The Myth of Interactivity

This article first appeared in the June 2002 issue of the Convergence Report

By Chris Manners

interactive: adj. 1. acting on one another; reciprocally active. 2. designating or of programming electronic equipment, as for TV, videodisks etc., which allows users to participate, as by making a response, influencing the pace of the action, etc. 3. of or involving a mode of operation in which there is a continual exchange of information between the computer and the user at a video screen. Webster's New World Dictionary

It's been a fair few years since the heyday of the word "interactivity." You'd actually have to travel way back in time to somewhere in the mid-1990's to find a moment when the term had the hot cachet of a newly minted buzzword. Since then, other terms have taken center stage. Words like "multimedia," "user-experience" and (dare I say it) "convergence" have all overtaken it in boardrooms and bedrooms, but it's still in common usage. It just doesn't have that freshness about it anymore.

And perhaps the reason is that everyone has seen the truth: interactivity is pretty much a myth. Certainly, there are situations and products that are truly interactive, but in general, we've all been let down by the promise of immersive interactive experiences. I recall being extremely excited back in the mid-'90's when a local club announced that they were having a night of free 3D virtual surround games. There was a line around the block to get your name on the sign-up list.

Once through the weaving mass, you submitted yourself to being enclosed in a helmet with a heads-up display, and positioned inside a plastic pod. This apparatus consisted of four vertical struts on an oval base that supported a horizontal magnetic ring. In addition to the full-face head display, you held a wired gun that tracked your arm position as you stood on the magnetized base.

"Dactyl Nightmare" sported graphics and a sensibility that was pure "Lawnmower Man:" The general idea was that you were in a real-time 3D space with three other combatants to defeat with orange-like projectiles. The virtual space environment was a chess board with a few ramps and levels: you'd appear in one corner, and then make your way past a few pillars and stairs until you were within firing range of another player. A hit shattered a players' avatar into shards, and they'd reappear back at their starting place. You moved around a lot in physical space with you helmet on, looking fairly ridiculous to external viewers, and the game was over when your allotted time was up.

The reason the game was called "Dactyl Nightmare" was that an additional random feature was factored into the game: circling above everyone's heads were a half-dozen Pterodactyls. From time to time, one would swoop down and try to grab a player. If you were unfortunate enough to be grabbed by one of these beasts, the flying reptile would grasp you in its talons and fly back up to it's compatriots high in the sky. You'd see the chessboard getting smaller and smaller until the bird would finally drop you and you'd plummet back to ground and shatter into pieces. And then appear back at your starting place again. Unsettling, to be sure, but very addictive despite the "Tron"-like graphics.

So What Went Wrong?
It all seemed so promising back then. So, what happened? Well, for starters, the company that manufactured the game and the pod failed. A combination of elements conspired against them. The combination of huge barriers to entry (the complete setup of four pods and matching helmets ran a cool $120,000 back then), limited public interest, and long setup times to get the gear on each individual patron all joined together to doom that particular product.

In the meantime, the Web took over, and the early online experiments in 3D spaces online were neither popular nor particularly compelling. VRML peaked too early, and technologies like QTVR that were reliable never achieved widespread user acceptance. Instead, copywriters and public relations departments hijacked the word and concept of "interaction". "Interactive websites for e-commerce solutions," loomed over us from freeway billboards.

The sad truth, however, is that the public has rarely, if ever, experienced true interaction with consumer devices. In general, computers accept instructions and then perform them. Websites aren't interactive: selecting a link is a one-way action with a predetermined response. And what goes for interaction on the Web is filling out a form. Before getting it back again because you neglected to fill out the Zip code field correctly.

Interactive TV also has proven to be a bust in terms of pure reciprocal capabilities: setting a reminder for a show you want to watch, browsing through show listings, and ordering a pizza hardly qualify as interactive experiences. While I appreciate being able to watch movies and sports on pay-per-view basis, the ordering experience doesn't qualify as compelling.

It's Not All Lost, Though
To be fair, there are a few awesome interactive experiences available on the Web. Chatrooms and instant messaging are probably the best example: the opportunity to exchange text messages in real-time clearly is an interactive experience. But the interaction isn't with a machine, it's facilitating another way to perform an everyday occurrence -- communicating with another person.

In the realm of consumer electronics, machine-based interaction only really exists in the video game realm. And it puts the Web to shame. The sports video game, where four people can simultaneously participate as athletes on a team is truly an interactive experience. Even a two-person video game provides more interactivity than any "robust" shopping e-commerce site.

Which brings the point home even more: interactivity requires another sentient being to be receiving your actions and responding in kind. Electronic devices can be a fantastic way to achieve this - there's no doubt that the telephone is perhaps the most invaluable interactive device yet invented. But to claim that the Web or television are interactive sells short the true value of the word. To be sure, technology will continue to provide us with tools to interact with each other, and that's really the point. If you're going to make an "interactive" device, shouldn't it really involve a minimum of two people?