Game Culture: Inside the Big Box
Microzeit PublishingIt all began with a presentation that was almost cinematic. Most of it took the form of A4 adverts in a games magazine. When you bought the computer game, you were already immersed in its world before you’d even started playing. This was down partly to the cover design and partly to the contents of the packaging.
Of course, a floppy disk did not need a box the size of a hardback book. The extra space could hold instructions, maps and copy-protection material, but it also gave a publisher room to sell the game before the computer was switched on.
Across the 1980s and 1990s, games packaging took many forms. Cassette cases, slim cardboard wallets, plastic clamshells and substantial two-piece boxes coexisted. “Big box” is a useful collector’s description, rather than one consistent format: editions could differ between countries, publishers and computer systems.
The front cover established the setting. The reverse supplied screenshots and selling points, while a platform label distinguished an Amiga release from its Atari ST or DOS counterpart. For anyone comparing editions today, the packaging is evidence of how a game was positioned, rather than merely something that protected the disks.
Inside the game
Infocom made the contents part of the fiction. Deadline, released in 1982, supplied a murder investigation with physical documents and evidence. Instead of reading everything on screen, the player could examine the case material away from the keyboard. Such props became known as feelies.
Format mattered here. Infocom’s early folio packages and later grey boxes were different presentations of the same idea. The original folio letters for Deadline were larger than their later counterparts. A reissue could therefore preserve the software while changing the physical experience.
The 1990s continued to offer elaborate packages. The signed limited edition of Ultima VI added a certificate and an audio cassette of Richard Garriott discussing the series. Those extras belonged to that particular edition; they should not be mistaken for the contents of every copy.
Paper could also perform a less romantic job. The Secret of Monkey Island’s Dial-A-Pirate wheel asked the player to combine parts of a pirate’s face and consult the resulting code. Copying the game disks alone did not reproduce that separate physical requirement.
A game’s physical components could be instructions, fiction, reference material and an access check — sometimes in the same package.
More than empty space
The format was never simply a race towards larger cartons. Electronic Arts also used album-style packaging: the C64 edition of Wasteland is one documented example. A broad printed surface could present artwork and information without the depth of a conventional big box.
For collectors, this makes “complete” a demanding description. A matching manual, reference card or wheel can distinguish one edition from another. Even when the program still runs, missing printed material may remove context or a practical part of playing it.
There is a useful way to revisit these packages: lay out the contents and assign each item a purpose. Which part teaches the controls? Which establishes the setting? Which verifies ownership? Which advertises the publisher’s next release?
That exercise reveals the design work beyond the title screen. A successful package coordinated illustration, typography, instructions and physical objects with the software inside. The most interesting surviving examples show how much of the original product was intended to be read, handled and kept beside the computer.
Recommended reading: Explore software piracy, manual protection and the games industry behind these releases in CRACKERS I: The Gold Rush.