What counts as ‘playing’ a game in the age of let’s play?

When video games started gaining mainstream popularity, there was no discussion to be had about what constituted as playing a game. If you’d played a significant portion of it, or better yet, completed it, then you had enough knowledge to comment on its various components. However, since the introduction of let’s plays, our knowledge of a video game doesn’t necessarily come from having experienced it first-hand.

We need only sit and watch a streamer’s playthrough from beginning to end to feel like an expert on the matter. And why shouldn’t we? While we haven’t struggled to solve a particularly taxing puzzle, nor have we died multiple times when facing a difficult boss, we’ve been there through the good, bad, and ugly.

Consequently, it begs the question of what counts as playing a game. If we’ve watched every single episode of a let’s play series, does that mean we can say we’ve completed the game? If we’ve, after finishing a series, read countless articles on the deeper lore of a title, does that also give us significant insight into a game to allow us to form an opinion on it?

It’s an especially polarising topic to get into, for semantics obviously play a huge part in how gamers will respond to these questions. When we touched upon this grey area in our workplace chat, while we agreed we probably wouldn’t say we’ve played a title, several of us felt that having watched numerous videos we could essentially add it to our completed pile.

The Baker family is beyond terrifying in Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Personally speaking, I’ve done this with several horror games in the past. Even though I’m an avid horror fan, especially when it comes to novels and films, I find playing horror games a lot more challenging. It’s far easier for me to watch a jumpscare than live it in real-time gameplay. The moment I feel hunted, a sense of danger nipping at my heels like a rabid beast, I get too panicky to play.

There are exceptions to this, like when I reviewed The Casting of Frank Stone, however, they’re rare. Moreover, the survival rate of the characters in such titles is greatly reduced due to my inability to avoid the enemy. It comes down to the main gameplay mechanics of a title; when it’s more choice-based, with minimal confrontation, stealth, or fighting, I tend to give it a try.

Take the Resident Evil series as a prime example of this. I’ve never played them for myself, I’ve only watched walkthroughs. Yet, I’ve watched multiple let’s plays of the same title, such as Resident Evil Village, and therefore know the narrative well. Despite never playing as Ethan, I still felt his despair, frustration, and ultimately, sorrow at the sacrifice he had to make.

I’ve also watched playthroughs of Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, a title that I’ve referred to as an incredible game in several conversations without having ever grappled with the terrifying Baker family. That being said, I know the horrors Ethan is thrown into after seeking out Mia, as well as having watched each family member slowly descend into the mould-fuelled madness of Eveline. Its visceral storytelling, combined with the heart-pounding action of trying to escape the frenzied Baker family, is ingrained in my mind.

I feel the same about the Silent Hill 2 remake, another horror game that I didn’t want to play myself, yet wished to understand its eerie, heavily symbolic narrative and gameplay. When discussions mentioned the possibility of the remake gaining multiple accolades at The Game Awards, I felt I knew enough to, figuratively speaking, cast my vote.

I’ve lived through these fictional horrors, sometimes to the point that I shriek when a character is attacked, or nervously hide behind my hands when I feel anxious. It seems reductive to dismiss my experience with a game merely because I didn’t have a controller in my hand.