The original Metroid has a defining flaw that would later be rectified with its successor, Super Metroid. The open-ended environments are a composition of arbitrarily posted tile sets with little sense of direction. To put it frankly, the desolate planet Zebes is a maze. As a result, there’s a certain sense of dread you often feel when playing Metroid, as it’s very easy to lead yourself astray in the oxygen-less solitude and find yourself boxed in against an insurmountable tangle of similarly-looking tiles. Super Metroid avoids the confusion by providing sufficient scaffolding to lead players along without arousing their suspicion that the experience Super Metroid offers is a well managed, staged affair. In this way, it fools the player into discovering things for themselves, when in fact our exploration is preordained, and we love it all the more for it.

Let’s take a squiz at how exactly Super Metroid appears more open-ended than it actually is. Super Metroid utilizes the SR388 overworld as a hub which connects the player to the various planetary sub-sections. Overworlds are often interpreted as de-linearating a game and offering player choice, even though oftentimes they afford no such freedoms.Super Metroid‘s overworld is a guise. Players are free to search for and enter SR388′s separate domains before the game requires them to, but on stumbling upon Brinstar, Norfair or Maridia the player quickly realizes that their progress is limited by their current selection of power-ups. In this sense, the player’s sphere of progression is not tied to the seemingly open world, but to the power suit. Therefore, the limitations enforced upon the player are not presented in a way which can be translated into tangible areas of the map, by which, the player cannot properly understand what is or isn’t within their reach. The only way that they can find out is by looking for themselves. Not only does this unknown (but never hidden) factor liberate the player’s sense of exploration, but it also persuades them to gain their own bearings of the world through actual exploration. The map is therefore a clever aid in the exploration process, since it does provide that tangible reinforcement to the player.

The individual chunks of terrain that break away to your power-ups are doorways masked as environmental puzzles, where the power-ups themselves are switches that activate the opening of doors. When a player acquires a new power-up in Super Metroid, several gates are open. Of course, Super Metroid is still linear since the gates that lead to to the next major power-up (and so on until the end of the game) are pre-determined; all players will walk the same rough path. However, Super Metroid hides this very fact in three ways. Firstly, the player may take their own route to the next mandatory gateway. Secondly, when a power-up is gained, it opens the potential for the player to access peripheral weapon upgrades (which increases the number of items held), think of them as secondary doors. And lastly, on occasion, there is more than one mandatory gateway that leads the player to the next power-up; since there is some choice, this is thereby not linear. As you can see, it’s all effectively linear, but it’s mapped around a system of diversion. No first time player will stumble upon the perfect combination of clues to lead them linearly to the end of the game. Players will inevitably be de-routed, and on their way, stumble into weapon upgrades, dead ends, previously explored areas, and walk in circles; all are tricks to create a false sense of freedom.

So, the real meat of Super Metroid are the power-ups and respective gateways which forward the progression to the end game. These are directive tools which manipulate the player’s progression. And as can be seen, Metroid is highly managed, yet we love Metroid so much because the game tricks us into thinking that we are exploring by ourselves; however, we are exploring within the confines of a mold which is ultimately linear and intentional.

Since popularising the shoot ‘em up in 1978, the Space Invaders series practically went dormant for thirty years. Sure, Taito rolled out sequels and anniversary editions, but rarely did these games evolve the series in any meaningfully sufficient way. Such thinly-veiled cash-ins on the Space Invaders namesake could barely meet the legacy they were supposedly representing. The series’ presence in modern gaming was an embarrassment, to be sure. In recent years though, with the release of Space Invaders Extreme and its sequel, Taito have done good on one of gaming’s longest surviving brands by doing what they failed to get right before: tampering with the source.

In this light, Space Invaders Infinity Gene isn’t so much an expansion of an already great game like Extreme, but instead a tribute; an interactive construction of Space Invaders‘ legacy: the modern shoot ‘em up. And it all begins from stage one, the original Space Invaders, before moving into progressively more contemporary territory.

Like most age-old shoot ‘em ups, in Infinity Gene, the player increases their score through a combo system. However, after completing a stage or losing a life, you’re not presented with a high score table, but instead the points earned act as a currency which fill out an evolution meter. Once you’ve maxed out the meter the game “EVOLVES”. Evolving adds one of three things to Infinity Gene: new mechanics, bonus stages or graphic and sound unlocks.

Replaying a level, which you are free to do at any time, will give you another shot at adding more blue juice to the bar. As you progress it becomes harder to score the points necessary to evolve, meaning that repeated plays slowly become a requirement of pushing the mechanical game forward. Yet ideally—and particularly in the later stages—you don’t want to be spending your time replaying the same level repeatedly just to gain an extra inch of blue fill. You do, however, still want to max out the evolution bar since the pay-off for doing so will make life easier by adding new gameplay mechanics. The result is well-crafted baiting, but calling Infinity Gene a game of baiting would be to do the game a great disservice. Points are gained on the grounds of skilfully employing combos and hitting targets (although you can grind if you need to) and the rewards are new tools which feed back into the loop of gaining points. The more points you earn, the more “arms” (shooting techniques) are made available via a selection screen preceding each level, giving the player more applicable options in meeting the challenges of the changing level design. So, experimentations and commitment leads to rewards which foster more experimentation and commitment. By commodifying the traditional points system, Infinity Gene’s gameplay becomes more relevant to regular players (as opposed to high scoreboard chasers) in that it facilitates a system of progression tied to the context of the game (evolution). Of course, high scoreboards are still present for those who wish to pursue them.

Once players make it through the initial comfort stages, Infinity Gene switches up its enemy patterns to suit the different “arms”, persuading the player to first explore with their new tools. Later, experimentation become mandatory as the design moves into a tertiary phase where only certain arms are applicable in defeating the enemy patterns present in each stage. This sort of involving level design which motivates the player to be creative with the tools they are provided with leads back into the currency of points. The more the player understands the various arms, the better off they are for gaining high combos and claiming a better score which they are in-turn rewarded with more tools.

Speaking in the ethos of the game itself, Infinity Gene is a construction, where the player constructs a modern day shmp, piece by piece, through their committal to the scoring system (the very foundation of the arcades, also part of the ethos). In Infinity Gene the means support the ends as can be seen in this diagram:

Now let’s add some squiggly lines:

It’s worth explaining the squiggly lines in the diagram. They are the underlying methods of persuasion used ensure the player remains active within this framework. Firstly, to the far right, persuasion of completism is the human tendency for no stone to be left unturned. This is the reason why Tetris is so addictive, our cerebral matter craves order in a world of clutter. Tetris creates clutter, the player creates order and the two forces create an addictive dynamism. Infinity Gene feeds our obsessive compulsive nature via the user interface of the level select screen. The main levels are mapped out along the spine of an evolution tree with 2 branches possible at either side. Since the player can only evolve once per stage, the interface keenly marks all the evolutions which have yet been reached, enticing the player to correct the apparent mistake.

Secondly, the centre point, the player is made to believe that the game is evolving (even if they themselves are not personally evolving the game very much) through the minor visual details added to each progressive level. Level-to-level, nuance forms around the crusts of the visual design, until a set of stages are completed and the presentation reboots with new colours and effects.

Lastly, as the player progresses, the layout of the levels (which transition from blank emptiness to more structural as you go along) and enemy placements begin to favour a wider variety of “arms”, nudging, and at times forcing, the player to actively use the tools in which they’re unlocking.

A Conclusion on Conclusions

Concluding the analysis here, I can’t help but comment on the most effective part of Infinity Gene: the ending. After building up Space Invaders through the lens of Gradius, R-Type and the bullet hell sub-genre, among others, the game ends, the credits roll and then suspiciously, after the dust settles, a variant of the original Space Invaders loads up with a lone invader rapidly making its descent to the bottom of the screen. Immediately, the tactile feeling reverts back to 1978, you’re power-ups and arms are removed and the game changes completely, leaving you with a sudden point of comparison. This game about evolution devolves to the base value in order for its magnitude to be understood. Personally speaking, the impact felt at this point validates all of the play up to that stage.

Conclusion

Space Invaders: Infinity Gene isn’t trying to make up for 30 years of cruddy ports, but rather it’s a documentation of the shoot ‘em up genre during the period of time the self-proclaimed “KING OF GAMES” went intro retirement. Infinity Gene is a successful title, because it takes us on a journey where we meaningfully construct the results of a legacy left abandoned. The guts it takes to do this is commendable, but the execution is even more so.

The original Metroid may not be as sharp as Super Metroid, but it does have one trump over its SNES successor, being its initial assertion of exploration-driven gameplay. A year prior to Metroid‘s release, Super Mario Bros. had taught players that walking to the right-hand side of the screen would advance the game. Metroid, in a master stroke of studio-wide realization and subversion, did the exact opposite: it told players to go left. If the player walked left, instead of the assumed right, at the game’s onset, they would stumble upon Metroid‘s first power-up, the morph-ball, thereby allowing the player to bypass a stumbling block a few screens to the right. As with Super Mario Bros. and that first goomba, the player cannot progress until they have understood the fundamental principles of the game. In one fell swoop, Metroid succinctly communicated its doctrine of subversive exploration.

Super Metroid‘s takes a much less momentous approach but wisely integrates the morph-ball bomb technique, which becomes a crutch for exploration throughout the entire game. Early on in Super Metroid, after the player becomes acquainted with the basic controls, they’re lead through a cavern to a seemingly dead end. They’re as stuck and confused as anyone who’d just been lead down the wrong path would be. After some fumbling about, the player will likely go back to the wall, look around until they notice that at the bottom of the wall is a block with an unsuspecting texture which mildly stands out from the fungus growing around it. A short morph-ball bomb later and—voila!—the block evaporates and the game continues.

Right there, by raising the bar high in this initial instance, Super Metroid doesn’t just set a precedence for exploration but also demands the player learn the tools (morph-ball bomb) and adopt the observation techniques (out of place textures) required to explore properly. As put by co-creator Yoshio Sakamoto in an interview with RetroGamer magazine:

We wanted players to explore everything we’d made and then move on. That’s why we designed the maps in such a way that the player couldn’t escape without exploration, or in such a way that the player would end up back at a starting point before advancing. The player would be cornered/driven and would eventually be forced to stop and say, “Right, how should I think about this area?” That’s the essential point of Metroid’s map design.

Since such a significant chunk of exploration—namely in the first half of the game, but nonetheless throughout—is based around the morph-ball bomb technique, it can be argued that Super Metroid is simply more specific with what it teaches. This makes sense as Super Metroid scaffolds tutorials around the player continuously throughout the experience in the most minute and unnoticeable ways. The original Metroid, on the other hand, sets the player up briefly and then lets them loose on a massive environment with minimal help or suggestion.

Game designers create rules, a system of challenges and a gateway into that challenge (tutorial). Players, through their participation of the game world, mutually agree on the terms set by the designers. Therefore, there is something of a student and mentor relationship at work between player and designer. (Mr. Miyamoto recently commented on this phenomena a little himself). The foundation of this relationship is that of the relevant skills required to defeat the game: the teacher wishes to teach these skills, the student wishes to learn them. In which case Metroid is a test in observation and a test in the application of tools (power-ups).

Metroid‘s challenges, its tests, if you will, are built into its environment in the form of realizing suspicious chunks of area and then devising a way on how to clear that area to make progress to the next planetary subsection. Sometimes you’ll have the means to make headway, and other times you’ll need to mentally bookmark or flag down the spot to return afterwards. On a wider level though, Metroid, keeping in fashion with its exploration roots, also challenges the player in a third test of skill: the skill of mapping out one’s exploration.

In terms of what the player is constructing in their head, Metroid is an array of these “hotspots” (suspicious rooms which may be mined for progress) linked together into coherent routes and mapped around save stations. These mental pathways are connected through distinct visual markers which define particular chunks of environment from one another. When we play a Metroid game, we visualize these mental maps, with support from the in-game map itself (of which doesn’t contain the information gathered from exploration), and, in accordance to this mental map, we pursue the next string of clues.

Not only do we visualize these routes, often with aid from the map, but said routes are cross-checked against our current ability set as to whether they are viable or not to the area in question. Sometimes these clues lead us to undiscovered areas, sometimes these clues lead us to areas we’ve previously visited.
Most vividly we are concious of this play pattern right after we load the game up and begin at the last save point. It’s here that we gather our strategies and formulate a course of action, so at this point, the mental map is most relevant.

Keeping the Squeeze

Super Metroid, above all other games in the series, facilitates exploration management fantastically. The two most obvious reasons for this are the inclusion of an in-game map and the improved graphical capabilities over the original Metroid.

The in-game map works as a crutch for players to refresh their own mental map. Wisely, R&D1 chose to segment the main map away from the core gameplay by virtue of the pause screen, only offering a mini-map of surrounding rooms while the player navigates Samus. In this way, where pausing to check the map disrupts the flow of gameplay, players are persuaded into relying upon their established mental map.

With the added power of the SNES, environments – i.e. the visual markers which we use to identify and compress the landscape – are capable of being more distinct, hence making it easier for players to crystallize visual markers into their memory.

“Dead ends” – pathways that the player would preempetively follow before they receive the respective power upgrade necessary to progress in said area – from the original Metroid, now offer up minor weapon upgrades in Super Metroid, thereby decreasing player pitfalls and frustration while at the same time rewarding early curiosity.

Super Metroid is also a far more smartly segregated title than the original Metroid. The environments, while equally as large as the original Metroid, are focused into shorter, more succinct instances of play. Save points quarantine these instances of play that can later be mined for leads which allows for some dynamic threading of routes. Hub rooms, often near the entrance to a new area, take on a more skeletal structure with the purpose of each pathway conveyed more promptly. That is:

• some areas are hard blocked with sealed doors, indicating a long delay before the player revisits with new power-ups;
• some areas which require a currently-unavailable-but-soon-to-be-acquired power-up are softly marked, promptly too, as in the first room or so. Examples of these soft markers used to detract the player are a sudden absence of background music, flora and fauna met with apparent markers of essential-but-still-not-acquired weaponry (boost tracks, swinging junctions). These indicators, used to steer the player back on course, are made apparent in the first room or so (Metroid would often lead players down long corridors before confirming to players that they’re presence in the area was not currently required); and
• areas that the designers wish the player to advance through are often backed up by the respective sub-terrain theme music, denser wildlife population and a more visually “alive” environment.

The fascinating thing about Super Metroid is how the maps begin by following this skeletal structure and then, as the player subsequently revists one area multiple times over, hidden divergences bleed into the map structure (ingeniously represented by a different colour on the pause-screen map). The maps therefore begin in cocoon-like states, allowing the player to build a foundation of the environment, then, once their mental map consolidates, the pathways blossom into one another as reliance on the in-game map fades.

With the bleeding of the map, cleaner visual markers, fewer dead ends, a more logical and directed conveyance of purpose within the environments, Super Metroid constantly feeds the player’s mental map and thereby continuously drills the emergent skill of exploration management.

Games with good game design are those where all components of the game are grounded to a core philosophy or set of philosophies. The world of Mario is tied to jumping, the world of Metroid is tied to exploration, and in the case of the Wario Land series, Wario Land is tied to Wario’s wacky persona. Underpinning the philosophy of form meets function, Wario’s outwardly fat, greedy and cartoonishly sinister appearance are a reflection of his abilities and the interactions made possible within the game world. Let’s use Wario Land 4 as an example to briefly observe the way Wario’s character reflected by his interaction and abilities.

Weight

Wario’s array of moves are all tied to utilising his best asset, his visibly bulging weight and super strength. Just like the stylised visual appearance of the character, Wario’s strength and weight are exaggerated through his interaction. No ordinary obese man could crush through rock, create minor earthquakes, flatten small minibeasts or turn into a menacing snowball by building momentum off diagonal slopes, however, Wario can.

Aggression and Greed

Wario’s is presented as an aggressive character. In the game the player is persuaded to be aggressive, meeting the Wario persona, through the rewards of coinage which liberally flows from downed foes. The more aggression you show, such as by throwing one enemy at another, the more the player is rewarded. Unlike in prior Wario games, Wario has a health bar this time, so coins are no longer a currency for life. That is, they are no longer handicapped but instead free-flowing. As we can see, on element of Wario’s behaviour (aggression) acts as a means to highlight another (greed).

Self-deprecation

The folded levels of Wario Land 4 that require the player to reach an endpoint and then, pressed by a time limit, run back to the start of the level make fun of the stout fella’s inability to make haste under pressure. This, I’d argue, works to justify the cartoonish nature of the game through self-deprecation. Perhaps a more obvious example is the way Wario shape-shifts into various different forms. Each one seemingly poking fun of Wario as he is stung by a bee, turned into a zombie, set on fire or flattened into a pancake. Every transformation is met with an “oh no!” cry as though Wario wishes to avoid the humiliation.

Conclusion

As we can see, the way Wario can interact, and the way the player is taught to behave are all representations of Wario’s anti-hero persona. These interactive elements don’t just support the visual image of Wario, but are in fact pivotal in defining his character. It’s no wonder then that players of Wario Land 4 and the other Wario games, have such a vivid understanding of the character himself.

Three months ago, and with grand foresight, I vowed to consume as much media (games, movies, comics, books) as I possibly could before I’d leave almost all of it behind as I go to live abroad in China. Some of this media I managed to write about before I left, some of it I’ve subsequently caught up on over the past three months, and then there’s all that note-taking sitting in OpenOffice documents in my writing folder. God of War II belongs to the latter.

God of War II is a direct narrative and gameplay continuation of God of War, which means that, similarly to the Half-life episodes, God of War II streamlines the culmination of mechanics built up by the conclusion of God of War and re-uses them as a base for the beginning of God of War II. By virtue of being welcoming to new players though, Kratos is robbed of these abilities by his father-cum-uber-nemesis Zeus at the game’s onset, acting as a narrative justification to re-teach the ropes and warm players into the experience*.

For continuing players this amounts to a heap redux which God of War II‘s largely peripheral additions to the combat system fail to quell. (Newer players will similarly find the combat stretches beyond its means, but perhaps not as immediately as returning players). A smattering of aggressive new moves mapped to the L1 button when used in conjunction with the face buttons, a spiffied up Rage of the Titans (rage mode) and some new spells do fend off the familiar, but fail to sustain player interest through what is a significantly extended play experience.

That’s not to discount the peripheral additions though, since, as irrelevant as they are to the most established part of the experience (the combat), they do in fact play a part in pushing the game forward. Kratos has a couple of new weapons at his disposal, including a hammer, sword and bow. Aside from the arrow which can be rapidly shot between intermissions of slashing to maintain combos, none of these diversions are given enough spotlight to deliver attention away from the effectiveness of the Blades of Chaos. Smart players will realise that the best way to play God of War II is to ignore these distractions and rely on the tried and trusted attack patterns from God of War while adding a bit of oomph, now and then, with the new L1 attacks or the spells.

It’s a shame that there isn’t enough added variance to the combat as God of War II is an excellent example of good organisation of gameplay elements. God of War II shifts from combat, to puzzling, to platforming, to narrative, to boss battle with an exacting sense of understanding of how much can be bitten off of each of these systems. Furthermore, new mechanics, landscapes and enemy types are interspersed at the most suitable points in the game. You are always presented with something new and interesting just as your enthusiasm for your current occupation begins to wane. Sony Santa Monica clearly nailed this element with a hefty amount player testing, which is why it’s disappointing then that the depleted combat systems works only to subvert the games otherwise great pacing.

It would be remiss of me to forget God of War II‘s stronger emphasis on puzzles, platforming and set pieces, all of which have been well supported by the new time freezing, flying (Icarus’ wings), chain swinging and Medusa’s head mechanics. The set pieces, particularly the flying sequences, are always exciting and well connected to the context of the game (for example, obtaining Icarus’ wings). The boss battles are equally impressive in the way they draw on more elaborate forms of tactics and spatial awareness which isn’t encountered in the moment-to-moment combat.

But ultimately, none of this can save Kratos from that niggling itch that the combat is not fresh and exciting enough to sustain the experience. The end result, which is overbearingly evident by the end of the game, are the large slumps of uninteresting gameplay which undermine the entire production. By failing to directly address the heart of the experience (the combat) in a meaningful way, I don’t think that God of War II is deserving of its title as the “magnum opus” of the PS2. In saying that though, the combat still holds a level of succulence which cannot be denied and despite the lack of revision, God of War II is still a premier action game, particularly in light of the excellent pacing of the experience.

*This last point is surprising given that God of War III simply dumps immediate tutorial on the player.

The Tenets of a Metroid Game

Although Metroid can be categorized as a platforming shooter within a space-themed context, the franchise isn’t so much about the shooting or the jumping at all. Rather, Metroid is all about that misplaced bit of space rock. You know, the one with a little bit of extra fungus. The one that, after met with a morph ball bomb, will string you down a tiny alley to a small chamber containing the next power-up. Progression in Metroid hinges on the abilities granted by various power-ups which are connected to a string of environmental puzzles. It’s in the player’s ability to realize these puzzles through acute observation and then use their ability set to act upon their observations that Metroid reveals its true colors as a game of deep observation and multi-faceted problem solving. Metroid has always relished in being more than what it presents itself as, and series fans appreciate the franchise for valuing the deep implicit over the loud and overt. There’s a maturity in the series which has gone untarnished even as the franchise has evolved from two to three dimensions.

Metroid is also an innovator, but rarely proclaims its achievements on the back of the box. The Metroid games have not just defined but also realized a style of video game narrative that intertwines story with landscape. Oftentimes in a Metroid game, you’ll find yourself entering a world where events have long passed, and as the player you piece together story through the visual, audio and interactive pieces of the landscape (in the Metroid Prime sub-series text is also included). Through it’s environment Metroid builds a civilization and tasks the player as a defacto cultural architect. In this regard, many of the environmental puzzles, particularly those which require the use of machinery or are constituted with cultural relics, act as demonstrations of civil processes. Rarely do video games build lore this rich, or yet, so seamlessly into the fabric of the gameplay. Metroid is a narrative of few words, but with depth that many strive for.

Tense atmosphere and the sense of isolation felt by the player are also tenets of the Metroid franchise. In Super Metroid, the title screen with the baby metroid in the jar establishes an almost complete absence of life. Again, the setting, but, more correctly, the sound is used as a device to control mood. Where many other games opt for busy noise, Metroid instead opts for controlled instances of silence followed up crescendos which build and create tensions. Moments where little happens, but much is felt.

Since the atmosphere, narrative and overall framework for exploration are harmoniously built into the environment and therefore the gameplay, Metroid is a franchise that stands as a testament to good game design. As Metroid‘s design is very medium-centric, relying on the factors that define video games (interactivity, adaptive environments), the franchise excels at conveying atmosphere, narrative and challenge to the player.

More obvious to mainstream video games folk is the fact that Metroid, through protagonist Samus Aran, champions femininity without sexualization or even glorification of the empowerment of women. Metroid, particularly Super Metroid – the title in question – has been a standout title for speed running, the art of completing a game in the shortest time possible. Overall then, Metroid is an eminent video game series, a series which fosters exploration, harmonious narrative and gameplay, atmosphere, works against the grain of video game gender stereotypes, yet facilitates dedicated game communities through speed running. And for all this, in the sense of the games themselves, Metroid is modest about its achievements which makes it all the more a champion.

When living overseas, we often have to make concessions for the comfort activities we enjoyed when at home. Maintaining our interest and hobbies is a way for us to re-connect with an identity that can sometimes feel suffocated by the new environment and its surrounding culture. Currently, I’m working abroad in China, so for me, playing video games is a way for me to temporarily relieve myself of my predetermined role as an outsider, a foreigner. Video games, as with long distance phone calls and family photos, are comfort food for the soul, and that’s pretty important. Maintaining a hobby like video games abroad is rather tricky though, so I’ve written a list of suggestions that may help others in their relocation overseas.

Bring a Portable Console

A no-brainer, huh? Personally, I chose to bring my original DS along since it can play both DS and GBA games and I have games on both console to complete. The carts are quite small, so the DS is a relatively low fuss option if you’re willing to drag the media itself overseas. I didn’t invest in a carry case for my gear (I play portable games at home), so snap-lock Glad bags have proven sufficient for storying my cartridges. The DSi has an online store for downloadable DSiWare games, so there’s incentive to bring the newer model overseas, if you’re not interested in GBA functionality. Whether the online store still works overseas I can’t say, so it may be a good idea to stock up on games prior to leaving.

The PSP is another option, but one which can be less favourable if you’re less willing to bust the firmware. The UMD discs are a tricky to cart around in comparison to the DS game cards and the open-faced system isn’t exactly portable-friendly. Fortunately, the PSP does allow you to install games onto the device, but with PSP games ranging from 500mbs to 1.6gb in size, the option isn’t so ideal for storing multiple games.

The PSPgo, on the other hand, is an ideal solution with its 16gb harddrive. Topped with PSN classics and PSP Minis and you’ve got yourself a handy travel companion without the need for excess baggage. There’s also travel software like the Passport to [Europe] series and Talkman [Asian and Europe].

In an email, Sony Australia believe that the Playstation Store should be accessible while in China (and thereby most countries), so long as there is no interference from the web filter (a VPN is an easy solution for the latter). I personally would recommend modding your PSP for back ups. However, tread carefully as modable PSP models are no longer in production and the majority of new PSPs floating around on eBay only support temporary modification in the flash memory which is extremely fiddly.

Your iPod/iPhone doubles as a Portable Games Console

The iPod is probably the most user-friendly device for playing games overseas. It’s ultra portable, games are cheap, but above all else, you can access any of the iTunes stores from any country in the world. If you already own an iPod or iPhone and have iTunes and a computer/a wireless connection for internet access, then there’s little reason for your life overseas to hinder your mobile gaming.

Laptop, rip isos, use steam, plain installs, patches

Like the iPod/iPhone, a laptop, even an older laptop, is a great way to stay in tune with gaming. My Macbook has a Windows XP partition which houses my Steam collection, games installed completely to the harddrive, isos of games which won’t run without the CD/DVD, games patched to run without a CD/DVD in the drive, files from Good Old Games, some emulators and games (my Amiga 500 video outputs are busted) and a hoist of indie games. All in all, I have roughly 30-40 games on my Windows partition, enough to last any one a long time.

For Steam, I recommend downloading your games at home and then setting the service to ‘offline mode’ just in case anyone at home decides to boot up Steam and you’re account is suspend etc.

Web Games

Maybe you haven’t considered it, but there are literally bazillions of online games which can be enjoyed at home or in an internet cafe. NewGrounds and Kongregate are great sites for free flash games. Given everything else I’ve set up over here, I don’t often play browser-based games, but that’s by no means an assertion that they’re not worth your investment.

VPN

Since I’m living in China I’ve decided to secure my connection and avoid the internet filter by purchasing a year long membership to a virtual private network service. Depending on the country you’re living in, content may be filtered by the government and a popular target for internet filtering are games websites. Not just news and information websites like Kombo, but Flash game websites, websites for independent developers and general downloading sites which offer video game content.

Accept the Indie Scene

When I am away from the home consoles I like to veg out on indie games, because they’re just so worth your time. Here’s a couple of links to get you started.

Conclusion

On my side of the fence, being away from home offers up the opportunity to try out games which might otherwise be forgotten when at home, and there’s something very rewarding about that. I’m not a big PC gamer and I’m not as invested in the indie scene as I’d like to be, so living abroad allows me to remedy these issue, and along with the comfort food games provide, there’s really no sacrifice to my gaming diet.

Portable game development has always acted as a test bed for experimental ideas. The handheld platforms are inexpensive to develop for and widely regarded as second-tier products to their console counterparts, making them the ideal haven for experimentation. Knowing this, R&D1, a technically-minded internal studio at Nintendo (now absorbed into Nintendo Software Planning & Development), used the newly released Game Boy as a way to expand the company’s most famous property: Mario. The design sensibilities and the innovations which evolved from the early Game Boy games Super Mario Land and Super Mario Land 2: 6 Golden Coins would find themselves not only canonized into franchise lore, but also playing a wide-reaching role in further developments of the series.

Super Mario Land

Prior to, and even since Super Mario Land‘s release in 1990, no other Mario title has modeled itself on real world cultures. Perhaps in a move to justify the “land” part of its title, Super Mario Landwas no longer set in the Mushroom Kingdom, but Sarasaland. Sarasaland was divided into 4 parts: an Egyptian-themed environment, an alien water world, ancient Aztec ruins and a Japanese oriental garden whose final act was set amongst the clouds. This was Super Mario Land‘s core conceit, and although no game in the series has since replicated world culture, Super Mario Landpaved the way for environments far removed from the realm and influence of the Mushroom Kingdom. Chocolate Island in Super Mario World, Yoshi’s Island in Super Mario World 2 and Isle Delfino in Super Mario Sunshine are good examples.

In relocating Mario outside of his stomping ground, R&D1 also replaced franchise staples: Bowser with Tatanga, Princess Peach with Princess Daisy and all familiar enemies – minus goombas – for stage-specific variants. Super Mario Land drove momentum for new and diverse enemies sets which could, at least for their respective titles, take a prominent role in the main cast. Princess Daisy has since been recognized in series cannon, playing a recurring role in the Mario sports andMario Kart series.

Not only did Super Mario Land go global and shed the Mushroom Kingdom attire, but the items and mechanics which remained were subversively tweaked and altered. Fireballs could now bounce off walls and surfaces, collecting coins in its wake. This lead to some cleverly designed puzzles as coins were often placed outside of Mario’s physical grasp. The end of level bonus was also reworked so that instead of being rewarded with a 1UP upon landing on top of a flagpole, players would have to navigate tricky platforms to reach a second floor which would prompt a small mini-game granting power-ups. The princess was still in another castle, however this time she was a facade whom would transform into one of Tatanga’s minions; one of the more obvious acts of tomfoolery. Further still, R&D1 undermined players with the koopa-esque bomb turtles who would detonate shortly after jumped upon. Nabbing a mushroom in mid-air would no longer cut Mario’s forward momentum. Not all of these tricks were intentional though, because of the Gameboy’s monotone graphics and Super Mario Land‘s tiny sprites, 1UP mushrooms were changed into hearts so that they could be easily discerned from power-ups. By tinkering with the player’s prior understanding of series norms, even minutely as some of the examples prove, Super Mario Land acknowledged a form of general trickery, and humor for long-time players which has permeated through most iterations of the series. Wriggler and Mecha-Bowsers in Super Mario World, Flower-head Shy Guys in Yoshi’s Island are further examples.

Totally new to Super Mario Land are the shoot-’em-up inspired levels where Mario mans a submarine (marine pop) or a plane (sky pop) to shoot down his enemies. The submarine level replaces the usual under water, swimming levels which are absent in this iteration. Even though these sections are tangential to the platforming, you can see elements of this design in Super Mario Sunshine and Super Mario Galaxy where other gameplay modes, such as pull stars, 2D gravity switching and manta ray surfing sequences are interspersed with the platforming.

Perhaps, above everything else though, Super Mario Land established portable design sensibilities.Super Mario Land wasn’t merely Mario on a portable console; it was a game designed for dedicated play in front of a TV adapted to the needs of playing on the go. This sense for quick, short bursts of play has been pivotal to many of Nintendo design sensibilities both in the console and handheld space. The star system in the 3D Mario games are examples of portability-minded design on a console, the “turning the machine on everyday” design of the Wii is another such example.

Super Mario Land 2: 6 Golden Coins

Super Mario Land 2 isn’t as radical as its predecessor, but it’s still pretty far removed. This time Mushroom Kingdom environments are mixed with properties of suburban reality. In many ways,Super Mario Land 2: 6 Golden Coins is reminiscent of the 1989 movie Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.Super Mario Land 2 is a slower-paced, exploratory platformer, so all of the sprites are enlarged which makes the world feel large and expansive. The overwhelming nature of the world works in combination with the assembly as household pests which populate the world alongside goombas and koopa troopas. This ordinary form of reality is revisited somewhat in Isle Delfino in Super Mario Sunshine and the Princess’ castle in Super Mario 64.

Two of the themed worlds deserve particular mention though. The first is the moon stage which would arguably foreshadow the release of Super Mario Galaxy. The second is the bizarre toy Mario level. An obvious piece of self-reference in the series at the time, later preceded by Special in Super Mario World. This type of irreverent self-reference would become a common theme throughout most of Nintendo’s games. It’s worth adding that Super Mario Galaxy (Toy Time Galaxy) also features a mechanical toy as one of its planets, taking liberally from Super Mario Land 2.

Super Mario Land 2‘s greatest work of subversion comes with the introduction of anti-hero Wario. Labeled as a temper tantrum tyrant, Wario was jealous of Mario’s position as a Mushroom Kingdom socialite and literally dethroned him from his castle. Wario spun out his own sub-series of games and gave a sense of character, sophistication and self-deprecating humor to the villains of the Mario universe. Waluigi, Fawful and even the toads in Super Mario Galaxy are additional examples.

In contrast to Super Mario Land, which utilized the original Super Mario Bros. as its design template, Super Mario Land 2 is a hybrid of Super Mario Bros 3 and Super Mario World‘s overworld. Levels may be connected via a hub world, but structurally 6 Golden Coins is completely open. On completing the initial tutorial stage, the player is free to tackle any of the 6 worlds at their leisure. This open-ended approach forgoes linearity and therefore, in order to be even-handed, the difficulty remains constant throughout the entire game. Even though Super Mario Land 2 is well designed, the element of challenge is significantly muted and is the only Mario title to employ such a structure. Super Mario 64 is inspired by this structure, but rather than unlock the entirety of the game’s content from the onset, it locks more challenging content behind a level completion system represented through the quantity of stars.

Otherwise, Super Mario Land 2, similarly to its predecessor, toys with series tropes. Collecting 100 coins will result in an invincibility star appearing on screen. Players can collect up to a maximum of 999 coins and gamble them away for lives at a slot machine in the center of the overworld.

Super Mario Land 2: 6 Golden Coins is more of a continuation of Super Mario Land‘s break from tradition. It takes the elseworld’s approach of Super Mario Land and drives it into a more suburban, natural setting. Self-referential elements feature prominently and the difficulty system is muted across all levels, which has never been seen in other Mario games.

Conclusion

In creating games as ceaselessly imaginative as Super Mario Galaxy, a continuous stream of innovative ideas isn’t just important, it is pivotal to the development process. Understanding the design of titles like Super Mario Land and Super Mario Land 2, those which flourished under freer development conditions, gives us a glimpse at the backbone of the philosophies which have gone on to characterize not just modern Mario design, but the evolution of Nintendo as developers and game designers.

Now that we understand the different roles the player commandeers in a video game, we can begin to understand the rationale behind our choices made in Heavy Rain.

Because of the subject matter, I will obviously be divulging major plot spoilers, so I urge you not to read on if you haven’t already completed Heavy Rain. If you have, however, then please feel free to include your own rationale in the comments section below. Perhaps we will compile the most interesting responses in a separate article if there’s enough interest.

Trial #1
Driving into Head-on Traffic

Being the initial trial, the parameters of the Origami Killer’s twisted game aren’t yet so clear. Like many, I presume, I accepted this trial partly under the assumption that the game wouldn’t hurt me – that so long as I followed the rules, Ethan would remain unscathed. This assumption and the supposition that “hey, it’s a game and I should just play along” overrid the consideration set outlined in the previous article. My assumptions turned out not to be true — whether by my inputs or by design, I don’t know — as I completed the challenge, but flipped the car and could not reach my reward.

Trial #2
The Electricity Plant

Considering the pain Ethan went through in the prior trial, I felt a little uneasy about the electricity plant. You could just tell that things were going to get worse. There are two stages to this trial but only one decision, since you cannot bail out of crawling through the glass-filled chamber. The question is whether you’re willing to walk through the electric minefield. The generators instill a sharp sense of fright and my knee-jerk reaction would have been to steer clear. However, above all else, I wanted to relieve Ethan of this burden and I knew that irrespective of me, he would have seriously contemplated this decision. I don’t know very much about power stations and while venturing ahead would obviously put Ethan at high risk, this unfamiliarity with the danger allowed me the waver the ethical dilemma of any unfortunate consequences. As such, I made my way through, but misread the signs and nearly killed myself, prompting Ethan to automatically forfeit.

Trial #3
Cutting off the End of Your Finger

The third trial will always stick in my mind as its the most savage of Heavy Rain‘s emotional string-pulling, and the first time a game made me feel immense frustration and self-hate. You’re situated in a vacant room and asked to cut off the end of your finger in front of the camera with any of the utensils available in the room. The stress is compounded by the fact that you will fail to cut your finger from the bone on your first attempt and have to fight the agony in a second attempt.

This decision prompted a primal sense of rationality, so I was quick to make and execute on my decision. I decided to go ahead with it. There was, of course, some conflict. As a viewer and a director, I knew that I would be putting Ethan in a world of agony that he would never wish to experience and I would certainly condemn myself for watching, let alone participating in. The chips were stacked against me though; I’d failed the last two trials which meant that Shaun would drown to death if I didn’t produce results. There was nothing in my way this time. I could get a tangible result, all I needed was to go through with the torture. Furthermore, having gone through this much pain already, I imagine that cutting off a part of a finger would be within Ethan’s threshold of pain. I acted quickly and chose the first tool I could find: a pair of scissors. I didn’t even look for anything else; who knows, the game might go back on its rules, but I needed to ensure a win here.

Trial #4
Killing the Drug Dealer

Would you kill someone to save someone else? The rational answer is “no.” It doesn’t make sense to forfeit someone else’s life for the potential of saving another’s. Heavy Rain played on these assumptions though. The target is a drug dealer who, when spurred, tried to end your life. In which case, killing a violent drug dealer can almost be regarded as an act of community service; if caught, Ethan could vouch for self-defense. Another fold to throw your deliberation occurs right before you make the decision, when the drug dealer quivers that he too is a father and pleads against his potential retribution.

I chose in favor of my understanding of Ethan, who I believed wouldn’t go so far as to kill someone else. I made this decision before I even went to the house as I believed quite strongly in my interpretation of the avatar. I am pleased with the decision I made.

Trial #5
Drinking the Vial

The final trial is a fitting apotheosis to the game: would you sacrifice your own life for someone else’s? I had a feeling that it would all come down to this, but the means at which it does (drinking a vial of poison allowing enough time for you to free your son) removes any potential distraction; it all comes down to principles.

I chose not to drink the vial. I figured that given my completion of only one trial, it was likely that Shaun would die and that it would be better to let Ethan survive and live with Madison (who can counsel him) as opposed to letting Shaun survive but live with the anguish of watching his father die. In this way, it was better for Ethan as he had an emotional attachment which could aid him if his son did in fact die in the rain. This decision was universal amongst the roles. It is an ethically sound decision that I wanted to see happen and believed that Ethan would too.

End Game

My endgame hinged on my final decision before I left the hospital as Madison: the orchid in the hallway. This opened the way to the house of the Origami Killer, which I successfully escaped from. I also guessed the proper password for the address of Shaun’s whereabouts which lead to the final confrontation. I couldn’t solve the crime as Jayden, so it came down to a battle between Ethan and the Origami killer which I won. In the end, Madison, Ethan and Shaun move into a new apartment together and Jayden retires.

Conclusion

There you have it, the reasoning behind and outcomes of my Heavy Rain adventure. Despite failing terribly at points throughout the game, I succeeded in the end. What about you? What was your rationale and how did you manage your different roles in deciding on your actions? Please let us know through the comments.

Developed by Intelligent Systems rather than fixed regulars EAD, Mario Kart: Super Circuit plays the Mario Kart formula pretty safe between the lines of the first 2D and 3D iterations of the series (Super Mario Kart and Mario Kart 64, respectively). Rather than attempt to break new ground by introducing new play mechanics, Super Circuit sets its focus on being a well-executed hybrid of previous games.

For players of Super Mario Kart and Mario Kart 64, the mixed blood elements, namely the combination of the hop and power-sliding, are readily apparent. In Super Mario Kart, a push of the right trigger causes the player to hop, making it possible to leapfrog over minor obstacles, while, at other times, the hop can be exploited to displace your kart at an angle advantageous for sharp cornering. In Mario Kart 64, players could slip into a power slide allowing for long drifts around corners, closing with a speed boost if the player could sufficiently wiggle the control stick back and forth. Super Circuit kinda does both, leaning a little more towards the Super NES iteration. Hopping is still useful for bookending long turns and avoiding minor obstacles, however, if the player holds their slide down long enough a boost will automatically be granted—no wiggling required. Part of the problem with this design is that rarely is there a turn wide enough for players to earn a boost. Or putting it another way, the duration of time required to stay in a power slide is largely incongruent with the nippy curves and bends Super Circuit‘s tracks provide. Furthermore, the tipping point at which you’ll gain a boost (or not) is too difficult to judge, leaving you dependent on the safer bet of bunny-hopping each corner in a spasm of undercutting leaps and slides.

In regards these twist and turns, Super Circuit is a constant barrage of immediate, oncoming corners which leave you ill-prepared and exasperated. The flashing direction markers become a point of reliance, yet, through the brief visual disconnects created against the player’s place on the track, these signposts work to frequently hinder the player as much as aid them. Coming into a corner I found myself fraught with anxiety, thrown off by the directional aid and unsure of how to first judge the bend; at which angle to enter, and then whether or not to hold a slide, bunny hop or break-stop my kart. The split-second immediacy of the corners hampers flow and throws any form of tactical strategy out the window.

Intelligent Systems’ pragmatic, hardware-concious approach shines through well on the GBA. The use of bright colours help boost the back-light-lacking GBA screen and cups are streamlined to fit in around a portable-friendly 5-6 minute time frame. A quick run mode where you can play any track is also included for short bursts of play. The fact that the 2D character sprites are now modelled on 3D models (as opposed to the flat, textureless SNES sprites) visually make the competition easier to interpret

Intelligent Systems also display an astuteness in the track designs which draw and build upon prior games. Previous games featured shortcuts, yes, but Super Circuit almost goes overboard with hidden routes. (Such a generous number of shortcuts is quite rare in most racing games). Rainbow Road is an excellent example, ramps outline almost the entire track, peppered for all sorts of creative short cuts when teamed with a mushroom or boost pad. As this video below shows, it’s very easy to shave time off your position with a little bit of risk and initiative.

Those awesome loop-around ramps from Mario Circuit 3 return in various permutations, as do obstructions which can be avoided by hopping over, like water puddles. Overall, there’s a fine degree of creative nuance permeating each track, from shortcuts (both major and minor), to weather effects which change per lap, and course-specific obstructions.

On reaching the end of this article, I’m feeling a little uncommitted to my criticisms of the boosting system. I stand by what I say, of course, but I can’t also help but get that lingering feeling that I still haven’t grasped the way the Super Circuit is intended to be played. Having gold-medalled all of the cups (bar the SNES ones), at this point, I feel that if I’ve gotten this far without having properly understood the power sliding mechanics, then there must be something awry with the intuitiveness of this mechanic. I’m really unsure to be honest, if you have any experience with this title, then please do give a holler.

]]> http://danielprimed.com/2010/07/mario-kart-super-circuit-%e2%80%93-a-review/feed/ 1 http://danielprimed.com/2010/07/user-generated-content-as-sustainability/ http://danielprimed.com/2010/07/user-generated-content-as-sustainability/#comments Sat, 24 Jul 2010 14:07:08 +0000 Daniel http://danielprimed.com/?p=2515

From Adventure Construction Set to WADs, mods, community tools and those RPG maker games, user-generated content has been a long-running staple of video game continuity. Nowadays, with the infrastructure of the internet and possible global networking, games like LittleBigPlanet, Wario Ware DIY, Flipnote and Mod Nation Racers are overtly orientating their systems around a model of community tools and user-generated content. In a sense, games of this nature have formed a pseudo genre of networked user-generated-orientated games. 

Currently in the games industry, when a game developer creates a worthwhile gameplay system which proves to be successful (Guitar Hero, Madden, for instance), publishers often capitalize on the success and sequalize the gameplay out of existence. User-generated content, I think, offers a fantastic opportunity for developers of these tried and true gameplay systems to establish a self-sustaining environment for content and community, effectively consolidating a franchise in the one place as opposed to killing interest by burning out sequels to an annual business model. 

To prove my case, I’ll use the Tony Hawk series as an example. We’re all pretty down on Mr Hawk after each yearly iteration of the Pro Skater series added new mechanics to the point where the franchise became unrecognizable to the mainstream and alienated everyone else. Let’s not even begin on Tony Hawk Ride. 

Despite the disdain we may carry for Activision and the Hawkster, Tony Hawk’s Proskater 2 is still awesome, is it not? That game and the systems contained within it will always remain good, regardless of how Activision drive the later games into the ground. Theoretically speaking, if Neversoft reclaimed the mantle, streamlined all of the needless complexity of the later releases, packed in a meaty ‘best of’ selection of levels from THPS-THP8 and centered the experience around accessible construction tools and a networked community of level creators, I figure that the Tony Hawk games of yesteryear would have a respectful place to roost and the brand would gain some credibility back. I enjoyed playing and making levels for Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2, as did millions of other players, and there’s no reason why we wouldn’t want to revisit this franchise if it were given the proper treatment and allowed to grow. Appeasing fans by recognizing the significance of prior titles is a good idea at this point for Activision. Reworking these games in a HD format and creating an environment which will keep this type of game alive, is a step beyond that. 

As we’ve discovered through downloadable services like Xbox Live Arcade, Playstation Network and Steam, old gameplay systems don’t have to fade into obscurity, particularly when they’re still fun. This generation has taught us that well designed games like Mega Man can live forever while those which are a little archaic, like Bionic Commando Rearmed, can adopt modern design sensibilities and start anew. Self-sustaining systems of content like user-generated content – if viable – are an even better means of not only preserving the past, but keeping it fresh and relevant for a contemporary audience.

I was very impressed to read a recent interview with acclaimed comic book writer Grant Morrison who, with brilliant articulation, identified the medium-specific advantages of video game narrative (environment as character) and then elaborates on how he’d like to introduce these elements into the comic book medium. This makes me terribly excited because Morrison is fantastically talented, really understands whatever subject matter he chooses to become invested in and is testing out this new approach on nothing less than Batman, w00t! In anycase, I’ve pasted the particular excerpt below, please click here to read the full interview.

IGN Comics: We also know you often draw much inspiration from the world around you – music, film, research, etc. Is anything in particular informing your development of Batman Inc?

Morrison: So many comics are still inspired by Hollywood movies, (many of which are now inspired, in turn, by comics in that pop-will- eat-itself way), and by extension a kind of approach to narrative which dates back to Aristotle’s Poetics and the fundamentals of Greek Drama, almost two and a half thousand years ago, in the name of our dear lords Hermes and Zeus Almighty!

It occurred to me, immersed in my 50th hour of Just Cause 2, how far beyond that silent audience, proscenium arch, here’s some well-paid ‘actor’ pretending to be someone else experience we’d gone and how very timidly other forms of storytelling entertainment had reacted to the challenge of the beast in their midst, this ultimate choose your own adventure playground that in some cases simulates ‘life’ and terrain so effectively it’s like actually like going on vacation (how many gamers know the geography of Silent Hill as well as their own town? Do streets and locations from Liberty City, Panau, or Saints Row, turn up in the dreams of other gamers like they do in mine? I’ll lay odds they do. These amazing virtual environments appear in my memories as real as Chicago or London. Paris, Venice, New Delhi, Jogjakarta or any of the non-CGI cities I’ve been to.

Although many current video games are constructed on a narrative spine which follows the basic action movie hero-beats-baddie script, it’s never that aspect of the player’s interaction with the virtual environment that’s important. I know I tend to skip the cut scenes in games without losing any awareness of the arrow of narrative progression. Batman Inc. is an attempt to do a comic influenced by the storytelling structures, images, senses of scale, movement and perspective and so on that I’ve absorbed from games. The experience of actually being Batman in the Arkham Asylum game was profoundly eerie and I’d love to find a way to capture that depth of involvement and identification with the character and environment. I’m not sure how much of this I’ll be able to realise but this is where I’m beginning my thinking on what might make Batman Inc. different from other books.

Batman Inc. is Brave and the Bold meets Just Cause or Call of Duty: Modern Warfare! That’s my pitch! Throw in a dash of Mission Impossible and a pinch of The Magic Christian and it’s nearly there.

As research for my book Supergods, I re-read a lot of my old comics and got really excited by that old ‘musical’ approach to writing superhero comics I saw especially in the work of Roy Thomas (the Kree/Skrull War is an amazing orchestration of plot, characters and ideas into a multi-levelled narrative that uses several interwoven voices – including blended 1st, 2nd and 3rd person captions – to practically conjure sound onto the paper. Almost every scene has some reference to sound, in fact, from the opening, apocalyptic door slam, through Black Bolt’s whisper and the continually pointed out lack of sound in space), Steve Engelhart, Doug Moench, Don McGregor and the others of Marvel’s ’70s auteur generation.

The popular ‘cinematic’ approach to comics has largely done away with those poetic narrative captions but an even greater loss is that free flowing multi-perspectival viewpoint – when was the last time you read a comic that addressed the character directly ‘You are the Batman!!’ before sliding into an omniscient 3rd person narrative voice, ‘He is the Batman!!’ then shifting to a 1st Person ‘I am the Batman.’ voice, all in the same story! That kind of writing has a metamorphic, psychedelic and very refreshing quality that seemed to tap more directly into the way comics can work together as words and pictures. The dance between writer and artist seems more fluid and the comic book artist is set free from the constraints of being a mere storyboardist, the writer gets a chance to express his or her own voice rather than just the voices of the characters etc. So with this book, I’m trying to find a road into that kind of multi-narrative approach that feels modern rather than retro.

We’ll see how it works out and how far it seems appropriate to push in that direction but these are the influences I’ve been absorbing and the thoughts I’ve been having at the beginning of the process. For me, it’s about seeing the familiar from a slightly different perspective.

I started playing the classic point and click adventure game, Lure of the Temptress, today and after an hour of play subsequently decided to end my session and probably never load the game up ever again. As I said in my Eternal Darkness post:

The inherent nature of the [old school adventure] genre (fetch questing and rubbing items against random pieces of the environment) relies on the solid construction of puzzles and contextual bits in between to make itself enjoyable.

The reason why the point and click adventure game died out is because the puzzles were so arcane and, as the stories in games from other genres improved, the context (the writing, graphics and characters) was insufficient enough to keep players interested in what is ultimately tedious gameplay. Fortunately this isn’t the case with most modern point and click adventure games such as the ever-continuing Monkey Island and Sam and Max series. Both of these franchises have remained contextually interesting, streamlining interface contrivances and being careful with the way puzzles are structured. The point and click adventure still a bit of an acquired taste—and of largely little interest to younger players—but one sustainable enough to keep itself commercially afloat, and that’s all that matters, really.

In thinking about the old-school adventure games that I’m currently willing to invest in, I’ve been running through this entire thought process of whether my interest in the contextual outweighs the possible staleness of the puzzles and clunkiness of the interface in the mechanical. Revisiting the old Monkey Island games (NOT in HD) is worthwhile, since they’re nostalgic. Beneath a Steal Sky is on my Windows partition, because of my interest in artist Dave Gibbons, the interpretation of a dystopian, overpopulated Australian society and because the interface is stupidly excellent and easy to use. The Resident Evil games are still on my list because I have a fondness for PS-one era pre-rendered backdrops and get a kick out of the story. Grim Fandango interests me because its so damn funny that its worth the torment of non-sensical puzzle design.

In a way, it’s kinda sad that I weigh up the value proposition of games of this genre in such a manner. But there is no denying that the elements which previously illuminated point and click adventure titles (beautifully illustrated graphics, clever dialogue, solid length) have been eclipsed by other genres and that the brick and mortar premise requires fundamental updating and reinvention.

PS. If you are interested in sussing out more of this genre, Kurt Kuluta over at Hardcore Gaming 101 has been covering the genre extensively over the past few months. Maybe you’ll find something you like, even though I’m a bit adverse to the genre, I wouldn’t dissuade you from taking a look see.

PSS. My opinions here are a bit skewed by fact that I haven’t taken the liberty of actively trying some of the great adventure games from the indie scene, many of which excite me and perhaps also evidence the recent growth in the genre. This article is the start of something on-going, I hope.

]]> http://danielprimed.com/2010/07/the-value-proposition-of-the-point-and-click/feed/ 0 http://danielprimed.com/2010/07/player-roles-and-heavy-rain/ http://danielprimed.com/2010/07/player-roles-and-heavy-rain/#comments Sat, 17 Jul 2010 10:57:05 +0000 Daniel http://danielprimed.com/?p=2504

Heavy Rain‘s core conceit is the question: How far would you go for the one you love? Those who have played Heavy Rain will know that this question is most obviously evident in the trials undertaken by the lead protagonist Ethan Mars, but it’s also one which ripples into the tangled stories of the other cast members. To follow through on this question, Heavy Rain establishes relatable characters (through menial, day-to-day context) and puts them in extreme situations which are constructed to press this question. These situations bring the player’s differing roles of agency to the forefront. In many respects, these sequences create deliberation between the different parties that the player occupies, which is why players agonize over their decisions; they can’t get everyone to agree and are forced into a tough compromise. Here is breakdown of the player’s roles of agency and the respective questions asked to each player role at each trial, using Ethan as the model: 

Co-author
If I were Ethan, what would I do? 
(based on the player’s understanding of the avatar’s principles combined with their own)

Avatar
Within my inferred understanding of Ethan’s character, what do I think he would do? 
(based on the player’s understanding of the avatar’s principles, independent of their own)

Viewer
What do I want to see happen, what is most entertaining? 
(based on the player’s compulsion)

Director
What is the responsible action, the right thing to do? 
(based on the player’s ethical interpretation)

When we play video games, we don’t just act upon our own whim, but rather our actions are influenced by the different ways we engage with the game. When I take the role of Solid Snake inMetal Gear Solid, I share this role with his—the avatar’s—doctrine. I know that Snake is cunning, inventive and stealthy, so my actions are mapped to my understanding of what it means in inhabit this character. I, therefore, have the freedom to act within my own interpretation of the character. This is called co-authorship. 

The avatar is also their own character, so they can exist independently of the player. As mentioned in the previous article, there are times when we are not in control of the avatar. For instance, in cut scenes. In these instances the avatar is in their own frame of mind, without our influence, which affects how we think respond to the second question. Another way to think of this is, “if there was a cut scene here, what would the avatar most likely do?”

Different types of games emphasize different roles. Open world action games such as Just Cause 2or Saints Row often feature “empty” avatars or at the very least avatars bent on fun and mayhem, because these games are viewer-centric. That is, the player’s actions are based around whatever seems fun or entertaining. Injecting prescribed character into these avatars works against the impetus of enjoyment as it supposes the player model their behavior around the predefined persona of the avatar. This was apparent in Grand Theft Auto IV, where some players felt uncomfortable with simulating the murder and destruction which the previous GTA games reveled in. Because Niko was a responsible, good-willed avatar such actions would contradict his innocent persona. 

The director is the Jiminy Cricket-esque conscience which puts ethical considerations into focus. Normally, most games are ethically sound, but occasional titles, like Heavy Rain, force the player into moments of moral and ethical deliberation. It’s here where we must consider our role as the director of the experience. 

All character-based games feature co-authorship and the avatar’s prescribed perspective. In video games the player needs a body to inhibit and a base level persona to model their behavior on; these are basic requisites that determine play. The presence of the other two roles depends on the subject matter of the game. What is most fascinating about Heavy Rain is the way these moments make the player conscious of their multiple identities within the interactive medium. We’re not just making one choice, we’re making many and under pressure.

['Design Discussions' is a new, regular-occurring column for Kombo by Daniel Johnson, explicating on elements of game design through a case study approach. This piece is a footnote to the initial column Deconstructing the Video Game: Three Pillars of Design for Interactive Drama (Heavy Rain), so it is recommended that you read the prior article first.]

With contextual interactivity, players are somewhat at the mercy of the director. The director is the person who assigns all points of interactivity and the time frame in which they can be initiated, rather than the player. This system coerces players into cooperating with the narrative, and although a handful of people seem to outright refuse this system, it’s a far more persuasive, even-handed approach towards director control than the alternatives. Let us assess the issue of persuasion with traditional video game narrative techniques and conclude with a contrast to Heavy Rain. 

Complete Control – In-game Narrative

Broadly speaking, in recent years, in-game narrative has proven to be a very organic and effective way to deliver supplementary narrative and contextualisation. The sound logs in Dead Space which play over gameplay are one such example commonly used throughout the industry (also seeBatman: Arkham Asylum and Bioshock). Despite the successes in conveying minor information, in-game narration is an unreliable way of delivering important information to the player as it only leads the horse to water. As anyone who has ever played with the gravity gun while sitting through one of Alyx’s talky scenes in Half-life 2 can attest, there’s no guarantee that players will cooperate or pay attention, particularly when they’re given the liberty of retaining their regular ability set. 

No Control – Cutscenes

So how does one make the player cooperate? By taking complete control away through the form of a cutscene. Cutscenes are embroiled in their own infamy in that they can feel as though the designer is taking over, and in some cases, dominating the interactive experience. Players can get particularly antsy during unskippable or overly long cutscenes, which is why they must be well implemented such as a reward for an extended period of play or to conclude/open a chapter or scene. Even though cutscenes are loathed by some, they are an infallible means of control for developers to steer the narrative. 

Partial Control – “Disabled Scenes”

A recent hybrid of the cutscene and in-game narrative (perhaps slanting closer to the latter), are the scenes where the majority of the player’s mechanics are disabled besides those which allow the player to observe (walking, camera movement). Batman: Arkham Asylum‘s introduction scene did this particularly well as Batman and company wheeled a bound Joker into Arkham Asylum, giving air time to the Joker’s menace. These scenes walk the line between the two other techniques. 

Conclusion

The problem with these techniques is that it creates rifts of uneven control. One minute you’re playing the game, maybe absorbing some in-game narrative on the side, then you’re passively taking part in an interactive cutscene, which prompts a cutscene with no control whatsoever and then you’re free to keep playing. The gears of interactivity are constantly switched back and forth that inevitably creates a consciousness which removes the player from the experience.

In Heavy Rain, these bumps are smoothed out and the level of control remains constant throughout. There are scenes where you can walk around and explore, and scenes which are closer to interactive cutscenes, yet the disparity between the two is minimal. Heavy Rain also trains the player to always be ready for action from the beginning which allows the switch to be more seamless. This is all very similar to the principles behind Dead Space‘s narrative (the in-game HUD and narrative) where breaks in immersion are avoided. Because the level of control remains consistent, Heavy Rain is capable of creating narrative experiences which are highly immersive, but also avoids the contrived nature of games like Dead Space.

['Design Discussions' is a new, regular-occurring column for Kombo by Daniel Johnson, explicating on elements of game design through a case study approach. Today he debuts this column with the first in a series of posts exploring Heavy Rain.]

To wit: Heavy Rain is a radical revision of the medium, changing, and in many cases eschewing, video game-defining principles which have remained largely unchanged since the arcade era. If it weren’t for such a deep-seated departure from stagnant norms, Heavy Rain would not be capable of being such a competent piece of drama, let alone an emotionally engaging one. It’s quite surprising actually that such a revisionist approach would be met with such a gripping context on debut, but it only makes Heavy Rain‘s message all the more potent and worthy of critical discussion. 

As is the case with properties which attempt to elicit an emotional response, I think many writers have, quite naturally, first conferred with their personal side. In which case this article and the accompanying columns will attempt to take the opposite approach by deconstructing elements of design, thereby allowing us to have a clearer understanding of Heavy Rain‘s unique direction. 

Deconstructing the Video Game: Three Pillars of Design for Interactive Drama

Heavy Rain‘s backend is an inversion of most typical gameplay systems. For one, Heavy Rainemploys a contextual-based input system where the player’s actions are built into the environment or the scene, initiated by following on-screen cues which mimic the real life action. This works differently to most video game systems which begin with the basic mechanics (usually walk, attack, grab, etc.) and then stack vertically as jump, punch and then “jump and punch while in the air” mechanics are added. Because Heavy Rain relies on a contextual system of interactivity, it’s also a single tier system as opposed to most games which contain the aforementioned layers of vertically-stacked mechanics. There is only one “mechanic” in Heavy Rain, so to speak. That’s walk. Heavy Rain is built around walk and interactivity is mapped horizontally to the environment or scene. In this single tier, contextual system, basic familiarity with the controller and on-screen interface are the only requisites for play. 

Heavy Rain, as a very atypical type of game which through its unique design has circumvented many of the issues facing modern interactive narrative, forces us to reassess the definition of a game. So then, I purpose this question: what is a game and does Heavy Rain meet this definition? For the sake of this argument, a game is a win condition and a set of rules for the player to meet that condition. Does Heavy Rain have both a win state and rules? Well, it certainly has rules, despite their differences from most traditional games, however, the win state argument is very unclear. There are two possible conclusions here, either Heavy Rain has no win state or the win state is the ratification of the narrative. That is, you win by participation, only your inputs may vary the narrative. Participation is a win state, but it’s a condition which deconstructs the intrinsic crux that all games operate on: skill. So then, is a game without skill a game at all?

Definitions aside, there’s a lot to unpack there, so let’s distill my explanation into 3 succinct bullet points. Heavy Rain deconstructs games by the following three means which I have ranked by order of importance: 

• The Absence of Skill




• Contextual Input Over An Established Ability Set




• Single Tier Complexity

Let us now turn to how each point works to deconstruct the former view of video games and, in its place, re-build a system for interactive drama. 

The Absence of Skill – More than Narratives of Mastery and the Removal of Ludo Narrative Dissonance

Without skill, Heavy Rain forgoes the previous skeleton of video game design almost completely. Games, in the traditional sense, those in which are skill-based, orientate around systems of mastery. That is, games facilitate the player’s learning and eventual mastery of a set of rules (known to players as their abilities). This means that video game narrative abides by a documentation of mastery. For instance, the protagonist’s journey of development or the increasing peril of a threatening situation. Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time and Halo are two respective examples of such narratives. In Prince of Persia, the narrative works with mastery in that the Prince develops as an adult (conveyed by his banter and actions regarding his female accomplice Farah) as the player masters the rules of the game. Halo‘s narrative works within a framework of mastery in that challenges of mastery are substantiated by the intensity of the war which peaks at the game’s conclusion. These are fine examples of narratives which work harmoniously with the properties of the medium.

This is all well and good, but don’t you see what’s happening here? If narrative and game are to work harmoniously together (as in Halo, Portal, Prince of Persia and Super Metroid, for instance), then the narrative potential is constricted by mastery. The alternative is that skill creates conflict and separation between these two parts (see further below). By marginalising skill, Heavy Raindoesn’t abide by a narrative of mastery and as a result there isn’t an imbalance between the rules of the game and the narrative of the game (also known ludo narrative dissonance). I’m far from an expert on contemporary video game narrative, so I won’t proceed to run through a myriad of examples pertaining to ludonarrative dissonance, but rather the two examples below should highlight the case quite clearly.

The Psychological Advantage of Meeting the Win State

By removing skill, Heavy Rain breaks loose from the expectation that work yields reward, in turn breaking the psychological advantage players formerly had over game narrative. Video games are absolute systems and thereby struggle with interpreting grey subject matter (unlike literature and film which are rich in ambiguity). As hard as developers try to make video games grey, they’re effectively pushing a boulder uphill against that aforementioned friction known as skill. Players know this, which is why grey game narrative mostly fails. Player’s know that if they meet the win state then the grey narrative (moral choice, for instance) cannot legitimately impact upon them. 

(There are exceptions, like Execution, where the player’s assumptions are preyed upon to shocking effect, when it fails, however, (for instance, when the game forces the player to make a morally wrong action), it’s pure deceit and therefore derided by the gaming community).

Mass Murder

Even when developers are successful at developing a good narrative within the constrains of a skill-based system, ludonarrative dissonance is still very likely to occur, as was much discussed withUncharted 2. Despite Nathan Drake’s warm charisma, throughout Uncharted 2 he murders hundreds, maybe thousands of people—he’s effectively a mass murder. Uncharted 2 is a 3rd person shooter which means that Drake/the player needs to shoot a large number of targets in order to train themselves for each trial. Yet, at the same time, Drake’s killing spree conflicts with his “good boy” characterisation.

Contextual Input Over An Established Ability Set – Common-place Application, Immersion and the Director’s Control

Most traditional games centre their mechanics around a couple of core abilities from which they build. Super Mario Bros; jump, Gears of War; 3rd person shooting, cover, Street Fighter; offensive attacks, defensive manoeuvres are a few examples. These abilities, while only a limited segment of the avatar’s complete repertoire of possible actions, are the abilities most relevant to the core premise, be it jumping, shooting, fighting, etc. 

In an entirely contextual system, abilities are not bound to foundation mechanics, so the possibilities of potential actions are practically infinite, only bound by the relevancy to the environment. This system is an ideal match for Heavy Rain which isn’t a shooter, platformer or fighter, but instead an interactive drama which requires the player to pull off a broad range of actions. For this reason, players of Heavy Rain will do things they’ve never done before in a video game. Simple things like sitting in a chair, playing with your kids or signing your name.

It’s interesting to observe that Heavy Rain isn’t a primitive re-rooting of video games fundamentals, but is instead incredibly well realised. In fact, some of the points made here aren’t necessarily inherent to the design (of contextual systems), but rather examples of Heavy Rain‘s sharp ingenuity. Interaction in Heavy Rain is based around mimicry of real life actions through the medium of the controller. The weight that the imitation of actions through the controller and on-screen representation (the animation corresponds to the completion of the action) have towards the immersiveness is impossible to quantify, but, speaking in generalities, one would assume that mimicry would create a much more engrossing experiences as the simulation is closer to real life than arbitrary button presses which bear little to no correspondence to the on-screen actions. IfHeavy Rain weren’t a contextual based system, then these custom inputs would not be possible (probably because they would destroy pace) and the connection to the drama would be lost. 

The most important quality of a contextual system is that it gives power to the director, since the director dictates the points of interactivity. This, in turn, transforms the environment from a playground to a vision. Such a system forgoes the traditional means of narrative (in-game narrative, cutscenes, etc), which results in a game with a constant degree of control, rather than one which adds or removes levels of control when the director feels the need to talk. We shall explore this point individually and with more detail in a later column. 

Single Tier Complexity – Accessibility

The upheaval of the traditional approach to game design changes the playing experience immensely. The most obvious point is that it compresses complexity down to on-screen prompts, which makes Heavy Rain a very accessible game to non-players. The nature of the prompts scale according to how you answer a mandatory question which asks how familiar you are with video games at the start of the game. For Heavy Rain to be a legitimate piece of drama, it ought to be playable by anyone, otherwise skill rears its ugly head back in and new players are marginalised and excluded from certain parts of the experience.

Some of the criticisms of Heavy Rain have been that not all choices are made available to the player and therefore Heavy Rain does not fully deliver on the proposition “How far would you go for someone you love?”. This criticism is most relevant to the action sequences which play a large role in determining the fate of the characters (and the respective avenues for choice), yet are based on reaction, ie. skill. This criticism is legitimate as it shows how skill can be injected back into Heavy Rain‘s skill-removed system to potential detriment of the narrative.

Conclusion

As we’ve established, Heavy Rain deconstructs the video game by devaluing skill and all of the systems relating to skill. In its place is an input system which gives the director control over interactivity and allows for an infinite range of actions. Being a narrative-driven game, the single mechanic, walk and its accompanying contextual input, allows for an accessible experience which does not hinder newer players from choice. 

The next article will be a footnote to my previous point on directive control, before I look at the way Heavy Rain toys with player roles.

Several months ago, I took an intensive course in ESL teaching (English as a Second Language). Before we began our immediate practice lessons – by which the school roped in non-native speakers off the streets with the ploy of free English lessons – our teachers provided us with a list of common Do’s and Don’ts for teaching English as a second language. The most contentious dot point, of which there were many, was to never ask students “Do you understand?” as students would inevitably answer “Yes,” even if they weren’t entirely sure. The solution isn’t to ask whether they understand, but to instead test them so that you, as a teacher, know precisely whether they understand and if not why not.

Video games are systems which contain rules and facilitate mastery; as much as mainstream media would assure you otherwise, games are inherently education-orientated. Think about it: every game you play begins with a tutorial and concludes with a test, the latter often masked as a final boss. The design of video games and the principles of education are therefore very closely interlinked. 

Good video games are good teachers and good teachers ought to obey sound teaching principles. Now to return to the question of “Do you understand?” Just recently, I was reminded of this question when playing deBlob (Wii). 

Right at the beginning of the game and every time thereafter when Blob encounters a new form of enemy or is introduced to a new mechanic, a short multi-paged tutorial covers the screen, complete with diagrams and forward prompts, concluding with the question “Do you understand?” and the options “Yes” and “No.” The problem is obvious, right? Forgoing the interactive qualities of the medium, deBlob falls back on passive text and images as its means of communicating rules. It’s a confounding move, particularly as deBlob otherwise follows a “form meets function” approach to design where you almost immediately understand how to defeat INKT Corporation’s black and white goons based purely on their visual character. Furthermore, deBlob only has two primary mechanics (roll and pounce), so it would be difficult for players, even inexperienced players, to misinterpret the game world. The information is completely needless in the face of the already clear design. 

DeBlob ought to have instead constructed scenarios which guide the player into solving the problem for themselves, allowing them to deduce solutions from the clear “form meets function” design. When players realize rules and mechanics for themselves, they feel independence and ownership over what they’ve learned; the game makes them feel smart. deBlob‘s tutorials state the obvious, nothing that can’t be understood in under 30 seconds of play. The text tutorial thereby feels obvious and patronizing. 

An ideal example of how rules can be communicated clearly through design is in Super Mario Bros. In the first 10 seconds of play, the player knows that you’ve got to jump over or on top of enemies and that the mushrooms hidden inside the question blocks increase your size and life. You can’t make any progress if you don’t jump over the first Goomba and the player will always receive a mushroom since it travels to the right hand side, bounces off the pipe and corners you making it impossible to avoid. In just 10 seconds, the main rules are explained without any need for words. 

The best games are those which teach through practice and participation, that embedded the instruction manual into the experience, rather than paste it wholesale in front of you. Don’t get me wrong, text as a visual medium along with sound are very important in tutorial, however, they should work in conjunction with the experience and not in replacement of it. That way, players don’t need to be asked whether they understand.

Zelda: Skyward Sword

Zelda: Twilight Princess was the apotheosis of the Ocarina of Time-era design—a template which was ultimately a 3D culmination of the prior 2D games up to that point. Perfection is nice and all, but it’s been 12 years since the franchise’s last major revision. Aonuma-san and crew must be wary of this, so I most look forward to the way they’ll attempt to reinvigourate the franchise. Wii Motion Plus will obviously be at the heart of their attempt, but I’m also curious as to whether they’ll tinker with the orderly, dungeon-per-dungeon design that has characterised the series since its existence. Okami tried this and mostly failed, I think that Nintendo can reinvent themselves better.

After the show: As expected, the design sensibilities from the DS games have been wisely adapted to the Wii. Won’t know if they’ve made any fundamental changes to the franchise until it’s released.

Dead Space 2

Having interjected the original Dead Space narrative with a supporting comic, animated movie and stand alone game (Dead Space: Extraction), Dead Space 2 stands to represent whether EA are genuine or will waver on their commitment to Dead Space as a trans-media franchise. Dead Space: Extraction worked well as a conduit in connecting the various pieces of narrative, Dead Space 2 has the potential to turn the franchise into a cross-media universe.

Dead Space 2‘s place in the narrative seems to suggest that Visceral Games will finally explicate on the franchise’s psychological elements. Again, I think that there is much potential here and I hope that it ascends beyond mere graphical tomfoolery and blind sided plot twists.

After the show: Meh. More of the same and no commitment to diversification.

Metal Gear Solid Rising

It’s curiosity above all else that has me anticipating the reveal of Metal Gear Solid Rising. How on Earth can Konami develop a Raiden sub-story without narrative complication? The placeholder pic used in Microsoft’s E3 press conference last year seems to suggests that Rising will take place around the events of Metal Gear Solid 4. So, they’ll either focus on Raiden’s rescuing Sunny from the Patriots or go post-MGS4 with a bionically configured Raiden. Either way, expect Devil May Cry-flavoured action in a cybernetic landscape.

After the show: Uncertain as to how Konami will smoothly integrate the slicing controls without killing the pace, but at least it has found something of a niche (“cut!”), even if I disapprove of the violence.

Estpolis: The Lands cursed by the Gods

Already released in Japan, I’m just looking forward to reading more hands-on impression of the action RPG remake of Lufia 2: Rise of the Sinistrals. I’m not sure whether the deviations, such as the screen-filling boss battles, will meld well with the original design, so I hope that the reporters at E3 can find me an answer. Regardless, Neverland, the developers of the SNES original, have recently restored my faith in another SNES RPG classic Harvest Moon through their sublime Rune Factory sub-series, so I am not overly concerned.

After the show: Haha! As if anyone would cover this game when they could write about slow motion headshot and decapitations.

Bionic Commando: Rearmed 2

I don’t like the way Capcom have part ridiculed Bionic Commando: Rearmed by flamboyantly promoting the inclusion of a jump mechanic in its sequel. I guess it’s a pretty funny jab, but the lack of jump wasn’t just an incidental exclusion in BC:R or the original game. The absence of a jump mechanic supported the titular swinging functionality, so I imagine that by including jump, Rearmed 2 will only further the challenge in dexterity.

After the show: Like Zelda, won’t know until it’s released. Nothing else worth commenting on.

Moving, travelling and then finally starting work overseas has left me with a month-long void of stable internet. I’ve been extremely lucky in that my initial accommodation was smack bang near a free wireless access point, transmitting free, stable internet at the mercy of the CCP’s filter (so no Twitter, Youtube, Facebook, democracy, pornography or anything that is idly swept up). Then I moved across the street into my own apartment and my freebie internet became less stable but still willing to be kind at times, hence I’ve exploited said moments of decent transmission to catch up on my backlog of reading.

In which case I’d like to open a new segment called “Article Spotlight” where I basically take an interesting article I’ve read and use it as a launching pad into further discussion, maybe to develop my own ideas, maybe to critique the arguments of the original author. As was made apparent to me by the direct referencing of other writers by Richard over at the Critical Gaming blog some time ago, there is a vital lack of discussion between most writers on the web. The enthusiast media run a rotisserie of news articles and most blogging communities are too insular to directly address the work of their community. With that said, let’s start.

A Fine Line: Making RPGs Accessible

I currently lack the connection to listen to the respective podcast, so I will just respond to the written article.

In A Fine Line: Making RPGs Accessible, Kat observes the way that the abstract rule systems of most RPGs are often poorly conveyed to the player, citing Pokemon, Resonance of Fate and Infinite Space as specific case studies. What she concludes is that these games largely explicate their rules to the player through text (of which sometimes the text itself is insufficient), as opposed to internalising the tutorial into the functional fabric of the game. Furthermore, she references Final Fantasy VII to say that sometimes these games do not even emphasise the importance of vital subsystems, as is the case with the junction system.

RPGs are quite tricky in this regard since they are more heavily steeped in abstraction than other genres such as platforming, fighting or racing. As an extension to what Kat is saying, I think that the recent trend of adding “RPG elements” to other genres is an attempt to make logical the abstract rule systems of most RPGs. Mass Effect 2, Borderlands, Castlevania: Symphony of the Night and GTA: San Andreas are good examples. The core gameplay of these games are not embedded in abstract rules, but rather 3rd person shooting, 1st person shooting, platforming and 3rd person action/driving. Since the “RPG elements” are contextualised with the (more) logical systems of platforming, fighting and action, the statistics and grinding make more sense to the player. The two systems are often compartmentalised due to their inherent nature (menus for RPG elements, live gameplay for main genre, for instance), which make it easy for players to mentally organise the constructs of gameplay. As such, complexity in these games stems from the patterns of relationship which players observe and capitalise on between the role playing and action elements.

I digress. To the point: Pokemon, Resonance of Fate and Infinite Space are badly designed, albeit in a genre which is tougher to design well for (due to the complexity of the abstract, often statistics-driven system). What these RPGs ought to do is to establish their rule structures around logical concepts (or as with Strange Journey, at least throw the player a bone once in a while). Pokemon‘s is fundamentally quite a common sense system as it is based around the elements (water beats fire, for instance), however, as Kat briefly alludes to, Pokemon has evolved to the extent that it requires an encyclopaedic amount of knowledge. Consequently the prior tutorial structures no longer provide sufficient in aiding the player’s understanding of this knowledge. Fire melts ice, but is weak against water is quite easy to grasp. How fire holds up against light, dark or steel is less so.

A good example of a well designed RPG is Paper Mario, previously I commented:

• “Perfect across the board and so far ahead of the curve that it was accused of being an RPG-lite at the time. It took J-RPGs another six years until they began to incorporate real-time action elements into their tiring RPG sub-systems.”
• And it is still ahead of the curve. Providing a counter case study to Kat’s examples of Pokemon, Infinite Space and Resonance of Fate, I’ve jotted down some quick bullet points as to how Paper Mario is an accessible RPG:
• Each attack involves a short, one dimensional sequence of interactivity as opposed to just selecting options from a menu
• The statistics (HP, FP, Star Power) are streamlined and explained promptly and at suitable points in the game
• The statistics in the game increase quite slowly, putting the focus on the player’s mastery of the attack sequences and matching the best buddy character to the right situation
• Mario’s main move set (jump and hammer) alongside his allies have functions outside of battle which help consolidate their purpose within the battle system
• Paper Mario assigns easy to understand visual and functional (attacks) characteristics to Mario’s supporting cast; they each have a sole property which defines them, ie. electricity, invisibility, etc.
• These cast members are limited to supporting roles, emphasising the importance of customising Mario
• The out-of-battle exploration supports the combat in the form of hidden badges
• The menus clearly explain the benefits of equipping each badge

This issue of accessibility that Kat and her Grind cohorts have discussed (godamn internet, I want that podcast now!) is a pressing issue for modern RPGs, particularly now as the genre is losing relevancy to other genres which are streamlining themselves far better. Western RPGs have been a part-saviour here considering their introduction of meaningful contexts, yet most RPGs still seem to wallow in esoteric rules, niche fantasy, high school or medieval contexts, marathon play times and repetitive, meaningless grind. It’s no wonder the genre is losing face in an industry that is slowly realising it’s potential. “RPG elements” is therefore a positive change, change from the ground up through logical contexts and embedded tutorials though, is critically needed.

Additional Readings

Critical Conversation – Critical-Gaming Blog

Paper Mario – Mario Wiki

Side Comments

On the flight over from Australia I began playing Rune Factory 2 and I just don’t understand the logic behind some of the exercises. For example, the player ought to embark on fetch quests and other such time fillers to earn respect and money (since you are COMPLETELY stoney broke to begin with and the market for purchasing seeds is obviously a racket) from the local community. A message board in the town centre displays the citizens minor complaints and on tending to a ‘request’ you must find the villager, talk to them and then serve their need. The problem is you have no idea where these people are. Sure, there’s a whole bottom screen dedicated to a map, but why display their location on the map? Instead you must talk to a faux fortune teller who for a hefty toll (defeating the purpose of the quest now, isn’t it?) with give you a vague and almost entirely useless text description of where this person is located. Helpful, isn’t it?