7/11/2005
Testing Games Means Long Hours, Sore Thumbs - And A Dream Job
KEVIN COUGHLIN
Associated Press
EDISON, N.J. - When Jonathan Black saw the help-wanted ad last year in The Star-Ledger, it seemed too good to be true.
He still hardly believes his luck.
Black gets paid to test video games for Majesco Entertainment, a small company in Edison.
"It is the coolest job. Nothing is better than playing games all day," Black, 23, shouts over simulated gunfire and throbbing bass riffs in the Los Angeles Convention Center during the mobbed E3 video gaming show in May.
Voluptuous "booth babes" beckoned at every turn, but Black's partner was a gruesome mannequin with a chewed-out face and a shinbone poking through a swath of gore. Behind them, monitors showed off "Infected," a game that pits players against zombies spewing a flesh-eating virus.
Other screens tracked a great white shark from the forthcoming "Jaws Unleashed." Black thumbed a controller. Chomp! Off came a surfer's leg. Chomp!! A swimmer's head was dessert.
Days later, Black washed ashore on Martha's Vineyard for JawsFest, where he represented the game at the 30th anniversary celebration of the movie "Jaws."
"There were a lot of obsessive people," Black says afterward. "Even I was aghast."
With its sea of Dilbert-gray cubicles, Majesco headquarters looks no different from any office in America. Wade deeper, though, and discover pockets of pubescence, an island of juvenilia.
"I'm like a 16-year senior in high school," says graybeard Joe McHale, 34, who oversees two dozen testers as quality assurance manager.
Microsoft Xboxes, Sony PlayStations and Nintendo GameCubes vie for space with legions of comic book figurines. Posters of comely vixens are tacked behind computer monitors. "Hunter S. Gollum," a Tolkien-esque totem dressed in dark shades and trench coat, surveys the scene.
Comfy recliners are essential for all the 14-hour days and lost weekends that precede product launches such as "Advent Rising" and the "Psychonauts." A pingpong table is popular; a gym is not. Testers wear baggy cargo shorts and sneakers and Mighty Mouse T-shirts and Red Sox caps.
The place runs on caffeinated beverages. "You can't go wrong with Red Bull," says Black, a one-time criminal justice student who was selling video games at Best Buy when the Majesco gig fell from heaven.
But game-testing is not all fun and games. Quality control is no laughing matter for the $7.3 billion U.S. computer and video gaming software industry, where shoddy graphics or glitches in a game that retails for $50 can kill a company's reputation.
Testing counts even more for a small outfit like Majesco, which went public in 2003 and sports the ticker symbol "COOL." Headed by Carl Yankowski, former chief executive of Palm and past president of Sony Electronics, the company employs 71 people and ekes out a slim profit - after losing $49 million a year ago - publishing computer and console games produced by developers in Hungary, Canada and the United States.
"They can't afford to have a miss or a flop," says Francis Mao, editorial director of GamePro magazine.
On a warm June afternoon, Black stared at the umpteenth revision of "Jaws Unleashed," a game he has been testing since February for an autumn release.
"That was a bug," Black informed a visitor, noting a barely noticeable pause in the ominous soundtrack. He dutifully entered the details into a database.
His fellow testers range from 19 to 34. All but one are male, and all but two are single. About half still live with parents. They play the same games until those games practically become an extension of their nervous systems; one sees Aurelians in her sleep.
They don't play to win. They play to break the games.
Animated characters jump through walls thousands of times, and die a hundred deaths, as testers dare each game to hiccup.
They look for flaws in plot and logic and video angles. Consulting thick tomes from Microsoft and Sony, they time how long it takes games to load, and comb on-screen text for misspellings and inconsistent terms. They evaluate "playability" of games from rivals and prospective suppliers, and field customer support calls from gamers who consider themselves (mistakenly, most often) to be experts.
All for $8.50 to $11 an hour, and a foot in the door.
"It's the mailroom of the game industry," says Rob Cooper, 25, who rose from "tester" to "senior lead quality assurance analyst" since leaving Toys "R" Us three years ago.
Like Black, Cooper aspires to become a producer - the person who oversees creative aspects of developing games. Executive producers can earn as much as $100,000, according to the Web site Animation Arena.
Cooper has extra incentives: a wife and two young children. He wishes he could see more of them, but the overtime is hard to beat. Still, Cooper promises to supervise closely his kids' game playing.
"The younger you are, and the more you see it, the more it could destabilize you," he says of graphic violence. Parents must "moderate what kids see, and put it in the proper context, the same as when you take them to the movies."
McHale says Majesco testers get health benefits, a 401(k) plan and vacations, too, though he can't remember taking one in two years.
Employees of Electronic Arts last year sued that giant game developer, alleging they work excessive schedules without extra pay.
While McHale says testers are paid for every hour they work at Majesco, "We explain that there will be times they will be living here."
He says there are 50 to 100 applicants for every opening. Hires short on focus, patience or team spirit wash out quickly. "We don't want any drama," McHale says.
Perfection is elusive. While reviewers have praised Majesco's wacky "Psychonauts" game, USA Today rapped sci-fi adventure "Advent Rising" as buggy and crash-prone.
Testers aren't computer programmers; most simply love playing video games.
Gina Giacobbe is an aspiring fantasy novelist who quit a chocolate shop to become Majesco's lone female tester. She prefers role-playing games - even though Majesco does not publish any.
When the boys gather at lunch for a quick round of Activision's "Call of Duty" war game, she says sheepishly, "I just die instantly. I can't play. I let them kill me over and over again."
Pranks break the tension of marathon sessions. One tester returned from a road trip to find his entire cubicle redone in Malibu Barbie pink.
And there are some amusing calls; Majesco's toll-free number is similar to one that used to handle bookings of an erotic nature. "Sometimes people call asking to reserve the Jungle Room," Cooper says with a laugh.
EDISON, N.J. - When Jonathan Black saw the help-wanted ad last year in The Star-Ledger, it seemed too good to be true.
He still hardly believes his luck.
Black gets paid to test video games for Majesco Entertainment, a small company in Edison.
"It is the coolest job. Nothing is better than playing games all day," Black, 23, shouts over simulated gunfire and throbbing bass riffs in the Los Angeles Convention Center during the mobbed E3 video gaming show in May.
Voluptuous "booth babes" beckoned at every turn, but Black's partner was a gruesome mannequin with a chewed-out face and a shinbone poking through a swath of gore. Behind them, monitors showed off "Infected," a game that pits players against zombies spewing a flesh-eating virus.
Other screens tracked a great white shark from the forthcoming "Jaws Unleashed." Black thumbed a controller. Chomp! Off came a surfer's leg. Chomp!! A swimmer's head was dessert.
Days later, Black washed ashore on Martha's Vineyard for JawsFest, where he represented the game at the 30th anniversary celebration of the movie "Jaws."
"There were a lot of obsessive people," Black says afterward. "Even I was aghast."
With its sea of Dilbert-gray cubicles, Majesco headquarters looks no different from any office in America. Wade deeper, though, and discover pockets of pubescence, an island of juvenilia.
"I'm like a 16-year senior in high school," says graybeard Joe McHale, 34, who oversees two dozen testers as quality assurance manager.
Microsoft Xboxes, Sony PlayStations and Nintendo GameCubes vie for space with legions of comic book figurines. Posters of comely vixens are tacked behind computer monitors. "Hunter S. Gollum," a Tolkien-esque totem dressed in dark shades and trench coat, surveys the scene.
Comfy recliners are essential for all the 14-hour days and lost weekends that precede product launches such as "Advent Rising" and the "Psychonauts." A pingpong table is popular; a gym is not. Testers wear baggy cargo shorts and sneakers and Mighty Mouse T-shirts and Red Sox caps.
The place runs on caffeinated beverages. "You can't go wrong with Red Bull," says Black, a one-time criminal justice student who was selling video games at Best Buy when the Majesco gig fell from heaven.
But game-testing is not all fun and games. Quality control is no laughing matter for the $7.3 billion U.S. computer and video gaming software industry, where shoddy graphics or glitches in a game that retails for $50 can kill a company's reputation.
Testing counts even more for a small outfit like Majesco, which went public in 2003 and sports the ticker symbol "COOL." Headed by Carl Yankowski, former chief executive of Palm and past president of Sony Electronics, the company employs 71 people and ekes out a slim profit - after losing $49 million a year ago - publishing computer and console games produced by developers in Hungary, Canada and the United States.
"They can't afford to have a miss or a flop," says Francis Mao, editorial director of GamePro magazine.
On a warm June afternoon, Black stared at the umpteenth revision of "Jaws Unleashed," a game he has been testing since February for an autumn release.
"That was a bug," Black informed a visitor, noting a barely noticeable pause in the ominous soundtrack. He dutifully entered the details into a database.
His fellow testers range from 19 to 34. All but one are male, and all but two are single. About half still live with parents. They play the same games until those games practically become an extension of their nervous systems; one sees Aurelians in her sleep.
They don't play to win. They play to break the games.
Animated characters jump through walls thousands of times, and die a hundred deaths, as testers dare each game to hiccup.
They look for flaws in plot and logic and video angles. Consulting thick tomes from Microsoft and Sony, they time how long it takes games to load, and comb on-screen text for misspellings and inconsistent terms. They evaluate "playability" of games from rivals and prospective suppliers, and field customer support calls from gamers who consider themselves (mistakenly, most often) to be experts.
All for $8.50 to $11 an hour, and a foot in the door.
"It's the mailroom of the game industry," says Rob Cooper, 25, who rose from "tester" to "senior lead quality assurance analyst" since leaving Toys "R" Us three years ago.
Like Black, Cooper aspires to become a producer - the person who oversees creative aspects of developing games. Executive producers can earn as much as $100,000, according to the Web site Animation Arena.
Cooper has extra incentives: a wife and two young children. He wishes he could see more of them, but the overtime is hard to beat. Still, Cooper promises to supervise closely his kids' game playing.
"The younger you are, and the more you see it, the more it could destabilize you," he says of graphic violence. Parents must "moderate what kids see, and put it in the proper context, the same as when you take them to the movies."
McHale says Majesco testers get health benefits, a 401(k) plan and vacations, too, though he can't remember taking one in two years.
Employees of Electronic Arts last year sued that giant game developer, alleging they work excessive schedules without extra pay.
While McHale says testers are paid for every hour they work at Majesco, "We explain that there will be times they will be living here."
He says there are 50 to 100 applicants for every opening. Hires short on focus, patience or team spirit wash out quickly. "We don't want any drama," McHale says.
Perfection is elusive. While reviewers have praised Majesco's wacky "Psychonauts" game, USA Today rapped sci-fi adventure "Advent Rising" as buggy and crash-prone.
Testers aren't computer programmers; most simply love playing video games.
Gina Giacobbe is an aspiring fantasy novelist who quit a chocolate shop to become Majesco's lone female tester. She prefers role-playing games - even though Majesco does not publish any.
When the boys gather at lunch for a quick round of Activision's "Call of Duty" war game, she says sheepishly, "I just die instantly. I can't play. I let them kill me over and over again."
Pranks break the tension of marathon sessions. One tester returned from a road trip to find his entire cubicle redone in Malibu Barbie pink.
And there are some amusing calls; Majesco's toll-free number is similar to one that used to handle bookings of an erotic nature. "Sometimes people call asking to reserve the Jungle Room," Cooper says with a laugh.
