I wonder if it's really about the graphics though, or if it's more about the mystery of what's possible. Let's imagine something called the "possibility space",

I wonder if it's really about the graphics though, or if it's more about the mystery of what's possible. Let's imagine something called the "possibility space", which is just roughly the set of things you can do in the game. Minecraft has a really large possibility space (build stuff, mine, survive, etc), Quake has a much smaller one (shoot things, navigate). Gameplay is largely about discovering what's possible, and then using that knowledge to achieve mastery over the system. When you're young and you see a vista like that in ninja gaiden, you're intrigued by the possibility of what could be out there and what you can do with it. As you play, you discover the system, and in doing so, you also discover the limits of the system, and eventually as the space of possibilities becomes sharply defined, it eventually becomes uninteresting. When you see a new game with prettier graphics, what the graphics imply is a new possibility space; a sense that more can happen here and the universe of possibilities is expanded. The thing is, the graphics are secondary to what they imply about expanded gameplay. Graphics are feedback. Feedback is essential to gameplay, but it has to be evaluated in terms of a larger system. I think this is largely why modern games seem a bit less magical than the old ones. They imply a lot of possibilities, but they rarely deliver; in fact, to support that level of graphics and polish they have to sharply reduce the space of what's possible. To display beautiful lighting you have to prerender a lot of it, or to show a greatly scripted cutscene you have to ensure that the player can't do something that would make that scene no longer make sense. But all of that reduces what the player can do, and how the world can respond to it.