We face a practical — and cultural — archiving crisis unprecedented in any other medium. It’s time to change that.

In 2008, the year I took my first Cinema class, a 16mm full cut of the film Metropolis was found in Museo del Cine in Argentina. It felt like a miracle. We’d all stop each other—have you heard? Some of the scenes were too damaged to repair, but it was genuine, and in 2010 Metropolis was re-premiered, as close to the original print as is possible. Undeniably influential and utterly, catastrophically lost, Metropolis had always fascinated me. And I would be able to see it, at last.

P.T. was a “playable teaser” of Konami’s upcoming Silent Hills horror game, an unusual endeavor in an industry that mostly markets on heavily-edited video trailers. It was exciting as much in its own right as for the promises it made. On April 26th, 2015, Konami announced that it would be pulling P.T., from the PlayStation store, after less than a year. No miracle will bring it back, and it’s no special tragedy: This happens all the time in games. Losing great works is the norm, practically expected.

No one will actually forget P.T., right? Won’t its cult appeal last forever? Won’t this article I’m writing about it always be live, always keep P.T. in our minds? I’d like to assume so. No one really forgot about Earthbound or its sequel Mother 3, either, or SystemShock or its successors. But will people ever be able to play P.T. again?

My cinema classes offered me a very clearly delineated set of films I could watch in order to understand the history, technical advancements and artistic developments of American cinema. Workers Leaving the Factory, Citizen Kane, Casablanca, and so on and so on, until we reach the present day. Games, an art form only about 30 years old, has no such canon of great works. Maybe that’s due to the youth of the medium. But let’s say we had such a list: Would we still have easy access to them all? Would they be archived in such a way that we could still play them, or might their platforms, their technology, have aged out of relevance, lost to the winds?

One of the greatest hurdles in archiving games is that there is no surefire way to archive digital media across the board. Cinema is having its own crisis on how to properly archive video. Tape degrades quickly, and colors and sound wear out as the years go by. DVDs eventually stop playing from use. Hard drives, thought to be infallible, can dry up and spin their last, become aging, enormous bricks left in the wake of technological progress’ march.

Writer Shamus Young details how games face these issues and more: how companies that make graphics cards don’t often document the changes to drivers they make for popular games, how the licensing for music gets very complicated as time moves on, how both consoles and operating systems are locked down to prevent backwards compatibility. But most importantly there is a harsh enforcement of copyright, even for games that are functionally unpurchasable. And now we see that the forces that hold those copyrights are often happy to will a game to disappear entirely.

My friend Nico, who once worked for the Internet Archive, told me that she only ever dealt with works that had entered the public domain or had an established estate. The works she was archiving were, on average, over a hundred years old. She also told me that archived works are usually offered at a highly discounted price, or even free. Maybe we’ll see P.T. again in 2115, if Konami decides that milking the Silent Hill franchise isn’t worth it anymore.

Konami’s commitment to whisk P.T. away behind a vanishing curtain is really the same old story of these corporations aggressively protecting their intellectual property. It’s because these companies see games not as an art form, but as a piece of technology. If archiving a work means that it may become free, or that some theoretical profits might be lost, why do it?

Cinema can be traced the same way in history. Star Wars can be considered important because George Lucas invented cameras to film the scenes he wanted in the way he wanted them to be seen. But a reduction of art to a story of technology doesn’t account for the societal and cultural importance of the works produced. Star Wars isn’t just a story of technology, but a Kurosawa-inspired epic of the journey out of bondage. Can you explain Rothko in just an examination of his painting techniques? Or is he important because of what it feels like to stand in front of his work?

Museums spend an extraordinary amount of money to preserve artwork in an optimal condition. You can’t touch anything, or get close enough to have the carbon dioxide on your breath change the colors in the paint. Each room is climate-controlled in order to slow down the aging process of pigment on canvas. They do this because it is understood in the Fine Arts that seeing something in person can help explain how we got to where we are now. You can trace a line, like in Cinema, from cave paintings to the renaissance to abstract expressionism to now.

Metropolis was technologically advanced, sure. But it was also produced at a time when science fiction was new, when the kind of story it was telling, about gender and the terrifying power of the Industrial Revolution, was still uncharted territory. That the Maschinenmensch is a woman is no accident: this was the Weimar Republic, the 1920s, where women internationally and specifically in Germany were rebelling against the hand they’d been dealt in life.

Finding a full print of Metropolis wasn’t simply about understanding how that film was made, or even just about seeing it in full—seeing Metropolis can help us understand how those people lived, how we live, how we tell stories. Konami doesn’t care how P.T. will help us understand ourselves and our stories—and P.T. wants to tell a story, about masculinity, about fatherhood, about what scares us, about how men treat women. Konami cares about profit, and P.T. will not make them a profit.

Our failure to cultivate a full appreciation of history within games extends beyond just the games themselves and into our collective database of knowledge, criticism and practices within our field. “Collectively, we have a short memory, mostly back to the childhoods of whatever generation is currently not yet fed up with games enough to romanticize it,” says author and professor Ian Bogost.

“It makes our belief in our current novelty innocent on the one hand, but it ensures we build on a very limited version of the past on the other,” he continues. “Yes, there’s always some truly new novelty in games. But the bigger trends always seem to start from scratch, unaware of what came before, unable to incorporate and build upon it.”

Games critics seem to have the same arguments, the same discussions every five years or so; maybe we, all of us, think like Konami. What will get us the most hits? What is the freshest, hottest take on the topic du jour? What Op-Ed will get the readers that make sure that these sites stay open? My friend Max asked me why there’s no annual publication of the best games journalism. This is why: none of us care about our history.

“Gaming’s old-timers grow weary and quit (or get driven out), and everyone forgets and starts over, patting themselves on the back for being young and clever and confident,” Bogost continues. “I’d say ‘all of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again,’ but even that’s a reference that will likely be missed by many. ‘Yeah, but that was like, five years ago. Everything’s different now. It’s a golden age.'”

To make our history a priority, and in particular to prioritize the work of archiving, means that we have to take a huge cultural shift, and in the time it takes to shift perception we will lose things. There were PC games that came out in 1998 that we’ve already forgotten: technology, criticism has already marched on. This is our loss. When the games our children play are retreading the same ground design-wise as the ones we remember, we should know who to blame. When that print of Metropolis was found in the Museo Del Cine, it was a miracle. I wonder how I will feel if we see P.T. ever again.

Alex Humphries died on Venus, and now his brother is going to bring the remains home. But Van has more to worry about than one of the deadliest world in the solar system, because he is not the only one looking for Alex’s body . . .

After three Ben Bova books that proved to be thoroughly soothing and gentle explorations of both strange new worlds and the human spirit, I thought I knew what to expect from Venus. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Yes, the hard-edged science is still there. In fact, there’s an early chapter that is nothing more than three deeply engrossing pages of information about Venus. Bova’s love of science and exploration are both on display. But this book is anything but gentle and soothing. There’s more to Bova than just scientists being nice to one another, and it’s the pettier strand of society that’s on display here. The Grand Tour books have been universally interesting, but Venus is the first that I’d call genuinely thrilling. In fact, it’s my favourite Ben Bova book to date.

This is a book full of surprises, starting with the main character’s name. I assumed he was a man of Dutch origin called van Humphries. But no, Van is his forename, and he’s our narrator here as Bova shifts to the first person for this novel. As you’d expect from Bova, Van knows his science, but there are also personal stakes involved in his journey. The Humphries family has a messy background and while the family squabbling largely takes place off the page, it informs everything that goes on over the course of the next four hundred pages. Granted, none of the dynastic politics are the most intricate you’ll find in literature, but with space colonisation being run by deeply flawed billionaires, it’s hard not to be drawn in by them. Matters are soon complicated by a (somewhat inevitable) romance subplot, but this serves to illustrate the key difference between Van Humphries and previous Bova protagonists. Van Humphries is not a particularly nice man. Yes, he tried to do the right thing, but he’s also horribly self-obsessed. everything is filtered through his own warped perception, and he makes as many poor choices as he does heroic decisions. He is, in a word, fascinating.

As I delve deeper into the worlds of the Grand Tour, I am continually impressed with the universe Bova has built. There’s no central narrative to make this a series, but these twenty-something novels are already shaping up to be something incredible. As a long-time fantasy reader, I know how easy it is to burn out on longer series. That’s in no small part why I now gravitate towards science fiction. In having multiple standalones, Bova creates a universe that goes beyond a single story. Yes, there is some crossover between books. A certain Martian explorer pays a role here, for example. But the Grand Tour is incredibly accessible. Of the four books I’ve read thus far, three would have been perfect entry points. And the fourth wouldn’t have taken much explaining. I wish there were more universes like this. For now though, I have plenty more Ben Bova to spend my time with.

For me, Venus is the final piece of evidence I needed. Vindication of my belief that random book purchases are the way to go. I knew nothing about Ben Bova going into my first book of his, save that he had recently died. It turned out I’d been missing out on an author who seems almost tailor-made for me. Everything I want from science fiction, Bova offers in spades. So if you’re reading this, and there’s an author you’ve been thinking about getting into, go do it. That book with the interesting cover? Buy it! It could be the best decision you’ll ever make.

Has this PS2 port been perfected or is it still on a quest of stroke and order?

The suggestion that a new film or series in the Marvel Cinematic Universe breaks fresh ground for the franchise gets thrown around a lot in the lead-up to each project’s release. While it’s been true for some — such as WandaVision or Thor: Ragnarok, which each pushed the boundaries of the MCU in bold and different ways — most additions haven’t strayed too far from the thematic center of Marvel’s movieverse.

Given how reliably entertaining the MCU has been so far, that’s fine — but when the studio does take some risks, the results have made a great storytelling universe even better.

That’s where Moon Knight comes in.

Moon Knight, led by head writer and executive producer Jeremy Slater (The Umbrella Academy, Death Note), casts Oscar Isaac as Steven Grant, a mild-mannered museum gift-shop cashier whose world begins to fall apart — sometimes literally — when he discovers that he’s suffering from dissociative identity disorder. This would be troubling enough on its own, but he soon learns that his alternate persona is a mercenary, Marc Spector, who’s pledged himself to an ancient Egyptian god with an affinity for meting out violent justice. Soon, Steven finds himself on a globe-hopping adventure to prevent a charismatic cult leader played by Ethan Hawke from resurrecting another, even more dangerous deity.

Sure, a lot is going on in the Disney+ series, but that’s intentional. In fact, it’s all part of the fun. Much like the aforementioned WandaVision, Moon Knight leans into the frantic, fascinating mysteries at the heart of its story. Where WandaVision took a quirky, surreal approach to exploring its lead character’s psychological struggles, though, Moon Knight goes all-in on escalating tension and scares to depict Steven’s experiences and his perception of the world around him.

Ominous clues, a chorus of voices in his head, and visions of terrifying entities work together to turn Steven’s seemingly deteriorating sanity into a nightmarish journey for the character. The end result is the the scariest MCU project to date, and the closest the franchise has come to outright horror.

Moon Knight also delivers one of the MCU’s most brutal series so far. While the series doesn’t reach the same blood-spattered level of violence as Marvel’s no-longer-canon Netflix shows, it comes pretty close on a few occasions — to the point where it becomes a little surprising to see it on a Disney-branded platform. The frequency and duration of the action sequences in Moon Knight are less than the average episode of Daredevil, and the camera never lingers too long on the gory aftermath of all that violence, but the implied brutality is shockingly potent. The series’ titular, spectre-like figure pummels, stabs, and slices villains in intense, but largely bloodless, brawls that still pack a visceral punch without the typical gore.

In the lead role, Isaac does a phenomenal job of juggling the multiple distinct identities at play within Steven’s (or is it Marc’s?) mind. Isaac’s a phenomenal actor, so his ability to do so doesn’t come as much of a surprise, but it’s still a joy to see him bumbling his way through Steven’s life, only to suddenly become a thoroughly believable, ice-cold killer when Marc takes control. He’s as fun to watch in this series as any of Isaac’s other roles, and that’s saying a lot for an actor who’s often the most memorable part of any project he appears in.

On the flip side, Hawke delivers a wonderfully creepy performance as the season’s primary villain. Part charismatic cult leader, part sympathetic counterpoint to Isaac’s protagonist, Hawke’s Arthur Harrow never quite hits the level of the top-tier MCU villains, but the quiet threat he poses provides a nice contrast to Isaac’s hero, who seems to revel in violence in comparison.

After getting a look at the first four episodes of the series’ six-episode season, it feels safe to suggest that Moon Knight delivers a standout story that pushes the MCU in some new, refreshing directions. With its more mature tone and horror elements, Moon Knight is unlike any other MCU project so far, and its talented star ensures that wherever the show is headed is worth watching.

Marvel’s Moon Knight premieres March 30 on Disney+ streaming service.

Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader (Star Wars) is a 2005 science fiction space opera novel written by James Luceno, published by Del Rey Books. The story is set in the immediate aftermath of Revenge of the Sith and focuses on Darth Vader and his rise to prominence in the newly formed Galactic Empire.

When a contingent of clone troopers on the planet Murkhana refuses to open fire on Jedi Masters Roan Shryne and Bol Chatak, along with Padawan Olee Starstone, the Jedi with whom it has fought alongside during the war, Emperor Palpatine orders Vader to investigate the matter. Vader’s query soon becomes a hunt for the fugitive Jedi. Great, compelling story that has many twists and turns that concludes to a very satisfying ending. One of the main plots follows Vader’s transition from Anakin to Vader. The decisions he makes, his views of the universe, his “loyalty” to Palpatine is told in a very realistic, complex light that lead to a strong developing arc. He isn’t the only person with a developing arc. Also, there is the hunt for the Jedi that remains relentless. There are also, the various subplots that keep the things going outside of the main story, such as the effects of the Empire’s hold of the galaxy. A great, fantastic read. (4 out of 5)

The main protagonists are Jedi Masters Roan Shryne, Bol Chatak, and Jedi padawan Olee Starstone. Would’ve like to have seen more from Chalak but unfortunately she gets beheaded by Vader early on. Now, the one character who shows major development is Shryne. After Order 66 and the Jedi are hunted down, Shryne does lose his faith in the Force and the Jedi way, but does come around by the end of the book. Olee is a pretty good character. She’s ready to take the fight to the Empire and avenge the death of Chatak. Like how Shryne and Olee’s differing ideals conflict, especially when Shryne throws his hands up.

But make no mistake, the highlight of the story is Vader. He’s the ultimate badass and even though he’s doing a lot of terrible things he believes he’s doing the right thing. There’s the focus of Palpatine and Vader’s master/disciple relationship. We get a good look at this in Rule of Two, but for standout characters Palpatine and Vader, it feels more significant. Even though Palpatine is eager to train Vader it’s pretty evident that Vader is just as eager to kill him and take his place. There are other interesting characters that provide depth to the story. Hell, Grand Moff Tarkin and Obi-Wan Kenobi make an appearance. A great cast of well-written characters. (5 out of 5)

Gotta give a thumbs up to James Luceno for just taking the writing into an effective and entertaining direction. Reading this I was proud at the exposition of Vader’s character, both mentally and physically. Despite the events of Revenge of the Sith, he’s still developing into the badass we all know and love (and fear). Love how Luceno handles Vader’s transition pretty well. By the end of the book, nearly all traces of Anakin have dissipated. One thing I loved about Revenge of the Sith is how Palpatine manipulates Anakin throughout the story (done much better in the book than the movie) and despite wanting to train Vader it’s clear that he’s still manipulating him. And that Vader isn’t under Palpatine’s wing out of loyalty, merely a means to become more powerful so that he can later kill him. The action sequences are handled pretty well, especially the Jedi/Sith fights which can be really intense. All-in-all, a great complex writing. (4 out of 5)

The Verdict: In the end, Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader (Star Wars) is great read for fans of Darth Vader and a great addition to the Star Wars mythos. Yeah, at times it can get a little slow, but the great characters, awesome writing, great action, complex writing, great story, strong developing arcs, and a badass Darth Vader. Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader (Star Wars) gets 4 out of 5.