Videogame Analysis

Shadow of the Colossus - 2006

2008-09-28T22:23:00.004-04:00

There is a dead woman, a youth with a sword and giants lurking about. A promise is given: if all sixteen colossi are killed then she can be saved from death’s grasp. The light, floating above, guarantees its part of the deal; so long as the player kills the giants, she will be saved. With that, the hero leaves with his horse and follows a thin beam of light, cast from his sword, to find his opponents. That is the minimal fiction presented up front for Shadow of the Colossus, a single player game by Fumito Ueda. This text, existing in a world of myth, challenges the manner in which heroes are presented in games(the player is the “chosen one”, gifted with action in an interactive world). However, the language of this critique exists between game rules and the fictional world(non-diegetic and diegetic attributes). It must be inferred from how the rules—things such as health, mode of travel, controls—relate to the narrative. In calling attention to this landscape between rules and fiction, Shadow of the Colossus denies the player the ability to be simplistically heroic. The interactive text makes an ethical claim by showing what the player can or cannot do; and, in so doing, shows what they should or should not do.

Light as a technical element holds sway over the game. The Dormin, a being that exists as a glowing sunspot, is the one that instructs the player to kill the colossi. The player holds the sword high, and it casts a ray of light that resembles The Dormin in intensity. To make light powerful, the use of bloom, a graphical device which heightens and blurs light, is used to make light overwhelming. On a rules based level, the function of this is to provide a path for reaching the colossi; the fiction reminds the player that The Dormin promised to save the woman. If one completes the game, however, the intersection between the two is troubling. The Dormin had tricked the player into killing the colossi so that it could be free from its prison; it had used the player for its plan. However, even if one discerned The Dormin were evil during the game, one might still listen to what they have to say. Some of the colossi are found within valleys which obscure sunlight; this is where the player realizes how much they need the light. Without it, there is no guide for them. The mountainous regions become labyrinths. The light, as presenting the fiction and justification for the rules, goads the player into killing the colossi. The melding of the rules, something above question(such as your sword serving as a guide and the colossi needing to die for the game to progress), and fiction highlights how they are both functionally positioned towards making the player feel justified in doing any action, so long as it is presented as a goal. Ethics is beyond the scope of these elements. The player is to accept them simply due to their existence, no questions asked.

In game theory, there is the claim that action which does not help to facilitate the rules is meaningless(Juul 58). In Monopoly, for instance, one could go around the board innumerable times and never buy a property or collect two-hundred dollars. The rules afford this possibility, but they do not want it. It serves no purpose towards continuing the desired game state. The fiction, if one wishes to call the description of the Parker Brothers game that, even forcefully pushes against it; how is one to get a monopoly without buying anything? These two aspects of the game function towards keeping the player towards a set end. Their purpose is to move the player towards a specific goal, the end. Shadow of the Colossus is more difficult. The game and narrative afford the player negative actions. In general, the colossi are placid and not a threat(even if they attack on sight, it is because they notice your sword and purpose). You are initiating action and violence; even then they might not respond in kind. However, one might not necessarily fight the colossi: the game also affords numerous sections within its world that exist outside both desired rules and narrative(both allow the existence of these locations, but they provide neither motive nor cause for the player to linger). These sections are tranquil pools, lush forests, sylvan scenes and other peaceful locals that are far removed from the battles against the giants. The game does not compel the player to linger at these locations, and that is enough for them to be considered “meaningless”. As a whole, however, these locations are sections provided to the player so that they might have additional options. The moral choice, as the game posits, is to continue the text so to kill more colossi, or abstain and sit by a pool with your horse. The argument is to show that these acts might be claimed to be “meaningless”, but they are not immoral. Since the rules and narrative function towards immorality, they are to be ignored. The game’s ethic is such.

One example of a strange overlap between rules and fiction, and which Ueda uses to highlight the game’s ethic, is the player’s horse, Agro. The explicitly stated—through the instruction booklet—purpose of the horse is to provide you with enhanced mobility for battling the colossi. To this end, the horse has its AI which it uses to maneuver without your direct control and comes to your aid should you be in trouble. Since the horse has no ‘hit points’, the player is to understand that Agro can be used however they please(a colossus cannot kill him). However, there are some unstated properties that the horse has. Should it fall from a great height or jump incorrectly onto a patch of rough stone, it might hurt its foot and be unable to run. Although this wound is not permanent, it shows that there are unstated, through the fiction and explicit rules, fashions in which the player can affect the world. By making Agro a non-enemy that the player is forced to interact with, the text stresses that there are good and bad actions that can be had within the game(just as Agro can be hurt, the player can scratch its ears and make the horse, by all appearances, quite happy). Even if never stated or presented by the game, they can still be done; ignorance is not necessarily a defense. They do not function towards ‘finishing the game’, but their impact exists nonetheless. These unstated, “meaningless” actions, which exist between the fiction and functional game rules, highlight the game’s ethic. The game provides the option to not kill innocents and this should not be ignored.

Functionally, by producing a negative game experience, the text is denying player heroics. The protagonist is the only one functionally capable of altering the game state; everyone else is without strength, yet the player is heroically gifted in this manner(only they provide input). Although that claim is necessarily true for all games—players are the only ones which interact with the rules—Ueda stresses that fact by making the landscape vast and open. Between the colossi are the “meaningless” rivers and animal homes. In this vast terrain, the only movement, and action, is the player’s. Since the only “meaningful” action the player might take is one of wrongdoing, the possibility of inaction prevents the player’s trials from being vaunted. This is a key change from other games which allow, and fully condone, the actions normally presented in games of this sort; one does not consider the death of a boss at the end of a Zelda dungeon, for instance. Elements of those texts functioned towards making the player feel a sense of being “the chosen”; Shadow of the Colossus works against that. It eschews what the player might rather have—a simple action game where you fight monstrous mountains—for an ethical claim of what exists between the rules and fiction. Drawing this attention to where they meet hampers heroic dreams the player might have.

The aesthetic elements of the text, such as its world design and bloom effects, highlight the relationship between diegetic elements, whether positive or negative, non-diegetic elements and what exists in between. The “meaningless” actions exist outside either of them, and they serve as the game’s ethic. Inaction, or refraining from immoral actions, can be part of the overall assessment of an interactive text, even if it prevents the player from reaching the “end” of it. Given how the game presents its ethical dilemma between the two worlds of rules and fiction, the player is to remove themselves from it. Continuing with the interaction of the game allows more sentient beings to perish, and that interaction would be a negative outcome. Removing oneself from the actions and sitting at the proverbial pool of contemplation is an answer to this dilemma. Although the player is an actor within the fictional world, they might abhor their actions(such as killing an innocent colossus); it is not necessarily a good response to do what a game asks one to do. Shadow of the Colossus asks the player to take more seriously their role in fictional world.

Work Cited:
Juul, Jesper. half-real. 1. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 2005.

But I Don't Want the Next Game

2008-05-26T21:45:00.002-04:00

Looking around, it can become plain enough that games are nearly universal in their love of sequels. This post is not going to try and question why that is the case(after all, perhaps games are episodic by nature?--who am I to judge). However, this is to question the nature in which sequels are quickly planned and released. Hopefully, an understanding might be reached on how to evaluate such games.

There are questionable changes between Katamari Damacy and We Love Katamari. It is more so, if one removes the narrative context and looks specifically at the game, very little change made(this might be intentional within the game, but it is still worth considering). What, then, is the reason to move on in the first place? A football player does not look around and say: it's time for an upgrade, and then move nonchalantly onto the next sport. There seems to be something within video games that inspires this sort of upgrade. It is possible, given the finite space found within games, that the reason is practical. A basketball game with friends is far more dynamic in how it might be experience(wind, personal feelings, and simply another court or hoop). The game rules are not necessarily changing, but the dynamics therein have. Getting the next game in a series--strictly on rules--would seem to alleviate this problem. New possibilities have been given all of a sudden and now new fun, with old thrills, can be had.

Hypothetically though, there is an issue with this. Let us assume that game X eventually has tapped out all that might be had within a given structure(physics, simulation, interaction--however you wish to look at this). The rules are, one might say, perfectly structured and afford little reason for changing. This might be absurd to think, but to illustrate my point I hope you'll indulge me for a moment. It might be said that no change should, or ever could, be made to the game. There would be nothing to do. The game might even have a precisely detailed formula, easy to use too, that generates any level that the player would desire. Content is infinite and so is interaction. Another game, truly, could not possibly come in the series simply due to these rules.

That was, perhaps, a loaded example, but it illustrates a point. On a strictly rules based level, there is very little--aside from a perhaps academic curiosity--in following games as they progress. Physics and such could, theoretically, make a more engaging game, but that does not necessarily mean it will surpass the one already present(basketball players did not leave in droves for lacrosse, after all). If one were to prefer the nature of Street Fighter 2, there is no reason to move onto Street Fighter 4. Looking broadly, unless one wishes to understand the evolution of the medium, there is no reason to change at any given point. Since games have done this for years--Chess, for instance--it is applicable, it seems, to video games as well.

The problem, of course, that comes from this has already been hypothetically described above: the infinite, perfect game(X). Why ever leave it? The answer, and I have been obtusely dancing around the issue, is context and purpose for actions. X would be the Soma of gaming(Brave New World, for those playing along at home): it provides all possible gaming fixations that other 'dumb' texts(Mario or Halo, take your pick) provide. Theoretically speaking, you should never leave it. I believe this hypothetical example, even if it exists only in the abstract, is reason enough for more 'serious games'(I hope to write on this later) to be made. It is not inconceivable for such a thing to exist, and the need for innovation(other than ogling bloom effects and render speed) would be necessary.

Less Mechanics =(?) Good

2008-04-20T14:21:00.000-04:00

http://www.gamasutra.com/view/feature/3621/fewer_mechanics_better_game.php

This is an interesting article, and certainly worth reading.

No More Heroes - 2008

2008-03-31T20:47:00.004-04:00

Critiquing gaming is nothing new. There are strident individuals, whether in the community or not, that call for changes in design. Perhaps the call is for relatively minor changes, such as more focus on gameplay rather than cinemas. Or, more broadly, for games to be more serious in their subject matter(and handle it well, too). No More Heroes echoes these concerns. For that much, it might be considered a good text. It manages to use specific examples towards its thesis: gaming as a whole has a great deal of baggage and should drop the lot of it. I can agree with this statement. Many games--I shall mention Final Fantasy games in general--would be better without bloated story arcs and lackluster writing. Again, in this sense No More Heroes makes a compelling case for gaming to change.

The game, though, can be considered a failure. Towards its end of criticizing gaming as a whole, it creates straw men of gaming archetypes. It cannot criticize new innovations in action and storytelling--Resident Evil 4 and Shadow of the Colossus respectively--and reduces its opponents arguments back into the eight bit level. Many games might have 'fetch and quest' sub-sections or tedious money collecting segments, but they are criticized for it by review sites. Forcing the player through these proves nothing really: people know they are bad elements of design already. No More Heroes insists on simplicity for its own agenda. It can only sway minds with easy claims made about gaming without addressing more serious efforts, whether technical or otherwise, for what they are. For a game that wishes a revival of gaming, this is difficult to swallow.

Of interest, too, is the game's emphasis on brutal killing. Moral character is irrelevant: it is not worth pursuing. Rather, it is worth considering the fighting functionality. It consists of simple "A" button attacks followed by quick flicks of the Wiimote(phallically indulged in the game). The combat becomes simplistic and repetitive quickly--there is no need to change tactics or strategy against the myriad opponents. They are all the same. This is another layer to the joke, advocates of the game would likely claim. However, that would be missing the implications. At one point does one question the joke one is being subjected to? Is it necessary to spend money on something for it to call us an idiot? And, more importantly, if the argument the text has starts out with a false premise(or at least skewed ones), how far are we to take it? No More Heroes is not concerned with such things. It dwells in stereotypes yet thinks itself above it. This is doubtful when considered proper. It perhaps criticizes gaming, but only on a superficial level. To that end, it employs tired game mechanics and poor area design. Its weak arguments stand for themselves(or, more accurately, fall).

There are two differing opinions worth reading in conjunction with mine, I think:
Pro:http://www.popmatters.com/pm/multimedia/reviews/55076/no-more-heroes/
Con(but not to my level):http://www.gamecritics.com/no-more-heroes-review
This game, at the very least, deserves to be considered on multiple angles. It might not have given gaming that much, but, in the interest if fairness, it should be followed through.

Phoenix Wright 3: Trials and Tribulations - 2007

2008-03-10T12:02:00.004-04:00

Of interest in this installment is the inclusion of 'Prosecutor Godot'. The name, given the nature of the series, is certainly intentional and worthy of consideration(the game series has exceptional localization). It is referring to Samuel Beckett's famous play Waiting For Godot--there are numerous jokes about this throughout the course of the game, and they seem to have some fun with the idea. What is the player to take from this allusion to 'high art' amongst hamburger jokes? This is difficult, if not impossible, question to answer. At times the game seems concerned with figuring this out, but then at other moments the name seems like a reference and nothing more. I am tempted to read more into it, but it is perhaps just a roundabout joke because, in the end, it was Godot waiting for others to show up. There is no overt suggestion that they are playing with any ideas from the original text, and speculating otherwise would be reading too much into it(the best that one might assume is that Godot, likely standing in for God--and truth--in the original text, now plays an active part in the world. In the world of Phoenix Wright, there are no philosophical difficulties arising from 'loss of truth'; take it as a given, things work out in the end. God as judge would be pleased).

The series is also intriguing in how it manages to work contrary to general assumptions about games. While one is perhaps interacting with the virtual world, it is on such a set path that it borders on pointlessness(the player serves as a means to the ends, and those are the well crafted, cinematic court room exchanges). Even if one were to claim, for instance, that Mario games are exceptionally linear--let us assume this for the argument--one would have at least the ability, without penalty, to jump up and down or grab the next koopa shell. This series does not provide flexibility in this regard. You are set to follow the trial to a set end--the truth--and other interactions are, functionally, pointless. Philosophical issues, again, perhaps inherent within this understanding of the truth are not seriously dealt with. The game is more interested in providing an engaging experience on its own merits. It succeeds at this much, despite its strange understanding of gameplay.

Though, from the above point, one could ask, 'Why am I am playing a game at all? If I want to hear a good story, wouldn't a book or film be better? There are expectations about games that this one seems unwilling to fulfill.' I do not have an answer to this criticism. I can simply point out that the series comes from a healthy tradition of text based games. They fulfill the criteria* of 'being a game', and so one cannot accuse it of the contrary. It might not be what one abstractly considers a game, but it should be respected for its achievements regardless. At the very least, the series is more interested in good values like justice, honor and truth than other more famous media talking points(many cop or court dramas come to mind). Although the series has many bizarre ideas--the fusing of 'gaminess' with characters, such as Psych-locks, seems to undermine individuality--it manages to craft a compelling narrative devoid of other aspects. In this sense, it is a success that deserves recognition.

*"A game is a rule-based system with a variable and quantifiable outcome, where different outcomes are assigned different values, the player exerts effort in order to influence the outcome, the player feels emotionally attached to the outcome, and the consequences of the activity are optional and negotiable."(http://www.half-real.net/dictionary/)

Metroid Prime 3: Corruption - 2007

2008-02-26T17:02:00.003-05:00

This game focuses, more so than the others, on its shooter credentials(so to speak). I do not want to be overly dismissive of this gameplay, but it is necessary. On a shooter-to-shooter level, this game pales compared to something like HALO or Gears of War. This is an issue due to the less than stellar AI in the game. The enemies tend to stand still and not go into cover when under attack. This is, given the insistence that space pirates are a grave threat to the galaxy, a bit much to swallow. It does not help, in addition, that the game is rather insistent on throwing the same enemies, in much the same general encounter types, at the player over and over again(sure, I suppose, they might be a 'phazon' variety, but that would be a dodge should would choose to argue it: the core gameplay does not change). The text, then, is structured in an overly 'gamey' style, and can be criticized--somewhat--for weaknesses on this level.

However, to focus on those elements alone would be a disservice to the richness of the game's artistic touches. The individual planets--Bryyo and Phaaze for instance--have a feel to them; it is as if one is on an alien planet. You feel alone amongst cyclopean buildings, things grander than yourself. It is, I suppose the designers would hope, to create a cosmic insignificance in the player. Things have come and gone, come and gone and then you decided to wander into the picture. It also helps, amongst this, that myriad scans give important 'biological' information on fake species. Subtle touches like this make the worlds like living things, rather than just images passing themselves off as worlds.

Although HALO and Gears of War might craft context for their action that is appropriate, the Metroid Prime series, especially 1 and 3, manages to make the context central to appreciation. Hell, Gears could have had people fighting inside bathrooms with dancing donkeys and people would praise it--gameplay was irrespective of narrative, context and artistic achievements(I do not buy the simplistic dirty art that shooters are traditional beholden to). I think that is a weakness of those games, and creating worlds that feel alien and feel abandoned--the Battleship in Prime 3 is incredible--is a greater achievement. I can forgive, when pressed, shooting weakness when I have the awe of planet Phaaze--and certain things living there--as the aspects I remember.

Super Mario Galaxy - 2007

2008-02-11T22:25:00.001-05:00

Galaxy functions as an obvious throwback to abstracted game design. It is no accident the game takes place in space--Mario's simple gameplay style of jumping and running has reached the final frontier, which is, curiously, where it all began. The stars are like 'micro games' from the Warioware game series. They showcase an idea for a brief length of time then you move onto something else. In this style, and its interesting use of camera(the topsy-turvy nature of things), it manages to keep things moving at a brisk pace. This is a sugar rush game: there is nothing (substantial) to think about after everything is said and done. Design choices, which I hope to discuss, are of importance, but there are no themes explored(unless, of course, you are intrigued by the ending where Bowser and Mario party--maybe they realize a sequel is already in the works for their adventures to continue).

The highly abstracted nature of the game, explicated literally by the numerous 'black holes' and rabbits(think Alice, or The Matrix, whichever you would rather) compounds to tell the player a simple point: through your inhibitions to the wayside. Unlike a game like Gears of War which values its (offensive) context, Galaxy does not care. Due to this it dodges any questions pertaining to sexism, or lizard hatred. It also provides an interesting method to contextualize--in non-context, oddly--why random stages can mold and change at the drop of a hat. A fire/ice stage felt strange in Banjo Tooie, but here it fits right alongside giant asteroids and battle cruisers. The game does not care, and it wants you to feel the same way(seriously, Airships in space). Nostalgia, or the thrill to do cool things, is the driving force, and one mustn’t forget.

Galaxy feels like a spiritual successor to the incredible platformer Donkey Kong Jungle Beat for the GameCube. The other, much to my amusement, has literally no story(one might construe context, but it's never explicitly stated or even implied). It willfully moved between stages that made no sense: a cloud stage went underground, and a monkey race in a jungle then led to a stage in outer space--it didn't matter, in effect. Its primary goal was to provide old school gameplay with an updated mode of input(the bongos). Galaxy gladly--or, as some say, shoehorns--in the Wiimote into the mix of things, and criticizing it, on the face of it, would be wrong. This is to miss the game's legacy and how it wants to preserve lack of context, and the accompanying freedom it provides: it follows in the footsteps of previous Nintendo ventures. The trial galaxies, the 'secret highlight' of the game all have different modes of interaction with the environment. Again, this is not an accident by any means. This was a deliberate attempt to show how Mario(and by extension, what he represents) can still be relevant nowadays. He can change, but his abstracted fun(gaminess, if you will) is a necessity for his enjoyment.

Of importance, beyond the abstraction, is the non-linear nature of the game. Since the planets and stars are sometimes created for you, the game extols the virtues of discovery and creation. The boundaries of space are limitless, and Galaxy wants to infuse this with its gameplay. It holds true to its roots, but it allows them to fly freely; the results are, to say the least, satisfying.

Published Work

2008-02-11T11:47:00.000-05:00

http://www.popmatters.com/pm/features/article/51493/the-enemy-within/
Although this is unrelated to games, I thought that my readership, for what they are worth, might appreciate this.

Updates

2008-02-02T12:59:00.000-05:00

Updates will be less frequent. Time has, unfortunatly, been taken up elsewhere. I hope to update at least once a week, but it might be difficult.

I apologize if this upsets anyone(though I doubt it does).

Juul - Two Papers Worth Reading

2008-01-16T22:08:00.000-05:00

The first--fiction(narrative) does not necessarily matter. In fact, it might hinder the end product(as narrative does battle with rules).

The second--fiction has a point(in the first instance of playing the game), but, over time, people abstract away from it and focus on the rules.

It would seem, to me anyways, that paper two is better at stating the relationship--and how players view it--between fiction and rules. There is something to be said, for PC gamers anyways, that the graphics go down when you competitively play--the fiction does not matter anymore, only the game matters. From that, one might deduce why games (seemingly) more focused on rules, like Portal and Silent Hill, make, perhaps, a larger impression than more narrative driven texts such as Final Fantasy.

I shall give it more thought, however.

Masahiro Sakurai and the Irrelevance of Context

2008-01-07T13:30:00.000-05:00

Masahiro Sakurai, now somewhat of a gaming icon due to his blog on Super Smash Bros. Brawl, long worked on the Kirby series before venturing out into brave new worlds(it is worth noting that he created the perplexing pink puffball at age 19). The series takes place in the aptly named "Dream Land" where there villainous, though not especially evil, characters vying for control of this "gamey" space. Since the start, the games were more so designed to be enjoyable rather than 'thought provoking'--one must not ask questions about the 'quick draw' segment or other oddities. The aesthetic, then, of the games were focused on fun rather than anything else. One did not have to believe the worlds, one just had to experience them--maybe even ingest a bit--and that was all.

It was certainly an NES-era way of looking at things, but it is interesting to see how his ethic has shown up in more famous titles. Simply put, some of Sakurai's games make compelling cases that context(narrative, location) are too often touted over the fundamentals of the game play. While not necessarily an argument for gamers to disregard "higher" thought--as expressed in titles like Silent Hill or Shadow of the Colossus--Sakurai shows that games can be made awfully compelling simply off of their design.

The original Super Smash Bros. for the Nintendo 64 has a cinema at the start of the game that, one supposes, explains why these characters are fighting to the death. Apparently, and this was news to me at the time, Mario and kin are simply dolls to be thrown around for combative purposes. It seems clear, given the above, that Sakurai is not overly concerned with context(something which, as of late, has been gaining more and more clout in developing games--consider "story modes" in inane fighting games). It is not so much that context(narrative or otherwise) are without importance, it is, rather, that there are other focuses that should be the focus in certain games. Games, in the abstract sense, do not need justification for actions so long as the rules of the game allow it--everything else is added.

This might seem old hat, but many games, I would posit, might be better if they dropped lengthy cinemas--Final Fantasy XII--or extraneous crap--Gears of War--and focused simply on refining their games. The rest, as is the case with both games, might add more perceived "meat"(story, themes), but it also adds questionable elements that hinder their progress(whether stultified conventions in a glamorous package, or bizarre militarism in the other).

The game that Sakurai made that best illustrates this point is probably Meteos. While going through the main game--"Star Trip"--players can, on one of the sub-modes, choose which planets they battle. This valorization of outcome is often a main sticking point with "serious" games(you can interact with the game world in a more profound manner and, therefore, the choices have more merit). Meteos ridicules the implementation of this feature: the endings are almost arbitrary. Good or bad, you simply do not know what you will get until the end. This is how many "choices" feel like in games. They exist to give an illusion of interaction thus beguiling the player into believing something. That might sound malicious, but given the appreciation heaped onto titles like Bioshock, it would seem appropriate. Since the actions of the player become meaningless in their import--save for the game play segments--a game like Meteos is correct in arguing against the simplistic context(narrative or otherwise) within games touted as masterpieces.

To put it bluntly, unless games want to seriously consider their many elements(such as in Metal Gear Solid--despite its haphazard implementation), they should perhaps shy away from lengthy and irrelevant cinemas. Since they do not contribute anything of worth--subjective I know, but I am sure you know what I mean--they should not be there. Gears of War would be far better if they shrugged aside elements within it; that is my ultimate point. And I think Sakurai shows that well.

Gears of War - 2006

2008-01-06T21:28:00.000-05:00

Gears is an acceptable game in terms of construction. Simply put, it creates a visceral system of encounters that are enjoyable in the sense that they create tension due to their proximal mature(Locusts are close and ruthless, therefore dangerous). Your AI allies, while stupid at the worst times, add a sense of 'realism' to the surroundings and accentuate the struggle of the game. And, most importantly, the new cover system allows you to battle enemies(perhaps in the same grimy corridors) in a brand new fashion. Old game play conventions and concepts, tweaked a bit every now and again, makes relatively stale ideas seem fresh. Gears is about reinvigorating old ideas--numerous pop culture dredging supports this--and the game play works well in this capacity.

However, there are issues with the game that are strange. The main plot focuses on the Locusts(the "unseen enemy") suddenly appearing on E-Day, stealing all the worlds resources and almost wiping out humanity in one fell swoop. The good guys(conveniently speaking English and swaggering Patton style through the world) escape and begin mapping their tunnels to deliver the final blow(the 'Imulsion' fuel ignites easily and would kill the 'hive' of them easily enough).

It takes almost no stretch to compare Locusts with terrorists(different skin color only starts the comparisons). We never knew they were coming until they hit us(9-11), they have all the resources(Imulsion=Oil) and will not stop until we are all dead(Jihad). The game reduces humans, however sinister some might be, into animals to be slaughtered. They are stupid and ruthless(the manual says so), and are easily dispatched by the Gears. They, the Gears, might not be perfect, but they are much more intelligent(and humane) than the Locusts(Biblical, I should think so) they battle.

Fortunately enough, we have four walking man-things that will save the day. They are guided by a female(not Cortana from Halo, but an amazing facsimile) who has only one real scene in the game. Giant Dicks save the day while female characters sit at home and occasionally yell things out through the telephone--I am not sure what to make of that. Gears creates a world where men of all types(ogre, giant or behemoth) are respected and given the privilege of killing anything they need to become even manlier. Chauvinism(whether implicit or expounded) is within this text, that much is hard to deny.

The game might very well wish to create a situation where war is seen as hell on all sides(there are sections that would seem to support this), but the very nature of its game play--creating visceral and enjoyable shooting segments(not to mention multi player)--would seem to detract from this. Virtual violence, related at the hip through the game's metaphors, is a necessary step for realizing the true potential of the (manly)individual(Fenix is an interesting name). The game does not just have these elements passively in the game--many texts could be accused of this--it actively promotes ideas of militarism, sexism and domination of other races that attacked us 'without provocation'. The game values simplicity in design(one click does everything!) and though--a dangerous combination.

One can only, I think, support this game on one level: abstracted away from its core themes and ideas. If one were to take it at face value, I should think(or hope) most would be repulsed by it. The game becomes a sick fantasy for blood letting(those of 'the enemies'), and should be viewed(derided) as such.

Kojima and Violence

2008-01-03T22:08:00.000-05:00

http://kotaku.com/340037/hideo-kojima-tells-jade-raymond-about-violence

Kojima seems to be implying that you must "see" what you're doing for the actions to impact the player. I can agree with this, to an extent. MGS3 did an excellent job in its final act--with 'The Sorrow'--to highlight the despair that war can cause(other problems with the game aside, that was a great moment). However, to imply that if you don't see something means that it doesn't impact you seems false. The worst things can be those off screen. In addition, there is something of a voyeuristic pleasure that can be gained from increased realism(sadistic tendencies given more life). I understand what Kojima wants to say, but realism is not a simple answer to all problems. Context, careful scripting and characterization seem more important than anything else.

How Street Fighter 2 Ruined Controllers

2007-11-15T11:43:00.000-05:00

http://blog.newsweek.com/blogs/levelup/archive/2007/11/15/how-the-videogame-industry-shot-itself-in-the-joystick.aspx

This is, I think, something that should be apparent enough: the more complex you make something the more specific your market is. That market can be great for what you want, but by expanding it(like the Wii is purporting to do) you can possibly earn more money.

And reviewing a party game on non-technical levels seems bizzare. It would be like evaluating Candy Land--and that just seems strange.

Emotion in Games

2007-10-28T12:08:00.000-04:00

This is worth checking out.

Perhaps he is too radical, but a point is made regardless: Hollywood style effects are not the answer.

Oblivion - 2005

2007-10-19T12:58:00.001-04:00

Despite its grandeur, this is a hollow game. That sounds too harsh though. Here is perhaps a better way of putting it: Oblivion is a spectacular failure. What it achieves is better than the bulk on the market, but it fails on almost every conceivable level. It is best thought of as a stepping stone to what could yet be. As it stands, there is not too much to be lauded in this package(mods or not). Even if something is done well, play around with it for a bit and you will notice it lessen in quality. Oblivion is here alright, but it has to do with spending too much time with this game.

The lush environments and natural settings in this game are perhaps its strongest assets. I cannot stress this enough: the lack of the game makes me like it the most. There are few boundaries in this world. Do what you want whenever you want(this, as described later, is the downfall). Unlike most games that railroad you with a main quest, you are able to explore the world as you please. However, in having, literally, miles of open country to explore, there is a decided lack of design in the world. Caves, ruins, cities, quests...you name it, and there is a general lacking of design put into it. It creates the illusion of a lush living world, but if you look a little then you realize the sameness of it all. While you can do anything you want(to an extent), the designers seemed happy just to repeat the same types of quests and monsters over and over again. This should not be commended. Although making your own experience with set rules is quite fun(Tetris is basically that), I cannot help but think that Bethesda did the minimum needed in the world for fans to accept it.

To reinforce that, monsters, regardless of dungeons, 'scale' to your difficulty. Essentially, it means this: opponents will always roughly be as strong as you. The lowliest goblin might eventually be stronger than demons you fought. This destroys context or importance on a cosmic scale. You can go anywhere you want, but it does not matter at all. Every quest will roughly be the same as the last and there is nothing you can do about it. Harder quests or dungeons cannot pop into being. The lazy scaling system allows an excuse for essentially dumb dungeons. It is inexcusable.

The NPCs in the world are decidedly vapid. They have such few things to say yet we are supposed to care about them. I have seen more depth almost any place. With so few voice actors, the characters are little more than tools to be used for my own end. This is not a living world at all(despite the attempt at crafting it). How can I respect a designer that fails at their set goal? The characters talk and talk but say nothing that adds importance to the world; their usefulness is lacking. Ultimately, they mean about as much as a tree; that is sad.

However, as I said earlier, the game fails but, paradoxically, it is a success. What might come from this sort of design is astounding. If the characters and world had more depth, then the greatest game ever might be made. The game, I think, is a stepping stone for what the sequel might be. This is not vindication at all. Oblivion is a half-baked product that could lead the way for greater things. It is sad to say, but the best thing about the game is wandering the woods. At least there the world feels alive.

Resident Evil 4 - 2005

2007-08-13T13:04:00.000-04:00

What makes a game like Metal Gear Solid 2 stand out from others—considering, after all, its gameplay is weaker than one might hope—is how it handles its status as a game. Often said to be the first postmodern(always a tricky label) game, it makes known its status of being a game frequently and loudly throughout its length. More importantly for this discussion, the game criticizes the fiction of the player/avatar connection. That is, notice how Solid Snake(the individual we “were” during the last game) has been moved towards the sideline for a more whiny, less sure of himself hero. Raiden, without going into too much detail, is supposed to be the “player” of videogames(a loser) while Solid Snake(the cool guy) is shown to be something in a fictional world that we cannot ever actually reach. Although we might know everything about him, although we might even dream at night about being him(we might even devote our career to try and emulate him), the Solid Snake character is always out of reach. We just cannot be that cool. Ultimately, at least going by my reading, Kojima thinks that the relationship between the fictional game space and the player(in this fashion anyways) is less than laudable.

Fast-forward to Resident Evil 4 and things are kind of different. Although many games place you, the player, in the shoes of the ultra-suave hero, none(at least to my knowledge) seem to have done so with such knowledge of Metal Gear Solid. The entire fight against Krauser is a supped up version of a Metal Gear Solid boss, Ada being “the double agent” seems greatly akin towards MGS, the pseudo-Codec scenes remind me of it and, perhaps more importantly, there are quotes that ring very closely towards those in MGS(one involving ‘fly swatting’ actually is). What, then, might the function of these numerous references be in a game that is otherwise, to be quite frank, devoid of intelligent discourse on any issue? RE4 is an answer to the argument made in MGS2. Namely, where Kojima saw the connection between the fictional hero characters to be dangerous(if only to some degree), Shinji Mikami(the director of RE4) saw something quite different. Mikami saw how games might just be really, really fun and, to be quite honest, there might not be a problem with that. In fact, it could just be for some good old fun.

However, it is not just that simple to build a sturdy link between RE4 commenting on MGS2. Just because it knows of the existence of something through direct textual exchanges does not mean it has something to say(an answer for instance). No, although it might be tempting, still a bit more is needed before this might fully be an acceptable line of inquiry. This is, I think, where the numerous pop-cultural references in RE4 show their importance. Along with the understanding of MGS, RE4 understands its place within the context of fictional texts. It borrows from famous films for monsters like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Thing, Dagon and even, oddly enough, The Lord of the Rings. Collectively, and granting the history of the Resident Evil series(film to videogame crossover), I think it safe to at least posit that RE4 understands its place within the videogame universe and, more importantly, might have something to say in regards to another, perhaps even more famous, videogame text.

Mikami’s masterpiece seeks to show that a game, perhaps above all else, should aspire to a level of enjoyment in the player. Rather than seek to be the same game like MGS2, RE4 breaks the convention of the series that Mikami actually created. Having fun, going through areas that might not make much sense in a literal context(although with Ashley being taken to a castle one might be tempted to read ‘the princess is in another castle’ into the game) and confronting things that only a videogame can provide are the prime goals of RE4. Although we personally will never be as cool as someone like Leon or Solid Snake, this does not diminish or hollow out the value for the player for the brief fiction that they partake in. I think it little coincidence, when viewed in this context, that RE4 is the bearer of the on-screen button prompt interaction. It allows for even more involvement in an otherwise stale, if not sometimes lifeless, franchise.

And due to this respect on the part of Mikami towards this goal of having ultimate enjoyment above all else, the set pieces in the game are varied and unique. We are taken to places that only the videogame can go and, to be quite honest, it is done with such valor and, curiously enough, intelligence, that one is left in general awe.

The Chemistry of Game Design

2007-07-28T14:12:00.001-04:00

http://www.gamasutra.com/view/feature/1524/the_chemistry_of_game_design.php

Worth a read I think.

The Wii and Me

2007-07-22T12:47:00.000-04:00

So I finally got a Wii yesterday. Does this cause celebration? Should I cry a silent tear for that which is now not secret? I have crossed the final frontier and has the wait been worth it? Well, I should think it has been. To be blunt, method of interaction does make a huge difference when compared to the standard(that is, normal controllers).

I had long been hesitant about the idea mostly due to that nobody ever cares about those arcade games that have you interact in a new fashion(like paddling a canoe). If nobody cares about that then why would they even concern themselves with the Wii? The answer, of course, is the fluid nature of the controls. Rather than feel clunky, they allow for a quite responsive system of interaction with the game. Wii Sports, for instance, would be a terrible game if one interacted with it like prior games. However, due to the new method granted by the Wiimote, the games take on a new life that is unique and thoroughly engaging. Anyone cane play them and enjoy them. While they might not have the depth of other games, they have accessibility. And really, that is a rather important point that gets overshadowed quite a bit(Jeser Juul makes a point of noting this).

At the moment I am convinced that the Wii can work as a concept--this does not mean that it has delivered games that truly justify its position as far as sales go. But I still think it important to consider that the vision of the DS and Wii is one that actually works. That is quite a bit more than I can say for other things.

God of War 2 - 2007

2007-07-19T21:32:00.000-04:00

The 'bread and butter' of the God of War game series has been its claim to the epic market. Namely, as pictured below, the actions of the avatar onscreen defy what would normally be expected of a game: you are an ancient, mighty hero rather than someone holding a PS2 controller. And indeed, this mythos that they are trying to craft around Kratos does exude epicness to a great degree(I shall not criticize, for example, the nature of the initial scene against the colossus in this game). However, in so creating this epic universe that Kratos lives in, the game has crafted interesting mythological problems and, perhaps greater still, draws the question of what exactly constitutes 'epic' gameplay.

Kratos, quite obviously, is a fictional character first introduced in the game that preceded this one. The first game, while having mythological oddities, did not seem as curious in certain respects as this game. Namely, that this one features Kratos(a hero) actively killing other real mythological heroes. I find this to be quite odd when considered in a certain light. Granting that the game bends Greek mythology when it sees fit(Typhon resembles not a man), it seems as though the game wishes to create its own mythology to supplant that which is already present. But this new mythology that is being crafted does not have the depth of character that the older legends possessed(Kratos' yelling evidence enough for this point). Kratos literally kills off some of the most widely known vanguards of the old way(Ares, Icarus, Perseus, Theseus) and attempts to move himself into the opening thus created. This makes it seem as though the game, through is story and other devices, thinks itself more worthy than those stories that flitted into popular culture and mythos. That is to say that God of War 2 thinks its new myths to be more worthy of consideration than the old and will stop at nothing until this vision--a gory one I might add--is completed. I cannot disagree more with this stance. Quite frankly, I am disgusted that such simplistic storytelling(plot holes and borrowing when needing while bastardizing the rest) would ever think itself worthy of disregarding the old guard. Kratos has not the depth for that.

The game firmly places itself within the frame of epicness(consider the above shot for evidence enough). However, the actions that the avatar(Kratos) is asked to do are surely not matching the technical aspects of the game(music and graphics surely push the PS2 to its limits). Simplistic block puzzles and enemies that are not dangerous(and this is important because you are mortal again) allow for little reason to consider this epic. Hercules did not have simple tasks like this to do, he had labors that he had to deal with. Kratos, in the first game one might say, did have to solve such problems. Curiously, despite the higher profile granted to the context in this, it is altogether weaker and without the ability to captivate. Although Kratos might have been a God, the un-imaginative settings(gameplay-wise I must point out) are more suited for a dullard than someone that is to challenge the Gods. If the game had truly wished to branch out and try something new--to truly live up to the level of epicness it wished for--it might have tried more creative gameplay designs rather than employing those that are tired and wasted.

Truly what upsets me about the game is its posturing of importance: despite its presentation, the story has few merits and dabbles with that which is the bane of so many--time travel. So dull and prone to creating plot holes(which is does). Quite frankly, this is a polished turd that deserves little more recognition than a run of the mill game. That is has garnered so much praise reflects poorly on the videogame community as a whole. If you want good stories or gameplay, don't praise something like this.

Apology of Missing Pictures

2007-07-07T20:19:00.001-04:00

The pictures on the old posts appear not to be working at the moment. Somehow I managed to screw up a simple process like this. Anyone trying to view them and crying over lost .jpegs has my deepest sadness directed towards them(take that as you will).

Something that has been Bugging me

2007-07-05T20:58:00.000-04:00

Videogames have one aspect that sets them clearly apart from other texts: namely, the ability for the player to interact with it(indeed, this is videogame analysis). However, this interaction between the player and the virtual world usually takes on some destructive role. Consider, for instance, that even Super Mario Brothers has you stomping, killing or otherwise incinerating your foes on the path towards the goal. What's the deal with that? Pretty much any game has you doing this and it leads to interesting thoughts when one actually considers it(Hideo Kojima has made something of a career off of it).

This is not an essay purporting a link between violence conducted virtually and then actualized--I should have killed many by now--but I do find it odd that this is the case. Why are there so few moral qualms when a Goomba gets flattened? Is there no tinge of regret when a Grunt is shot in the head? Does Star Fox have post-traumatic stress disorder? The answer, of course, to all of these questions is no. And why is that the case? The answer, I think, comes straight from the design decisions of the virtual world and their inhabitants.

Enemies in the games thus described often take the forms of 'lower' life forms. That is, a Koopa or Goomba resembles a turtle or mushroom respectively. Grunts are like silly monkeys and Star Fox enemies are often modeled after insects. More often than not these are animals that one is 'okay' with not giving a second thought to. A dog or cat--puppies and kittens even more so--command more respect from our mind(perhaps naturally too) than other animals. Instantly, these lower creatures are granted viciousness simply by the nature of their appearance. Given the threatening nature of their entrance, it is understood why they must be vanquished. We are not Janists and do not cringe when an enemy ship looking akin to a butterfly must be killed. This, simply from a design point of view, removes some of the connection between us and 'the enemy'.

Human enemies--say, in the case of Resident Evil 4--present a different problem to be understood. They look just like humans but they must be killed for the whole point of the game to move onward. How, you might ask, does this fit? Well, to be blunt, these foes have a mutant nature to them. That is, they have something that bastardizes them and removes the guilt associated, and rightly so, with shedding human life. They have been 'infected', one might say, and it might actually be a good thing that we have killed them. We know through the story their true nature and are able to see past their illusory guise--this makes them even more sinister--and prevents us from forming emotional attachments to these 'sleeper agents'.

I think it a twofold project in this respect. Certainly not just the look of an enemy makes them fiendish and context alone is not enough to make killing totally justified. Together the two work in tandem to make foes seem ripe for the fragging. Games situated with enemies of this type I do not think are worth--to speak very broadly--understanding in a moral context. They are games and can be analyzed as such, but to bring morality into the question is quite curious. It's like saying the players of Clue want to murder because they enjoy solving it so much. Quite frankly, it does not make much sense.

Videogame Analysis - A Primer

2007-07-05T20:44:00.000-04:00

This website, first and foremost, is dedicated to discussing videogames beyond just the superficial. Anyone, I should think anyways, can talk about Resident Evil 4 and tell you why they like it(or dislike it should it come to that).

I'd like to find out why.
I'd like to find out what the game makes you think.
I'd like to find out how the game makes you feel.
I'd like to find out how the director of the game managed to do these things.

There are already some old, and perhaps questionable, essays from my other blog on the site. I hope to continue working on both at the same time but time constraints might hinder one while helping the other at the same moment. I am sure you, noble reader, will understand.

I should like to note something right now: this site is open to all contributions. Shoot me an email with any content you've got and assuming it isn't terrible, I would be glad to post it. Tell a friend about the site too; videogames need all the help that they can get in this department.

Silent Hill 2 - 2001

2007-07-05T16:38:00.002-04:00

Silent Hill 2 places you in the role of James Sunderland, an individual that is ultimately shown to be off low moral standing. Granted this and that the game takes place in such a torpidly bizarre world, it seems odd that such enjoyment can be derived from it. And that, chiefly, is the rub with games as a whole: can(or should) a game be made that is not enjoyable to play? Just as some movies are painful to watch, Grave of the Fireflies for instance, why might not a game be difficult to play through? Something that provides no satisfaction to the player, a game that does nothing but repel those involved. Silent Hill 2 comes close to reaching this level. Why play it? That might seem quaint to ask, but the game(through its horror elements and ultimate plot realization) certainly seems to be asking that question. What possible good could come from experiencing James’ dark descent into the bowels of hell? To answer this, or at the very least attempt to answer this, an odyssey must be taken to try and understand the design decisions that went into the game that is now lauded as potentially the most mature videogame ever—certainly something that should not be ignored.

To state the obvious—mostly to get it out of the way—Silent Hill 2 is a deep probe into the mind of a deranged, if not crazy, man. Through this glimpse into his mind, James is being punished for actions that he once did. Herein is the curiosity that I was speaking of before: the game, quite literally, is about punishment for past misdeeds. We, however, as the player do not quite have the past misfortune to make amends for and so why should such a thing even be heaped upon one for “enjoyment”, something a game(almost by definition) seeks to provide. That is, what might the functionality of said punishment context seek to provide to the player? As stated by the designers of the game, Silent Hill 2 is about the look into the mind—the psyche—of an individual that seeks to deny that certain events occurred. For our purposes, I think it simply necessary to note that things are denied as existing. The game, then, punishes us for perhaps not acknowledging the sociological stigma attached to the discussion of certain points(whether they be suicide—assisted or otherwise—and curious sexual things). Since James, in classic Lovecraft tradition, is the supposed “everyman”, and granted that some of these topics are taboo, I think the punishment, in a sense, is directed at those that interact with the virtual space. The game asks one to own up, so to speak, to those problems in society(as noted) or on a personal level. Everyone has personal demons, and the functionality of said punishment context works in that manner.

If one takes the time to think about the game after playing it(and I have perhaps done so too much), one might begin to consider the nature of the combat(the main form of gameplay) and its function in the larger text. Speaking in a forthright manner, the combat is repetitive and largely uninteresting. And, quite curiously, the monsters that you fight are actually understood as “metaphors” when the game is analyzed. How, then, is one to take the nature of this un-enjoyable combat? The answer, as hinted at above, is to drive the point home that these “demons”, whether personal or societal, do not provide laudable circumstances when executed. That is, to kill them is a grisly and messy business and something that cannot be enjoyed effectively. Like ICO, the game does not give you, the player, the privilege of enjoying the slaughter of these beings. Although they might take the form of a terrible monster—and they might be in some capacity—they do not necessarily deserve to be treated as such. It is only due to dire and sad circumstances that it is the case, and both games abhor such developments.

One of the most curious things about Silent Hill 2, and the whole series for that matter, is how disgustingly beautiful the “other world” is. In at least the first two, the ramification of the grime art is the descent into the darkness of ones mind. Guided with only a small beacon of light(perhaps the truth?), one realizes that it is not enough to fully penetrate(sexual undertones are omnipresent) the true horror that is within the individual. And that is where the true genius of the game series(or at least the first two) is very much keen: we are asked to make a journey akin to those in the game. Although we might only be spectators in their walk to hell and back, the game asks us to look with a different light upon our own self and those things within. The blood rust has been given too much time to fester and turn into that which resembles art: it is not a good thing that this has come to pass. Through this journey, whether virtual or personal, mayhap a new brush might cover over the canvas with a new paint—one that allows in as much light as possible.

Frequently, the game series has employed things that are known, in vulgar terms, as “mind fucks”. Indeed, there is a certain aptness to this claim. Whether drugs in the first game, or bizarre interpretive schemes in the others, the game seems bent on keeping you from fully understand the secret[s] of Silent Hill. Functionally, I think it best to understand these events in conjunction with the darkness: they are meant to prevent you from fully delving into the shadows of your own mind. After all, if things have been hidden for so long, why might they not be concealed for longer? These sidetracks are of little consequence for the interpretation for the game other than in this manner. However, it is necessary to note this.

The design, as noted in my first paragraph, of the game works on three levels to involve the player. These are context(the darkness ad grime), gameplay(bashing nurses with a pointed stick) and narrative(what’s the deal with Maria). By making all three of these aspects unappealing, or at the very least they induce some level of aversion in the player, they work together to functionally tell the tale of an individual(James or the player) who cannot look into their own soul. As such, they are being punished by old Gods and other such abominations to force “the truth” onto them. People have dark sides and deeds that are loathsome, but they should not be ignored. The game’s argument focuses around this, and does so in a laudable fashion. It is truly something that showcases what the videogame form is capable of.

In this haphazard(and halfassed) essay I have focused very little on the normal methods of dealing with the game(you know James is Pyramid Head right). Instead I focused on the functionality of individual pieces of the larger puzzle. I think it necessary for videogames if they are to “grow up”, so to speak, to be understood on a different level. In the case of a game like Silent Hill 2, the designers are not stupid and, as such, should not be treated so. Also, as a closing note, Pyramid Head is awesome(scary to boot too).

God Hand - 2006

2007-07-05T16:38:00.001-04:00

God Hand is something that so many games should be: self aware. As I have noted in pieces detailing a movie like Die Hard, there is a certain charm to a movie that does not care if it is stupid or not as long as it gets its point across. In that respect God Hand is a much better game on a story level than self important tripe like so many videogame storylines. However, to simply say that this is a game that understands conventions is to give it too little credit. No, like many Clover studio games, this game recognizes the aspects that are frequently found in a particular canon. However, unlike Okami which takes the content in a new direction, God Hand pokes fun(with a very big fist that is) at those things that ultimately hurt videogames(and other texts too): storylines and context that are claiming to be more than Macguffins but, in truth, are just that. There is nothing wrong with just providing context, but a line must be drawn somewhere and God Hand draws it deep into the sand of its starting town.

I do not think it necessary or productive on my part to list in any length the numerous visual cues to other games and texts(Wikipedia does this well enough at the moment). It is sufficient for the purposes of this piece for it to be known that the game is set in the cliche post-apocalyptic world with martial arts wielding demons. This, I think, is enough for my points that will follow to be granted additional merit.

The stages that one visits are standard fare for an action game, and that suits itself fine for the purpses of the game. It starts as a Western and then suddently becomes entangled with a Demon's Tower, floating pyramids and even a giant mechanical crab. Initial context with the western town is important to note in the grander scheme of things in this fashion: it is perhaps a subtle critique of how games operate. The humble origins(in this case a town of the past) is frequently the case for games that take themselves too seriously. Rather than dwell on it, the protagonist is quick to leave this world and go onto other adventures without looking back(not curious here but very much so with other games). Also, and more importantly, the game throws you into the action very quickly. Unlike other games that have a long drawn out prelude to action, this game places you quickly within the thick of it all. Rather than bore the player it wishes them to have fun with the game--this is something I can really be happy about.

Those that criticize the game on a general level, and there are many, usually do so in relation to the gameplay itself: it is granted that the complaints levelled by the game's story towards others is hard hitting. Often, the game is said to be simplistic due to its use of only three buttons. This, I should think, is simply not the case. The depth of the fighting system is far, far deeper than it might seem on the face of it. Indeed, those that mock the game on this level might wish to go and look deeper at those games in this canon that they profess to enjoy. God Hand, in a curious twist of fate, has a deeper combat system than those games that take themselves seriously(a problem for them). It understands the conventions within its own genre, builds upon them through combat, and dismantles the storyline tripe that is elevated to a "Godly" level by those that think their stories are important. Ultimately, it makes one very convinced that the people at Clover Studio knew what they were doing when they made this game.

Shinji Mikami, the director of this game, makes a most interesting statement in this game that I will later use when I write about the lauded Resident Evil 4. Note that Azel(Devilhand) looks curiously like Leon Kennedy from the Resident Evil series. Through this visual cue there is an obvious understanding of the--shall I say odd dumbness--of that series. It leads me to think that, despite the odd dumbness, Mikami knows what he wants to be in games: fun. And you know what, your enemies are having their own laughs in this game and it is good for you to also.

And as a closing note, "A Bus!" should be an internet meme but, alas, it shall never be. Such a shame that a good game like this falls through the cracks.

Final Fantasy VI - 1994

2007-07-05T16:37:00.001-04:00

Final Fantasy VI is the most interesting Final Fantasy game thematically and gameplay wise; this much I shall assent to without a problem, I have always done so. However, on reflection over the game certain tendencies within have risen to my attention. It has some of the best music a videogame has ever had, period. Its characters, while not on par with those crafted in film or novel form, offer enough personality to not be totally dismissible(this is much more than most games have). Also, and most importantly, there are themes within the game that get explored over the grand, operatic scope of it. Although lengthy and at times problematic, Final Fantasy VI has aspects that raise it above the level of just another trashy RPG. Indeed, the game as a whole is an interesting text that deserves recognition for what it is: the first in Squaresoft's FF line that had a story worth hearing again and again, and that is something to be very proud of.

What is of much interest in the full understanding of this game is its music and its importance for characterization. Consider that each character has a specific theme song, if you will, that accompanies them throughout the game. The songs are classical in style; the scope in which they are presented is grand, operatic in the whole. This is the point that I am driving at: the emphasis that the game places on intermingling song and dialogue is of utmost concern. One complements the other and they would not be nearly as effective if they were missing the complementary component. The tone, too, of the game is incredibly melodramatic, with characters literally wearing their personalities on their coat sleeves(certainly the extravagant costuming of Kefka lends towards this overall assessment). The music keeps no secrets from the player, and generally the actors in the game do not as well. What are we to assume from this? The game wants both to work in tandem for an overall feeling to develop. That is, music helps the characters express themselves whilst the characters feed into the mood of the songs. Like an opera these two elements are so closely tied(in contrast to others) that one cannot fully conceive of one without the other.

Of importance too is how this game does not have a 'central character' per se, but rather a group of characters that travel together. Some might have more weight overall, but the game certainly presents itself in a fashion so that each are to be valued in their own right. This is accomplished functionally within the context of the game by having you play as separate characters in different circumstances(you split up, for instance, multiple times in the game). By forcing the player to utilize the individual skills of the characters the game attempts to forge a bond between the fiction and the player. One, for the most part, is only given the chance of dealing the game itself whilst in combat, and this forcing of using multiple characters usually is structured around a 'dungeon'(assuming or definition is broad enough that is). Using the music of the game and this force switching necessitates the added bond between the player and the characters within the game. This added level of interaction heightens the moral weight one attaches to those in the game(this is why General Leo is given so high an ethical value after so short a time in game).

The opera house scene(picture above) is perhaps the most famous scene from the entire game, and this is for good reason. Whilst reinforcing my earlier argument about the game being operatic in scope, it also includes the curious character of Ultros the octopus. Exactly what is the point of this character within the larger context of the game? Ultros, Chupon and Siegfried almost function as a rival band of adventurer's scouring the planet. Consider when Ultros is seen by Thamasa when you are searching for the statues, he is as well for some reason. Final Fantasy VI seems to be aware to a certain extent of its conventions(Kefka, pictured below, has a quote that that indicates this as well). Although the staples of the genre are still intact, random combat and such, Square has added in this rival band of adventurers as comic relief. Indeed, they use their specialized skills to further their own petty caused, and they are friends after all. Although monsters, there is no real reason for them to be fighting you, and perhaps they also represent monsters that have come 'unstuck' from the combat scheme of the genre. They have the ability to move around and do what they will, something that other monsters can only dream of. Square is likely making a humorous comment towards the workings of the genre they helped make so famous. That Ultros bothers you during 'cinematic sequence's only reinforces this point.

And speaking of combat, I find it necessary to point out that this game streamlined combat in such a way as to make it tolerable on a larger scale. In short, the entire experience is not that intrusive towards the game itself. Combat is short, has colorful music, backgrounds and is otherwise a pleasant experience on the whole. It is blazing fast, far more so than even in earlier versions of Final Fantasy. However, much to the dismay of myself and others, this is not to be seen so much in sequels. Combat in those takes on a larger, more bloated role that consumes far more time than it should. Attack sequences taking up more than ten seconds is not a good thing at all considering the frequency. They jar the player from the narrative and, due to their frequency, are not totally enjoyable. Quickness is of the essence, and it is a shame that other games in the series do not take a page from Final Fantasy VI.

I stated earlier that the differences between characters highlight their emotional importance to the player(that is, they are distinct so one should care more about them). However, later in the game Espers are introduced that find a way to make the characters more like one another(one would be an idiot not give everyone healing magic). This I believe can be reconciled with my earlier claim in this matter: this is only a possible end in the world of ruins. The overall point of the world of ruins is that now, due to Kefka's nihilistic workings, the friends have been separated and divided across the land. By having the characters still retain their individual essences, their native abilities, whilst still coming together(by having magic encircle them in this matter) the thematic points become actual. Quite literally the friends are becoming one, a good force in the world to combat Kefka's evil.

Of course I must spend some time on Kefka who is, without a doubt, the most interesting Final Fantasy villain ever. The two pictures on the right illustrate well why this is the case; he is a comic devil, something quite rare in the black and white world of RPGs. What is of interest in this discussion is how Kefka mocks the normal notions of Christian morality through the game. This is done, while perhaps overtly through his evil, more subtly through the actual 'monument to non-existence'. One could easily make the claim that it is like the Tower of Babel, a structure that reaches towards the heavens(or hell, if you will, in this case). It is a satirical inversion of the morality presented within the game, a visual representation of inner evil. Look at the art style on the tower and consider the likeness it has towards Renaissance art as whole(more so, anyways, than that of the normal game). Kefka, through his nihilistic rants coupled with this tower, is claiming that God, a higher good, does not exist at all, that there is no possible way that it can. Of course the game debunks his claims through the actions of the player, as explained above, but it is of interest to note this. Kefka's forms and appearance were not chosen arbitrarily like those of other villains in games. No, his was a form and function that was given thought towards its thematic importance. In this manner Kefka stands as one of the most interesting characters in the entire pantheon of gaming.

And as a final note, the top box art might say Final Fantasy III, but understand that this game was originally called that for American localization. I did not make such a silly mistake as that, so do not fret or lose sleep over the subject.

ICO - 2001

2007-07-05T16:36:00.001-04:00

Ico, the Playstation 2(PS2) game, tells the story of young boy of the same name escaping with princess Yorda from an ancient, imposing castle and its witch-like queen. The game sets itself apart from others because of its focus on interaction over exposition. Very few lines of dialogue are spoken in the game, there is little sound besides the footsteps of the player and, altogether, it is a quiet game. Primarily, the player is exposed to new ideas and events simply by them unfolding on screen. This quiet, elegant approach to the game sets it into a category in which there are few peers. Ico, by so distinctly removing itself from standard videogame conventions and norms, is commenting on videogames, their ability to present stories and also the form itself and the stigmas attached to the medium.

The idea that a mutual bond is an easy to understand principle is reinforced through the actions the player undertakes in the game. Puzzles, the primary gameplay element, are simple and benign. There is not difficulty curve that the game must adhere to; the bond between Ico and Yorda is an easy concept to get used to and accept. Challenge is not thrust upon the player to goad them into caring for the onscreen actions. Rather than necessitate violence or action to allow this point to be expressed, Ico allows the actions of the player to reinforce narrative points. The game carves new paths for the medium by staying away from the conventions in other games and the narrative structure utilized in different forms. Puzzles are not used simply as an obstacle, they give an opportunity for the player to bond with their on-screen avatar. By having the bulk of the game be simple and straightforward, there is no muddling of the point or jarring of the player. The simplicity and beauty of human bonding is understood and communicated through the gameplay.

Besides puzzles, the other main gameplay source involves Ico fighting off shadowy servants, the queen’s helpers, from taking Yorda back to the queen. However, simply in presenting the gameplay in this fashion showcases the claim made about human interaction. Ico is selfless in his help for Yorda; when he first rescues her it is out of kindness rather than anything else. He cares about her, and the game argues the same for the player. Helping those in need, even when it might necessitate an effort, is communicated through the shadows. Ico was originally taken to the castle to be killed by the queen; he would have become like the shadows. “A dream within a nightmare showed Ico a vision of ghostly beauty that drove him to escape. Ico realized that he is not alone and he must free both himself and this lonely prisoner.” He distances himself from the shadows because he cares about someone else; he is not a lifeless being because of that.

Combat also functions on another level that showcases Ico’s knowledge of the videogame form: the style of the combat. It has been argued that Hideo Kojima, famed director of the Play Station Metal Gear Solid game, crafted the combat engine of the game to make it purposely distant. That is, he made the combat not an entirely enjoyable aspect of the game to reinforce points about violence. Ico does similar things with its combat. There are no combos, points or anything besides simply using a weapon to defend Yorda. The only point of it is to protect her and to escape the hellish castle that they are held in. Enjoyment is not derived from it, the game makes sure of that, and it functions as an explanatory tool towards the necessity of violence. Attacking someone, in this case the shadows, is only ever done out of pure self defense. Violence is not condoned, approved or otherwise given sway over the true point of the game: the emphasis on the bond between Ico and Yorda.

The only section of the story that does not involve Ico helping Yorda is at the end portion of the game. Yorda has finally been recaptured by the queen. Ico, in the queen’s mind, had finally been killed when the bridge drew out from under him. However, this is not the case as Ico is on his way to rescue Yorda. When he finally gets inside the castle Ico sees the myriad shadowy creatures in the room that he escaped from at the start of the game. He then proceeds to attack them, but not so out of malice. By destroying their bond with the castle, thereby removing them from a false relationship, he is allowing them to be there own being. The queen would deny them the ability to make up their own mind, but Ico would not have this be the case. The ability for the individual to express themselves as they want and with whom they want, regardless of what an older, perhaps more powerful, generation thinks, is a running idea throughout Ico. A meaningful relationship is a great thing, but it can only be so if it is not forced. This scene seeks to dispel any worries on the part of the player in regards to Ico’s motivations. He did not rescue Yorda simply because he wanted to leave the castle; he did so because he cared about her.

“Ico’s nightmare started the day he drew his first breath. In his village, the birth of a normal child is a source of happiness and relief…But some births bring suspicion and fear. Once in every generation, the birth of a special child born with tiny horns jutting from his head…Any misfortune that befalls the village is blamed on the child with horns.”[Instruction Booklet, Page 5]

Ico comments on the manner in which videogames are perceived of as a medium. Just as comic books, movies and now videogames are perceived of as having some sort of evil mark, so too is Ico considered an outcast because of that. Misfortunes, just like with the past examples, now are laid onto the doorstep of this generation’s new child. The village cannot think of any other thing to do other than send Ico off to die at the hands of an evil queen that seeks to dominate life and bend it to her will. Rather than see Ico for what he is, the village makes up their own mind and jumps ahead with rash and ultimately foolish actions that distance themselves from a truly great child. He is not self centered like the queen, he does not seek to destroy others just to prolong his own ending life; he merely wishes to live a life in peace like anyone else. That the story is a relatively simple one, boy rescues princess from evil wizard, is likely done so on purpose to disguise the other points within the text. Ico understands the stigma that is attached to videogames. Rather than indulge or humor them, the game stands them on their head and creates a world with compassionate characters and emotional impact. The game denies those that would claim that this is just child’s play.

Save points, locations wherein the player can save their progress and decide whether or not to keep playing, are presented as couches in the context of the Ico game. Couches, very commonly used as seats during video game playing, are seen as safe harbors in a withered old castle. By having this object, which is curiously different than the ancient and arcane architecture of the castle, present within the game, the designers are reinforcing the game’s relevance to the actual world. Not to be denied, Ico is a game that does not want others to consider it simply ‘just a game’. A save point is one of the few necessary immersion breakers that game designers fear, and Ico uses this needed aspect of the medium to reinforce its points to a context outside of the false universe it has created. Ico understands the conventions inherent in the form of the videogame, but it will not be undone by accommodating them. Rather, it utilizes aspects, like save points, to reinforce points instead of simply forgetting about them for a time.

Although the lifespan of the PS2 wanes with each passing minute, the life of Ico does not follow in suit. Its purpose does not diminish over time. Rather, its bold stance taken inside the form of the videogame allows for much to be learned. Creating a virtual world that argues for interaction with the natural is rare and outstanding. By having the main bulk of the game focus on this, and by having a subtle commentary on the perception of the form, Ico argues for games to be treated not as simply entertainment but as something grander than many would claim. Ico awakes at the end of his adventure on a beautiful beach and sees Yorda in the distance. They have escaped the castle, vanquished the queen and now are prepared to live the rest of their life in peace together. Maybe its time for videogames to have the same respect that Ico had to fight so hard for. A child born with horns does not have to stay with them forever; Ico symbolically loses the ‘cursed’ horns near the end of the game. Maybe it is time to treat him like a real person now.

This piece was originally written as an aside project for college. While not necessarily a great writeup, I just thought to mention it. Also, I would like to thank ico.net for the picture(the site, which is in Japanese, provides little service beyond that). This is a fantastic look at the game, and I would encourage anyone who loves ICO to consider reading it.

Elite Beat Agents - 2006

2007-07-05T16:35:00.000-04:00

A game like this cannot be understood by using the usual notions of analysis. That problem is one of the greatest issues facing videogame analysis as a whole. Although there is a vocabulary for describing certain aspects of a game, they are not nearly as well known as those used in books, or even in films for that matter. Simply focusing on the narrative aspect of Elite Beat Agents would get you nowhere(and perhaps even a bit confused). In this piece I shall try and understand the game on a level that fits it rather than attempt to pin it, or criticize it, due to aspects that it did not even attempt to have. I should note also that, due to the nature of this game, there really cannot be spoilers about it. You cannot really spoil a game where everything is based on your own skill, at least I am not aware of such a way yet.

Elite Beat Agents is a game that asks you to look at music differently. Rather than just be a passive exercise, which music often is, this game encourages you to actively participate in the continuation and execution of the song. The songs are taken from pop culture and can be heard anywhere, the function of their inclusion, aside from being generally fast paced, is that they are so common. Although I am not a music buff by any means, I had heard some of the songs before and, due to this, I was able to connect with the song better. Once you learn the beat you follow it with the onscreen buttons to match the song. In so doing, a once passive exercise, like listening to music, becomes active. Due to their entrenchment in pop culture, the rhythm of the songs does not put one off from the rest of the game. This merge between action and context, the player and text, is not truly a possible end unless the videogame form is utilized. Unto that end, Elite Beat Agents is a most effective(and addictive) game.

The narrative or, more accurately, interrelated comic screens connecting levels are not meaningless though. For example, one level has you fighting viruses with the song La La by Ashlee Simpson in the background. The song is about having sex in any place that one might want. However, curiously, with the virus angle, it almost seems as though the game is implying that one can catch a virus anywhere, perhaps an STD even, thus undermining the song. There are other examples too. Material Girl, sung my Madonna, has two rich sisters, not the Hilton sisters, stuck on island. Rather than showcase them in a light that is positive, the level ironically situates them in a situation akin to The Simple Life. They, the sisters, are depicted as dim-witted and one dimensional, and the men who follow them are more like animals than anything else. Of course there are others, but these seem to be the simplest to point out(not all songs seem to be ironic though, I need to point that out). As stated above, one of the key joys of Elite Beat Agents is that it asks the player to look at a song differently. Rather than just view it in the context of its original presentation, the game places the songs in curious locales that impart new meaning. The bizarre, and sometimes ironic, levels reinforce this point.

Now, as an aside, I would like to point out that Jumping Jack Flash, a song by the Rolling Stones, takes on a new meaning with this game. If you have played the game, I would suggest checking out these links-Level 4 and Level 3 difficulties. If you haven't, well, you have to do everything with the stylus in the game, and it is harder than it seems(quite fun though). However, it is not hard enough to justify this type of behavior. I'm all for games being a way to relax and have fun, but not everything in life, including play, necessarily has to be pathetic. There are quite enough easy games out there as is, and fun does trump all. And that is probably the most positive thing to be said about Elite Beat Agents: it is just fun.

Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - 2005 & Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Justice for All - 2007

2007-07-05T16:33:00.000-04:00

I think it should be noted of the bat that this post by me will include spoilers for both games. Despite what some reviews on other sites might claim(Gamespot for example), these two games are closely linked and build upon one another thematically.

How about a little refresher course about the first game? Essentially trials worked like this: you found a client, gathered evidence and then proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was not them that committed the murder. Although to claim otherwise would be outrageously stupid if this was a 'real' murder, in the context of the game it made sense because you 'believed' in your client. This trust between client and attorney, that you have to believe them no matter what happens, is perhaps the most important theme for fully understanding the second game. This is not the say that the trials are formulaic or dull, it's just that they all essentially follow this model. However, since the second game builds upon it, I think it very important to note.

Phoenix Wright 2 starts out with two trials that are eerily akin to those that were in the first game. These are 'refreshers' for the themes laid in the foundation of the first game. The game designers had to put these in simply because this game will be played by some that have not played the first. It is sad that they would do so, and because of that the game must offer some way for its themes to be fully realized. One must not dismiss the trials, but consider their importance in this context rather than ignorantly claim that they are 'retreads' or somehow unimportant for the overall narrative.

However, trial three of game 2 is when they start dropping the simplicity(or cliche ridden) nature that was in the previous trials. Acro, ultimately the antagonist of the case, is not 'pure evil'; he did the murder on accident and lived with the guilt that came from it. Unlike every villain in game one and all those preceding him, Acro was not just an enemy that must be overcome, he was someone that had to live with the problem of accidentally inflicting harm on someone. This theme of guilt even when one thinks they are doing the right thing is even further explored in trial four. The main point is that Acro was not 'pure evil'.

Trial four of the second game is when it all starts to hang out. Your client was innocent; this was almost a proven point that you logically worked from to prove who did the crime. Although they try and trick you early on, this is not the case with this one. Matt is 'pure evil' like the other opponents that you faced, but now he is your client. This is the main reason that this game is a game instead of a book(some have argued that this game shouldn't even exist). Hopefully one grows slightly fond of the characters that are in the game up to this point, by necessity you must interact with them. In doing so, the game hopes to make you, 'Phoenix', wrecked with the moral difficulty of defending a guilty and clearly evil individual. A book or movie, while being able to explore this issue, would be in a much more difficult situation for making the same connection between the fiction and the real world of the player. That connection, by necessity, is already there with this game(even more so if one played the first one).

The game, by placing you in the difficult situation of defending a 'pure evil' individual, also turns many of the conventions of the two titles on their head. Phoenix Wright does not read his law books, he is not actually too familiar with the rules governing court conduct. However, he is a master bullshit artist. In the game this is called 'bluffing', but we know what they really mean by that. You basically make a minuscule point seem outrageous by proportion, find more evidence, and then find your [clearly innocent] client to be a good person. However, by having this trial so thematically different, the game begins to show how your tactics, although being able to do good, can be wrong practices in the hand of an evil individual.

The game also creates a curious parallel between Phoenix/Edgeworth and Matt Enguarde/Juan Corrida. Both character groups have rivalries because of their profession and they let this dominate them(consider too the costumes of the Samurai and Ninja in relation to the lawyer's suits). Ultimately this rivalry is shown to be a destructive force between and Matt/Juan, and obviously the same could be said of Phoenix/Edgeworth. That is, the two sides of the law should not see themselves as enemies, but rather they should consider one other as aspects of a larger whole: justice. Justice necessarily entails the finding of The Truth, which the game holds at a premium. Personal differences and squabbles should come to an end when a more important goal is within site. However, there is more that can be garnered from the comparison than that. Consider the publicized life of Matt/Juan and their egotistical nature. Phoenix/Edgeworth, if one follows the dialogue closely, also have a rivalry that, apparently, is popular in the paper.

Phoenix, if one follows his personal thoughts, does think himself superior to some of the people that he comes in contact with. If we are to assume that Matt/Juan are evil--which is a fair comparison--then what of Phoenix/Edgeworth? The game, ultimately, gives Phoenix/Edgeworth the chance to rise from their own ashes and redeem themselves. However, the point still does remain that a lawyer, in thinking themselves the ruler of The Truth(like Matt in trial 4), might become obsessed with their own power. The lesson imparted is not so easy to ignore.

I would like to thank Objection.net for the last picture and for continuing the near cult like following that Phoenix Wright has. Over at Penny Arcade they(Tycho) have a similar point to the one that I was ultimately trying to get at. These games do have better writing than your average game, and they do have better conceived characters than more popular titles. The problem is that some people cringe at the thought that these games do not allow you to 'play a game' but, rather, offer more of an interactive story. Vagueness aside, I think it a crime that interface is trumping substance. Until people are willing to disavow graphics or presentation entirely and simply look at the text(game), I think that there will be a problem for the industry as a whole.

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess - 2006

2007-07-05T16:32:00.000-04:00

With just one look at this game any Zelda aficionado could tell you that there are some curious similarities to it and previous games in the series. Take, for instance, the 'twilight realm' and Link being transformed into an animal when he is in it. The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past had this feature in it(although it was a rabbit instead of a wolf). The gigantic overworld too was done prior in the underplayed game The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker. Midna, the mask wearing creature that rides your wolf form, also follows a similair narrative growth as Tael from The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask. Also, the many recurring characters in the series, and in this game, are not something that can be so easily dismissed as just writing laziness. No, given the greatness of previous Zelda games' narrative, one simply is not allowed to just claim laziness. This game, and its many features within it, are deliberately placed in. The themes, the 'links to the past', are one of the main points of the game. In essence, this is a game that is paying tribute to its own series.

The story has been the staple for pretty much every Zelda game in the series: a farmer, or some other 'lower end' member of scoiety, has the power of the Gods within him. Because of this, he is able to defeat the 'great evil' that threatens the land. Cambellian archtypes aside, this game too starts with that opening. Not only serving as a tutorial for the controls and the player, the simplistic tasks assigned to the player offer a stark contrast for the epic, and I do mean epic, confrontations that take place later in the game. However, that should be obvious.

Dungeon 4, 'Arbiter's Sanctum', is perhaps the most overt section of the game towards this tribute factor. Not only does this dungeon start in a fashion akin to Ocarina of Time's 'Forest Temple', what with the Poe's stealing the lights', it also introduces Ganon as the main antagonist. Far from just being lazy, this is a deliberate choice. Ganon is introduced in a fashion most different than how he was in Wind Waker. The reason, of course, is not the undermine the character that was given in that game, but rather to serve a villain that the series had, up until then, always known: a creature of pure evil and power. The game distances itself from the more complex narratives of other Zelda games and returns to the roots: combat, puzzles, etc. This is not because the game dislikes such things, they are an essence of the Zelda universe, it is rather that the game would simply like to be that: a game. And for that, it cannot be criticized simply because it is a 'retread' or some other such nonsense.

The narrative, however, is not the only element of this game that is deliberately going for a 'link to the past'. Notice the enemy choices are far from original. Classic Zelda enemies are returned and utilized in Dungeons that, for purposes, one has 'gone through already'. This is not to say that they are poorly done, but one simply looking at it aesthetically could, foolishly, make that claim. They utilize classic locations such as the 'Temple of Time' and musical motifs to allude to other adventures, to make this game part of the greater myths of the Zelda universe. In effect, as I have already stated, this is game that is paying tribute to the other parts of the series. However, even just limiting this tribute to simply the series itself would seem to be simplistic. Twilight Princess is a game that may, in fact, be creating a tribute to games as a whole.

Notice the redesigned Twilight realm; where once it was simply black and white now it has a nearly 'tron-like' quality to its visuals. Also, notice the musical melody in it: it has an eerie quality to it much akin to the most immersing game of all time Silent Hill. Consider too the nature of the opponents you fight. Most Zelda opponents are not in such a manner. That is, the scope of the combats seem perhaps larger than those in previous games. In fact, the music actually changes in the battle to reflect the status of your battle. This feature was perhaps most famously used in the other, intensely combat oriented game, Shadow of the Colossus. Twilight Princess, while using elements from its own series, incorporates those from other famous games for the ultimate effect of embracing the medium as a whole. Games, at their core, are meant to be fun, few would dispute that. This game is trying to move itself towards that core. The simplistic, though not stupid, story combined with the other elements allow for the game to be just that: fun. I cannot think of anyone that would argue against a game being that.

Note: My time with the game was based on the Gamecube version of it. The pictures are from the Wii version. My reason for this was that I think that more people will play the Wii version in the end, and I thought it best to showcase the game in that manner. And I will admit that my last claim is perhaps a bit dubious. However, there might indeed be some truth to it.

Okami - Followup

2007-07-05T16:31:00.001-04:00

Okami, at its core, is a mix between an RPG and a Zelda game. Because of the former, there are the so-called 'overworld battles' that are very much prevalent in the game. However, there is an interesting quirk with this that is certainly worth noting. Rather than just have the battles happen immediately, the player is transported into another dimension for the conflict. Why do this? Perhaps just to have a cool visual effect? I would claim that the reason for this is to further hammer home the points that are being made in the game. By having the combat on the 'overworld' take place in a world separate from our own the game is further establishing this break between the actual world and the 'evil' world. Evil, then, is to be seen as unnatural in an even greater sense within the game. The same cannot be said about good as it is frequently incarnated in the form of nature, a necessarily natural thing. Therefore, because of this distance between the good of the actual world and the evil of the other, Okami is giving added incentive to the player to do good deeds. On need not worry that the actual people of the world would do evil if you help them; evil is not a natural thing to begin with. By restoring good(nature) to the world, you are removing the evil. I think that the combat further reinforces this point.

The mythology guide at gamefaqs is certainly worth a read by anyone that enjoyed their time through Okami. I'm still amazed at how well they, the developers, were able to incorporate classical legends and give them meaning beyond their perceived 'old' context.

Okami - 2006

2007-07-05T16:27:00.000-04:00

Okami asks the player to do something that is quite different than your normal game. Rather than ask the player to kill 'X' so that they might grow stronger, the player is asked to help 'Y' to get this power. A small change, but the ramifications are immense. Likening itself to game like 'Majora's Mask', Okami is asking the player to become involved in the world that they are helping to shape. Helping those inside it, whether it giving a bear someplace to sleep or assisting a man who is trying to get to work, is the ultimate good. Rather than make it a personal quest that the player undegoes, this is a journey that involves many people with many stops along the way. The vast world is juxtaposed with the small daily struggles that the individual faces; one is to feel obligated to help them from a gaming perspective, get more health, and a moral perspective, I can help them. While it is true that only you have the ability to help them, you also need their help on the journey as well. The two go hand in hand: help those around you and they will help you.

While disregarding the standard conventions of videogames, in effect upon the player anyways, Okami has something more within it: a redefinition of the hero. When you go back in time near the end of the game, that is when the text shows its true hand. Nagi was just as big of a dope as Susano, that is the main point of this scene. The legends have changed what really was the case into something else, something better than it actually was. Only when Nagi and Susano stop thinking of how strong they are and start looking at how their strength might help others do they actually become true heroes. Okami is discouraging the gung-ho tactics of self created heroics. Even you as the player are unable to defeat the most awesome foes, Orochi and the Dark Lord, without help from those outside the battle. A videogame that actually advocates dynamic interactions outside of the individual is indeed rare, but commendable regardless. True heroes are selfless, and that is the main claim made within Okami.

Issun, the little green guy that is something of a Navi clone, functions as something to further explore this idea of a redefinition of a hero. Rather than have someone that follows you around that is a hero or some sort of tough guy, he is an artist. Not just any artist though, an artist that is trying to learn the ancient brush techniques(which, as a gameplay device, save a great deal of time as I don't have to load the menu all so often) so that he can create art of his own. Learn from the ancient stories so that a new one can be forged. This is the goal of Okami. By using the ancient legends Okami is showing the majesty of the ancient world while creating a new one that changes the conventions. Sometimes in the story the main character does really stupid things, the handing over of the fox rods for example. Issun is a voice for the modern age that is shocked by some of the strange events that take place in the 'high fantasy' of legends past. He speaks in a more modern tongue, and his demeanor reflects this as well. In the end, he understands the importance of the older stories and gives them a practical application in the lives of the 'modern' individual.