The Great Canadian Gaming Paradox: Why Don’t We See More Maple Syrup in Our Pixels?
There’s something oddly ironic about Canada’s video game industry. We’re a global powerhouse, contributing billions to the economy and employing thousands of talented developers. Yet, when it comes to setting our games in Canada, we seem to have a collective case of stage fright. Why is it that a country with such rich landscapes, diverse cultures, and unique stories rarely takes center stage in its own creations?
Personally, I think this tension reveals something deeper about how we perceive ourselves—and how we want the world to perceive us. On one hand, Canada has this quiet confidence, a sense of humility that’s almost baked into our national identity. We’re the polite neighbor who doesn’t want to brag too much. But on the other hand, there’s a growing desire to celebrate what makes us unique, to shout from the rooftops (or maybe just whisper loudly) that we have stories worth telling.
Take South of Midnight, for example. A Quebec-made game set in the American Deep South winning Game of the Year? It’s a brilliant game, no doubt, but it also highlights the paradox. We’re capable of creating immersive worlds, yet we often look outward instead of inward. What makes this particularly fascinating is that it’s not about a lack of talent or ambition. It’s about a mindset—a lingering doubt that the world cares about our stories as much as we do.
From my perspective, this hesitation is rooted in a fear of being too niche. Developers worry that a game set in Toronto or the Canadian Rockies won’t resonate globally. But here’s the thing: the world is hungry for authenticity. Look at The Long Dark, a survival game set in the Canadian wilderness. It’s not just a hit; it’s a cultural export. What many people don’t realize is that specificity often breeds universality. The more we lean into what makes us unique, the more we create something that resonates beyond borders.
One thing that immediately stands out is the divide within the industry itself. Some developers argue that Canadian settings are an untapped goldmine, while others believe they’re a hard sell to investors. Indie developer Sean Browning, for instance, faced pushback for Retroronto, a pixel-art love letter to Toronto. Investors told him it wasn’t ‘globally marketable.’ But is that really true? Or are we internalizing a narrative that’s no longer relevant?
If you take a step back and think about it, the idea that Canadian stories are unmarketable feels outdated. We live in an era where players crave diversity and authenticity. A game like North Shore, which draws inspiration from the Group of Seven and the Canadian Shield, isn’t just a niche product—it’s a window into a world many haven’t seen. And yet, developers still feel pressured to play it safe, to set their games in New York or fantasy realms instead of their own backyards.
This raises a deeper question: Are we selling ourselves short? Joel Burgess of Soft Rains calls the idea that Canadian games aren’t marketable ‘bullshit,’ and I couldn’t agree more. We have incredible stories to tell, from the multicultural vibrancy of our cities to the rugged beauty of our wilderness. But we need to believe in those stories first.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how some developers are weaving Canadian values into their games without explicitly setting them in Canada. Ambrosia Sky, for example, is a sci-fi game about communal care and respect for the dead—values that feel quintessentially Canadian. It’s a subtle way of saying, ‘This is who we are,’ without waving a flag in your face.
What this really suggests is that being Canadian isn’t just about location; it’s about perspective. But why not do both? Why not create games that are unapologetically set in Canada while also exploring universal themes? Imagine a blockbuster RPG set in Vancouver, or a mystery game in the Maritimes. The potential is there—we just need the courage to take the leap.
In my opinion, the future of Canadian gaming lies in embracing our identity, not running from it. We don’t have to dominate the conversation, but we can certainly deepen it. As Guillaume Provost of Compulsion Games put it, there’s power in celebrating your local culture and sharing it with the world. So, let’s stop asking whether Canada is marketable and start showing why it’s unforgettable.
After all, if we don’t tell our stories, who will?
