掉下悬崖就失败的游戏，所以这种方式非常契合。当她还在画画时，鸟群会继续移动，她画完一段后会再回到手柄上继续操作，整个过程非常有意思。

R： 还有什么其他实验性的例子吗？

S： 其实有很多都围绕“失败”这个主题。曾有一位喜剧演员用《暗黑地牢 2》（Darkest Dungeon II）做玩演。这款游戏非常难，而他的设定是在最高难度下挑战最终 Boss。整场表演带着一点单口喜剧的感觉——他一边玩，一边谈“失败”这个概念。每次表演时，你都不知道他到底能不能赢，因为那是最后一关。他可能十分钟后就会挂——一次操作失误就可能导致团灭，而有时他又真能成功。

但有意思的是，当他失败时，反而更耐人寻味。现场会出现一种紧张感，观众会想：好，他刚刚失败了，那接下来这次呢？当他输掉时，观众会产生很强的共情，你会真的变成玩演里的一部分。而整场表演的核心，也是对“胜利”观念的反思：为何我们总在祝贺赢家，但很少谈论输家？

胜利到底意味着什么？谁才真的“值得”赢？是那个第一名的人，还是那个虽然拿了第二、第三名，但背后承受了更多限制的人？也许他昨晚没睡好，也许他生活很艰难，也许他没有接受与其他人同等的教育。到底谁更应该赢？在那种情境下，赢家真的就是赢家吗？

这样一来，“失败”的概念则像是：一个人不断失败却不断尝试，在某种程度上难道不是更接近真正的赢家吗？以上正是这场表演想表达的：失败并不是对“你是否应该失败”的标识。有时候，失败只是意味着你真的去尝试了，而且非常努力，也许这反而让你比别人更值得被肯定。此观点与这场表演非常契合，因为所选的游戏极度苛刻——一次失误，甚至只是一点坏运气，就会让你满盘皆输。

表演中，他还会穿插很多幽默的评论，既调侃事物，也调侃自己。人们的情绪在观看过程中逐渐升级。你一边笑，一边又感到紧张，你会想：他到底会赢还是会输？我们做过太多各式各样的玩演，我一讲就停不下来了。

R： 你们选择玩演的标准是什么？整个流程是怎样的？

S： 大多数人通常都是在看过玩演之后才交提案的。我们常说，如果你没看过至少一两场玩演，其实很难真正理解它是什么。很多人会以为，“哦，就是玩游戏而已”，但它既不是随便玩玩，也不是简单地让一个人在台上打游戏。

通常来说，意向参与者会带着想法来找我们，然后我们会要求他做一个原型，并一起开会讨论他们的预期。原型不需要非常成熟，但我们需要判断它是否符合我们的期待。最近，因为有很多人想尝试，但又不想一开始就承诺 20 或 30 分钟的表演——这对于不熟悉的参与者来说强度太大，所以我们开设了一个“开放麦”环节。当我们每三个月举办一次玩演之夜时，会提前一个月发出报名表，大家可以描述一下自己的想法及想用的游戏，申请一个 10 分钟的时段。

对于短时长的模式，我们会放宽标准，以让参与者亲身实验为目的。如果效果不好，或者最后发现那并不算玩演，也没关系——毕竟它只是活动里的十分钟插曲；如果效果很好，我们通常会邀请表演者把它发展成更完整的版本，或进一步打磨。当我们觉得某个表演或表演者有潜力更进一步时，就会提出更紧密的合作。因为我们会在不同地方（至少在法国）呈现玩演，所以会尝试在未来的节目安排中把他加进来。这基本上就是我们目前的工作方式。

R：现在我们进入采访的第二部分，与前面的话题完全不同。你也是一位经验丰富的游戏制作人，你是如何在商业制作人与艺术活动策展人这两个身份之间保持平衡的？

S：我觉得这两种工作其实都建立在一套非常相似的技能基础之上，比如组织、规划、预算管理等等。但从具体工作内容来说，它们其实完全不同。在商业语境里担任制作人，和我在策划活动时做的事并没有直接关联，我在两边会分别接触完全不同类型的游戏，与不同的团队或人合作。当然，它们的共同点是都围绕电子游戏展开，但就像在音乐领域一样：制作音乐和组织现场演出并不是同一回事。

我常用法语说，我有一份日工和一份夜工。日工是当制作人或发行人——是非常商业导向的那种。商业很重要，因为如果赚不到足够的钱，就无法支付团队成本、维持工作室运转，无法让任何事情持续下去。而当我在组织活动、策展或做与表演相关的工作时，它们更实验性、艺术化，不具有商业性，而且由于实验性，它们也几乎不存在一个稳定的商业模式。我当然希望可以靠它们生活，但它们并不能产生足够的收入，而且这个领域本身也不太容易被金钱驱动。

这就是主要的区别，但并不是说我是在“工作”和“我热爱的事”之间切换。我其实对两者都很享受。一个显然是商业工作，另一个则更多是在实验和研究，它们互补，彼此契合，但没有直接关联。比如，当我在 Firesquid 制作一款策略游戏时，和我在柏林或别处筹备下一场玩演会完全是两回事。团队不同、预期不同，工作范围也完全不同。所以，是同一套技能，但应用方式非常不同。

R：这两个职业共享的那套技能具体是什么？

S：管理人员、给事务下准确的定义，以及确保沟通清晰，尤其是在对预期的管理方面。当你制作一款游戏时，你需要确保你在商店页面上描述的内容，或你对玩家承诺的内容，真的和游戏里实际呈现的一致，这样每个人都清楚你将要交付什么。我觉得这和你把一个表演或展览推介给博物馆或剧院是一样的。你需要确保对方真正理解那是什么，否则，当最终呈现的内容和他们的预期不一致时，就会产生问题。

清晰的沟通需要贯穿始终——对项目团队来说也是一样。无论你是在筹备一场活动、一场展览，还是其他项目，沟通必须非常到位，并且在需要的时候进行调整。

R：你能简单介绍一下 Firesquid 吗？包括你们的发行会侧重什么方向。

S：Firesquid 是一家位于瑞典的独立游戏发行商，不过团队是完全远程协作的。我们主要专注于策略类游戏，尤其是那些试图重新审视这一类型的作品。我们非常喜欢意图创新的那些游戏——不是简单复刻经典策略玩法，而是尝试打开新式交互或新规则体系。

我们常说自己是“以开发者为中心”的发行商，因为团队里的每个人都有游戏开发背景，会用开发者视角来看事情。这也是为什么我们会和合作团队保持非常频繁的会议沟通，去了解项目进展，并在需要时提供支持。

在开发的任何阶段，只要有我们能帮开发者达成目标的地方，我们都会支持。不仅仅是资金、QA 或本地化服务，我们会尽可能从各方面提供帮助——要么通过我们工作室内部的资源，要么在需要时为他们对接其他专业人士。

R：Firesquid 做发行服务，同时也自研游戏。你们会和公司外部的开发团队有非常紧密的合作吗？

S：不会——除了我们内部工作室开发的游戏。对于内部项目，我会参与一些执行制作（Line Producing）的工作。但总体来说，每个外部工作室都自行管理他们的制作流程，我更多是监控和跟进，确保一切顺利，这更像是发行商和开发工作室之间典型的合作关系。对于我们签约的工作室，我们可以在他们真的需要支持的时候介入，但那一般是例外情况，不是常态。

R：从我的理解来看，如果你要为其他工作室承担制作工作，这听起来有点像策展人的角色——因为每次和不同的创作者合作，质量其实很难预测或控制。

S：对，这个理解非常准确。实际上，我们并不直接介入制作，不会告诉他们该怎么做游戏，更多是提供反馈，并确保项目进展在正轨上。每一个我们签约的项目，都会有周会，我会和项目团队沟通进度，看看有没有遇到问题，是否需要更多时间，是否需要调整，或是否应该安排一次试玩测试。

通过这些定期交流，我能对项目有非常清晰的整体把握。但与此同时，我不是来遥控他们如何制作游戏的，我也不是他们工作室的制作人。作为发行商，需要确保项目的愿景被尊重、我们仍然在按照最初达成的共识推进。如果有任何变化，我们就需要讨论——你不能在没有和合作伙伴沟通的情况下随意改变方向。作为发行商，我们和开发工作室是合作伙伴的关系。

R： 你们对签约游戏有类型偏好吗？

S： 我们主要聚焦在策略类游戏，但并不会限制在某一个具体的子类型上。我们不会说“只做城市建造”，或者“只做即时战略”，目前我们的取向还是比较开放和宽泛的。所以你会看到我们既有 RTS，也有像 《猎人之首》（XenoPurge） 这样的即时战术游戏。我们希望能和不同形态的策略游戏项目合作。不过，在 2026 年，我们确实会有一个相对更集中的方向：在推进的几个项目，大多是回合制战术类游戏，但这并不意味着未来我们只会做这一类。

目前，我们已公布的三款游戏都是回合制，整体气质也偏黑暗、成熟风格。比如《疫区档案》（Vultures: Scavengers of Death），是一款 Roguelite 回合制战术游戏；《Prelude: Dark Pain》，有点像《暗黑地牢》和《火焰纹章》（Fire Emblem）或《最终幻想战略版》（FINAL FANTASY TACTICS）的结合；还有 《血色序曲》（Ex Sanguis），这是我们内部工作室的项目，是一款硬核回合制战术 RPG。

但如果有人带来一款很酷的 RTS，我们也可能会感兴趣；如果是卡牌构筑类游戏，也未必不行。归根结底，我们真正关心的是：这款游戏是否带来了新的东西？是否对既有类型做出了某种实验或突破？如果是，那我们还会看——在制作支持和目标受众触达方面，我们是否真的能够帮得上忙。

R： 站在这两个领域的交界线上，你会觉得它们其实能互相鼓励或启发吗？你是否从这两种身份的转换中获益？

S： 其实并不那么明显。因为这两件事的目标不同，受众也不同，制作或发行游戏和组织活动是非常不一样的事情。举个例子，如果我要为我们自己的工作室或发行部门组织一个活动，那会很容易——我以前做过，而且通常效果都不错。但反过来，从活动或策展经验中直接反哺到发行工作，就没那么直观了。拥有一个由工作室和发行商组成的强大人脉网络，确实能让我在办活动时获得一些支持——也许是时间、资金或资源上的帮助，但这种联系其实更偏向商业层面。从探索、实验或者创作健康度层面来说，我不确定这是不是最有意思的一种关联。

这个问题并不容易回答。理论上它们是可以互相关联的，但实际上并没有那么自然地连接。正如我之前说的，它们对我个人来说是互补的，但我不太确定其中一个是否真的能直接让另一个受益。我也会想——Sous le Néon 是否从 Firesquid 获得了什么？或者 Firesquid 是否从 Sous le Néon 获得了什么？我其实不太认同。大概也就仅限于能让那些同时参与两个项目的人建立联系吧。

R：回想一下你制作过的游戏，你觉得其中有哪一款可以被改编成一场玩演吗？

S：可能吧，我觉得基本没有真正的限制。有些游戏在舞台上展示起来肯定更容易，但我相信我们制作过的任何游戏，在某种程度上都可以被改成表演。

问题是，策略游戏的界面通常很复杂，可读性并不高。面对广泛的观众——有时候有人甚至平时都不玩游戏——他们需要理解屏幕上到底发生了什么。如果你展示的是非常复杂的内容，信息量很大，也不是不行，但对表演者的要求就更高了。你需要引导观众的视线，帮助他们理解哪些信息比较重要。

比如《暗黑地牢 II》的表演，你能看到画面上的角色和他们的动作，但如果想完全理解所有数值、技能和系统，几乎是不可能的，除非你已经玩了几百上千个小时。不过，作为表演者，你可以通过叙述、讲解和评论你在做什么，让它变得更好懂——这真的很有帮助。我有信心，我制作或发行的一些游戏，可以作为玩演来展示。至于这真的会发生吗，我不知道，但绝对是可行的。

R：你会给玩演艺术家提建议吗？即便他们已经有了概念或剧本，有时候把想法转化成实际表演仍然很困难。作为一个偏制作型的策展人，你会偶尔介入提供指导吗？

S：会。我觉得有件事是显而易见、你我都从游戏开发中学到的：不要害怕先在朋友、家人或任何人面前演练一次。表演需要观众才能存在。就像游戏需要玩家一样，表演需要有人看。

在某个阶段，你可能已经有了一个想法、剧本、游戏，也知道自己想要达成什么效果。但你需要一位观众来帮你理解它带给人的实际体验，也需要学会在游玩、表演过程中对观众的反应作出回应。自己排练是一回事，在人前操作又是完全不同的事。那些细微的反应——从一次呼吸到一声笑声、掌声、惊叹或片刻的沉默——都是你可以回应的情绪。即便很微妙，你也可以用回应推动某个情绪、某个瞬间、某个想法。你不只是在玩游戏，还是在和观众一起玩，这某种程度上也像是一种引入了观众的试玩测试。

关于 Simon Bachelier

Simon Bachelier 是一位长期关注数字游戏实践多样性的独立策展人。在他的展览工作中，一个重要方向是探索玩家与（处于观众之中的）观看者之间的关系空间。自 2016 年起，他开始尝试连接戏剧、表演艺术与数字游戏，并发展出一种被他称为“玩演”（Playformance）的表演形式。2021 年，他参与创立了法国艺术团体 Sous les néons，召集来自戏剧与独立游戏领域的创作者，探索舞台表演与在现场观众前进行游戏表演之间的可能性连接。

Background

In 2025, Simon Bachelier and I co-hosted a panel talk, “Beyond Interactivity,” at the Game Arts International Assembly in Barcelona, Spain. Before the panel, we had many discussions about alternative forms of interaction between games and audiences in game exhibitions. Still, I didn’t fully grasp his idea of the “interaction between players and watchers” until I attended two shows in his ongoing project Playformance by Sous le Néon. I realized my understanding had been too shallow: sometimes countless words do less than seeing something once.

Learning that Simon is also the Director of Operations at the commercial indie game publisher Firesquid, I couldn’t help but be curious about how he manages to keep these two tracks running in parallel. In early 2026, I interviewed him for Indienova. During our conversation, we discussed his artistic and business practices and the ways they intersect. I also gained insight into a different perspective on failure and winning—one that embraces vulnerability in public—as well as the new idea that every creative work, not just games, benefits from a form of playtesting.

Interview

Rashel (R): Can you talk about how you started the Playformance project? How did the idea of bringing games, narrative, and artistic performance together first emerge?

Simon (S): Back in 2011 to 2015, I was working with a previous collective called One Life Remains, which was doing experimental games. We had a lot of thoughts and design questions around the idea of: Hey, what if we create a game that is meant to be played on stage, in front of an audience? What would it be? How can you design a game specifically to create a show, or a form of spectacular experience? That was the first sparkle of thinking about what it meant to play a game in front of an audience.

After I left the collective, around 2015–2016, I worked on my own projects and came up with this idea that, okay—video games can be watched. They can be seen on stage. There were definitely things that had already been done in the past. But what if we take games that already exist and try to do something with them on stage? Not just a “let’s play.” Not just talking about the game. Because there were conferences where researchers talked about games while someone was playing it. It was cool, but it wasn’t really the idea. The real question was: What if we use a game to share something with an audience?

What if I ask a group of people who are willing to go on stage to play a game—a game that marked them, whether in a good or bad way, a game that really left an impact on them? And through that game, they could share something intimate or personal with the audience. I started this as an exhibition project in 2016. After that, I programmed it every year at IndieCade Europe’s festival. Each year, we invited 6-8 people. Each had about 15-20 minutes. I did that for four years, until COVID happened. Then I stopped the project.

Later, I had the chance to meet Nicolas Ligeon in France, who was working in the field of theater. When I pitched him this idea of having a game played on stage, he immediately saw the concept. He said, Okay, we need to do that and try something—because I can bring a comedian, you can bring people from the game world, and let’s experiment on stage and push the research.

So we started experimenting in 2021, and we’ve continued up to today. We’ve made more than fifty experiments—fifty playformances—with different people. And we refined the concept to the point of establishing a Playformance Manifesto to define what it is, what it’s not, and why. The manifesto was a way to really nail things down and define the perimeter—because you can do a lot of things with games on stage, but that doesn’t mean it’s a playformance. At the very least, there has to be storytelling through the act of playing.

R: Does Sous le Néon mean “under the neon lights”?

S: Under the neon lights, yeah. Absolutely.

R: It sounds very much like a media art festival to me. Is that a collective, or what exactly is it?

S: Yes, it’s a collective. We were four at the beginning, and now we are three co-founders, with a bunch of other game developers or artists. The meaning of this collective initiative was to work on and study what we call the “other practices of video games.” What interests us is not so much creating games. It’s more about thinking about and showcasing other or alternative practices of video games.

Basically, what does it mean to watch a video game? What kind of weird practices do some players develop around games, and how can we showcase them? What would an exhibition look like about, for instance, taking pictures in video games, or journaling in video games? Those types of things are topics that interest us in general. And performance, of course, is one of the main topics we’ve been working on and thinking about: how can you bring a video game on stage and use the act of play for storytelling? That’s one of our main fields of research.

R: Can you talk about the relationship between Playformance/Sous le Néon and IndieCade Europe?

S: Yeah, of course. So the link between Playformance and IndieCade Europe is that I was the former director of IndieCade Europe. In the program every year, we usually had two or three hours dedicated to performance, and we invited guests to come and try playformance during the event. That was from 2016 to 2019. After that, the festival disappeared because of COVID.

It was only later, when I had the chance to meet my colleague Nicolas Ligeon from the theater world, that we really owned Playformance as a new collective. Sous le Néon was formed in 2021, and that’s the moment when we revisited this concept of Playformance in order to redefine it and give it more research and experimentation. At IndieCade Europe, it was more like light experimentation. I was inviting people, giving them instructions, but they were quite free. With Sous le Néon, we really pushed things further. When we were experimenting, after every Playformance we would ask ourselves, “Is this really fitting what we had in mind, or is it not—and why is it not?”

We were trying to shape the concept in order to eventually write this manifesto. So the only real link between IndieCade Europe and Sous le Néon is that I started exploring this concept back then—maybe even a bit before—but during IndieCade Europe, we already had playformances. After that, with the new collective, Sous le Néon, we pushed the research much further, thanks especially to the work of my colleagues Nicolas and Diane. I think you saw Diane Landais in Barcelona—she was doing the Celeste playformance. And thanks to them… three brains are better than one. Together, we were able to truly shape the concept.

R: Speaking of performance—in the Playformance Manifesto, you talk about exposing the body and embracing vulnerability. That feels very personal to me. I’ve seen the playformances, so I completely agree with that. But as a curator, I’m sometimes very afraid of the unexpected. I wonder how you see the differences between playformances, and also the different emotions that emerge. Every time someone performs, there seems to be a different version. How do you feel about that? Do you want to control it, or do you prefer to let it happen—more like an improvised form of acting?

S: I think it’s part of what performance is in general. Anything that is performative means there is something new every time. Whether it’s singing a song or playing a game live, there’s always this spontaneous thing that can happen. Sometimes it can even fail. We had a playformance night in Nantes, in France, last Saturday, and one of our playformers literally failed. He wasThey were playing Braid, doing the last level while talking about their story—and then he was constantly failing at the game. HisTheir whole performance was supposed to go to the end in order to deliver the conclusion. But because he wasthey were stuck in the middle of it, there was this feeling of total despair on stage. He wasThey were like, “I’m sorry, I’m just going to be quiet and try to beat this stage.” And hethey kept failing. After maybe eight minutes of trying, hethey said, “Okay, at some point, you need to give up.” And the performance just stopped.

But people really liked it, because it felt real, genuine. It felt like, okay—there is uncertainty. Just like in a circus or in theater, something can go wrong. You don’t go to the circus expecting something to fail—but sometimes, because it’s a performance, it can fail, or impromptu things can happen. And it’s up to the performer to use that moment and create something out of itto say something. In this case, hethey managed to say something different from what hethey originally wanted to say, but it ended up being about the need to accept failure and things like that. It was quite on point—which was funny—because it wasn’t planned like this.

Coming back to vulnerability, to what happens on stage, I think it’s because you expose yourself. My colleague often talks about theater like this: when a comedian goes on stage, it’s part of a ritual. They are sacrificing themselves to the audience. The person is offering their body, their interpretation, their performance, in order to create something. So you, as an individual, disappear in order to become something else on stage.

And I think performances are a bit like that as well. It’s a symbolic space that we are sharing. But in order to enable a participant to enter it, you somehow have to sacrifice your own stage and accept your vulnerability—not just as an individual, but as a performer. That’s also what’s interesting in performance: anything can happen. You’re playing a game, so there are moments that can be punishing, moments you can win or lose. It’s not just a text you read—you’re playing a system, and things can happen.

R: I love the way you describe performance as a form of sacrifice. It makes me think about the concept of “curator,” which comes from the Egyptian priests who took care of the ritual archives. That feels very interesting to me. One role is about taking care of what remains, while the other, the performer, is the one who is sacrificing.

S: Yeah. I mean, it’s not something I invented. I think a lot of people working in theory—especially around theater and political theater—consider performance as a form of sacrifice or ritual. Even artists from performance art, like Marina Abramović or Yoko Ono, have worked extensively with participation. Sometimes the performer can even become an object, or a part of the participant’s experience. I think there’s a strong similarity with theater, and in the same way, games offer that as well. Once again, games are a performative medium: they ask you to play them, and once you do, you become part of them.

R: That’s true—Yoko Ono’s Cut Piece is a classic example of sacrifice in performance.

S: Cut Piece, yeah. Exactly.

R: I also wonder—do playformers have a script to follow, or do only some of them work with a script?

S: Because we’re in a form of storytelling, there’s often a beginning and an end. It starts with something and it reaches a point, like a final moment or conclusion. Usually, some playformers have a script written from beginning to end, but others just have an idea and rely more on improvisation. We don’t have a strict methodology around this, but everyone has at least a red line to follow. They know where they want to go, or what they hope to reach.

Because it’s a form of storytelling, it’s not just, “Hey, let’s play something and see what happens”—except if your performance is specifically about improvisation, accident, or failure, in which case that can make sense. Usually the playformer has something to share or to say, so they come up with an idea, and they want to reach it through the experience of playing the game in front of the audience.

But it can also be improvisation. For example, Diane’s playformance with Celeste starts from a clear idea. She has three main steps that involve playing with the audience. At the same time, there’s a lot of improvisation, because the players can play very well—or not very well. But at the same time, she knows where she’s going. There is a beginning, and there is a structure. Everything in the middle, though, shapes differently in every performance, because she has to react to what happens in the moment.

R: I saw the recent Playformance you shared on Instagram. One of the playformers was playing Flock, doing a water painting, and talking at the same time.

S: It was a pretty unique one. Very experimental. The playformer Delphine Fourneau is an illustrator and art director. Basically, she wanted to play a game and create a performance about process, and about finding peace in things that are sometimes complicated and stressful.

For her, the performance itself was very stressful. Even the idea of playing and doing something in front of an audience was stressful. Through the performance, she was trying to find a quiet moment in the middle of that stress—while doing all these things at once. And she did. After about five minutes, she became calmer. She was drawing, moving things around. Sometimes she needed both hands to perform, so she used a wristband to pull the joystick of the gamepad and keep the character navigating.

Because Flock is not a game where you can lose by falling off a cliff or something like that, it worked very well. The flock kept moving while she was still painting, then she would come back to the controller and play a bit more. It was interesting.

R: Any other experimental examples?

S: I mean, there’s a lot about failure. We had a comedian playing Darkest Dungeon II. The game is very hard, and the whole point was that he was playing the final boss in the hardest mode. The performance was something a bit funny—almost like stand-up comedy. He was playing while talking about the notion of failure. Every time he did the performance, you never knew if he was going to win or not, because it’s the final point. He could die after ten minutes. One move can kill the whole squad. Sometimes he managed to succeed.

But what’s funny is that when he failed, it was almost more interesting. There’s this tension, and people are like, okay, you just lost this character—are you going to die or not? When he loses, people become very empathetic with the performer on stage. You’re really part of the thing. And the whole point is also about how, at the end of the day, we’re always celebrating winning—the notion of winning. There is a winner, but we don’t talk about the losers.

What does winning actually mean? Who really deserves to win? Is it the person who comes first, or maybe the person who comes second or third, but had way more constraints—maybe they didn’t sleep last night, maybe they had a hard life, maybe they didn’t have the same education as someone else. Who deserves the most to win? Is the winner really the winner in that situation?

And the notion of failure is like—someone who keeps failing but keeps trying. Is that not the real winner somehow? That’s really the point of this performance: failure is not an indicator of whether you deserve to fail or not. Sometimes failure just means you tried, and you tried very hard. Maybe that makes you even more deserving than someone else. And it plays very well with this performance because the game is very hard. It’s punishing—one bad move, or just bad luck, and it’s over.

He was also making funny comments about things in general and about himself. The emotions slowly escalate. You’re like, okay, is he going to win? Is he going to lose? You’re laughing, but it’s not that light. We’ve had a lot of various playformances. I could talk for a long time about all of them.

R: What are your selection criteria for Playformance? What does the process look like? Do participants submit only a statement and instructions, or do they also provide screenshots or video recordings?

S: Until recently, when people came to us, they would usually pitch an idea after having seen a playformance. We always say that until you’ve seen at least one or two, you don’t really understand what it is. A lot of people think, “Oh yeah, it’s just playing a game,” but it’s not really a let’s play, and it’s not just someone playing a game on stage.

Usually, people pitch us their ideas and we ask them to present a prototype. We have a meeting to talk about what they expect. It doesn’t have to be fully developed, but we need to understand whether it fits our expectations. More recently, because many people wanted to try without committing to a long format—20 or 30 minutes can be quite intense when you’re not used to it—we made an open mic session. Every three months, when we host a playformance evening, we open a form about a month in advance. People can apply for a 10-minute slot by describing their idea and the game they want to use.

For this short format, we’re less strict. The goal is to let people experiment. If it doesn’t work or turns out not to be a playformance, that’s fine—it’s only ten minutes in an evening event. If it works really well, we often invite them to develop a longer version or refine it further. When we feel a performance—or a performer—needs to be pushed further, we propose working together more closely. And because we present playformances in different places, at least in France, we try to find a way to include them in a future lineup. That’s basically how we work at the moment.

R: And here we move into the second part of the interview, which is a completely different topic. Since you’re also an experienced producer in the game industry, how do you maintain the balance between being a commercial producer and being an artistic event curator?

S: I think the bridge between the two activities requires more or less the same type of skills. It’s about organizing, planning, budgeting, etc. So, both are fed by the same skill set. But in terms of the actual activities, they’re really not the same. Being a producer in a commercial context isn’t directly related to what I do in events. I can work on games that are not the same genre, not the same teams, not the same people I collaborate with when I curate or organize events. It’s really a different field. Of course, the connection is that they’re all video games, but it’s like saying you work in music: producing music is not the same as organizing a live show, and it’s similar here.

I often say in French that I have a day job and a night job. The day job is being a producer or a publisher—which is very commercially focused. Business is important because if you don’t make enough money, you can’t pay the team, you can’t run a studio, you can’t sustain anything. It’s very commercial-driven. When I do event organization, curating, or performance-related work, it’s much more experimental and artistic. Most of the time it’s not really commercial, and because it’s experimental, there’s no real business-model sustainability. I’d love to live from it, but it doesn’t generate enough money, and it’s not a field that can easily be driven by money.

That’s the main difference. But I'm not saying I'm doing my job and then I'm doing what I love on the side. I really enjoy both. One is clearly a commercial job, and the other is more about experimenting and researching. They’re quite complementary. They fit together, but there’s no direct connection. For example, when I produce a strategy game for Firesquid, it’s completely different from working on the next Playformance lineup in Berlin or somewhere else. The teams are different, the expectations are different, and the scope is very distinct. So yeah—same skills, very different ways of applying them.

R: So what is the same skillset that these two professions share?

S: Managing people, defining things, and making sure communication is clear as well, especially around expectations. When you create a game, you need to make sure that what you describe on the store page, or to the players, actually matches what’s in the game, so everyone knows what you’re going to deliver. I think it’s the same when you sell a performance or an exhibition to a museum or a theater. You need to make sure they really understand what it is. Otherwise, when you deliver things different to their expectation, it becomes a problem.

So clear communication is needed all the way through—and it’s the same for the team working on the project. Whether you’re producing an event, an exhibition, or anything else, communication has to be on point, and you need to adapt when necessary.

R: Can you give us a brief introduction to Firesquid, including your publishing focus?

S: Yeah. Firesquid is an independent game publisher based in Sweden, but the team is fully remote. We focus mainly on strategy games that try to revisit their genre. We really like games that aim to be innovative—not just reproducing classic strategy formulas, but opening up new interactions or new rules. We often say that we’re developer-focused, because everyone on the team comes from a game development background, so we have the developers’ eyes. That’s also why we have very regular meetings with the teams we publish—to see how things are going and to offer support.

If there’s anything we can do at any stage of development to help developers succeed or reach what they want to achieve, we try to provide it. It’s not just about funding, QA, or localization. We try to support them in any way we can—either through our internal studio or by connecting them with other experts when needed.

R: Firesquid has publishing services, but at the same time also produces its own games. Do you work closely with the development teams outside of your company?

S: No—except for the games developed internally in our studio. For those, I do a bit of line producing. But in general, each external studio manages its own production. I mostly monitor things to make sure everything is going well, which is more the typical collaboration between a publisher and a studio. For the studios we sign, we don’t directly handle production for them. I can step in if they really need support, but that’s more the exception than the rule.

R: From my understanding, if you produce for other studios, it sounds a bit like a curator’s job—because every time you collaborate with different artists, it’s harder to estimate or control the quality.

S: Yeah, you’re totally right about that. Basically, we are not hands-on with production. I’m not going to tell them how to make their game. What we do instead is provide feedback and make sure things are on track. With every project we sign, we have weekly meetings. I talk with the team to see how things are going—if there are any issues, whether we need more time, if something needs to be adapted, or if we should do a playtest.

So I have a very clear overview of the project through regular production updates. At the same time, I’m not here to control or manage how they produce the game. I’m not the studio’s producer. But as a publisher, I do need to make sure the vision is respected, that we’re following what we agreed on, and that if something changes, we talk about it—because you can’t just do anything you want without discussing it with your partner or collaborator. We are a partner as a publisher.

R: Do you have a genre preference when signing a game?

S: I think we are mainly focused on the strategy genre, but we don’t limit ourselves to one specific subgenre. We don’t say, “We only do city builders” or “only real-time strategy.” We’re quite open and broad at the moment. That’s why we have an RTS, we have real-time tactics like XenoPurge. We try to work with different games. For 2026, we do have a more specific focus. Most of the games we’re working on for 2026 are turn-based tactics, but that doesn’t mean we’ll only do that going forward.

The three games we’ve announced so far are all turn-based and also a bit dark and mature. We have Vultures: Scavengers of Death, which is a roguelite turn-based tactics game. We have Prelude: Dark Pain, which is kind of a mix between Darkest Dungeon and Fire Emblem or Final Fantasy Tactics. And then Ex Sanguis, which is our internal studio project—a hardcore turn-based tactical RPG as well.

But if someone comes up with a cool RTS game, we could be interested. If it’s a deck-building game, we might be interested too. In the end, what we really look at is: does the game bring something new? Is it experimenting with the genre in some way? And if yes, is it something we can help with—in terms of production and also in terms of reaching the right audience?

R: As someone standing at the intersection of these two domains, do you feel they can actually encourage or inspire each other? Do you benefit from moving between the two?

S: It’s not obvious, because once again, the objectives are not the same, and the audience is not the same either. Producing or publishing games is very different from organizing events. For example, if I had to organize an event or something special for our studio or publishing branch, it would be easy—I’ve done it in the past and it usually works well. But the other way around is less obvious. The good thing is that having a strong network of studios and publishers can help you get support—maybe time, maybe funding, maybe logistical help—for an event. But that connection is very business-oriented. I’m not sure it’s the most interesting one in terms of exploration, experimentation, or even creative health.

It’s not an easy question, because in theory they could be connected, but in practice they don’t connect that easily. As I said, they are complementary for me as an individual, but I’m not sure one really benefits the other directly. I don’t know—does Sous le Néon get something from Firesquid, or does Firesquid get something from Sous le Néon? I don’t really think so, except through the connections that people involved in both could have, but that’s it.

R: Thinking about the games you've produced, do you think any of them could be turned into a playformance?

S: Yeah, probably. I don’t think there’s any real limitation. Some games are definitely easier to showcase on stage than others, but I’m pretty sure any of the games we’ve worked on could be used for a performance in some way.

The thing is that strategy games are often very interface-heavy, and they’re not always the most readable. When you have a broad audience—sometimes people who aren’t even used to games—they need to understand what’s happening on screen. If you’re showing something very complex, with lots of information everywhere, it can still work, but it requires more from the performer. You have to guide the audience’s eyes and help them understand what actually matters.

Take the Darkest Dungeon II performance, for instance. You can see the characters and what’s going on visually, but if you want to fully understand all the numbers, skills, and systems, that’s almost impossible unless you’ve played the game for hundreds or thousands of hours. As a performer, though, you can make it more accessible by explaining, commenting, and narrating what you’re doing—and that really helps. I’m quite confident that some of the games I’ve produced or published could work as playformances. Will it actually happen? I don’t know. But it’s definitely possible.

R: Do you give advice to artists who perform a Playformance? Even when they already have a concept or a script, it can be difficult to translate an idea into an actual Playformance. As a producer-type curator, do you sometimes step in with guidance?

S: Yeah. I think something that feels quite obvious—and we both know this from game development—is: don’t be afraid to perform it in front of a friend, a family member, or anyone, really, as a first audience. A performance needs an audience to exist. Just like a game needs a player, a performance needs people watching it.

At some point, you might have an idea, a script, a game, and you know where you want to go. But you need an audience to understand how it actually feels, and to learn how to react to their feedback while you’re playing. It’s one thing to rehearse on your own. It’s something completely different to do it in front of people. All those tiny reactions—from a breath, to a laugh, to applause, to a “wow,” to a moment of silence—those emotions are things you can react to. Even when they’re subtle, you can use them to push something further: an emotion, a moment, a thought. You’re not only playing with the game anymore—you’re also playing with the audience. It’s like a kind of audience playtest, somehow.

About Simon Bachelier

Simon Bachelier is an independent curator exploring the variety of practices in digital games. One of his main focus in his exhibition work has been to experiment about the spaces between the players and the watchers (among visitors). He has also been experimenting around the link between Theater, Perfomance Arts and Digital Games since 2016 with a format he called Playformance. He has cofounded the French collective Sous les néons in 2021 gathering people from Theater and Indie Games, where they explore the connection between stage play and performing games in front of a live (and on-site) audience.