What does your favourite type of Escape Room say about you?
This is the second part of our on-going attempts to answer that question. To read the introduction to this project, click here.
II. DISASTER! Something terrible has happened and you only have 60 minutes to save the Earth (or yourselves). Escaping is only a secondary aim, after defusing the bomb, releasing the antidote, mending the time machine or restoring the air supply. If imprisonment makes us the victim, then disaster games let us play the hero. Characterized by: physical tasks, engineering puzzles, a countdown clock and an ominous soundtrack. And often a big red button. You need to Fix The Thing.
Today we are looking at the psychological impact of Escape Rooms that can come under the banner of “Disaster!” Not terribly badly designed rooms, or a game that the players completely stuffed up – here we are thinking about games where the central aim of the narrative is to mend, fix, find or possibly break something to avert a catastrophe. Escaping is usually a secondary aim, if at all, with the focus on a tense countdown to complete the task. This is a wide-ranging framing device, covering historical incidents, gritty terrorism, pandemics, escaped demons and the zombie apocalypse, but frequently lands in the “Flash, we only have 60 minutes to save the Earth”-type sci-fi.
The crucial difference between Disaster rooms and the previously discussed Imprisonment ones is how these are presented. Your team are rarely trapped victims, needing to run away. They are usually the team of brave experts, genius scientists or problem-solving masterminds, called in as humanity’s last hope. This is your chance to play the hero.
A significant psychological theory by Charles Cooley describes the “looking-glass self”, that our self-worth is based on how we think others see us. Another theory, the Pygmalion study by Rosenthal and Jacobson, shows how we internalise positive labels that are placed on us. Loosely, if a person is told they are good at something and are treated as such, then they start to believe it and actually perform better at that task. In theory, repeatedly being assigned the persona of a hero in an Escape Room (and succeeding) can shape who we believe we are.
Similarly, studies on teenagers playing Dungeons & Dragons have shown that being given heroic-type roles allowed them to step outside of their day-to-day selves and lose their inhibitions. The freedom involved in pretending to be a powerful, capable character makes it easier to act decisively and authoritatively. This separation of self, added to a positive mindset, can remove some of the psychological barriers to success, and in an Escape Room context could help players enter a state of Flow (as defined by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi). You don’t spend time worrying that you can’t complete a puzzle, it just happens, as the removal of doubt, self-consciousness and fear of failure can inspire a feeling of being “in sync” with the game. It is a virtuous circle, believing you are the hero helps you act like a hero, so you are more likely to succeed and therefore reinforce that belief. Faking it can help you make it.
And this mindset can transfer into your behaviour outside of the game. Studies on actors show that playing a fictional role in a film or play can then “seep” over into behaviour in their normal life. We can see long-term effects where actors playing authority figures then become real-life politicians or social campaigners. If you save the world enough times in make-believe, a part of you becomes convinced that you do actually have that power. As a positive effect, this might give you the confidence to step forward and take responsibility in situations where previously you may have shied away. On a more negative note, no matter how many rooms you’ve played, don’t ever volunteer to disarm a bomb… Real ones aren’t made from a table lamp and glitter cannons. Leave that to the actual experts…
The other downside to all this positive reinforcement is, of course, the possibility of failure. Even the most hyped-up of heroes sometimes have a major search fail or can get stuck on a poorly-designed puzzle. And the problem with building yourself up into the saviour of the universe is the emotional crash when everyone dies on your watch. The inverse of an Imprisonment room, where unexpected success of an underdog is sweet; losing a Disaster room can feel disproportionately disappointing, with a sense of failed responsibility and self-recrimination. The higher you fly, the further you fall, and not being able to live up to your assigned role can undo the good of the previous hour’s positive mindset.
Fortunately, whether success or failure, an Escape Room can still produce the adrenaline buzz. The tension of the countdown clock, the pressure of the tasks, the catharsis from hitting a big red button, are all still incredible stimuli, even if you don’t manage to stop the bomb/train/zombies. The best Disaster rooms can provide a more nail-biting finish than some of the other formulae, so your brain still produces more of the pleasurable “calming-down” chemicals. Here, room design can be crucial. The cathartic moment of averting the catastrophe should be the final peak moment of the game. Nothing gives the adrenaline more of a chance to disperse than having to go off hunting for another key, or getting the pen and paper out for a bit of maths, before you can exit the room. Putting on your cape or Einstein goggles to save the world is great but, whatever the outcome, Disaster rooms should always end with a bang.
In conclusion. Being told that only you have the power to Fix The Thing can become a self-fulfilling prophecy, which can carry over into self-belief in the outside world. And, even when losing is painful, watching things explode (in a Disaster room anyway) is always fun.
Granny & the Anthropomorphic Panda Avengers...Escape! 